Saturday Night Wrestling

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                           American Wrestling Alliance 
                                 Proudly Presents 
                         AWA Saturday Night Wrestling

                         Live from the WKIK Studios 
                                   Dallas, Texas 
                                 March 29, 2008
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[As the closing notes to the "Sanford And Son" theme fade into nothing,
the viewing audience is greeted by the sounds of "One More Saturday
Night" by the Grateful Dead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

GM:  Good evening, fans, and welcome to another edition of AWA Saturday
Night Wrestling featuring all the stars of the American Wrestling
Alliance, _the_ major league of professional wrestling.   And the next
two hours promise to be hotter than Texas asphalt, Bucky Wilde.

BW:  You betta believe it, daddy!  This place is gonna be rockin' and
rollin' tonight... and you know why?

GM:  Why?

BW:  Cause the Buck Daddy's come to town.  Put the women and childrens
to bed cause lawd have mercy on the rest of y'alls.

GM:  I see.  Fans, everywhere I have gone over the past two weeks, the
fans have been clamoring for more information about the AWA and more
specifically, everyone has been talking about this huge six man tag team
bout set for tonight's Main Event.

BW:  On one side, you've got the do-good squad of "Heliion" Mark Shaw,
"The Athens Georgia Madman" Ron Houston, and the "Ragin' Rebel" Ricky
Royal.  Three big, powerful men... but do-goodin' Boy Scouts through and
through, daddy!  They ain't got a shot in there with the other team.

GM:  Former Pro Wrestling Revolution Pacific Champion Calisto Dufresne
who made quite a stir with his actions the last time we were in these
studios will team with Marcus Broussard who defeated "Wild Thing" Kevin
Slater in the first Main Event in AWA Saturday Night Wrestling history
and the man who-

BW:  Made you go and change your pants?

GM:  Something like that.  Their partner is the mighty man from Samoa,
Tumaffi.  Now _that's_ a dangerous team, Bucky.

BW:  The power and size of Tumaffi mixed with the technical ability of a
Marcus Broussard mixed with the ruthlessness of the "Ladykiller?"  Wooo,
mama, you better batten down the hatches cause this one may be wilder
than a flying squirrel on an energy drink, daddy-o!

GM:  In addition to that, we've got our Hour One main event which will
feature The Upper Crust duo of Shannon Stokes and Bling Bling Beaumont
taking on Werewolf Gregorson and Despair.

BW:  And if the last WKIK show taught us anything, it's that both those
teams better keep an eye open for the Russians, daddy.

GM:  The Russians are in the building and that means anything goes here
tonight in Dallas.  Also in the building is the "Wild Thing" Kevin
Slater who we mentioned previously lost to Broussard in our Main Event
last time... but did so under some controversial circumstances, Bucky.

BW:  The Masked Menace popped him upside the skull with some kind of
foreign object.  Nothing controversial there.

GM:  I see.  Well, the rumors have been flying all week as to why the
Menace would assault Slater and tonight, we hope to get some
confirmation on exactly that.  Fans, it's going to be an exciting night
of AWA action so let's get right down to it.  Let's go up to the ring to
Melissa Cannon!

[We cut to the ring where the lovely Ms. Cannon is wearing a red and
white dress... nothing too shocking for our youthful audience.  A mic
lowers from the ceiling as she reaches up to take it in hand.]

MC:  Tonight's opening contest is scheduled for one fall.  Introducing
first, already in the ring at this time... standing 6 feet tall and
weighing in at 250 pounds... from Laredo, Texas... Miguel Cortez!

[The Mexican competitor raises an arm, smirking at the jeering crowd.]

MC:  And his opponent...

[The sounds of "Stars And Stripes Forever" blasts over the PA bringing
the patriotic crowd to their feet.]

MC:  Standing 6'2 and weighing in at 280 pounds... fighting out of
Charlotte, North Carolina...

He is "Stars and Stripes"...

CLAYTON SHAAAAW!

[Shaw bursts through the curtain in a black singlet with a camo fatigue
t-shirt underneath.  He is carrying an American flag on a wooden pole
over his shoulder.

He pauses just inside the entrance, hoisting the flag into the air and
waving it back and forth to a big ovation.  Lowering the flag, he
quickly walks to the ring, stepping up onto the apron where he holds the
flag high again.]

GM:  There he is, Bucky Wilde.  We spoke with him on the last Saturday
Night Wrestling but tonight, we're going to see the AWA debut of "Stars
And Stripes" Clayton Shaw.

BW:  I've had my share of run-ins with this hombre, Gordo.  I don't like
'im... he don't like me.  And that's 'bout as nice as I'm gonna be.

GM:  Alrighty then.  Shaw hands off the Stars and Stripes to a ringside
attendant and we're about to get this thing underway.  This young man is
quite the rough and tumble competitor, Bucky.

BW:  I'd rather not discuss it.

GM:  Well, okay.  At 27 years of age, this former Marine has already
made quite a name for himself on the Southern wrestling circuit.  In
fact, despite not having a lot of in-ring experience, he was the former
trainer for the Southern Championship Wrestling school, Bucky.

BW:  ...

GM:  Am I going to be calling this match solo?

BW:  Maybe.  My mama said if I didn't have anything nice to say-

GM:  If you followed that one, you'd be a mute, my friend.

[With the flag out of the ring, Shaw stands in his corner, swinging his
arms back and forth to loosen up.]


"DING DING DING!"


[Shaw immediately walks to the middle of the ring and extends a hand.]

GM:  Good sportsmanship on display by the big brawler from North
Carolina.

[Cortez waves him off.  Shaw looks disappointed but slaps his own arm
before starting to circle, looking for an opening.]

GM:  Collar and elbow tieup... Shaw powering Cortez back a couple steps
and-

[The crowd roars as Shaw tenses up and _hurls_ Cortez across the ring
and down to the mat with a shove.]

GM:  Wow!  Look at  the power of Clayton Shaw, Bucky!

BW:  ...

GM:  Still not talking?

BW:  You want me to talk about this guy?  Fine.  Let's talk about why he
won't tell us what's up with him and "Hellion" Mark Shaw.  Neither of
them wanted to discuss it.  There's obviously something going on there,
daddy!

GM:  Well, I'd have to agree there.  Both men were asked about it by
us... both just brushed off the question.  It's just one of many stories
going on here in the AWA, Bucky.  What about the situation with the
Masked Menace and Kevin Slater?

BW:  I've got the scoop on that one, daddy.  And I've got the Masked
Menace coming out here after this match to give us the lowdown on
exactly why he popped the Mild Thing last time on this show.

GM:  I look forward to that.  In the meantime, Miguel Cortez is not
happy about this match at all.  He's being pushed back to the ropes in
another tieup...

[Grabbing the wrist of his opponent, Shaw fires him across the ring.]

GM:  Irish whip by Shaw...

[And as Cortez rebounds back, Shaw takes flight, connecting with a huge
flying shoulderblock that knocks Cortez off his feet and causes him to
roll right out to the floor!  The crowd erupts at the impact of the
blow.]

GM:  Wow-oh-wow!  Did you see that, Bucky?

BW:  Yeah, I saw it.

[Shaw pops back to his feet, leaping to the middle rope to soak up the
cheers of the crowd as he waves for a recovering Miguel Cortez to get
back into the ring.]

GM:  Clayton Shaw definitely knows how to win the hearts of these fans
in the WKIK Studios!  This place is rockin' already... and he's going
out after Cortez!

[Tired of waiting, Shaw steps out to the apron before dropping down to
the floor, pursuing Cortez around the ring.]

GM:  And we've got a chase on the floor!  Miguel Cortez is running for
it and Clayton Shaw is in hot pursuit.

[Cortez rolls back into the ring, Shaw right behind him...

...and the man from North Carolina finds himself getting stomped hard by
the wily veteran.]

BW:  Haha!  Cortez outsmarted the big lug, daddy!

[A few more hard stomps to the back of the head soften up Shaw, keeping
him down for a leaping elbowdrop to the neck.]

GM:  And now it's Miguel Cortez who is in control of this one, pulling
the big man to his feet...

[Cortez buries a knee in the midsection as he pulls Shaw up, shoving him
back into the corner.]

GM:  Cortez shoves him back into the buckles... winds up...


"SLAAAAAAAP!"


GM:  Big overhand chop across the chest of Shaw!

[Grabbing Shaw by the arm, Cortez fires him across.]

GM:  Shaw hard to the buckles... here comes Miguel Cortez!

[The veteran stampedes across the ring...

...and finds nothing but turnbuckles slamming into his chest as Shaw
sidesteps the charge!  Big ovation!]

GM:  Shaw got out of the way just in time and- what's he doing here,
Bucky?

BW:  If he's not laying down for someone to waffle with a steel chair, I
don't care.

GM:  He's trying to get Cortez off the mat... belly to back suplex
perhaps?

[But as Shaw gets Cortez into the belly-to-back position, he turns away
from the corner...

...and _hurls_ the Mexican through the air, causing him to crash down to
the canvas with a thud!]

GM:  Whoa nelly!  An... well, I guess we'll call it an atomic throw,
Bucky!  An incredible display of power by-

[The crowd roars as Shaw races across the ring, blasting the rising
Cortez off his feet with a running clothesline!]

GM:  Down goes Cortez again and-

[Shaw deadleaps into the air, flattening his body out and driving his
skull down into the head of Cortez.]

GM:  LEAPING HEADBUTT!  ONE!!  TWO!!  No, Cortez slips a shoulder off
the mat in time!

[Climbing back to his feet, Shaw flips Cortez onto his stomach, reaching
down to apply a cobra clutch...

...and then _yanks_ Cortez off the canvas into a standing position.]

GM:  Cobra clutch applied by- what's he doing?!

[The crowd buzzes as Shaw begins to slowly spin... spinning faster and
faster with each rotation until finally the momentum takes Cortez off
the mat and up into the air.]

GM:  Is that a swinging cobra clutch?!  

BW:  This is the move he calls Stars And Stripes Forever, Gordo.

GM:  Cortez is in trouble... there's no escaping this... there's no-


"DING DING DING!"


GM:  That's it!

[Shaw releases the hold, hurling Cortez down to the mat as he dizzily
falls back against the ropes.]

MC:  Ladies and gentlemen, your winner of the match in a time of three
minutes and twelve seconds...

CLAAAAYTON SHAAAAAW!

[Another ovation for the former Marine as he raises a triumphant arm and
slips down through the ropes to the floor.]

GM:  A big debut victory for "Stars And Stripes" Clayton Shaw who will
be joining us here at the announce desk in a moment.  An impressive
victory, Bucky.

BW:  If you say so.

GM:  You have to be impressed by his power at least.

BW:  I suppose.

GM:  Oh, give me a break, Mr. Wilde.  Did you see that swinging cobra
clutch?  It was-

BW:  SEE IT?!  DID I SEE IT?!  I wore a neckbrace for nine months
because of that damned hold, daddy!  I know what it looks like... I know
what it feels like... and I know what-

[Bucky's diatribe is cut short by the arrival at the announce desk of
Clayton Shaw.  Shaw steps behind the desk, grabbing the mic from Gordon
Myers.]

CS:  Go ahead, Wilde.  Tell 'em the whole story.  Tell 'em how you and
your boys chased me all around the Southern states for months.  Tell 'em
how you tried to run me out of the business forever.  Tell 'em how you-

BW:  Don't lay your sob story on me, son!  This is a business first.  It
wasn't nothin' personal.  But you were the top dog and in this game, the
top dog often gets taken to the pound!

[Shaw shakes his head.]

CS:  Mr. Myers, this little... vermin... he tried to have me crippled
when his boys spike piledrivered me in the middle of the ring on a steel
chair.  Did he tell you that?

[Myers shakes his head.]

CS:  Nah, didn't think so.  The fact is... he made it more than
business.  If it was just business, I can respect that.  If they were
looking to take down the top star... the top dog... the champ...
whatever... I can respect that.  But Buckthorn Wilde made it personal
when he tried to have my neck broken.

[Shaw looks coldly at the still-fired up Wilde.]

CS:  So, when I got my hands on him after taking down one of his boys in
a steel cage... I tried to return the favor.

BW:  TRIED?!  TRIED?!  YOU BROKE MY DAMNED NECK, SHAW!  YOU-

[Shaw lifts a warning finger.... no, not that one.]

CS:  You had it comin'... and you know you had it comin'.  And to the
rest of the AWA superstars, let this little story be a lesson to you. 
You come out at me man to man... head to head... we'll fight.  We'll
fight and there'll be a winner and a loser and at the end, I'll shake
your hand.

But if you come at me from behind like the Masked Menace did to Kevin
Slater last time.  If you backjump me like those damned Russians did to
Gregorson and Despair...

[Shaw locks his hands together in front of his face.]

CS:  Then you'll feel the swinging cobra... and you may end up like ol'
Bucky here.  Laid up with a busted neck.  That's a promise.

[Shaw drops the mic on the announce desk, slowly backing away as he
glares at Wilde.  Gordon Myers edges forward slowly, almost not wanting
to get between the two men as he reaches for the mic.]

GM:  Fans, an explosive way to start Saturday Night Wrestling for sure! 
We'll be right back!

[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 we fade back in to an extreme close-up of rather pudgy mitt
clasping what appears to be a one-hundred dollar bill. The top portion
of the dollar bill is lit with fire before it touches the end of a
cigar. As the camera slowly withdraws, the vicious brute known only as
THE MASKED MENACE enters into view. The Menace puffs confidently on his
fat cigar as he stamps out the smoldering bill. Wilde looks at the
charred remains and nearly has a fit as Myers turns towards Menace.] 

GM: We're here with none other than The Masked Menace, who apparently
has money to burn these days ... 

[Menace places a massive paw on Myers' shoulder and laughs heartily.] 

MM: Hell, y'might say that I do, Myers. Let's just say that I'm a
businessman, and right now, business is boomin'. 

GM: So the hot topic everywhere in the sport is why, Menace? Why did you
cost Kevin Slater his match with Broussard? What exactly is your problem
with Slater? 

[Menace exhales a thick cloud of smoke before answering.] 

MM: Well, see, that's part of the problem there, Myers. I ain't got a
problem with Slater. Hell, before a couple o' weeks ago, I had no idea
who the guy was. Still don't. Don't care to know. But let's just say
that somebody does care a lot about ol' Kevin Slater. And let's just say
that that somebody is willin' to pay quite a bit to see Slater be
miserable. And I specialize in makin' folks miserable. 

[Myers' eyes widen.] 

GM: So wait a minute--are you saying to me that somebody out there has
put a bounty on Kevin Slater? 

[Menace laughs between puffs of his cigar.] 

MM: Now I see why ya make the big bucks 'round here, Myers. Ya catch on
quick. 

GM: But who, Menace? More importantly, why? 

[Menace flashes a crooked grin as he strokes his chin.] 

MM: Well, as fer who, that ain't none o' yer business though I'm sure
y'all be findin' out soon enough. As fer why, well, hell, Myers, I don't
really give a damn. What I will tell ya is this, and I quote that noted
scholar Big Dan Teague, "I'm in it for the money, boys! That dagburn
money!" 

[He slaps Myers across the back, sending the commentator careening
forward.] 

MM: Now if'n y'all will excuse me, I'm gone to go give somebody a lil'
hell. 

[Menace storms away from the commentator's desk in the direction of the
ring where Melissa Cannon is already standing.]

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit.  Already in the ring at this-

[But before the lovely Ms. Cannon can finish her introductions, the
321-pound masked man rolls into the ring and barrels over a surprised
Keith Smith, driving him back into the corner with a barrage of right
hands.]


"DING DING DING!"


GM:  The Masked Menace doesn't even allow Melissa to finish the
introductions.  That's Keith Smith in there with the big man, Bucky.

BW:  Forget about Keith Smith, Gordo!  What about the scoop we just got
from the Menace?

GM:  A bounty on Kevin Slater?  Unbelievable!

BW:  And you nailed it on the head.  Who placed the bounty?  And more
importantly perhaps, why?

GM:  The Menace seems to know who but he's not talking.  And I can't
think of the slightest reason why, Bucky.  It just doesn't make any
sense to me at all.

BW:  Well, we've known all along that the Menace considers himself a
"hired gun" so to speak.

GM:  But why Kevin Slater?  Slater's basically been out of the business
for years now and-

[The crowd groans as the Menace drives his masked skull into the back of
the doubled-up Smith, smashing his old school solid black mask with red
leather trim around the eyes, nose, and mouth openings into the head of
his opponent.]

GM:  Nice headbutt by the Menace and he's got the youngster in trouble
early on in this one.

BW:  I don't see any signs of the lovely Miss Chow out here either,
Gordo.  

GM:  After the way she went after Megan Flarheity last time in the WKIK
Studios, I can't blame her.  Ms. Flarheity may be looking for some
payback tonight just like Slater is.

BW:  Kevin Slater's a lunatic if he's thinking about coming after the
Menace, daddy.  Just look at this guy in there.  He's a terror!

[Grabbing Smith by the hair, the Menace throws him violently down to the
canvas.  He balls up his right hand, holding it high in the air... and
simply falls over, driving the clenched fist into the skull.]

GM:  Falling fistdrop by the Menace!  Right between the eyes!

BW:  And that'll send you to the optometrist in a hurry, daddy-o!

[Staying on his knees, the Menace drives a few more clenched fists into
the skull of the young grappler.]

GM:  Nothing fancy in there by the Masked Menace.  He throws big
punches, he hits hard, and he uses his size tremendously well.

BW:  He's not going to be outrunning anyone.  He's not gonna take to the
sky.  He's not gonna outrassle ya on the mat.  But he will beat the tar
out of ya and come back for more.

GM:  Smith hasn't had a chance since the Menace jumped him before the
bell, Bucky.  Now he's getting dragged off the mat by the hair.  Come
on, referee!  Get the man off the hair!

[With Smith back on his feet, Menace drills him with a left hook that
knocks him back against the ropes.  He lunges immediately in with a
right to the midsection and a second quick left uppercut.]

GM:  Menace showing some skills on his feet with those punches.  It
makes you wonder if he might have some boxing experience in his backgro-
ohhhh!

[The crowd gasps as the Menace snaps off a brutal European uppercut that
echoes through the WKIK Studios, leaving Smith hanging onto the top rope
to stay on his feet.]

GM:  What a shot that was, Bucky!

BW:  Vicious.  Brutal.  I'm surprised the kid still has a jaw, daddy!

GM:  Menace isn't done with him here.  The kid is out on his feet and-
whip to the ropes...

[And as Smith rebounds, the 6'4 Menace raises his massive leg, driving
his boot into the face of his young opponent!]

GM:  Big boot... right up under the chin... that takes Smith down to the
mat again.

BW:  He calls that the Heel-Toe Express, daddy!

[The referee gestures to the mat, telling the Menace to cover...

...but a raised clenched fist makes him back off, raising his hands in
protest.]

GM:  Threatening a referee?  Despicable.  And he's refusing to cover the
young man.  This is uncalled for... completely uncalled for, Bucky.

BW:  Uh oh.  Look at this, Gordo!

[Standing near the head of the downed opponent, the Menace leaps into
the air, dropping one of his massive legs across the throat of Smith.]

GM:  Ohhhh!  Big legdrop right on target!  And that's gotta be it,
right?

[The Menace stays seated, waving Meekly to count.]

GM:  One.  Two.  Thr- oh come on!

[The crowd boos wildly as Menace rolls off of Smith, glaring at the
official who reprimands him.]

GM:  Give me a break, referee!  DQ him!

BW:  For what?

GM:  A deliberate attempt to put his opponent out of commission!

[The Menace slowly climbs to his feet, still staring at Meekly.]

GM:  He's trying to intimidate the referee on top of everything else. 
This guy is just a thug... a bully... and he's a hired gun on top of all
that?  Disgusting.

BW:  I kinda like 'im, Gordo.

GM:  No disrespect intended but you're not exactly who I would call a
great judge of character.

[The Menace reaches down, grabbing Smith by the hair to pull him off the
mat.]

GM:  He's still staring at Meekly.  

BW:  You gotta admit that it'd make you uneasy after a bit.

GM:  Less than a bit for me.

[With a mighty lift, the Masked Menace slings Smith over his shoulder in
a powerslam position...

...and then slides him over into a very more lethal position.]

GM:  No!  Not that!  Not the tombstone piledriver!  Come on, referee...
step in there and-

[Stepping to the middle of the ring, the Menace pauses...

...and then drops down to his knees, crushing the skull of Keith Smith
on the canvas.]

GM:  It's all academic from there.  One.  Two.  Three.


"DING DING DING!"


MC:  Your winner of the match at a time of three minutes and
thirty-seven seconds...

THE MASKED MENACE!

[The Menace, still kneeling on the canvas, raises a beefy arm in triumph
as Cannon makes the announcement.]

GM:  Let's take a look at the replay of that one.

[Cut to slo-mo footage of the Menace's brutal European uppercut earlier
in the match.]

BW:  What a shot that was, Gordo.  I thought for sure we'd be out here
picking up the kid's teeth after that one.

GM:  It was especially brutal for sure.

[More footage - this time of the big boot up under the chin that snapped
Smith down to the mat.]

BW:  Doing more damage to the dental work, the Menace hit the Heel-Toe
Express to great effect.  The match was probably over right there if he
wanted it to be.

GM:  Probably?  The Menace probably could have ended it just after the
opening bell if he wasn't such a sadistic thug, Bucky.

BW:  Well, like I said... "probably."

[And one final piece of footage as Smith's skull meets sudden impact
with the canvas courtesy of the tombstone piledriver.]

BW:  BIG tombstone piledriver.  He calls it the Unmarked Grave and
that's exactly where Keith Smith may be lying tonight after that one,
Gordo.

GM:  A dominating victory for the Masked Menace.

BW:  And for everyone else in the AWA, I think the message just became
very clear, daddy.  Don't get a price on your head or the Menace is
comin' for ya!

GM:  That's for sure.  Fans, right now, I understand that our broadcast
colleague Jason Dane is out n the parking lot area where Marcus
Broussard is apparently looking for- well, let's go out to Jason!

[We cut out to the parking lot area where we see Jason Dane standing in
a sportscoat with an AWA logo on the pocket.]

JD:  Thanks, Gordon.  And I am indeed in the parking lot of the WKIK
Studios where Marcus Broussard is-

[Broussard strides into view.  He does a double-take at the camera and
then looks at Dane.]

MB: Hey pal, have you seen Dufresne recently?

[Dane shakes his head.]

JD:  I don't think he's-

[Broussard growls and turns his back on Dane, looking to the camera...
or more specifically to the man running it.]

MB: Hey, peon, where's Calisto Dufresne?

[A voice comes from behind the camera.]

C:  No idea, man.

[Broussard shoves his way past Dane, walking through a doorway.  Dane
gestures for the cameraman to follow.  As the camera goes through the
doorway, we see Broussard in a hallway grumbling something about idiot
partners and strategy sessions, he finds that one of the corridors in
the nearby intersection has been blocked off by a wall.  Perhaps the
most unusual bit to this is the fact that said wall is loud, hairy,
wearing a black-and-floral silk outfit, and is Samoan.

Tumaffi is here, filling the hall with his presence (and girth).  His
back is to Broussard and the camera following him, as he seems to be
ranting and raving at something past him.  His deep bass voice booms
through the hallways, echoing ]

Tumaffi: ...AND SEE THAT YOU NEVER DARKEN TUMAFFI'S FIELD OF VISION
AGAIN, OR EVEN WORSE CATASTROPHE WILL BEFALL YOU!  TUMAFFI WILL NOT BE
SO MERCIFUL A SECOND TIME, NOW THAT MY SUPEREMINENCE HAS BEEN SO
CLEARLY DISPLAYED, AND...

[Well, being either fearless or insane, Broussard decides to interrupt
Tumaffi's ranting here.  He grabs Tumaffi by the shoulder.  At least, we
presume there is a shoulder under that hair, silk, and flesh.]

MB: Tumaffi. Tumaffi.

[No response.]

MB: TUMAFFI!

[Tumaffi seems confused.  He peers about curiously.]

Tumaffi: Did someone... no!  None, not even a mainlander, would descend
to such madness as to actually interrupt the great Tumaffi!  Perhaps
Tumaffi's righteous fury has caused a disturbance in space and time,
which Tumaffi mistook for some feeble-witted lemming tapping his mighty
shoulder.  That has been known to happen.

MB: Who is it you're talking to, again?

[Oh, NOW Tumaffi sees the source of the, uhm, 'disturbance in space and
time'.  He turns around... behind him, we see the Coke machine that he
was talking to... it is now laying on the floor, broken open, with cans
of soda lying about everywhere.  Come on, admit it, you too have ranted
at soda machines that ate YOUR money... it was probably more vulgar and
not as long-winded, but eh.

Tumaffi's eyes widen with surprise.  He leans over to peer curiously, as
if to determine whether or not this is a mirage, or someone really IS
interrupting his soda-machine vengeance.  Broussard peers at the soda
machine and rolls his eyes, putting a hand on his head.]

MB: Dufresne seems to have pulled a Houdini act, big fella, and I've
been trying to hunt you down to talk strategy. And you'd think that
wouldn't be too hard, seeing that you're impossible to miss, but little
did I know you'd be here punishing this soda machine for its crimes.
Do you have a moment?

[Once Tumaffi has poked Marcus's arm to assure himself that this is
really happening, he cuts off the much smaller man's rant with a
bellowing shout that would drown out small arms fire.]

Tumaffi: SILENCE!  TUMAFFI CARES NOTHING FOR YOUR UNEDUCATED OPINIONS,
MAINLANDER!  Indeed, Tumaffi has already completed the task which you
have failed to do, in informing the insect Dufrense of the strategy.
Tumaffi went into great detail about the many pieces in which his spinal
column would be shattered if he deviated from Tumaffi's master plan,
which involves Tumaffi using his mighty hands to crush his unworthy
enemies into tiny pieces, which I shall then jump on, which I shall then
pin, and then perhaps there shall be some further jumping or stomping or
perhaps even some random postmatch hold JUST TO BE CONTRARY!  Tumaffi
found it unsurprising that the mainlander boarded himself into a
separate locker room just as I was describing the way in which a man's
entrails leave his body when the ribcage is pushed down at a sharp
angle!  BUT THAT IS OF NO RELEVANCE!

[It is now Broussard's turn to be incredulous.  Not out of fear, or awe,
or any of the things lesser men feel around Tumaffi.  His face is going
through a series of contortions, each of which screams out one thing...
"is this guy for real?"  Finally, as Tumaffi deigns to take a breath,
Marcus attempts to stop the verbal onslaught.]

MB: Great, terrific. Now, listen, I've got an idea or four about how we
should approach this here match. You follow? I'm thinking-

[Once again, Tumaffi's voice booms out at a shocking volume.  A bit of
paint peels off a nearby wall.]

Tumaffi: TUMAFFI HAS ALREADY DECREED THE STRATEGY!  ARE YOU DEAF?!

[Broussard is busily trying to stop the ringing in his ears with his
fingers, his expression clearly that of a man with a headache.]

MB: Not until I found you kicking this soda machine.

Tumaffi: Tumaffi has no time to repeat the things which I have already
said!  That is because Tumaffi has already stated them, and also put
them into words!

[Okay, that statement breaks poor Marcus' mind.  He just turns and walks
away, shaking his head in disbelief, as Tumaffi continues to rant.  And
shout.]

Tumaffi: What need has a tsunami of strategy?!  Can any man bring
cessation to its violent winds and crushing waves?!  What man is there
that can restrain the lightning?!  There is none in all the world who
can do these things, and does the tsunami hold strategy meetings?  Or do
you not know that TUMAFFI IS A FORCE OF NATURE?!  Tumaffi does not
target body parts, he targets entire bodies AND DESTROYS THEM!  Tumaffi
laughs at the...

[Tumaffi pauses in mid-rant (which is very unusual), his arms still in
the air where he was shaking them to expound upon his point.  He notices
that Broussard has left.  But even that cannot stop a Tumaffi rant!]

Tumaffi: ...LAUGHS at the merest notion of resistance from his
overmatched opposition, whom I will surely annihilate in a...

[Okay, if we wait for him to stop, it'll be a six-hour show.  We fade
back to the ringside area where Gordon Myers is actually chuckling.]

GM:  Well, Bucky, it looks like one-half of tonight's main event is
having some trouble communicating.

BW:  It's not funny, Gordo!  You've got a mat genius like Marcus
Broussard trying to reason with a wild savage like Tumaffi and someone
who doesn't even want to be here like Dufresne!  This is a setup by the
promoters!

GM:  Please.  Give me a break, Bucky.  Fans, we'll be right back with
more AWA Saturday Night Wrestling so don't go away!

[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 
Royal Records - Houston, Texas
April 2

The Masked Menace
Dallas County Fairgrounds
April 3

Clayton Shaw 
South Dallas Shopping Center
April 5

Marcus Broussard
San Antonio Shopping Plaza 
April 7

Calisto Dufresne
Fort Worth Flea Market
April 8

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 back up on the announce desk.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans.  It's been an exciting night here so far in the
WKIK Studios and it's only gonna get better, I guarantee you that. 
We're rapidly approaching our Hour One main event... a tag team battle
between the Upper Crust and the team of Werewolf Gregorson and Despair. 
That's going to be a good one for sure.

BW:  Are the Russians here?

GM:  I don't know but I sure hope not.  We've had enough treacherous
thugs out here already tonight.

BW:  Speaking of which, that little punk Lambert is about to join us on
commentary for some reason.

GM:  He's an invited guest so please try to behave yourself.

[The crowd cheers as "Spitfire" Buddy Lambert emerges from the entryway,
already in his ring gear for his match later in the night.  He waves a
thankful hand at his fans and then walks over to the announce table
where he happily shakes the hand of Gordon Myers.  He offers his hand to
Bucky Wilde too... but Bucky ignores it, suddenly finding the latch on
his briefcase to be very interesting.]

GM:  Welcome to the announce team, Buddy!

[Lambert grins widely as he nods his head.]

BL:  It's my pleasure to be out here with you, Mr. Myers... and you too,
Mr. Wilde... I guess.

[The "Spitfire" chuckles at Wilde's disgusted reaction.]

GM:  Buddy, you were invited out here so that you can give us some
thoughts during the match featuring "Peerless" Jamie Lilas.  It was last
time on this show when Lilas seemed to have some negative words aimed in
your direction.  As far as I'm aware, you two have never had any
interaction before the AWA.  Is that correct?

[Lambert nods as he speaks into the mic.]

BL:  Absolutely correct, Mr. Myers.  I was surprised as anyone to hear
Jamie Lilas drop my name during his interview.  

GM:  No idea why he would do such a thing?

BL:  Your guess is as good as mine, sir.

GM:  Well, perhaps we can find out a little more as the match goes on. 
Let's go up to Melissa for the introductions!

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

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit.  Introducing first, already in the ring at this time...
standing 5'10 and weighing in at 190 pounds... from Tijuana, Mexico...
Lord Azteca!

[Some cheers for the spunky luchador.]

MC:  And his opponent...

[The opening guitar riff for 'Buses No Buses' by Bear vs Shark blasts
over the P.A. signaling the arrival of 'Peerless' Jamie Lilas.] 

MC:  Standing 6'3, weighing 225 pounds... from Duluth, Minnesota... he
is "PEERLESS" JAAAAAMIE LILAS!!

[As the lyrics hit, Jamie slowly strolls through the curtain. His cocky
face barely hides the disdain he has for the fans along the entrance
way, 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.]

GM:  And here he comes, Buddy.  Whaddya think?

BL:  From what I saw last time, he looks like a good competitor inside
the ring and a real bad seed outside.  

BW:  A bad seed?  You're straight out of a 50's sitcom, daddy!

[Lilas pauses in front of the announce desk, running his mouth for a bit
before he backs towards the ring, rolling under the ropes and popping to
his feet where he continues the trash-talk.]  

GM:  He's starting running his mouth in your direction already, Buddy. 
I hope you're able to keep your cool with all that going on.  I'm not
sure I'd be able to.

BL:  It's just talk, Mr. Myers.  If it stays that way, we'll be fine.

[Lilas leans over the ropes, screaming at Lambert.]

BW:  Maybe you should listen a little closer, Lambert.  He just called
you an "inbred redneck."

BL:  I heard him.  It's alright.  Let's just see what he can do inside
the ring.

[The referee calls for the bell...

...and Lord Azteca charges across the ring, scoring with a running
dropkick that knocks Lilas over the ropes to the floor!  The crowd roars
for the move!]

BL:  Hehehe.  He got too wrapped up with me and forgot he had an
opponent in there.  That's what happens when you like to talk a lot, Mr.
Myers.

GM:  I agree, Buddy.  Jamie Lilas needs to focus on the ring and not on
you if he intends to try to win this matchup.

[With Lilas on the floor, Azteca grabs the top rope strand, leaping into
the air...

...and swings down to snare Lilas in a rana on the floor!]

GM:  Whoooa my!  Lord Azteca is taking it to Jamie Lilas in the opening
moments of this one.

[Pulling Lilas off the barely padded concrete, Azteca chucks him under
the ropes into the ring.]

GM:  Back into the ring they go... Azteca up on the apron... slingshot!

[But as he somersaults into a senton...

...Azteca's spine meets the raised knees of Jamie Lilas much to the
dismay of the fans!]

GM:  Ooooh my.  That'll send you to the chiropractor in the morning.

BL:  It certainly will, Mr. Myers.  It's also one of the dangers of the
high-flying style.

BW:  Can I get in a word here or do you two want to continue your blind
date without me?  Should I light some friggin' candles?

GM:  You're certainly free to speak whenever the mood-

BW:  Listen here, "Spitfire."  Cut the Boy Scout crud!  We want to know
what you really think of Jamie Lilas!  The man insulted you, he insulted
your heritage... that doesn't make everything sunshine and pink bunnies,
daddy-o!

BL:  It doesn't make me happy to hear what he has to say... that's for
sure.  But I'm not about to-

[Lilas climbs to his feet, smirking at the downed Azteca and shouts
across the studio, "You see that, Lambert?!  You see it?!"]

BW:  He's talkin' at ya, daddy.

BL:  I hear him.

[Lilas turns to face his opponent as Azteca manages to pull himself off
the mat.  He quickly grabs the luchador by the mask and drags him along
the top rope, raking his eyes on the rope itself.]

GM:  Ropeburn by Lilas... blinding the luchador.  That's a blatant
disregard for the rules and the referee is letting him hear it right
now.

BL:  You know the shame of it all, Mr. Myers?  Lilas is a good wrestler
from what I've seen.  He doesn't need to do stuff like that... he just
enjoys it.

GM:  I believe you're right, Buddy.  Some insightful commentary there. 
You taking notes, Bucky?

BW:  ME?!  Why, I oughta-

[With Azteca sitting in the corner, clutching his eyes, Lilas drives his
boot down into the ribs a few times before pressing his boot onto the
windpipe of his opponent.]

GM:  Oh, come on, referee!

BL:  That's a choke right there.

BW:  You think?

[Lilas holds til the count of four before backing away, grinning at the
booing crowd...

...and then starts rhythmically clapping his hands at the crowd, mocking
their rally claps.]

GM:  He's mocking the fans now.

BL:  Now that's something I don't take kindly to, Mr. Myers.  The fans
mean everything to me... they mean all the world.  I won't tolerate him
doing that to them.

BW:  So he can make fun of you all he wants but if he makes fun of the
fans, you're going to throw a tantrum?

BL:  Not a tantrum.  I figure a right hand might knock some sense into
him.

BW:  Now you're the one talkin' big, daddy.

[Dragging the luchador off the mat by the mask, Lilas whips him across
the ring to the corner closest to the announce desk...

...and sprints across, leaping into the air to drive his knee into the
masked face!]

BL:  Now _that's_ a nice move.  If he stuck to that, he might be a hero
to these fans instead of runnin' 'em down.

GM:  Don't look now but I think he's trying to get your attention again.

[Lilas stands on the middle rope, pointing at Lambert.]

"You like that one, boy?!  You thinking of ripping it off later
tonight?"

[With a cackle, he hops down from the middle rope, stomping the downed
luchador to force him out onto the ring apron.]

GM:  The referee backs him away, trying to get Lord Azteca back into the
ring.  

[Lilas lets him work on that, facing the crowd and striking a mocking
double bicep pose to the jeers of the WKIK Studio audience.]

GM:  Azteca's on his feet out on the apron, barely able to stand on his
own.

[The Peerless One approaches, hooking a front facelock, and pushing
Azteca's windpipe down on the top rope.]

GM:  Another blatant choke!  Come on, referee!

BL:  This is ridiculous, Gordon.  I'm out here wanting to see a fair and
clean fight and this is what I get?  I've seen just about enough of
this.

GM:  He hooks Azteca... gonna bring him in the hard way...

[Indeed, Myers' analysis proves to be right as he hoists Azteca up in a
vertical suplex, bringing him crashing down on the canvas with a thud.]

GM:  Big suplex, floats over into a cover... one... two... no, Azteca
gets a shoulder up.

BL:  The luchador's showing some fight, Mr. Myers.

BW:  Useless though.  Just like it will be when it's you trying to "show
some fight" against Jamie Lilas.  He's gonna squash you like a bug just
like he's gonna squash this jumping bean soon enough.

BL:  You know, Mr. Wilde, I get the feeling you don't like me too much.

[Lilas regains his feet, driving the flat of his boot down into the gut
of Azteca, causing him to sit up straight.]

GM:  Looks like he's going for some kind of submission hold here.

[Stepping in behind the seating Azteca, Lilas grabs a wrist in each
hand, turning to make sure he's facing the announce desk.]

"BUD-DY  LAM-BERT!"

[Lilas shouts out the "Spitfire's" name in rhythm and then uses his grip
on Azteca's wrists to generate a "CLAP CLAP CLAPCLAPCLAP!"]

BW:  Hehehe... whaddya think of that one, "Spitfire?"

BL:  That's just a shame, Mr. Wilde.  He's trying to humiliate this
young man and embarass me at the same time.

[Lilas repeats the process, screaming "BUD-DY LAM-BERT!" and forcing the
luchador to clap...

...when suddenly Azteca slips free, rolling back to hook Lilas under the
arms with his legs, pulling him down in a cradle.]

GM:  ONE!  TWO!  THR- ohhhh!  Lilas kicked out!  Just in time!

BL:  His screwing around almost cost him there.  

BW:  He knew exactly what he was doing, daddy!

[An irate Lilas springs to his feet, hooking Azteca by the tights and
hurling him through the ropes to crash down on the concrete!]

GM:  Ohhhh!  I think Jamie Lilas might be a little upset at this point. 
He was embarassed right there and-

[Racing to the far ropes, Lilas rebounds back with a breathtaking tope
dive between the middle and top ropes that sends Lord Azteca sailing
across the ringside area, crashing down in a heap a few feet away from
the announce desk.]

GM:  Oh my... live and in color, this match just got brought to our
feet.

BL:  Take a step back, Mr. Myers.  I think this could get-

[Lilas climbs to his feet, stomping across the studios to retrieve his
downed opponent.  As he gets close to the announce table, he shouts out
at Lambert again.]


"You feelin' lucky yet?  Let's do this right now!"


[Lilas balls up his fist and strikes a fighting pose, screaming for
Lambert to get out from behind the desk and fight him.]

BL:  Just finish your own match, Lilas.  Don't bite off more than you
can chew.

[The irate Lilas drags Azteca off the floor, walking all the way back to
the ring where he fires him under the ropes into the ring.  He climbs up
on the apron, turning to point at Lambert.]

"This one's all for you!"

[Leaping into the air, Lilas springboards off the ropes, sailing through
the air...

...and dropping a knee down across the chest of the prone Azteca!]

GM:  Lord have mercy... what a kneedrop that was, Buddy.

BL:  You can't take anything away from him, Mr. Myers.  He's a
tremendous wrestler inside the ring.  It's just outside where I want to
shut his mouth.

GM:  No cover though.  He's pulling Azteca off the mat much to the
referee's dismay... and he's pointing directly at you, Buddy.

BL:  Alright, I've seen enough of this.

[Suddenly, Lambert is walking away from the announce desk, approaching
the ring where a smirking Jamie Lilas pulls Lord Azteca into a front
facelock.]

"This one?  This one's definitely for you, you hick piece of trash!"

[Reaching back to hook one of the legs, Lilas hoists Azteca into the
air...

...and _spikes_ him headfirst into the canvas with a fishermanbuster!]

GM:  OHHHHH!  

BW:  AP DRIVER!  AP DRIVER, DADDY!

GM:  That'll do it.

[Lilas rolls onto his back, striking an arrogant cover as he waves for
Lambert to get into the ring.]

GM:  One.  Two.  Three.


"DING DING DING!"


MC:  Your winner of the match in a time of five minutes and thirty-two
seconds... 

"PEERLESS" JAMIE LIIIIILAS!

[Lilas rolls off of his opponent, doing a couple quick pushups before
popping up to his feet to stare down at the popular Lambert who is just
outside the ring on the floor.]

GM:  And don't turn away for a second, fans... we may have a
confrontation right here and right now.

BW:  Lilas is waving him into the ring... practically begging him to
throw down right now, daddy!

[Lilas sits on the middle rope, gesturing for Lambert to join him inside
the squared circle...

...but instead, Lambert drops down to a knee as the battered Lord Azteca
rolls out to the floor by his feet.]

GM:  The "Spitfire" is checking on-

[The crowd roars to warn Lambert as Lilas steps out on the apron. 
Lambert immediately balls up a fist, striking a defensive posture as
Lilas pauses in his tracks.]

GM:  That cocky son of a gun was about to ambush Buddy Lambert when he
was trying to help out Lord Azteca, Bucky!

BW:  Lambert's being a coward... a complete and total coward not wanting
to get in there with Lilas so Lilas was gonna bring the fight to the
alleged "Spitfire."

GM:  But as soon as Lambert was ready for him, Lilas froze in his
tracks.  Who's the coward now, Bucky?

BW:  Lilas is biding his time.  He knows his chance will come, Gordo.

GM:  He's getting out of here now... walking right past Buddy Lambert
towards the locker room area.  Whew, boy.  This one is getting more
tense by the moment.

BW:  And what's going to happen when Jamie Lilas joins us on commentary
during Lambert's match in the Power Hour?

GM:  Oh dear.  I didn't even think about that.

BW:  That's why I get paid the big bucks.

GM:  I suppose so.  Fans, while we get some help out here for Lord
Azteca, let's go to a quick break.  And when we return, we'll be joined
by one of the men in tonight's big six man tag team Main Event!

[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 as Bucky and Gordon are
standing with the team of Werewolf Gregorson and Despair.]

GM:  Welcome back to AWA Saturday Night Wrestling, fans.  And at this
time, we are joined once again by the very popular duo of Werewolf
Gregorson and Despair, who tonight square off against the team of Bling
Bling Beaumont and Supersonic Shannon Stokes, The Upper Crust, in our
Hour One Main Event. Gentlemen, welcome back to AWA Saturday Night!

[Myers extends the mic to Gregorson who speaks first.]

WG: Thank you, Gordon, and its a pleasure to be here. You realize,
however, that, as important as this match might be, its not The Upper
Crust who Despair and I are looking to get in that ring with tonight.
But, as we both know, neither Kolya Sudakov nor his overweight and out
of shape partner, Vladimir Velikov, had the courage to sign a contract
after the underhanded way in which they attacked us last week.

[Despair nods his head, leaning over the mic.]

D: Seems real fishy that the two high and mighty Russians had to sneak
attack us in order to get one over on us. I know my history better than
some might believe. I know the Russian people have fought in harsh
environments and faced tremendous odds in the past. I also know that
historically they have faced adversity head on with an unflinching will.

Looks to me like maybe The Russian's bloodline has thinned out and
they've lost the fighting spirit of their homeland. And not signing on
to face us is nothing more than proof of this.

[Bucky Wilde edges in, intruding with a waggling finger.]

BW: I've heard a slightly different story. I believe Comrade Velikovs
exact words were that the two of you were weak and unprovenand not
worthy of facing true Russian warriors.

[Gregorson glares at Wilde, steering the mic back in his direction.]

WG: Why, thank you, Bucky, for bringing that up, because, while Despair
and I may still be unproven as a team, we are by no means weak or
unworthy. My partner is a former World Champion, you know, and Ive stood
toe-to-toe with men like Bad Eye McBaine and Chris Courtade

[Wilde does "spooky fingers"... yep, he did it.]

D: Not to mention that youve got a nice collection of title belts
yourself. The point is that both of us have slowly but surely made a
career out of facing men like Travis Lagrange, Spikyjim, and Ash. We've
had absolute wars with the best this business has to offer.  And we've
not only survived but we've thrived.

[Wilde mumbles something about "Spikyjim is the best?"]

WG: So it may just be that its Mr. Sudakov and Mr. Velikov who find
themselves the unworthy ones.

[Wilde speaks up again, feeling brave tonight apparently.]

BW:  Real impressive resumes there, daddy-o.  Spikyjim, Lagrange, and
Ash?  At least the other guy's got Courtade and McBaine's names to drop
on the table although taking on a mental midget with an accent and a
blind guy doesn't take much either.

[Despair looks pretty irritated now.]

D: Sure we're dropping a few names but we're doing it to prove a point.
Considering the most the Russians are dropping is- well, this is a
family show so let's just say they're changing their pants at the
thought of facing us in there.

[Gregorson points a finger at the former manager known as "Big Bucks."]

WG: The truth of the matter is, Bucky, that The Russians may just have
bitten off a whole lot more than they can chew by choosing to focus
their attention on us. So when and if they decide to act like men and
not like Russian Babushkas, Despair and I will be more than happy to
show them how worthy we really are to send them running back to Russia
with their tails between their legs.

[Wilde waves Gregorson off as he turns back to Gordon Myers.]

WG:  Now, as for our opponents tonight, while The Upper Crust might
think they have the upper hand because Despair and I are distracted by
The Russians, nothing could be further from the truth. In fact, The
Upper Crust may find us even harder to defeat for just that very reason,
because Kolya Sudakov and Vladimir Velikov have done the one thing
they'll soon live to regret.

They ticked off the two craziest guys in the AWA!!

[And as Gregorson cups his hands around his mouth and lets out a wolf
like howl much to his partner's delight. Despair throws up a pair of
devil horns and smiles like a lunatic as the two men make their way out
of view of the camera.]

GM:  Werewolf Gregorson and Despair, fans, and boy, are they ever ready
to face The Upper Crust here tonight!

BW:  Are you kidding me?  They just spent all their time talking about
the Russians!  Then they try to convince the world they're focused on
the Upper Crust because they're angry... at the Russians!  Face it,
Gordo.  These guys are looking for the Russians and if the Upper Crust
plays their cards right, they might be able to score a victory here
tonight and that would be huge for that young tag team.

GM:  It certainly would.  We're going to be talking with the Upper Crust
in just a few moments as it's almost time for our Hour One Main Event
but before we do that, I understand that Jason Dane is standing by just
beyond the entrance curtain with "The Athens Georgia Madman" Ron
Houston!  Jason?

[We cut to just behind the entryway where Jason Dane is standing next to
the mammoth man known as Ron Houston.  Houston's face is covered with a
mask of sweat that drips down it.  His iceberg blue eyes stare directly
at the camera from underneath a black cowboy hat.]

JD:  Thanks, Gordon, and indeed I am here with one-sixth of tonight's
main event!  Ron Houston, you may have seen earlier the communication
problems your opponents tonight will be facing... so how's your team
doing?

[Houston begins to speak in his rolling southern drawl, his voice as
steady as his glare.]

RH: Ah guess it goes without sayin'... that t'night we got ourselves an
interesting situation. 

[Dane gazes up at Houston who never even acknowledges that he's there.]

RH:  Ah'm not gonna come out here and lie to ya or the good folks out
there, Dane... Ol' Ron Houston has never been much of a team player. 

Ah've spent the better part of mah life skirtin' most circles. Walkin'
this here path alone. The proverbial drifter. Not 'cause "The Ol'
Madman" can't fit in. Not 'cause Ron Houston ain't no team player. But
because in mah humble opinion, a man's gotta walk his own path. Ain't
nobody gonna walk it for ya. 

[Houston stops speaking, closing his eyes as he inhales deeply.]

JD:  Mr. Houston?

[No response to Dane directly but he does begin speaking again.]

RH:  So when ah see here that ah'm expected ta come out 'tween those
ropes and team up with not one, but _two_ men.. well ah DO apologize but
it filled this ol' Southern boy with a bit of trepidation.

Cause like ah said, ah ain't gonna lie, and ah don't know Mark Shaw or
Ricky Royal any more than ah know the next stranger to pass by this here
walkin' carcass. So with all due respect, boys.. trust is earned it
ain't given. And if there's one thing ya should know about Ron Houston..
it's that he don't trust him no strangers. 

[Houston adjusts his hat before continuing.]

RH:  So ah guess what I'm tryin' ta say is, ah'll be watchin' my back
tonight, scouts. It ain't nothin' personal, ya could be two of the
greatest amigos a man could ever meet. Hell, maybe afterwards we can
head on out and grab us a couple of drinks and talk about ol' times..
but at least for tonight, know that ah'm lookin' out for number one...
so ah don't get number two'd on. 

["The East Coast Terror" runs his hand up over his face, wiping the
sweat away with his massive left hand.]

RH:  And as for mah oppenents... Broussard... Tumaffi... Dufresne...

[The Athens Georgia Madman breathes deeply before exhaling one final
time.]

RH:  ... rest assured that ah'd punch a hole straight through yer hearts
if ah thought the lot of ya had one.

Prepare for yer reckonin'.

[The camera holds steady on a two-shot of Houston and Dane... who looks
a little shaken by the intensity of the man standing next to him.]

JD:  You heard it, guys.  We'll be right back... don't go away!

[We fade out on the shot of Houston and Dane...

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 who now find themselves
surrounding by the three black men making up The Upper Crust - Bling
Bling Beaumont, "Supersonic" Shannon Stokes, and their mouthpiece "High
Profile" Darryl Styles.]

GM:  Welcome back to Saturday Night Wrestling, fans, and at this time,
we are joined by the men who will be competing in mere moments in our
Hour One Main Event - "Supersonic" Shannon Stokes and Bling Bling
Beaumont, The Upper Crust.

DS:  AHEM!

GM:  Oh, and of course, they are joined by their... umm... well, what
exactly is your role with the team, Mr. Styles?

DS:  I am their friend.  I am their ally.  I am their voice when they
have none.  I am the wind beneath their wings.  I am- well, basically
you can call me... their leader.

[Myers looks skeptical.]

GM:  I see.  Well, Mr. Styles, your team certainly has their work cut
out for them tonight.  I'm assuming you heard the comments earlier from
Werewolf Gregorson and Despair.

DS:  Barely, Gordo, barely.  You see, we were rollin' down the street
outside in my new Escalade, watchin' the ladies swoon and listenin' to
Miss Jackson If Yer Nasty croon.  We got back just a few moments ago and
everyone's tellin' us that these two goofs we're facing tonight are
lookin' past the Crust.  Is that right?

[Gordon starts to answer but Bucky Wilde interrupts.]

BW:  That's exactly right, Darryl Styles!  All they could took about was
Russians this and Russians that.  They barely even mentioned you guys. 
I think they think you're a cakewalk.

[Styles snorts.]

DS:  Well, I'm sorry to say to the Wolfman and his sad little buddy that
the Upper Crust ain't something you can look past, ya dig?  The Upper
Crust is _the_ premier group in wrestling today.  You've got
"Supersonic" Shannon Stokes - the man that the laws of physics can't
even hold down.  You've got Bling Bling Beaumont - the man so pimp,
you've gotta fight through a sea of women to even touch him.

And there's me.  The man who brings it all together... who brings it all
full circle, ya dig?  

[Myers interrupts.]

GM:  So, you're saying that-

[Styles interrupts BACK!]

DS:  I'm saying that if anyone should be worried about the Russians,
it's us, man.  We're the ones livin' the good life.  We're the ones
livin' the lifestyle that the Russians can't stand.  We've got the fancy
cars.  We've got the houses in the hills.  We've got the champagne
chilled and the ladies lined up for miles.  

[He leans forward, flashing a hand full of sparkling diamonds at the
camera.]

DS:  We've got more ice than the Arctic Circle, ya dig?

[Styles chuckles.]

DS:  And those two suckas we're about to get in the ring with?  The only
ice they know about is the stuff in their glass of Grape Kool-Aid.

[Stokes and Beaumont grin at the joke.]

DS:  So, this is how it's gonna go.  We're going to walk to the ring. 
We're going to fight those two suckas.  We're going to beat those two
suckas.  And then _we're_ gonna take on the Russians to see who the best
tag team in the AWA is, ya dig?

Believe that!

[And with that, the trio walks away from the announce position.]

GM:  Fans, a very confident Upper Crust - let's go up to the ring!

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

MC:  The following tag team contest is scheduled for one fall with a
thirty minute time limit and is your Hour One Main Event!

[The fans cheer!]

MC:  Introducing first, approaching the ring at this time, they are
accompanied by "High Profile" Darryl Styles... they are the team of
Bling Bling Beaumont and "Supersonic" Shannon Stokes...

THE UPPER CRUST!

[The trio steps into the ring to a pretty decent reaction from the
crowd.  Styles leaps onto the midbuckle in his stylish purple suit,
waving his arms like a nutball to get them to cheer louder.]

MC:  And their opponents...

[Metallica's "Of Wolf And Man" begins to blast over the PA system,
bringing some fans to their feet.]

MC:  At a total combined weight of 485 pounds... the team of...

WEREWOLF GREGORSON annnnnnd DESPAIR!

[Gregorson is the first through the curtain  in a pair of full-length
blood red tights with three silver claw marks on the side of each leg
and a black t-shirt with I Hunt Therefore I Am written across the front
in blood red Gothic script. Cupping his hands in front of his mouth and
letting out a wolf-like howl, he steps aside to make room for his
partner... who cartwheels into view.  

Despair is clad in a pair of black boardshorts and MMA style gloves. 
His wrists are both heavily taped with red and black tape as well.  His
black hair is cut short and spiked.  He looks quite manic as he glares
at the ring...

...and then sprints the distance, diving headfirst under the bottom rope
and throwing a right hand at the first person to be near him (which just
happens to be Darryl Styles who sails over the ropes to the floor as his
allies attack the fiery Despair.]

"DING DING DING!"

GM:  A frantic call for the bell to start this match and Despair didn't
waste any time.  He's fired up and he's ready for this thing to get
underway.  I understand he was very frustrated on the last show that the
Russians prevented him from being able to wrestle for very long.

BW:  And if I'm Despair or Gregorson... well, I'd probably hang myself
in the locker room.  But besides that, I've got eyes in the back of my
head looking out for the Russians cause you know they're comin' at some
point, daddy.

GM:  I would have to agree.  The Russians don't seem to be done with
these two - not by a long shot.

[With both Beaumont and Stokes battering Despair back into the corner
with a barrage of fists and kicks, Werewolf Gregorson dives into the
ring to join the fray.]

GM:  And here comes the big man.  6'8, 285 pounds and he will definitely
impact this one immediately.

[Sensing new danger, Beaumont peels off of Despair to meet Gregorson and
gets caught with a thrust front kick to the sternum that knocks him off
his feet.  Gregorson repeats the wolf's howl as he moves in on an
unknowing Stokes, hooking both arms...

...and _dumping_ him on the canvas with a released Tiger Suplex!]

GM:  Ohhhh my!  What a move by Werewolf Gregorson and just like that,
he's cleared the ring, Bucky!

BW:  The Upper Crust definitely needs to keep that big lug out on the
apron.  He's way bigger than either Stokes or Beaumont so they don't
want to tangle with him unless they can put him down on the mat, daddy.

GM:  Stokes and Beaumont are conferring with Darryl Styles, trying to
regroup out here before-

[With the opposition in conference, Despair quickly shoves past his
brawny partner and scales the top rope, facing away from the outside of
the ring...

...and _hurls_ himself through the air, crashing down onto all three
members of the Upper Crust with a breathtaking moonsault!]

GM:  OHHHHHHH!  A backflip dive to the floor by Despair!  We've got
bodies laid out everywhere on the floor, Bucky!

BW:  Both of these teams haven't wasted a second in getting this fight
going.

[Slowly climbing to his feet, Despair pulls Stokes off the floor,
shoving him back into the ring.]

GM:  Stokes rolled back in... and Despair rolls back in after him. 
Apparently Despair has decided who is going to start the match for both
teams.  

[Shrugging his shoulders, Gregorson steps out onto the apron as his
partner climbs to his feet, pulling Stokes off the canvas with him.]

GM:  We've got "Supersonic" Shannon Stokes and Despair starting this
match off here in the WKIK Studios and these fans are still buzzing from
that backflip, Bucky.

BW:  A tremendous moonsault by Despair.  I gotta give him credit where
it's due.

GM:  But he's back in the ring now, shoving Shannon Stokes back into a
neutral corner.

[With the speedy Stokes cornered, Despair decides to put his striking
skills to good use, lashing out with a snap kick to the ribcage that has
Stokes grimacing in pain.]

GM:  We've heard amazing things about the striking of this little guy,
Despair, and he's proving them absolutely correct in the early moments
of this matchup.

BW:  We're only about two minutes into this match and we've seen all
sorts of action.  The tag team division is off to a rip-roarin' start
here in the American Wrestling Alliance.

[A few more kicks have Stokes clinging to the top rope to stay on his
feet.  Despair grabs Stokes by the head, cradling it as he slams a hard
forearm into the jaw of his opponent.]

GM:  Switching from kicks to the body to forearms to the head.  Another
brutal forearm shot!  

BW:  We talked about someone losing their teeth from hard strikes
earlier tonight and I'm guessing Shannon Stokes may have a couple teeth
loose after those.

[A skull-splitting headbutt knocks Stokes to a knee... and actually even
wobbles Despair for a moment as he backpedals, shaking his head in an
attempt to clear the cobwebs.]

GM:  Despair a little dazed after that headbutt but he quickly
recovers... big corner-to-corner whip...

[And as the Upper Crust member slams backfirst into the other neutral
corner, Despair lifts his hand to the sky, spitting on his palm...

...and sprints across the ring while pulling back his hand.]

GM:  PALLLLLM STRIIIII- no!  

[The crowd cheers as Stokes drops down to the mat, front somersaulting
away from the dangerous shotay, springing to his feet and charging the
few steps back in.]

GM:  OHHHHHHHH!

[There's a collective groan in the WKIK Studios as Shannon Stokes scores
with a running Yakuza kick right to the side of Despair's face just as
he turned around to find his opponent.]

GM:  Stokes _drilled_ him with that kick and that may be our WKIK "Kick
Of The Night", Bucky!

BW:  It certainly could be.  And I hate to beat a dead horse but take
that, Seabiscuit!  We could be employing a backstage dentist before this
night is over, daddy!

GM:  Stokes moving in, pushing Despair back to the buckles...

[Stokes screams out, drawing some cheers from the fans as he lashes out
with a series of lightning-quick chops to the chest.]


"WHAAAAAAAAAAP!"
"WHAAAAAAAAAAP!"
"WHAAAAAAAAAAP!"
"WHAAAAAAAAAAP!"
"WHAAAAAAAAAAP!"
"WHAAAAAAAAAAP!"


[With the crowd still roaring, Stokes snapmares Despair out of the
corner and _blasts_ him in the back of the head with a brutal kick to
the skull!]

GM:  Ohhh!  What a kick by Stokes!

BW:  And the Upper Crust has this crowd whipped into a frenzy already,
daddy!  You have to wonder if that'll have any effect on Gregorson and
Despair as they obviously think of themselves as the fan favorites in
this one.

GM:  The crowd is fairly evenly split at the moment, enjoying the action
being put on by both teams and-

[With Despair flat on his back a few feet away from the corner, Stokes
leaps as high as he can into the air...

...and brings both feet down hard into the midsection of his prone foe.]

GM:  Oooh!  Double stomp to the gut!

BW:  And he's still standing on him!  Count him, ref!

[But before the Meekly can make the count, Stokes leaps back up into the
air in a breathtaking backflip...

...slamming down across the chest of Despair with a standing moonsault!]

GM:  Oh my stars!  Did you see that one, Bucky?!

BW:  A beautiful standing moonsault by Shannon Stokes... there's the
cover... here's the count...

GM:  One!  Two!  That's all though.  Despair easily slips a shoulder off
the mat to break the pin attempt... and you can hear the buzz in the air
from these fans.  They like what they're seeing in this one already.

[Stokes quickly gets back to his feet, pulling Despair off the mat as
well.]

GM:  Both men back to their feet... a hard forearm by Stokes knocks
Despair back into the corner of the Upper Crust and that's definitely
not where he wants to be, Bucky.

BW:  As someone who managed tag teams in this business for a long time,
I can tell you that's the first rule of tag team wrestling, daddy.  Stay
out of your opponent's corner.

GM:  That's for sure.  And there's a tag to Bling Bling Beaumont,
bringing the fresh man into the match.

[The crowd cheers the arrival of Beaumont who grins as he steps into the
ring legally for the first time in the match.]

GM:  Beaumont in... oh!  Nice jab there.

[Beaumont jigs around his prey a bit, snapping off repeated jabs to the
jaw of Despair and doing a little dance as he does so.]

GM:  Heheheh... Beaumont bringin' a little flash to the WKIK Studios at
the moment and-

[After a final jab, he lunges in, scooping Despair up into the air,
spinning around a couple times to show off...

...and slamming him down to the mat with a bodyslam.]

GM:  Big bodyslam by the man from Carson, California.  Both members of
the Upper Crust in this tag match are from California actually...
Beaumont from Carson and Stokes from Colton.

BW:  Stokes and Beaumont are both formerly students at the M-DOJO
wrestling school in Southern California, former World Champion Todd
Michaelson's training school.  They also both competed in both versions
of Pro Wrestling Revolution before coming to us here in the AWA.

GM:  Despair's down on the mat, Beaumont standing over him and-

[The former amateur high jumper deadleaps straight up into the air,
impressing the AWA faithful with his vertical leap...

...and drops a big leg down across the chest of his opponent, quickly
spinning into a lateral press.]

GM:  The legdrop connects and we've got another cover!  One!  Two! 
Nope, not enough to hold him down.  From what I've heard of Despair,
it's going to take a lot more than a bodyslam and a legdrop to keep him
down... even a sky high legdrop like the one we just saw from Beaumont,
Bucky.

BW:  Well, of course it will!  He's fought against Spikyjim and some guy
named Ash!

GM:  I sense sarcasm on the part of my broadcast colleague, fans.  You
may not like the man's resume but you can not deny his skill inside the
ring, Bucky.

BW:  So far, I've mostly seen him being slapped around by the Upper
Crust.  When I see some skill on display, I'll let you know.

GM:  Beaumont leans down, pulling Despair back to his feet... oh ho! 
Big chop to the chest sends Despair staggering backwards and-

[The crowd gasps as Beaumont deadleaps into the air again, this time
driving both feet squarely into the face of Despair, sending him sailing
backfirst into the corner, snapping his head in a whiplash-type effect
from the blow.]

GM:  Goodness!  A magnificent standing dropkick by Beaumont that sends
Despair to the buckles.  Beaumont is moving in on him now...

"WHAAAAAAAAAAP!"

GM:  Ooooh!  Big chop finds the mark!

[Beaumont takes a minute to talk to the crowd, asking if they want "one
more time?  One more?"]

"WHAAAAAAAAAAP!"

GM:  The fans wanted to see it so Bling Bling Beaumont is happy to
oblige.  You can hear Darryl Styles shouting a few instructions in here
to his allies.  Styles, of course, is the most experienced of these
three men so it's only fitting that he be giving them some advice.

[Again, Beaumont asks if the fans want another chop... of course, they
do.]

"WHAAAAAAAAAAP!"

BW:  Is this how Beaumont's going to fight the whole match?  Getting
crowd approval for every piece of offense?  No wonder the Russians are
the best tag team in the AWA.

GM:  That remains to be seen, Bucky.  The Russians have yet to take on a
top quality opponent like both of the teams inside the ring are doing
right now.

[Grabbing Despair by the wrist, Beaumont fires him across the ring and
then charges across after him.  At about the three-quarter mark,
Beaumont leaps into the air, twisting through the sky while extending
his arm...

...and coming up with a chestful of buckles as Despair dives out of the
way of the Tornado clothesline attempt.]

GM:  OHHH!  Beaumont missed the big move in the corner... Despair's
looking for a tag... Beaumont's staggered but he's looking to stop him
and-

[And Despair leaps towards his corner, slapping the outstretched hand of
Werewolf Gregorson to a big cheer from the WKIK Studio audience.]

GM:  TAG!

[Gregorson steps into the ring, immediately knocking the lanky Beaumont
off his feet with a running clothesline.]

GM:  Down goes Beaumont!

[With the crowd cheering him on, Gregorson spins to make sure Stokes
isn't coming in...

...and then drills the rising Beaumont with another running clothesline
that knocks him off his feet!  He slaps at his own chest, drawing more
cheers from the crowd.]

GM:  And it looks like Werewolf Gregorson is fired up, fans!  He's on
the attack, flooring Beaumont... and just as quickly, he pulls him to
his feet by his afro... 

[A hard irish whip sends Beaumont across the ring where he rebounds
back...

...and gets thrown through the air to the mat courtesy of a big back
bodydrop!]

GM:  Baaaackdrop!  What impact on the spine of Bling Bling Beaumont and
for the first time in this matchup, the Upper Crust is in some trouble,
Bucky.

BW:  Well, this guy is the muscle for his team.  He should bring the
high impact style that might get them back into the match.  

GM:  Beaumont is down and-

[The crowd has a very split reaction as Gregorson drills Stokes with a
forearm as well, knocking him off the ring apron to the floor.]

BW:  Cheapshot by Gregorson!

GM:  I think he got caught up in the moment, Bucky.

BW:  Excuses, excuses.

GM:  Stokes is down, Darryl Styles is racing to help him.  Gregorson is
standing behind a recovering Beaumont... waiting... measuring... 

[The crowd buzzes as Gregorson looks fit to pounce, his fingers wiggling
with anticipation as Beaumont finally gets back to both feet...

...and promptly gets caught in a rear waistlock before being hoisted
into the air and dumped hard on the back of his head and neck with a
German Suplex!]

GM:  Big suplex by Gregorson!  

BW:  No bridge though.  Right into a lateral press...

GM:  ONE!  TWO!

[Beaumont fires a shoulder off the mat at about the 2 1/4 count,
breaking the pin attempt.]

GM:  Not enough to keep Beaumont down... not yet.

[Gregorson is right back on the attack, showing incredible intensity as
he yanks Beaumont off the mat by the back of the tights, pulling him
right into a side waistlock.]

GM:  A belly to back suplex right here.  He lifts...

[But at the peak of the lift, he swings Beaumont around and _drives_ him
down with a sitout powerbomb!]

GM:  Ohhh my!  That might do it!  ONE!  TWO!  TH-

[The crowd roars with a mixture of frustration and relief as Beaumont
fires a shoulder off the mat again.  Gregorson slaps the canvas in
frustration as he shoves himself back to his feet...

...to where Despair leans over the ropes, slapping his partner's
shoulder to tag himself into the match.]

GM:  Despair tags himself in!

BW:  Well, that was stupid.  His partner is cleaning house in there!

GM:  Nevertheless, Despair is now the legal man with Bling Bling
Beaumont.  Gregorson pulls Beaumont up... Despair's going up top!

[Leaning over, Werewolf Gregorson hoists Beaumont up on his shoulders in
an electric chair lift and turns towards the corner where Despair has
scaled the ropes...

...and leaps off the top, scoring with a mile high dropkick that sends
Beaumont crashing down to the canvas.]

GM:  A unique doubleteam move right there... Despair is hurt as well
though.  That big fall took a lot out of him as well, fans.

[But it's Despair who is the first to stagger to his feet, clutching his
back as he does so.]

BW:  He came right down on his back, Gordo.  That had to do a lot of
damage, I'd think.

GM:  You may be right.  Despair is definitely moving a little slower
than he was earlier in the matchup.

BW:  A lot slower if you ask me.  

GM:  Beaumont is up to a knee...

[Despair meets him coming up, applying a front facelock.]

GM:  What's coming up here?

[Pointing to the buckles, Despair cries out "Tornado DDT!"  Almost
immediately afterwards, the voice of Melissa Cannon is heard over the
PA.]


"TEN MINUTES HAVE ELAPSED!  TWENTY MINUTES REMAIN IN THE TIME LIMIT!"


GM:  Twenty minutes left in the time limit for this one.  Despair is
going for a DDT... but Beaumont's fighting it!  Beaumont peppering the
midsection with some short jabs, trying to-

[But Despair cuts him off, driving home a few knees to the skull of his
opponent, weakening his resolve.]

GM:  Here he goes!

[Running towards the corner, Despair runs up the ropes, spinning back
out of the buckles...

...where Bling Bling Beaumont shoves him off, sending him crashing
chestfirst down to the mat!]

GM:  And a big counter by the Upper Crust!  That could change the tide
in this one yet again, Bucky!

BW:  Despair was going for a tornado DDT and Beaumont somehow threw him
off.  That definitely turns the tide!  Momentum is back the other
direction now for the Upper Crust!

GM:  Beaumont is leaning in the corner, trying to recover from that fall
off the shoulders of Gregorson.  Both men's partners are calling for the
tag.

BW:  If Despair wasn't so overeager to get in there and fight, his team
wouldn't be in this position right now, Gordo.  He was not ready to get
back in the match and his decision to do so just cost his team bigtime,
daddy!

GM:  Despair slowly getting back to his feet...

[And as he does so, Beaumont charges out of the corner, leaping into the
air where he pumps his leg back and then drives it squarely into the jaw
of the recovering Despair!]

GM:  What a kick!  What a move by Beaumont!

BW:  The bicycle kick by Beaumont finds the mark and both men are down! 
It took all of Beaumont's energy to connect with that and- oh come on. 
Somebody shut these fans up!

GM:  The fans are trying to rally behind their favorites!

[The rhythmic rally clap slowly starts up, growing faster, and faster,
and faster...

...and finally, it drives Beaumont to his feet where he lunges and slaps
the hand of Shannon Stokes, who sprints into the ring just as Despair
gets to a knee...

...and _blasts_ the rising Despair with a leaping knee strike to the
face with blazing speed driving it.]

GM:  Whoa!  Can someone say "Supersonic?!"  ONE!  TWO!  Nope... not yet.

[A frustrated Stokes yanks Despair off the mat, snapping him over with a
lightning-quick suplex.]

GM:  Snap suplex by Stokes!  He really took him down hard with that one.

BW:  And if you remember, Despair's back was injured on that flying
dropkick he hit earlier in the match.  Stokes may be zeroing in on that
right here. 

GM:  He pulls Despair up...ohhh!  A backbreaker!  And you called it
again, Bucky!

BW:  It's exactly what I would suggest if I was managing them.  Good 
call by Darryl Styles, Gordo.

GM:  And you can hear Styles telling him to "hit it again."

[Stokes flips Despair to his stomach and leaps up, driving a stomp down
into the kidneys.  Outside the ring, Styles shouts "Again!  Again!"]

GM:  Two more flying stomps to the kidneys and this could spell trouble
for Gregorson and Despair, Bucky.

BW:  The fans seem to be turning on Stokes a little for the vicious
stomps but hey, this is a business.  The name of this game is winning. 
You can't let the fans drive your decisions inside the ring, daddy.

GM:  Stokes is standing on the back of Despair, putting more pressure on
the lower back... ohhhhh!

BW:  Leaping kneedrop to the kidneys!  That'll do some damage!

[More than a handful of fans boo the kneedrop, Stokes looking irritated
at the reaction he's getting.  He angrily kicks Despair in the ribs,
pushing him over towards the Upper Crust corner where Stokes makes the
tag.]

GM:  Beaumont coming back in.  Is that a mistake?  He just got out of
there moments ago.

BW:  It might be, daddy.  We'll have to find out.

GM:  Both men in there with Despair... double whip...

[And as Despair rebounds back, Beaumont and Stokes pick him up, each
holding a leg...

...and whip him back down so that his spine rattles against the canvas!]

GM:  A modified spinebuster by- a cover!  One!  Two!  Th-

[The crowd cheers as Despair fires a shoulder off the mat to break the
pin attempt.]

GM:  They still can't keep the sparkplug known as Despair on the mat. 
This guy has tremendous resiliency and fighting spirit, Bucky, he just
refuses to stay down.

BW:  Listen to Darryl Styles, daddy!  He's screaming instructions to his
boys.  He's trying to keep them focused on the matter at hand.  Don't
worry about the fans.  Don't play for the cheers.  Play for the win,
daddy.

GM:  Beaumont's back to his feet, he's nodding his head at Styles... he
likes what he's hearing, I guess.  He pulls Despair off the mat,
scooooop... and he slams him down hard to the canvas!

[With his opponent down on the mat, Beaumont exits the ring and quickly
starts to scale the ropes.]

BW:  High risk offense coming up here, Gordo.  This kid can fly, that's
for sure.

GM:  To the second rope... now to the top...

[Standing atop the ropes, Beaumont pauses, then leaps high into the air,
plummeting downwards...

...and slamming tailbone-first into the canvas!]

GM:  He missed!  He missed the flying legdrop!  Despair rolled out of
the way just in time and both men are down again... both men are-

[The crowd roars as Despair reaches up, slapping the hand of Werewolf
Gregorson once again.]

GM:  In comes Gregorson, pulling Beaumont off the mat...

[He quickly hooks the side waistlock, hoisting Beaumont into the air,
and bringing him down hard on his bent knee.]

GM:  ATOMIC DR-

[But as soon as Beaumont's feet touch the canvas, Gregorson switches to
a rear waistlock and _snaps_ his opponent over with a bridging German
Suplex!]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE-


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  SHOULDER UP!  JUST BARELY GOT THE SHOULDER UP!

[Seeing his partner in trouble, Stokes speeds across the ring towards
the rising Gregorson...

...who somehow manages to catch lightning in a bottle, or in this case
his arms, and _plant_ him with a spinning powerslam!]

GM:  Powerslam!  Gregorson has taken them both down again!

[Snatching Stokes off the mat, Gregorson _hurls_ him through the ropes
and out to the floor.]

GM:  He clears out Stokes.  Gregorson is alone in the ring with Bling
Bling Beaumont!  

[Dazed and confused, Beaumont staggers to his feet, right into the
waiting arms of Werewolf Gregorson who hoists him up...

...and then presses him high over his head.]

GM:  Goodness!  Look at the power!  A gorilla press by Werewolf
Gregorson and-

[Without warning, Gregorson races towards the ropes and sends Beaumont
sailing over the ropes, crashing down onto a recovering Shannon Stokes! 
The crowd erupts for the move!  Gregorson cups his hands, howling to the
crowd who return the favor as he yells for Despair to go up top.]

GM:  Despair's going up top!  He's battered and bruised but he's heading
for the top rope.

BW:  I don't like the looks of this one at all, Gordo.

GM:  Despair on the ropes... what in the world?

[The crowd starts to buzz as Gregorson steps out to the apron, moving
over to the corner where Despair is perched.  Together, they wait a
moment as Beaumont and Stokes start to stir...

...and that's when Gregorson reaches up, grabbing his partner, and
_hurls_ him off the ropes onto the dazed Upper Crust!]

GM:  OHHHHHHHHHH!

BW:  ROCKET LAUNCHER!  ROCKET LAUNCHER TO THE FLOOR!

[With the crowd roaring and bodies strewn everywhere on the floor,
Gregorson joins the fray, leaping off the apron into the pile.  He casts
a menacing warning look at an approaching Darryl Styles before throwing
Shannon Stokes back into the ring.  He pulls up his partner as well,
patting him on the shoulder before rolling him back in.]

GM:  Gregorson's on the floor trying to get bodies back in the ring.  He
wants to win this inside the ring, Bucky.

BW:  A win's a win, Gordo.  That's what I used to tell my clients.  He
should've taken the countout.

[He shoves Beaumont under the ropes as well just as Melissa Cannon's
voice is heard again.]


"FIFTEEN MINUTES, FIFTEEN MINUTES, FIFTEEN MINUTES GONE BY!"


GM:  We've reached the halfway point in this one and as Werewolf
Gregorson rolls under the ropes into the ring... I gotta think these
teams must be running low on gas, Bucky.

BW:  They've been givin' it their all for fifteen minutes, daddy.  The
gauge must be dippin' pretty low.

[Gregorson grabs Beaumont, drilling him with a pair of right hands in
the corner.  He turns around, pulling Stokes to his feet as well.]

GM:  He's got Stokes on his feet now... pulling him into a standing
headscissors... maybe a piledriver?  Maybe a powerbomb?

[But before we can find out, Darryl Styles leaps up on the apron,
shouting at Gregorson...

...who quickly tosses Stokes aside, cocking back a fist which causes
Styles to drop back to the floor.]

GM:  Styles trying to buy his charge some time.  Trying to-

[And as Gregorson turns around, Stokes _explodes_ with a hard forearm,
following by a spinning back elbow, and immediately leaps into the air,
lashing out with a kick to the skull that causes Gregorson to fall back
into the corner!]

GM:  Ohhh!  Where did that come from!?

BW:  I have no idea but apparently Styles managed to buy Stokes enough
time to suck it up from somewhere to do that.  And now the Upper Crust
needs to capitalize.  They need to-

GM:  BEAUMONT!

[Racing across the ring, Beaumont leaps into the air, rotating, and
driving home the Tornado clothesline on a dazed Gregorson!]

GM:  Ohhh!  Big flying clothesline connects!

BW:  Despair is still down on the mat... he's of no help at all right
now to Gregorson.  He's of-

GM:  Ohhhhh!  

[The crowd groans along with Gordon as Stokes hits a high speed baseball
slide kick to the ribs that knocks Despair back to the floor.]

GM:  We've got both members of the Upper Crust alone in the ring with
Gregorson now.  The referee is trying to get one of them out of there
but he's not having any luck.

BW:  They've got him in the corner, Gordo!  This is it!

GM:  Battering Gregorson in the corner, punches, kicks, stomps, you name
it.  Everything but the kitchen sink being thrown at Werewolf Gregorson
right now in that ring.

[Stokes and Beaumont pull back, exchanging a high-five as most of the
crowd boos their handiwork.  Styles can be heard screaming for them to
"finish him!  Finish him now!"]

GM:  They're dragging Gregorson out to the middle of the ropes...


"WHAAAAAAAAAAAP!"


GM:  Big chop by Beaumont.

[Stokes buries a few boots into the ribs of the big man, trying to keep
him at their mercy.]

BW:  Uh oh.

GM:  What?

BW:  Despair's on his feet!  The Upper Crust doesn't know it yet but
Gregorson's partner is up on his feet on the floor... and he's trying to
get up those ropes!

GM:  Come on, kid!

[With Stokes and Beaumont battering Gregorson against the ropes, Despair
slowly is pulling himself up the ropes.]

GM:  Double whip by the Upper Crust... double clothesli- ducked by
Gregorson!

[And as the big man from Alaska rebounds off the ropes...]

GM:  SPEAR!!  SPEAR!!  HE HIT THE SILVER BULLET!

[The crowd _erupts_ as Gregorson rocks Shannon Stokes with a
body-breaking spear tackle.  A surprised Bling Bling Beaumont quickly
turns around...

...and eats two feet to the face courtesy of a desperation missile
dropkick thrown by Despair that sends Beaumont sailing through the ropes
and out to the floor!]

GM:  DESPAIR TAKES OUT BEAUMONT!!

BW:  Styles is on the apron!

[And as soon as Gregorson spots him, he grabs Despair by the back of the
shorts, spins around twice and _hurls_ him like a spear at the Upper
Crust manager...

...which sends Styles sailing off the apron and crashing down to the
floor!]

GM:  FASTBALL SPECIAL ON STYLES!  STRAIGHT OUT OF THE PAGES OF A COMIC
BOOK!

[A dazed Stokes pushes off the mat, staggering towards Gregorson who
catches him around the head and neck, hoists him up into the air...

...and _slams_ him down with a bone-rattling Uranage!]

GM:  DOWN GOES STOKES!  GREGORSON PLANTED HIM AND-

[And Despair dives on the downed Stokes like a rabid animal, wrapping
his arms around the head and throat while scissoring the body with his
legs.]

GM:  Some kind of a sleeper applied here!

BW:  It's a rear naked choke!  A modified sleeperhold!

[Despair hangs on tightly as Meekly dives down to check the victim...

...and frantically calls for the bell as Stokes slaps the arm of
Despair!]


"DING DING DING!"


[The crowd explodes as Despair breaks the hold, being yanked to his feet
to celebrate with Werewolf Gregorson as Melissa Cannon struggles to be
heard.]

MC:  YOUR WINNER OF THE MATCH IN A TIME OF EIGHTEEN MINUTES AND SEVEN
SECONDS...

WEREWOLF GREGORSON AND DESPAIR!!!

[The duo celebrates in the ring but quickly make sure their eyes are
locked on the entryway...

...just in case.]

GM:  An amazing victory for Gregorson and Despair!  What a match we just
witnessed, Bucky!  Fans, we're already in the Power Hour and we've gotta
take a quick break!  Don't go anywhere!

[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 
Royal Records - Houston, Texas
April 2

The Masked Menace
Dallas County Fairgrounds
April 3

Clayton Shaw 
South Dallas Shopping Center
April 5

Marcus Broussard
San Antonio Shopping Plaza 
April 7

Calisto Dufresne
Fort Worth Flea Market
April 8

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 back up on the announce desk.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans... and whew, boy, I've got to admit I'm pretty
tired after the match we just witnesses, Bucky.

BW:  ...

GM:  Bucky?  You alright?

BW:  Hrmm?  Oh yeah, I'm fine.

GM:  Your comments on our last match?

BW:  It was a tremendous match, that's for sure.  And a big win for
Gregorson and Despair.  But...

GM:  But?

BW:  Well, where were the Russians?

GM:  I don't-

BW:  Come on, Gordo.  You, me, the camera guy, Gregorson, Despair, every
person in this building were expecting the Russians to come out here
during the match, after the match, something.  Where were they?

GM:  I have no idea but I'm very glad we have not seen them here
tonight.  Fans, as exciting as our first hour was, we've still got
plenty here in the Power Hour.  We've got that huge six man tag team
main event and let me just say, those guys have their work cut out for
them if they think they can top what we just saw.

BW:  Plus, Jamie Lilas is going to be out here to tell us exactly what
he thinks of that Buddy Lambert redneck.

GM:  We've also got the debut of Texas wrestling superstar, Erik Reid,
in what should be an electrifying moment here in the WKIK Studios.  And
much, much more.  And with that, let's head up to-

[Suddenly, the fans packing the bleachers of the WKIK Studios snap their
 heads towards the aisle as ZZ Top's "Sharp Dressed Man" blares through 
the studio's speakers and the curtain parts like the Red Sea.  And from 
it emerges a prophet in his own right (and in his own mind), "The 
Ladykiller" Calisto Dufresne.  Dufresne is dressed in a pair of dark
blue  designer jeans and a white t-shirt that says nothing more than
"CLIENT #8" with a lipstick outline of a set of lips.  His blonde hair
flows down past his shoulders and his eyes are covered by a pair of
Aviator sunglasses.   

Behind Dufresne comes his small army of lawyers, led by the esteemed T. 
Myers Jackson who is dressed in a conservative navy blue suit.  The 
lawyers shuffle quickly towards the announce table with Dufresne taking 
his time, shaking his head with disdain at a few out of shape AWA fans. 
 

Gordon Myers meets Dufresne's attorney, microphone in hand.] 

GM:  Hello, Mr. Jackson.  Welcome back to AWA Saturday Night Wrestling. 

[Jackson scoffs.] 

TMJ:  You can cease with the forced pleasantries, Mr. Myers.   

[A puzzled look crosses Gordon's face.] 

GM:  But- 

TMJ:  But nothing, Mr. Myers.  I have a brief statement to make, and
then my client wishes to make a few comments of his own. 

Earlier this week, the law firm of Jackson-White-Clark and Tinley
received a proposed settlement offer from the AWA corporate office. 
Paltry doesn't begin to describe it.  We were drafting a counter offer
to the AWA when received word that they planned on scheduling my client
for yet another match this week, this time in the main event.  We want
to make it very clear that the AWA's attempt to appease my client by
making him top billing of the organization is ludicrous.  In fact, it is
just another example of AWA's deplorable treatment of a humble, hard
working individual.  By expecting him to carry these events on his
shoulders while paying him far less than market value, the AWA is
showing its true colors.  We denounce these actions by the AWA and will
proceed with litigation. 

And now I'd like to turn it over to my client. 

[Gordon Myers approaches Dufresne, who is jawing with a nearby fan, not 
paying much attention to what has transpired.] 

GM:  Calisto, I understand you would like to re-introduce yourself to
the fans of the AWA. 

CD:  Gordie, you peon, let's get two things straight here.  First off,
the stunning figure that is Calisto Dufresne needs no introduction.  And
secondly, I don't give one iota of a crap about any of the out-of-shape
pigs in this building. 

[Boos shower Dufresne.] 

CD:  With _that_ being said, I want to make clear that I won't be
commenting on pending litigation against this dump of an organization
that is stealing from me.  I have a family to feed.   

GM:  According to your biography, Calisto, you don't have any children
and aren't married. 

[A nod from Dufresne.] 

CD:  No kids that I _claim,_ Gordie.  Lord knows there's enough women
out there who would love to hit me with a paternity suit; praying every
night that the little crumb-snatcher that came from their womb is
blessed with genes from the Ladykiller. 

[Give me a break.] 

GM: Very classy.  Do you have any comments on your match this evening in
the Main Event? 

CD:  Being in the Main Event is nothing new to Calisto Dufresne.  Being
the headliner of an organization is nothing new to Calisto Dufresne. 
And running roughshod over every supposed "superstar" that the promoters
can produce is nothing new to Calisto Dufresne either. 

GM:  Any comments on your partners in this match, Marcus Broussard and
Tumaffi? 

[Dufresne shakes his head slowly, letting out a loud sigh.] 

CD:  Broussard uses some tactics I would _never_ engage in, like low
blows and needing others help to win matches...

[Where are tapes of PWR matches when you need them?] 

CD: ...but that is to be expected from lesser talents.   

As far as that monstrosity Tumaffi goes...

[Dufresne pauses; choosing his words carefully for once in his life.] 

CD: ...Well, he's a few tongues short of a French kiss if you know what
I mean. 

[...] 

CD:  But with Calisto Dufresne's stunning good looks and unmatched
wrestling skill on their side, any deficiencies they may have can be
overcome. 

[A nod, a wink and a smile.  Dufresne's attorney steps in, cutting off
Myers' next question.] 

TMJ:  That's all the time my client has for today.  We will be in
contact with the AWA corporate offices very, _very_ soon.  Good day. 

["Sharp Dressed Man" begins to blare once again as Dufresne and company 
retreat to the locker room, boos cascading down on to them from the 
fanbase.]

GM:  Well, fans.  The mystery is solved.  We saw Marcus Broussard trying
to track down Dufresne earlier tonight and now we know why... Calisto
Dufresne has no desire to be found by either of his partners.  How on
earth can they possibly expect to co-exist in the ring tonight, Bucky?

BW:  Huh?  Hey, do you know where he got those sunglasses?

GM:  Oh brother.  Let's go up to Melissa!

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

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit.  Introducing first, already in the ring at this time,
standing 6'4 and weighing in at 235 pounds... from Sweetwater, Texas...
Kendall Stanton!

[A mild reaction for the lanky youngster.]

MC:  And his opponent... standing 5'11 and weighing in at 215 pounds...
now residing in Miami, Florida...

"SHOWTIME" RICK MARRRRLEY!

[As "It's My Life" by Bon Jovi begins to play over the PA system, the
crowd 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.]

GM:  One of the great high-flyers here in the AWA, Rick Marley is pure
excitement inside that ring.

BW:  You know when Marley will excite me?  When he signs against someone
like Tumaffi and ends up on the business end of a big splash.  The day
someone scrapes this bug out of the ring with a spatula will be a great
day for me.

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

GM:  The fans with a pretty good reaction to Marley.  I know he was a
little disappointed his last time out because the fans weren't solidly
behind him.  But it's going to take a while, Bucky.

BW:  He can't have it both ways, Gordo.  Either he's a baby-kissin',
hand shakin' Boy Scout or he's a winner... period.

GM:  Marley down off the ropes, waiting for the bell to ring and-


"DING DING DING!"


GM:  Here we go!

[Marley strides out to the middle of the ring, looking up at the much
taller Stanton and says a few words.]

GM:  What could he possibly have to say right now?

BW:  He's just runnin' his mouth like he always does, daddy.

GM:  Stanton nodding his head, looking a bit agitated.

[Marley finally steps back, pointing to the ropes.  Stanton nods his
head and he races to those ropes, rebounding back...

...and knocking Marley flat with a running shoulder tackle.]

BW:  Haha!  He really thought he could take one of those from Stanton,
heck... from anyone?!

GM:  Marley looking a little sheepish as he gets back to his feet.  What
the- he's telling him to do it again!

BW:  What an idiot!

[Stanton smirks, hitting the ropes once more... and Marley races to the
adjacent ropes.  The two run back and forth in an old fashioned criss
cross for a moment.]

GM:  I haven't seen one of these in years, Bucky.

BW:  It went out with horse-drawn carriages and makin' sure women didn't
get the vote.

GM:  Bucky!

[Stanton slams on the brakes, setting for a hiptoss as the speedy Marley
sprints towards him]

GM:  Hiptos- no!  Marley lands on his feet!

[And immediately pops back into the air, connecting with a standing
dropkick right to the face of Stanton!  The crowd roars for the
dropkick!]

GM:  Nice dropkick sends Stanton to the mat... but right back up he
comes and-

[The crowd cheers as Marley hits another dropkick, again sending Stanton
down.]

GM:  Another beautiful dropkick knocks the kid from Sweetwater off his
feet.  Up again though... this kid is double tough and-

[This time, Stanton charges with a bit more fire, allowing Marley to
sidestep, tossing Stanton backfirst into the turnbuckles where he
quickly follows him, drilling the Texan with a running clothesline!]

GM:  Clothesline in the corner by Marley... up to the midbuckle he
goes...

[Balling up his fist and giving a whoop of triumph to the crowd, Marley
starts raining down punches on his opponent.]

"ONE!"
"TWO!"
"THREE!"
"FOUR!"
"FIVE!"
"SIX!"
"SEVEN!"
"EIGHT!"
"NINE!"
"TEN!"

[From his perch, Marley quickly jumps up to plant his feet on the body
of Stanton as he grabs his head and falls back, flipping Stanton through
the air before dumping him onto the mat!]

GM:  Niiiiice monkey flip by Rick Marley!  And it's Showtime here in the
WKIK Studios as we're rockin' already, Bucky.

BW:  This Marley guy has all the flashy moves.  He pushes all the right
buttons to make these idiots cheer him.  But at the end of the day, it's
all flash and no substance, daddy!

GM:  Marley stays on the offense, not letting up for a moment.

[A pair of quick right hands puts Stanton up against the ropes.]

GM:  Irish whip and Marley hits the ropes as well...

[The lanky Texan ducks under a running clothesline, both men hitting
opposite ropes to rebound back...

...where Stanton drops down to the mat, ducking under a wild flying
forearm attempt that comes up empty.]

GM:  Ohhh!  Nobody home on the flying forearm by Marley!

BW:  And that's why they call it high risk, Gordo!

[With Marley down on the mat, Stanton leaps up, driving the flat of his
boot down into the back of the head.]

GM:  Big stomp by the Texan, trying to take advantage of the mistake by
"Showtime" Rick Marley.  He pulls Marley up by the hair and-


"WHAAAP!"


GM:  Oof!  Sharp uppercut up under the jaw knocks Marley back against
the ropes.  That's a dangerous place to be against a guy the size of
Stanton.  He can really use his length to cut the ring off right there
if he wants to.

[Stanton buries a hard right hand into the gut of Marley, doubling him
up before driving a double axehandle down across the back of the neck.]

GM:  Big sledge hammer blow down on the neck and that puts Rick Marley
on the canvas again.

[Winding up his arm, Stanton drops an elbow across the chest of Marley
and looks to cover him.]

GM:  Lateral press gets him a one... a two... and Marley draps a leg
over the ropes.  Too close to the ropes.

BW:  A rookie mistake by the kid from Sweetwater, Gordo.

GM:  Stanton looks a little embarassed by that as he pulls Marley off
the mat.  Oooh!  Big forearm sledge across the chest of Marley, making
him suck some wind there.

BW:  A blow like that will knock the wind out of you for sure.

[Grabbing the wrist, Stanton fires him off to the ropes.]

GM:  Marley off the ropes... backdr-

[But Marley spins as he approaches, backflipping over the backdrop
attempt and as Stanton turns...]

GM:  SUPERKICK!  He calls it the Casting Call!

[The blast from the superkick knocks Stanton back into the ropes and as
he bounces back, Marley buries a boot in the gut.]

GM:  Uh oh!  This is how he won last time, Bucky!

[Applying a front facelock, Marley quickly spins and spikes Stanton's
skull into the mat with a diamond cutter.]

GM:  It's all over.  One.  Two.  Three.


"DING DING DING!"


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

"SHOWTIME" RICK MARRRRLEY!

[Marley raises a triumphant hand to the cheers of most of the WKIK
Studio audience.]

GM:  Let's take a look at some of the action in this one.

[Cut to slo-mo footage of Marley front-flipping through the hiptoss and
scoring with a standing dropkick to the face.]

BW:  A nice counter to the hiptoss.  Flashy but nice.

GM:  Effective too.

BW:  Whatever.

[The backflip over the backdrop attempt before connecting with the
Casting Call superkick.]

GM:  Is that our WKIK "Kick Of The Night?"

BW:  No.

GM:  Are you sure?

BW:  Even if it is, I'm not calling it that.

[And finally, the spinning diamond cutter known as the Limelight.]

GM:  And there's the Limelight, simply devastating its victim.  Another
victory for "Showtime" Rick Marley who is about to join us here at
ringside.

BW:  Oh joy.

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

GM: Add another impressive win here in AWA for "Showtime" Rick Marley.

BW: You managed not to get squashed like a bug again.  I owe the janitor
ten bucks.

[Marley rolls his eyes and turns slightly to ignore the flamboyantly
dressed color man.]

RM: Thanks, Gordo.  I'm just trying to show the folks here in Dallas
that the whole 'new leaf; thing is legit this time.  I've seen the
light...turned the corner...made the switch...

BW: Memorized all of the cliches.

GW: Well, given your past, you can't really blame them for being a bit
hesitant to embrace you...you've shown that while you're a talented and
exciting competitor, you have a habit of looking out for yourself more
than worrying about doing the right thing...

RM: And y'know...that's fair.  I get that.  I'm just thinking now that
there's no reason that I can't look out for number 1 AND do the right
thing, y'know...and in the meantime I can put on a show to bring 'em out
of their seats night in and night out...

BW: You sure will.  They'll head for the bathroom every time.

RM: Only if they're dodging you, Bucky.  Listen, I'm not expecting
anyone to take me at face value... I'm not even asking for anyone to
like me...but the fact is that no matter what else happens, they're
gonna see a show.

[Marley smiles, patting Myers on the shoulder before heading to the
back.]

GM: That's "Showtime" Rick Marley in his continuing quest to earn the
trust of the fans once again.

BW: HUGE waste of time...

GM:  Fans, don't go anywhere, we'll be right back with yet another man
in tonight's big main six man tag team main event!

[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 as Bucky and Gordon are
standing.]

GM: Welcome back, fans.  Joining us now is a man who will take part in
our massive six man tag main event later tonight. Here he is, ladies and
gentlemen, the Hellion, Mark Shaw.

[Shaw steps forward, already in his ring gear. Not surprisingly, the
taciturn Hellion is all business, looking straight ahead, ignoring the
cheers of the fans.]

GM: Well, tonight Mr. Shaw, you will take part in a massive six man tag
team event, partnering with the Rockin Rebel Ricky Royal....

[Shaw, a dismissive look on his face, takes the microphone.]

MS: Yeah, Mr. Alliteration himself. I guess his parents werent big on
the whole imagination thing.

GM: .... And the both of you will be joined by The Athens Georgia
Madman, Ron Houston. A man who I must remind you, Mr. Shaw, is larger
than you are. Which is certainly something thats impressive.

MS: Yeah, hes bigger than me. But is he better than me?

GM: Well, I certainly dont need to remind you that both men had very
impressive debuts last week.

MS: Yeah, they did, and all the credit in the world to em. Im impressed
by both men. And that aint something I say a whole lot.

GM: Speaking of that, it is well known that you are, how shall we say?
Not possessed of the worlds friendliest disposition. How do you expect
to get along with your two partners tonight?

MS: How do I expect to get along with two guys I dont know, two guys
wholl likely, at some point, be standin in the way of me gettin what I
want. Lemme ask you, Myers, how do you think Im gonna get along with
Royal and Houston?

GM: It doesnt sound like it will be an easy task for you, Mr. Shaw. But
let me remind you, that you must get along with them tonight, if you
want to win.

MS: Oh, I can work with em all right. All they gotta do is stay outta my
way. Houston and Royal, they got it real easy tonight. All they need to
do is stand on the apron and let me do what I do best, hurt people. 
Play your cards right boys, and I may let ya have a couple of minutes in
the ring during my match.

GM: With an attitude like that, Mr. Shaw, Id daresay that you may
encounter some difficulties facing off with your opponents. And you have
three very dangerous men in Marcus Broussard, Calisto Dufresne, and the
ever unpredictable Tumaffi.

MS: Unpredictable? He aint that unpredictable. I hit him, and hell go
down. You can predict that every... single... time.

GM: Nonetheless, these three men...

MS: Are all in my way Myers. One man, two men, three men, bring em all
out, one after the other. People that are in my way get knocked down.
People that want to fight me wake up askin what happened. Do I look like
Im sweatin any of these guys? If you think I do, then you better get
your eyes checked.

Now look, its true, Im in a tag match. And I aint exactly a team player.
But there is one thing, and one thing only, that matters to me.
Competition. And if this is the competition Im in, then Im aimin to win.

There are five men in the match, but Im only concerned with one of em.

[Shaw jerks his thumb towards himself.]

MS: Tonight, its what its about every night. Competition, and provin Im
the best. Houston, Royal? You wanna hang with me? Then you just do your
thing and stay outta my way.

And if youre thinking about doin something different?

Well, just take a look at what I do to those three idiots who have the
bad luck to be fightin me tonight.

[Having said what he had to say, Shaw stalks off.]

GM: And there you have it. Mark Shaw, the Hellion, one truly intense
individual.  

BW:  Is it just me or do absolutely none of the six men in our main
event trust one another?

GM:  It certainly sounds that way.  We have yet to hear from Ricky Royal
but I believe we are scheduled to before the main event.    Fans, coming
up next we have the second half of our Guest Commentator matches
tonight.  Please welcome at this time... a winner earlier tonight...
"Peerless" Jamie Lilas.

[Lilas bursts through the curtain to much booing from the AWA faithful. 
He cups a hand to his ear, nodding his head happily as he gives them a
thumbs up and works his way over to the announce table.]

GM:  Mr. Lilas, welcome to the announce desk.

JL:  Oh, thank you, Mr. Myers.  It's my honor to be out here with you to
call this next match.  I've watched you since I was a little boy and you
truly are a legend in our business.  An icon.  "The Voice of
Professional Wrestling."  This is one of the greatest thrills of my
life.

GM:  ...

JL:  Oh, come on.  You didn't enjoy my Buddy Lambert impression?

BW:  Hehehehe.  Good one!

JL:  Wait, wait... I know why you didn't laugh, Gordo.  You didn't get
who it was.  Let me try it again.  Well, I'll be shucked to the ground
and back, Mr. Myers.  This next match is gonna be crazier than a
coonskin cap on the 4th of Jooo-ly!  Y'know, Misser Myers, I's a-been
watchin' you on the rabbit ears since I was a bump in my mama's fat,
beer belly and you's be the bestest talkin' guy on the rasslin'
forevers!

[Lilas cackles like an idiot as he finishes a horrific Southern
impression.]

GM:  I don't find that to be very funny at all quite frankly.  Not only
are you insulting Buddy Lambert but you're also insulting all of our
fans from the South.

JL:  Well, golly Jim howdy, I sure didn't mean to do that, Misser Myers.
 I do loves me the fans.  Especially the girls.  You know, they make me
feel funny in my overalls.

[Now Wilde joins Lilas in the chuckling while Gordon Myers simply shakes
his head.]

GM:  Fans, this is going to be interesting.  Let's go up to Melissa!

JL:  YEEEEEEHAW!

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

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit.  Already in the ring at this time, from Oklahoma City,
Oklahoma... standing 6'3 and weighing in at 260 pounds... MAX STEEL!

[The former bodybuilder strikes a big double bicep pose to the jeers of
the fan.]

MC:  And his opponent...

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

MC:  Ladies and gentlemen... hailing from Brentwood, Tennesse, weighing
in this evening at 240 pounds...

"SPITFIRE" BUDDY LAMBERT!

[Lambert steps into the entrance way to a big ovation! He waves to the
crowd, 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 rin.]

GM:  Here comes 22 year old Buddy Lambert!  A man that many consider the
future of this business.  

JL:  22?!  I'm even younger than he is!  Don't believe the hype, people.
 You're looking at the REAL future of this business.

[As Lambert reaches the ring, he climbs up on the apron where he shoots
a fist into the air, much to the delight of the fans in attendance.
Lambert launches himself over the top rope and jogs around the ring for
a moment. Buddy then removes his waist length ring jacket, which is
white, sequined with an image of flames coming up from the bottom and
has "Spitfire" emblazoned on the collar in red stitching. He hands it to
the ring attendant and continues getting loose, ready for the bell.]

GM:  Lambert looks like he's ignoring you up there, Mr. Lilas.  Unlike
you who were completely focused on him during your match.

JL:  Ignoring me?  Not quite.  You know Gordo, Buddy Lambert is scared
of me.

GM:  Scared of you? I highly doubt that!

JL:  He is! The other day I was going to 'Stu's Big Shop of Healthy
Eatin'', which by the way is the only decent place to eat in this
backwater berg, And Buddy was across the street, when he turned and saw
me he HAULED it outta there... although Big Stu's IS right beside the
Library. Maybe he's just scared of books Gordo.

GM: You are absurd. 

[The bell finally rings, starting the matchup.]

GM:  And we're underway.  Buddy Lambert circling... and right into a
collar and elbow tieup.

[Lambert immediately pulls out of the tieup, clutching the wrist of Max
Steel and promptly twisting the massive arm into an armwringer.]

GM:  Nice armlock applied, torquing that big bicep of Max Steel.

[Steel looks for a way to counter as Lambert pulls the arm under his own
applying an armbar.]

GM:  Switches from the armtwist to the armbar... and now to the armdrag!
 Nice chain wrestling on the arm of Max Steel and the former bodybuilder
ends up on the canvas.

JL: Gordo, Buckster I have to give you credit. If I had to come out here
every week and call snoozefests like this, I would probably find another
line of work. Taxidermy would probably be more exciting. And the animals
you worked with would have way more going on upstairs than the 'Inbred
Messiah'.

BW [laughing]: Inbred Messiah!/?

JL: You can use that Bucky, I respect you brother!

GM:  Should I excuse myself and leave you two alone?

[Another tieup results in Steel easily forcing the smaller man back into
the ropes.  The referee steps right in, calling for a break.]

GM:  The ref looking for a clean break here.

JL:  This is where I'd jab a thumb in Lambert's eye and waffle him with
a tire iron.

GM:  That's very sportsmanlike.

JL:  Do I get paid more if I win clean?

[Steel backs off... and then lunges back in, driving a shoulder into the
gut of Lambert.  He quickly hooks the smaller man by the wrist, hurling
him easily to the ropes.]

GM:  Lambert off the ropes and-

[The crowd cheers as he takes to the air, connecting with a high cross
bodyblock that knocks Steel off his feet.  Lambert springs up, fists
balled up and getting the crowd pumped.]

GM:  Steel is slow to get back to his feet... right hand by Lambert! 
And another!  And a third!  He's rocking the big man with those big
right hands!

JL:  Excuse me, Gordo... aren't those illegal?

[A dazed Steel fires a slow right hand that Lambert easily ducks,
hooking his opponent from behind and hoisting him into the air...]

GM:  He's got Steel up... holding... holding...

[And _drops_ Steel down with his tailbone getting slammed by the raised
knee!]

GM:  ATOMIC DROP AND A BIG ONE!!!

[Steel doesn't go down from the move, instead grabbing his tailbone and
slowly moving around the ring.]

GM:  That took some of the wind out of the big man's sails, that's for
sure.

[With Steel still wobbly, the fired up Lambert riles up the crowd even
more by spinning his hands round and round one another, winding up so as
Steel turns around...]

GM:  OHHH!  Big right hand takes Steel off his feet!

JL:  Are you sure this guy doesn't cheat more than me, Gordo?  Those
look like illegal punches to me.

[With Steel on his knees, begging off, Lambert waves his arms to the
crowd, asking for their help.  He cocks his fist, pointing at the
kneeling Steel, waiting to see if the fans want him to deliver the
role...

...when Steel lunges forward in a double leg takedown, propping his feet
up on the middle rope!]

GM:  He's got his feet on the ropes!  One!  Two!  Thr- Meekly caught
him!  Meekly caught him!

[The angry Meekly kicks the feet off the ropes, breaking the pin attempt
and immediately getting up in Steel's face to reprimand him for the
attempted cheating.]

GM:  He almost stole the win right there, Bucky.

BW:  Don't tell me about it.  Tell our guest.

GM:  I'd rather not.

[Lambert springs up to his feet, taking Steel down from the impact, and
immediately starts battering the downed Steel.]

GM:  Fists of fire!  Rights and lefts by the Spitfire!  And- what have
we here?

[The crowd begins to buzz as the vivacious Sunshine Stevens walks
through the entryway, slowly making her way to the ringside area.]

GM:  And it looks like the lovely Ms. Stevens has taken an interest in
Buddy Lambert, Bucky.

JL:  Wait a second!  She wants him?!  Does she even know I'm here?

GM:  I think-

JL:  Shut up, Gordo!  HEY!  HEY, SUNSHINE!

[Sunshine's gaze drifts over to Lilas, who is waving his arms like a
nutball trying to get her attention.  She smiles, returns the wave, and
then looks back at the action in the ring.]

GM:  Looks she knows you're here, Jamie.

JL:  This doesn't- I don't get it!  I don't understand this at all!

GM:  Well, we know Buddy Lambert is quite popular with the ladies and-

JL:  Give it up, Gordo!  No woman in her right mind would pick that
redneck piece of trash over "Peerless" Jamie Lilas!

[Lambert pulls off of Steel, pumping his fists to the cheers of the
crowd...

...and the applause of Sunshine Stevens who eyes Lambert appraisingly.]

GM:  An enchanted moment.

JL:  An enchant- Gordo, you've seen too many movies.  The geeky Boy
Scout doesn't get the girl.  The stud does.  In fact, watch this right
now!

[Suddenly, Lilas walks away from the announce desk, making his way
towards Sunshine Stevens', whose eyes have not left the ring since
arriving.]

GM:  Well, that gets rid of him.

BW:  I'd leave you for her too.

[Lambert pulls Steel off the mat, backing him down with a chop and
firing him across the ring... 

...and scooping him up in an airplane spin on the rebound!]

GM:  AIRPLANE SPIN!  HERE WE GO!

[And as Lambert spins round and round and round, Jamie Lilas reaches
Sunshine Stevens, grabbing her shoulder to turn her towards him.]

BW:  Check this out, Gordo.  This is how you score a lady.

[Sunshine shakes her head at Lilas, pointing at Lambert.]

GM:  Oh yeah?  Looks like he's not having-

BW:  Shut up, Gordo!

[Lilas gets a little more heated now, pointing at Lambert, then
gesturing to himself while striking a single bicep pose.  Sunshine
smiles but keeps her eyes on the ring.]

GM:  The airplane spin goes round and round... and he deposits Steel on
the mat!  He saw what's going on at ringside.  He's trying to get over
there and-

[The crowd boos wildly as Lilas grabs the wrist of Sunshine Stevens,
causing her to yelp in pain.  A dizzy Lambert leans over the ropes,
screaming at Lilas to let her go...

...and he gets drilled from behind with a running forearm by Max Steel!]

GM:  Steel catches him from behind!  Lambert left him on his feet and I
think he- whip!

[The irish whip sends Lambert to the ropes where he rebounds back to
find Steel ducked down for a backdrop...

...and quickly applies a front facelock, dropping down to the canvas
with a thunderous DDT!]

GM:  DDT!!  A DDT BY LAMBERT!  That's how he won his match last time
and-

[The crowd roars for the move... but then collectively gasps in shock as
Lambert passes up the lateral press, instead climbing to his feet and
glaring at Lilas who is still clutching Sunshine's wrist.]

GM:  He's- did he just pass up the win?

BW:  What a maroon!

GM:  Lambert is- no!

[The "Spitfire" races across the ring, dropping down into a baseball
slide aimed at the skull of Jamie Lilas...

...who with a hard tug of his arm, pulls Sunshine Stevens towards him,
causing Lambert's feet to _slam_ directly into the back of Sunshine's
skull!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  Oh no.  Oh dear lord, no.  He didn't mean- that wasn't supposed to
happen, Bucky.

BW:  So you say!  Buddy Lambert just assaulted an innocent woman out
here!

GM:  You stop it, Bucky!  He did not intend to kick her.  He was going
for Lilas and that cowardly snake pulled a woman in front of himself to
block the kick!  This is all Jamie Lilas' fault!

[Lilas beats a quick retreat as a stunned and horrified Lambert drops to
his knees on the floor, cradling the head of the injured Sunshine
Stevens.]

GM:  Lambert is screaming for help.  We need to get some help out here
for Sunshine Stevens.  We need to- get away from here!

[Myers tries to pull the mic back from Jamie Lilas who has approached
the announce booth.  The Peerless One snatches the mic away from Myers,
screaming into the camera.]

JL:  You see that, Myers?!  Look at your hero now, people!  Look at your
hero now!  

GM:  This is your fault!  This is all your fault, Jamie Lilas!

JL:  There's two sides in the world, Myers.  The Hyuck hyuck, let's all
be good to each other, and ONLY play fair, and the realistic side that
knows you have to do WHATEVER you can to win. I'm the second side. And
this whole world would be MUCH better off if they followed me. I might
not be abl;e to change the world, but I can change the AWA, and I will.
And Buddy Lambert is going to be the first casualty.

[Lilas smirks.]

JL:  Well, second.  Get well soon, Sunshine.

[Lilas cackles as he wanders away from the announce desk.  Gordon Myers
shakes his head, looking disgusted at what he just saw... and heard.]

GM:  Fans, we need to get some help out here for Sunshine Stevens thanks
to that snake Jamie Lilas.  Let's- well, we'll be right back - don't go
away.

[A closeup of an anguished Buddy Lambert screaming for help as Sunshine
Stevens lies unconscious in his arms...

...and we fade to black.

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

"Have you ever dreamed of fame?"

[Cut a little closer.]

"Of glory?"

[A little closer.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Two young students are grappling on the canvas.]

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

You want to wrestle!"

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

...and then back up on the announce duo, Gordon still looking very
solemn.]

GM:  Welcome back to AWA Saturday Night Wrestling.  Before we go any
further, just a quick update on the condition of Sunshine Stevens.  The
EMTs say she may have a minor concussion so she is being taken to the
nearest Emergency Medical Center right now for further testing.  We will
give you any updates we receive before we go off the air tonight.

BW:  Poor girl.  Lambert really did a number on her.

GM:  It was an accident and you know it, Bucky.

BW:  Sure... sure.

GM:  Fans, we've had a wild night so far and we're not done yet.  We
still have our big six man tag team Main Event to come and- speak of the
devil, look who we have here!

[Into the frame walks"Ragin' Rebel" Ricky Royal. Ricky wearsa pair of
red trunks witha confederate flag design on the back as well as a
sleevelessred "Frisco Rough Riders" t-shirt.]

GM:Hello, Ricky Royal!Welcome! 

RR: Well, thank ya. But there ain'tno devil in me, Gord'n. Just a good
ol' boy looking for a good ol' fashioned rasslin' match!

[Gordon chuckles.]

GM: It's good talking to you again, Ricky. How you feeling about this
match tonight?

RR: I gotta say, Gord'n, I'm jus' a li'l confused, if I'm bein' honest
with ya. Looks like they got me in some kinda tag team match.

GM: That's right, a six man tag matchteaming up you, Mark Shaw, and Ron
Houston.

RR: Now that's what's got me scratchin' my head. I signed up here in AWA
to get in the ring one-on-one one with another man and battle it out
till one of us is standin' and the other one i'n't. But now I'm havin'
toprove m'selfin a tag team match b'fore I even get a chance to prove
m'selfon m' own merit.

GM: Well, Ricky, someti-

RR: I know what you're gon' say, Gord'n, I know. And don't get me wrong,
I'm not complainin'. I'm grateful fer every chance I get. It's just...
unexpected. Thing is, I got some 'sperience rasslin' tag team. I'm a
former tag champion, ya know.Used to team up with m' brother. And m'
daddy was a former champ with HIS brother, too. So, tag teamin's in my
blood, just like reg'lar rasslin'. 

Butif I'm bein' totally honest with ya, Gord'n, I hav'n't had a lick a
discussion 'bout this match withwith Mark Shaw or Ron Houston. Neither
a' them's my brother, a' course. Fact is, I barely spoke a single word
to either of 'em ever 'bout anything. But that don't mean nothin'. I'mma
go out to that ring tonight and prove to all these fans here in this
building just what Ricky Royal's made of!

[Raising his hands over his head, Ricky turns to the fans seated near
the announce desk and reaches his hands out, drawing big cheers from the
fans and hollering like a madman. Then he turns back to Gordon, his face
as red as a tomato.]

RR: Woo-eee, Gordon! Goddang! When's this match get started, anyway?

GM: Not for another little bit, Ricky. Just hold your horses. I've got
another question for you, though. One of the men you're facing off with
tonight is the massive 400 pound SamoanTumaffi. What are your thoughts
about going up against a man like that?

[Ricky looks at Gordon for a second and then pauses, seeming confused.]

RR: My thoughts 'bout going up 'gainst Tumaffi? Well, I guess I don't
have many thoughts 'bout it. I'm Ricky Royal and this is--this here--

[He points all around him, at the fans, the ring, the announce table.
He'sgesturing all over the building.].

RR: This iswhat I's born to do. Don't got much to say 'bout Tumaffi.
Yeah, he's a big mammajamma, no doubt 'bout that, but I'll be damned if
Godput mountains on this Earthwithout expectin' us to climb 'em!

GM: Well said, Ricky!

RR: Thank ya, Gordon. And thanks for havin' me, but I think it's about
time I go get m'self ready for this match.

GM: Of course! Thanks for your time, Ricky!

RR: M'pleasure! Anytime.

[With that, Ricky turns to the crowd, slaps a few more hands, waves
goodbye and walks off.]

GM:  Well, that's the final member of our main event... and we can now
confirm that there's not a single soul in that match that's happy about
it.  Six men... all of which want to beat the tar out of one another
instead of working together.  This could be an explosive main event
that's not too far away now.

BW:  Every man out for himself in that one.  That could make things very
interestin', Gordo.

GM:  You'd better believe it.  Fans, coming up next, we have a very...
special... treat for you.  One of the first major signings made by the
AWA was "Hotshot" Stevie Scott - someone who has been suffering from a
very severe case of the flu and was not cleared to wrestle for both our
first show as well as tonight.

BW:  He was in bad shape there for a while, Gordo.  I hear he even had
to have his assistant change the TV channel for him.  That's how weak he
was.

GM:  Give me a- regardless, after the encounter he had with Tin Can Rust
on the last Saturday Night Wrestling, the AWA wanted to get those two
together in the ring.  And if it wasn't to wrestle, well... then we
wanted to at least see Stevie try to talk his way out of what happened
last show.

BW:  What happened last show?!  You mean when Tin Can Rust physically
assaulted a man who was too ill to wrestle?!  Is that the "happening"
you're referring to, Gordo?!

GM:  I disagree with your description of it but that's exactly what I'm
talking about.  So, with that in mind... the AWA proudly presents the
very first edition of "Stevie's Hotspot."  

[Cut to the ring, where we're set and ready to go for the first (and
maybe last if this goes as it probably will) edition of "Stevie's
Hotspot." And an elaborate set it is, too, consisting of two folding
chairs and a round end table in between them with a half-dead potted
plant on said table. Jimmy Kimmel is jealous.

And standing there is your unflappable host, Stevie Scott, wearing his
flowerdy Hawaiian shirt, bermuda shorts, loafers sans socks, and stubble
to show that he can, indeed, grow facial hair. His dirty blond hair is
pulled back into a pony tail as usual.

OK, so let's get to it.]

HSS: HELL-OOOOOOOOOO

[That's the Seinfeld "hello" voice, by the way.]

HSS: And welcome one and all to the very first edition of "Stevie's
Hotspot!" The talk show that has an awful name. Seriously, whose idea
was this? Did I pay someone to come up with that?

[Stevie looks around for an answer that he's obviously not getting
before pointing at a photographer at ringside.]

HSS: You. You're fired. And don't ever bring that weak marketing in my
house again.

[Ignoring the fact that the photog hasn't moved, Stevie presses on.]

HSS: But being the consummate professional that I am, I shall press on
through the adversity and deliver some serious talk show...type...stuff
in a way that only "Hotshot" Stevie Scott can do it.

Now, I have a special guest tonight, but before I bring this old fossil
out here, I would like to take un momento to update you all on my
condition. Obviously, my throat is much better tonight...which is good,
'cause it'd be hard to do a talk show if I couldn't talk...BUT!

[Stevie holds up an index finger and pauses for dramatic effect.]

HSS: It just so happens that I strained my left triceps doing some
serious skull crushers the other day, and I do not have medical
clearance to compete at this time.

[Pretty much no reaction, but when has that ever stopped Stevie?]

HSS: I know, I know...I feel the same way. The same way. But fear not!
Because Stevie Scott _will_ heal fast...I'm like that dude from X-Men in
that regard...Spartan or something...and Stevie Scott _will_ be
wrestling in an AWA ring near you in the very near future! But until
then, allow me to demonstrate my mad talk show hosting skillz.

[Yep, that's "skillz" with a "z."]

HSS: My first guest is a man who needs no introduction. I guess. I
really don't know who this is, other than the fact he's got a really
dumb name. So give it up for TIN! MAN! CRUST!

[Merle Haggard's "Fightin' Side of Me" plays over the speakers, bringing
some cheers to the AWA fans in attendence. The cheers and the song
continue... and continue... and continue... but no Tin Can Rust.]

HSS: OK. Wait. I might have got skillet's name wrong. Let me think here.

[Stevie scrunches up his face and animatedly taps his temple.]

HSS: Alright, let's try this. So give it up for THIN! JAM! LUST!

[The music starts up again, and this time a reluctant Tin Can Rust comes
out of the entrance. He's dressed in a plaid shirt and jeans and looks
none-to-pleased about coming out to the ring. He acknowledges the fans
as he passes by, but shakes his head mostly as he looks up at Scott in
the ring. Before he enters, TCR looks around for an extra microphone,
but finds none.] 

TCR: Look, I ain't comin' out here for much longer, so whatever you got
meanin' to say, you better do it right quick. I ain't no playin' man and
I ain't playin' none of your games, ok?

[Stevie smirks. I guess it would be a STEVIESMIRK~!]

HSS: Yeah, I gotcha. And from the looks of you, you ain't no exercisin'
man, either. Is that your stomach or a spare Michelin under there, man?

[TCR is about to respond, but Stevie ignores that and keeps rollin'.]

HSS: S'anyway, about your name. I mean, come on, no-playin'-man...what
kind of name is Jim Jam Dust, anyway? Sounds like a cryptic drug
reference if you ask me. Seriously man...the people want to know...who
is the REAL Win Dan Gust?

TCR: No, who are you, son? Where I come from, there ain't no Stevie
Scott talked about none. All I done heard of ya is ya had some cups o'
coffee here 'n there and that's that. 

[Stevie doesn't get the cup of coffee reference. See below.]

HSS: Yeah, I've had a few cups of coffee in my day. Had one this
morning, in fact, down at the Starbucks. Good stuff, gets me good and
alert for this talk show hosting business. Hard work it is.
Alright...so...another question.

[Stevie pauses to think, then a light bulb comes on.]

HSS: Yeah, hey, last show. How come you gotta be runnin' out here and
fighting another man's battles for him, huh? Sticking your nose in
business where it doesn't belong, etcetera and so forth?

[Stevie smiles, proud of his ability to think of hard-hitting questions
on the fly.]

TCR: Last time? Does a man have to explain savin' someone who ain't even
a wrestler from some who is? What kind of man are you, anyhow? Tryin' to
lay hand on someone a couple sizes short of ya?

HSS: Well...what kind of man am I?

[Yep, there it is...a real STEVIESMIRK~!]

HSS: Why don't you ask your wife about that, chief? 'Cause last night,
she was re-

[TCR cuts Stevie off before he can finish this obviously made-up
retort.]

TCR: Na... No more. I had enough of this and enough of you.

[TCR turns his back and walks out, while Stevie feigns hurt.]

HSS: Aw, man, come back! Dude...you gotta admit, you walked right into
that one. You can't expect to come on my talk show and not let me get
off some jokes at your expense!

[Stevie mock-slumps his shoulders as Rust disappears behind the
curtain.]

HSS: Ah well...he was a bad interview anyway. Hey, tune back in next
week when I have...I dunno...maybe someone else with a stupid name.

[Shrugging his shoulders, Stevie tosses the mic over his shoulder and
down to the canvas before making his exit as well.]

GM:  I told you, fans.  It's never a dull moment with Stevie Scott in
the building.

BW:  Heheheh... Tin Man Crust.

GM:  I'm glad you're amused.  Fans, we'll be right back.

[Fade out on the announcers...

...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 
Royal Records - Houston, Texas
April 2

The Masked Menace
Dallas County Fairgrounds
April 3

Clayton Shaw 
South Dallas Shopping Center
April 5

Marcus Broussard
San Antonio Shopping Plaza 
April 7

Calisto Dufresne
Fort Worth Flea Market
April 8

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 back up on the announce desk where "Wild Thing" Kevin Slater
has joined the announce team.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans... and welcome to you as well, Mr. Slater.  I'm
very glad we were able to get you out here tonight because as we heard
from the Masked Menace earlier, you are a man with a slight problem.

[Slater stands at the table, dressed differently for him, wearing black
boots, blue jeans, a white button-up shirt with the sleeves slightly
rolled up and his top two buttons open, sunglasses and a green
bandannaaround his head. He's flanked by his lovely
manager/valet/fiancee Megan Flarheity, dressed in black boots, a black
knee-length skirt, and a white blouse.  Slater nods his head at Myers as
he begins to speak.]

KS: That's right Gordon, a slight problem to say the least. You see,
Masked Menace, here I thought that you just decided to make trouble for
me for the hell of it. I thought that you and I were gonna have serious
problems and have to dance, but, from what you say, I have bigger
problems that just start with you. I have a bounty on my head. On one
hand, it feels good that someone wants me out of the picture enough that
they put out an open contract on me. Money on whoever puts me out again.
Now, there's a whole line of people I can think of off the top of my
head that would want me put out of commission, and I plan on figuring it
out, if not beating every one he ends up sending against me, or anyone
else who tries to collect. 

[Slater smirks, rolls his neck then continues, while Flarheity stands
next to him, looking a bit uneasy.]

KS: But Masked Menace, I start with you. You stepped up first, and so I
deal with you first. You want to collect, well I'm not that hard to
find. *Miss* Chow wants to get involved, Megan here can hold her own-

[Flarheity nods with him, but still looks uneasy.]

KS:  -and *she* ain't that hard to find. We're here, we're visible, and
we're ready for whatever you can throw at us, and give it back to you.

[Myers nods his head at Slater and casts a curious glance at Megan.]

GM: Strong words Kevin, strong words, but have you considered others
coming to collect on that bounty besides Masked Menace? Maybe even while
you're busy with the Menace himself.

[Flaherity takes this time to cut in, in her thick Irish accent, before
Slater speaks.]

MF: I was thinkin' 'bout tha' myself. We'll have some backup, I'm pretty
sure.

[Slater looks at Megan, a bit surprised... and then shakes his head.]

KS: Nah, we won't need it.

[Megan takes this time to turn toward him, raising an eyebrow.]

MF: Won' need it? Yer not exactly tha spring chicken ya used ta be love,
I dunna want ta see ya goin' up agin three er four guys by yerself. We
need some backup.

[Slater looks a little frustrated at his fiancee now.]

KS: And everyone I trust is long since retired. I've handled things on
my own before, I can handle this.

MF: Ya, handled thin's on yer own. Worked so well in tha past. And not
everyone ya know is outta equasion. True, Bobby is out of tha question.
But Luke's not exactly retired. An' I'm sure Chris or Aaron, or hell,
even Curt might come out ta at leas' watch yer back.

[Slater chuckles at the names of friends (and foes) of long ago.]

KS: I wouldn't be surprised if Curt took the bounty out himself. Anyway,
Luke's got his own thing going, and Chris and Aaron are out of the game
and living their own life. I'm not gonna pull them out to hang around
while I take care of things. We'll be fine.

[Slater turns his attention back to the camera.]

KS: As for Masked Menace, we'll be seeing each other real soon. And when
we do, be ready, because when the smoke clears, and all is said and
done, I'll be standing, and you'll know what its like to take a walk...

[Slater pauses, and the crowd, to their credit, remembers the old catch
phrase and finishes it for the "Wild Thing"]

"ON THE WILD SIDE!"

[The crowd cheers as Slater smirks, nodding at Myers.]

KS: Gordon, its been a pleasure. 

[Slater starts to walk off, raising his arms to the cheers of the crowd
as Megan hangs back a few seconds.]

GM: Thank you, "Wild Thing" Kevin Slater, strong words ther-

[Just then, Megan speaks, kind of cutting Gordon off...]

MF: Don' need any help, we'll see.

[She follows, arms folded, looking annoyed as Myers shrugs and
continues...]

GM:  A little disagreement between Kevin Slater and his lady on whether
or not he needs some help.  I hate to say it, Bucky, but if anyone joins
the Menace in the hunt for that bounty, help may be _exactly_ what
Slater will need.

BW:  Never trust a woman with an accent.  You'll always wake up with a
hangover, a black eye, and your money long gone.

GM:  Speaking from experience?

BW:  Always.

GM:  Fans, we've got one more match before our big six man tag team Main
Event - and at this time, I'd like to welcome to our announce desk the
man who will be in that match.  

[Erik Reid steps into view next to Gordon Myers and Bucky Wilde.  Reid
is in his wrestling attire with a black AWA t-shirt on. There are quite
a few cheers from the fans familiar with the local favorite.]

GM: Welcome to the AWA, Erik!  In just a few moments, you make your
debut on AWA Saturday Night Wrestling in the ring.  Your thoughts?

[Reid nods his head, looking down at Gordon.]

ER:  I'm looking forward to making an impact tonight, Gordon. My family
has connection to wrestling in the great state of Texas. My father
helped to make wrestling the tradition it is in Texas. I get to carry
that torch tonight.

[Myers nods his head.]

GM:  You mention your father.  Your family has quite the history in the
wrestling business in this state.  And you yourself, you've wrestled for
a few years in Texas and the surrounding states.  How is tonight
different for you?

ER: I'm part of a great promotion like the AWA, Gordon. The difference
is this is the big leagues. I have to bring my A-game in order to
succeed. Just take a look at the talent on this roster. From top to
bottom, you won't find any roster better anywhere else.

[Myers pulls the mic back a bit to ask his next question.]

GM: Do you think you have a chance of success?

ER: The only way to see if I have a chance is to go out there and give
it my best shot. I have the fans behind me. I have my family behind me.
I just have to step between the ropes and either put up or shut up.

[Erik Reid salutes with his fist as he walks off camera towards the
ring.]

GM: Erik Reid, about to make his AWA debut.  Let's go up to Melissa for
the introductions!

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

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

He is the Cuban Assassin #6!

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

MC:  And his opponent, stepping through the ropes, standing 6'2 and
weighing in at 221 pounds... hailing from Dallas, Texas... a member of
the famed Reid wrestling family...

ERIK REEEEID!

[A pretty good reception for the young man who raises an arm in
acknowledgement of the cheering crowd.  Erik has a slender build with a
muscular physique but not a lot of show muscles on him.  He has brown
hair cut in a bowl shape that he runs a hand through while waiting for
the bell.  He's wearing standard black trunks with a green stripe down
either side along with green kneepads with black trim.]

BW:  I just noticed something.  This kid's wrestling barefoot?

GM:  It appears so.  An interesting decision, for sure.

BW:  A stupid one.  If I'm the Cuban, I stomp those toes during the
first tieup.  Break his foot right off the bat, Gordo.

GM:  It could be possible.

[The referee gives a few last second instructions and signals for the
bell.]

"DING DING DING!"

GM:  And we're underway in this one.  I've gotta imagine there's a lot
of butterflies in the stomach of Erik Reid, Bucky.  A lot of pressure to
wrestle in front of your hometown crowd.

BW:  Not to mention having to live up to the family legacy here in the
state of Texas.

GM:  His father, the legendary Buddy Reid... his six siblings, all
involved in the business in some fashion.  Erik's got some big footsteps
to walk in here in the AWA.

[Reid marches out of the corner, immediately tying up in a collar and
elbow... and immediately getting shoved back against the ropes by the
burly Cuban.]

GM:  Ohh!  Right hand to the gut by the Cuban... and a second one finds
the mark as well.

[The crowd boos as the Cuban taunts them for a moment before driving a
boot into the gut of Erik Reid.]

GM:  On the ropes... whip by the Assassin...

[And as Reid rebounds, he hurls himself into the air, knocking the Cuban
off his feet with a big cross bodyblock!]

GM:  Down goes the Cuban!  But he's quickly back- armdrag!  DEEP armdrag
by Erik Reid!

[The Assassin pops back up...

...and gets armdragged right back down to the mat again!]

GM:  Another deep armdrag!  Erik Reid's got the big man completely
off-balance in the early moments of this one.  The Cuban slow to recov-

[The crowd explodes as Erik Reid lifts off the mat, connecting with a
picture perfect dropkick that sends the Assassin back down to the
canvas.]

GM:  Beautiful dropkick by Reid!

BW:  He's dominating this one right now.  The Cuban hasn't even gotten
in any offense since that first flurry at the start of the match.

GM:  Reid's waiting... measuring...

[And as the Assassin climbs to his feet, Reid sprints across the ring,
leaping up into a side headscissors, pausing at the top to hype up the
fans...

...and snaps the Assassin down to the mat with the headscissors
takedown!]

GM:  What a move by Erik Reid!  These fans are going nuts and-

[Erik Reid regains his feet and promptly lifts his right hand into the
air, curled slightly to signal for a clawhold...]

GM:  He's calling for the claw!  He's calling for-

[And as the Assassin pushes up to his feet...

...the right hand of Erik Reid is quickly wrapped around the skull of
his foe!  The crowd erupts!]

GM:  CLAW!!  THE IRON CLAW IS LOCKED IN!!!

[The Assassin flails his arms in pain, attempting to find any way out of
the dreaded clawhold.]

GM:  Can he find a way out?  Can he escape the Iron Claw of Erik Reid? 
The crowd is roaring... and the Assassin is fading!

BW:  Kick him low!

GM:  He'd be disqualified!

BW:  I'd rather take the DQ than a submission!

GM:  The Assassin's slowing down... Reid pushes him down to the mat...


"DING DING DING!"


GM:  That's it!

[The crowd explodes yet again as Erik Reid springs to his feet, holding
the still claw-shaped hand in the air.]

MC:  Your winner of the match in a time of one minute and forty-seven
seconds... ERIK REID!

[Another huge cheer goes up for Reid as he mounts the midbuckle,
saluting the roaring crowd before exiting the ring.]

GM:  A big win for Erik Reid courtesy of that dangerous clawhold and the
Cuban Assassin #6 looked like he never really stood a chance in there,
Bucky.

BW:  He looked off his game for sure.  But Erik Reid's not going to find
everyone in the AWA as easy to deal with, Gordo.

GM:  That's for sure.  In fact, we are moments away from seeing six men
that would give Erik Reid all the troubles in the world!  In just a few-

["Super Bon Bon" by Soul Coughing starts up in the WKIK Studios and
Marcus Broussard soon follows. He is dressed in gold tights with the
outline of a shark on the back, with gold boots and knee pads. As well,
a gold ring jacket with "MB" on the back in black, cursive letters.
However, instead of going to the ring he heads to the announce desk.]

GM: Marcus Broussard is coming over here, fans, and I don't know why...

MB: I'd like to take a minute before this match starts, Mr. Gordon
Myers, to get a few things off my chest. You see, the promoters have
seen it fit to stick me with the biggest bunch of lame duck partners
this side of Kevin Slater. Since four thirty this afternoon, I've been
criss crossing this building trying to get in a word with Calisto
Dufresne. But instead of taking me up on an offer to learn a thing or
two, Dufresne has seen to making himself scarce. Now listen here,
Dufresne, and camera six you can take a good look at me while I'm saying
it.

[The camera shot swings so it's looking right at Broussard, who's
looking directly into the lense.]

MB: You've got potential, Calisto Dufresne. You've got every opportunity
to be a somebody in this wrestling game, but by pulling a Houdini act
when you've got the chance to get smartened up, you're wasting it away.
I was _going_ to reach out and teach you the things that people like
Adam Rogers and Jeff Matthews taught me, but that offer has been taken
off the table. It's not every day one gets the chance to pick the mind
of a certified ring general, and you just lost that chance. Between you
and that Fiji Island reject Tumaffi, you have left me with very little
choice in the matter. Shaw, Royal, Houston, you guys are about to get a
wrestling lesson from the master himself.  Two on one, three on one, it
doesn't matter.

Give me your worst, gentlemen, because what you are about to see in that
ring is that very _best_ that the AWA has to offer.

[Myers shakes his head at the pure ego as he goes to speak.]

GM: Well, that's big talk, Marcus.  Maybe you ought to let your
teammates get out here before you-

[Broussard interrupts.]

MB: Not just yet Gordy, I'm not done yet! If my partner Tumaffi would
maybe lay off the soda and the carbonated beverages, he might not be the
human fire hazard that he is right now. Did you know they had to install
new French style doors in the back, Myers, because of Tumaffi?  The
man's gotta make two trips when he hauls ass, Myers, he's a coughing,
wheezing heart attack waiting to happen. If he wants to wage a one man
war against the evils of the Pepsi Generation, I'll support him just as
long as he doesn't put his fist through a soda machine when _I_ want to
talk strategy. Wasted time and wasted energy, which is an apt
description of Tumaffi as a whole.

A gigantic waste of time and space. A gigantic waste, period.

[The crowd noise increases as Marcus speaks... probably because an
ominous form looms behind him.

A HUGE ominous form.

Tumaffi has arrived, and he spends a moment listening to Broussard with
wide-eyed indignation before putting a huge paw on his shoulder and
spinning him around!  The crowd pops for the prospect of two hated
villains tearing each other apart before their match.  Bucky Wilde
vacates the area as Gordon bravely holds his ground... even though he's
trembling at the very real possibility of being an incidental casualty.

Tumaffi is one of the most intimidating men on Earth... but Marcus
Broussard remains undaunted.]

GM: Oh, no... please, gentlemen, not here at the desk!

MB: Is there something you absolutely have to say, because I don't think
I was finished. I was just telling Myers-

[Microphone or no, Marcus' voice is swiftly drowned out by the powerful
bass of Tumaffi.]

Tumaffi: WHAT MADNESS IS THIS?!  DID YOU NOT KNOW THAT TUMAFFI HAD
MAGNANIMOUSLY DECREED SAFE PASSAGE THROUGH THIS STORM FOR YOU?!  NOW
KNOW THAT TUMAFFI DOES NOT RECOGNIZE 'PARTNERS'!  THERE ARE ONLY TWO
KINDS OF PEOPLE IN THIS MATCH: WITLESS MAINLANDER FOOLS WHOM TUMAFFI
WILL UTTERLY DESTROY, AND WITLESS MAINLANDER FOOLS WHOM TUMAFFI HAS NOT
YET DECIDED WHETHER HE WILL ALSO UTTERLY DESTROY!  BUT NOW THE DECISION
IS MADE!  ON YOUR OWN HEAD BE IT, FOR HOWEVER MUCH LONGER YOUR HEAD MAY
EXIST!

[Broussard is wincing as he goes to reply.  Man, does this guy ever not
scream?]

MB: My head's the only one worth anything in this match, so it's in your
best interest that nothing happens to it! Because if something does
happen to it, you're liable to get messed up so badly that you won't be
able to perform at Bar Mitzvah's anymore. If anything else happens to
bubble up in that E-Z Bake oven mind of yours just let it go, because
I'm pretty sure it'll be useless anyway. Any other questions, junior?

[The two men go nose-to-nose.  Unfortunately, they don't let poor Gordon
out of there first, and the small elderly man gets trapped in between
them!]

GM: WAIT!  DON'T...!
	
[The crowd roars, as Gordon is swiftly saved by the onrush of Houston,
Royal, and Shaw!  Houston and Shaw double-clothesline Tumaffi, sending
him reeling towards the set wall, as Royal spins Broussard around and
belts him with a hard right hand!  Gordon Myers bails away from the
chaos, racing to safety as Houston and Shaw continue to throw right
hands at the teetering Samoan, trying to knock him off his feet.]

GM:  We've got madness right here just a few feet away from us, Bucky!

BW:  ...

GM:  Bucky?

BW:  Quiet, Gordo!  Maybe if we don't talk, they'll forget we're here.

[A most solid strategy that Gordon Myers seems to embrace for a bit as
Broussard fires a right hand into the jaw of Ricky Royal, knocking him
back towards the ring.  The San Jose Shark keeps up the pursuit,
grabbing Royal by the head...

...and dragging him across the studio floor, hurling him under the
bottom rope into the ring.]

GM:  We've got Ricky Royal in the ring... and now Marcus Broussard rolls
in as well.  Is this match officially underway?  We've got a referee in
there but-


"DING DING DING!"


GM:  Well, now it's official!  Broussard and Ricky Royal are the legal
men, I suppose and- look out!

[The crowd roars as Bucky Wilde dives to the side, barely avoiding
getting knocked flat as an irate Mark Shaw slams Tumaffi's head into the
spot of the AWA Saturday Night Wrestling set where Wilde was just
standing.  Myers looks completely panicked for a moment as the set
weebles and wobbles... but it don't fall down thankfully as Ron Houston
turns around and heads for the ring, leaving Shaw and Tumaffi behind.]

GM:  We've still got the Hellion, Mark Shaw, battling with Tumaffi over
here by us.  Ron Houston is heading back to the ring where Broussard and
Ricky Royal are still trading right hands.  And where in the world is
Calisto Dufresne in all this?

[Inside the ring, Broussard buries a knee into the midsection of Royal,
grabbing him by the head to slam his face into the nearest top
turnbuckle.]

GM:  Broussard's got Royal in the corner...

[Standing with his back to Royal, Broussard pivots slightly and drives a
back elbow into the face of Royal, drawing the ire of Meekly who is
trying to get him out of the corner.]

GM:  Snapmare out of the corner by Broussard... 

[The snapmare leaves Royal in a seated position so Broussard charges out
of the corner, flipping over Royal while grabbing his head to snap his
neck down violently.]

GM:  Ohhh!  That'll get you in the hospital for whiplash!  That will-
whoa boy!

[Myers is cut short as Mark Shaw stumbles past him, gasping for air
thanks to a chop across the throat from Tumaffi, knocking Shaw back
towards the ring...

...and then barrels towards him, leaping at the Hellion and driving all
his weight into him with a body attack that leaves Shaw lying.]

GM:  Down goes Mark Shaw on the floor!  Tumaffi took him down with that
body attack, throwing all that weight at him.  He's standing over Shaw
on the floor and- does he have to bellow like that?

[The fans boo Tumaffi's cry as he wobbles towards the ring, rolling
under the ropes...

...and immediately blasting a surprised Ron Houston with a chop that
knocks Houston silly for a moment.  The referee races to reprimand
Tumaffi who simply glares at the official.]

GM:  Oh my.  No reaction from the massive and unpredictable Samoan as
the ref-

[Suddenly, Ron Houston leaps into the fray, drilling Tumaffi with right
hand after right hand to the enjoyment of the crowd.]

GM:  HOUSTON!  HOUSTON'S ALL OVER THE BIG MAN!

[The 6'7 Georgian hits the closest ropes, rebounding back and scoring
with a big boot up under the jaw of Tumaffi that knocks the Samoan back
against the ropes.]

GM:  He's got Tumaffi on the ropes.  The ref is _screaming_ at him to
get out of the ring.  These two men are not the legal participants in
this match and- Houston's calling for the Lariat!  He's gonna send
Tumaffi over the ropes to the floor with the Lariat!  Houston to the
ropes-

[But as soon as the "Athens Georgia Madman" turns his back, Broussard
charges across the ring, leaping into the air and connecting with a high
knee to the back that sends Houston through the ropes and down to the
floor!]

GM:  Ohhh!  He takes out Ron Houston!  Marcus Broussard is in total
control of this match so far.  He's got Royal trying to recover from the
necksnap in the corner.  He's got Houston out on the floor.  And Mark
Shaw is finally getting back to his own corner as well.

BW:  All of this and there's still no Dufresne, daddy!

GM:  Oh, you've decided to join us again.

BW:  Now that that maniac Shaw is out of here, sure.

[Broussard quickly moves over to Tumaffi, trying to get his attention.]

GM:  Looks like the San Jose Shark is looking for some help with Ricky
Royal, the Ragin' Rebel.

[Hands on his hips, Broussard leans closer.]

"TUMAFFI!  DO YOU UN-DER-STAND ME?!"

[There is no verbal response from Tumaffi but he straightens up, glaring
at Broussard who gives him a big thumbs up and points out Ricky Royal in
the corner.]

"CAN YOU SQUASH HIM?"

[No response.]

"TUMAFFI, CAN YOU-"

[The crowd roars as Tumaffi angrily shoves Broussard aside, actually
knocking him down to the canvas as the Samoan storms past and with a
mighty bellow...]

GM:  Oh no.

BW:  GET THE MOP READY, DADDY!

GM:  TUMAFFI CHARGES!

[The massive Samoan lumbers towards the corner with the intent of
avalanching Ricky Royal in the turnbuckles...

...but at the last moment, Royal dives out of the way causing Tumaffi to
slam chestfirst into the corner!  Huge ovation!]

GM:  ROYAL MOVED!  RICKY ROYAL MOVED OUT OF THE WAY!

[An exasperated Broussard slaps the canvas, moving to intercept Royal as
he staggers across the ring...

...and drops down on all fours, crawling between the legs of Broussard
to make a lunging tag on a waiting Mark Shaw.]

GM:  Here comes Shaw!

[The barrel-chested big man storms into the ring, bodily hurling
Broussard into the nearest corner sending a roar through the crowd for
the impressive display of power.  Shaw immediately climbs to the
midbuckle, holding up a clenched fist to the crowd.]

"ONE!"
"TWO!"
"THREE!"
"FOUR!"
"FIVE!"

[But before he can finish his assault, he's grabbed by the back of the
tights and hurled down.]

GM:  Uh oh!

[The crowd explodes as Shaw finds himself standing toe-to-toe with the
massive Tumaffi... who the referee is still having no luck in getting
out to the ring apron.]

GM:  We've got a faceoff here as-

[The cheers grow louder as Shaw doesn't hesitate to paste Tumaffi across
the massive head with a right hand.  A second one knocks the Samoan a
couple steps back.]

GM:  Shaw's battering the big man!  He's got him backpedaling.

[Hitting the ropes, Shaw rebounds back with a big football tackle that
wobbles Tumaffi a little bit more.]

GM:  He can't get him down!  Shaw's throwing everything at him and the
big man just won't- to the ropes again!

[This time, Shaw takes flight, scoring with a leaping shoulder block
that knocks Tumaffi a half step back...

...but the big Samoan simply slaps his own chest, bellowing as Shaw
regains his feet.]

GM:  Shaw can't take him off his feet!  Unbelievable!

[As Shaw gets to his feet, he roars as well and leaps into action
repeatedly driving his clenched fist to the skull.]

GM : Right!  Right!  Right!  Right!  He's beating the tar out of
Tumaffi!

[With Tumaffi dazed and staggered, Shaw takes a step back and gestures
for a bodyslam, sending the crowd into a frenzy.]

GM:  Are you kidding me?!  Is he really going to-

BW:  He's gonna blow out his back, Gordo!

GM:  Shaw going for the slam!  He- ohhhh!

[The crowd groans along with Gordon Myers as Marcus Broussard throws
himself at the back of Shaw's knee, clipping it out from under the man
known as the Hellion.]

GM:  Broussard clipped the knee!  Illegal in the NFL but legal here in
the American Wrestling Alliance.

[With Tumaffi somewhat dazed, somehow the referee is able to get him to
exit the ring as Broussard stomps the knee of the downed Mark Shaw.]

GM:  The San Jose Shark smells blood in the water and he's going right
after that injured wheel, Bucky.

BW:  That's why Broussard is the man to beat in the AWA, Gordo.  He's
the smartest man on the roster.  He's the best wrestling technician on
the roster.  And I gotta think he's the odds-on favorite to be the first
AWA champion, daddy.

GM:  A bold statement there, Bucky, considering some of the competitors
we've seen here in the AWA.

[Broussard steps on the right ankle, pinning it down to the mat before
dropping down with a kneedrop across the leg, sending a howl of pain
from the Hellion.]

GM:  You can hear the screams of pain from Mark Shaw.  Broussard knows
how to physically dissect someone inside that squared circle.

BW:  And all that power that Shaw has will do him absolutely no good if
he can't stand up, Gordo.

GM:  You can say that again.

[Leaning over, Broussard pulls the injured leg off the mat and wraps it
over his own neck, pulling down on the thigh and ankle in almost a
torture rack type hold.]

GM:  A unique leg submission being put on by Broussard.  I can't say
I've seen this one before, Bucky.

BW:  Neither have I.  But it's really torquing the knee, using
Broussard's own neck as a pressure point.  Shaw tells the ref he doesn't
want to quit though.

GM:  It seems like it'd take quite a bit to get a submission out of
Shaw.  I think- well, lookee here, Bucky.

[The crowd boos wildly as the "Ladykiller" Calisto Dufresne comes
strutting out of the backstage area, sneering arrogantly at the booing
fans.]

GM:  So nice of him to be able to join us.

BW:  It's not like his team was doing too badly without him either,
Gordo.

GM:  And it's also not like he's setting any land speed records to get
out here to help them out.  

[Indeed, Dufresne seems to be taking his sweet time, jawing with the
ringside fans as he slowly moves towards his team's corner where a dazed
Tumaffi is leaning on the top rope.]

GM:  I'm not sure if Broussard is even- yep, there he is.

[Marcus spots Dufresne, giving him an angry look and shouting "About
time you joined us!" before cranking down harder on the leg of Mark
Shaw.]

GM:  Look at the size of Shaw's leg, Bucky.  I bet his thigh is as big
around as some people's waists.

BW:  No one in this building.  

GM:  Bucky!

BW:  Have you seen some of these hogs, Gordo?  It reminds me a' pig
sloppin' day back on my mama's ranch!

[Breaking the leglock, Broussard drives a few clenched fists into the
side of Shaw's head, forcing the referee to step in and back the San
Jose Shark away...

...which allows Dufresne to dip his torso into the ring, tugging Shaw's
ankles to bring his legs outside the ring where Dufresne strikes.]

GM:  Calisto Dufresne outside the ring, grabbing the legs and- figure
four around the ringpost!

[Shaw howls in pain again as his injured limb is pressed against the
steel.]

GM:  This is illegal but the referee is distracted by Broussard and-
here comes Royal!

[Seizing the moment, Ricky Royal runs across the floor, driving a boot
into Dufresne's ribs to break the hold.  He fires a few more right hands
into the downed Ladykiller until the referee starts yelling at him from
inside the ring.]

GM:  Ricky Royal just bailed Shaw out of the ringpost figure four but
the Hellion is definitely still hurting, Bucky.  He may be in some
serious trouble here.

BW:  He's exactly where Marcus Broussard wants him to be, daddy!

GM:  The San Jose Shark moving back in, walking past our official who
saw none of Dufresne's attack on Shaw.

[Broussard measures the writhing Shaw... and drops another big knee
across the injured leg, sending another shout of pain into the air
before a pair of clenched fists knocks him back down to the mat.]

GM:  Broussard's showing a vicious streak in there tonight.  And now
Dufresne finally is up on the apron.

[Grabbing Shaw by the ankle, Broussard drags him to the corner where he
looks to tag in Dufresne...

...but Dufresne begs off, pleading injury.]

GM:  What a coward that guy is, Bucky.

BW:  He's hurting!  You saw what that thug Ricky Royal did to him!

[An annoyed Broussard looks at Dufresne with disgust before tugging Shaw
up to his feet off the canvas.]

GM:  Broussard pulls him up... front facelock applied... could be a
suplex!

[The San Jose Shark attempts to get Shaw up in the air in a vertical
suplex but the powerful Hellion refuses to be lifted into the air.]

GM:  Uh oh!  Blocked by Shaw!

BW:  Come on, Marcus.  Get the big lug up!

GM:  Broussard's trying but Shaw's fighting him!  Mark Shaw is- ohhhhh!

[The crowd roars as Shaw hoists Broussard into the air, pauses, and then
drops him down with a vertical suplex of his own!]

GM:  Ohhh my!  The suplex is revered by Mark Shaw and now, he needs to
make a tag, Bucky!

BW:  If his team wants to stand any chance at all, yes he does! 

GM:  He's hobbling... almost there... almooooost- no!  Cut off by
Broussard!

[A big running forearm from behind knocks Shaw back down to the mat,
cutting him off from a waiting Ron Houston who had his hand outstretched
waiting for the tag.]

GM:  Houston wanted in there so badly he could taste it, Bucky.  He was
so close to getting in- OH!  COME ON!

[A shower of boos pour down on Broussard who just spat at the waiting
Ron Houston...

...but they quickly turn to cheers as Ron Houston steps into the ring,
racing across.]

GM:  HOUSTON'S IN!  HOUSTON'S IN!

[But Broussard flees to his own corner, slapping the shoulder of Tumaffi
before sliding under the ropes to the floor.  More jeers from the WKIK
Studio audience.]

GM:  Broussard escapes from Houston... in comes Tumaffi...

[Houston meets Tumaffi with a pair of wild right haymakers as the big
Samoan comes into the ring...

...but is then forced away, back out to the ring apron by the referee.]

GM:  Come on, referee!  Get some control in there!

BW:  I think he just did, Gordo.

GM:  Tumaffi and Mark Shaw are your legal men and- ohhhh!

[The crowd gasps as Tumaffi drops a near four hundred pound elbow down
into the kidneys of a downed Mark Shaw.]

GM:  That might do it right there.  I don't know if Shaw can withstand
that much weight crashing down on his lower back, Bucky.

BW:  Tumaffi flips him over... a big lateral press...

GM:  One!  Two!  TH-  NO!

[Shaw fires a shoulder off the mat just in time to the enjoyment of the
crowd.  Tumaffi seems oblivious as he climbs to his feet, dragging Shaw
up as well...

...and clubs him in the side of the head with a right hand that sends
Shaw spinning to his corner where Ron Houston tags himself in!]

GM:  AND THERE'S THE LEGAL TAG!

BW:  Tumaffi, you big dolt!

GM:  Houston's in and he's fired up!

[The big man from Georgia lashes out with wild rights and lefts that
back Tumaffi up in a hurry as Houston forces him back into the corner
where Calisto Dufresne quickly walks down the apron, avoiding any
contact.]

GM:  He just walked away from another tag!

BW:  It's not the right time yet.  Not the right strategy, daddy.

GM:  Are you kidding me?  Give me a break, Bucky.

[In the corner, Houston scores with three big right hands before
grabbing the beefy arm, somehow whipping Tumaffi across the ring.]

GM:  Tumaffi to the corner... here comes Houston!

[The crowd roars for a big running clothesline in the corner that
further staggers the big Samoan.]

GM:  Tumaffi is dazed.  He wobbles out of the corner and-

[Houston lunges in, intending to hoist Tumaffi into the air to bodyslam
him down to the mat...

...but a big elbow slammed down into the side of his head cuts off the
attempt, knocking him to a knee.]

GM:  Ohhh!  Houston was going for the slam but Tumaffi blocked the
attempt.  Houston on a knee and-

[Winding up, Tumaffi brings both hands down sharply to the sides of
Houston's neck with a Mongolian chop that puts the man from Georgia down
on the mat.]

GM:  And just like that, Tumaffi regains control in this one.  What's he
doing here?

[Tumaffi steps over Houston so that he's standing over him, lets loose a
big bellow, and jumps into the air...

...only to have his rear slam into the canvas as Houston rolls out of
the way!]

GM:  Houston staggers up and-

[The crowd cheers as Ricky Royal slaps the shoulder of Houston, tagging
himself into the match, and immediately sprinting across the ring,
drilling Calisto Dufresne with a right hand that sends him back down to
the floor.]

GM:  Down goes Dufresne!

[A right hand for Broussard sends him sailing as well.]

GM:  And does goes the San Jose Shark to the floor!  Ricky Royal is
fired up!

[As Tumaffi gets to his feet, Royal hits the ropes, rebounding back with
a big clothesline that causes Tumaffi to take a half step back.  Royal
looks shocked, looking around at the cheering crowd, pumping his fist in
the air.]

GM:  That clothesline didn't do much to the big Samoan.  

BW:  It's like a fly... like a gnat...

GM:  I suppose you might be- Royal to the ropes again!

[Somehow running even faster, he hits another big clothesline...

...this one moving Tumaffi back a whole step!]

GM:  Not much again but... well, it was something at least.  Tumaffi is
absorbing those clotheslines like they're almost nothing, Bucky.

BW:  To a guy that size, aren't they?

GM:  I don't think- to the ropes again!

[Another big running clothesline knocks Tumaffi back into the ropes,
where he slowly rebounds out.]

GM:  That one might have done it!  That one might have caused some
cobwebs to be shaken loose!  Tumaffi is staggered a bit but he still is
on his feet, fans!

BW:  Incredible.

GM:  What is- Is Royal really thinking about what it looks like?

[Pumping his fists in the air, driving the fans into a frenzy, Royal
dives in for a bodyslam attempt...

...and actually manages to get a leg off the canvas before Tumaffi
shifts his weight, crashing down on top of Royal.]

GM:  OHHHH!

[The referee dives down to make a count on the unusual pin attempt.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE- did he-?!  Yes, fans!  He got a shoulder up in
time!  Just barely but it was in time!

BW:  I think he got him, Gordo.  That was a slow count, daddy!

GM:  The ref says it was a two count and- whoa!  Watch it, Tumaffi!

[The crowd boos the big Samoan who just grabbed the referee by the
shirt, jerking him closer to bellow at him before releasing him.]

GM:  You can't manhandle a referee here in the AWA!  That won't be
tolerated at all, fans!

[Tumaffi pushes up to his feet, pulling Royal up as well and shoving him
back into the corner...

...and extending his hand to Calisto Dufresne.]

GM:  The moment of truth for Calisto Dufresne here in the WKIK Studios
where we're _definitely_ kicking it up a notch tonight, fans!

[Tumaffi glares at the cowardly Dufresne, shoving his hand closer and
more insistently.  Dufresne shakes his head, refusing the tag and turns
to walk away.]

GM:  I don't believe- WHOOOOOA!

[The crowd erupts as an irate Tumaffi grabs Dufresne by the head and
shoulders, _hurling_ him over the ropes into the ring.]

GM:  Dufresne's in!  Calisto Dufresne is in the match and he's not the
slightest bit happy about it, Bucky!

BW:  What the-?  What is Tumaffi thinking?!

GM:  I don't think a soul on Earth could tell you what Tumaffi is ever
thinking, Bucky!

[Dufresne immediately springs to his feet, giving attitude to the
massive Tumaffi.  Hey, no one ever said Dufresne was the sharpest tool
in the shed either.]

GM:  Uh oh.  This can't be good.  This can't be good for Calisto
Dufresne's physical health, Bucky.

BW:  Get out of there, Ladykiller!

[Perhaps getting the sense that Bucky's right, Dufresne waves off
Tumaffi, turning to make his exit from the ring...

...and getting knocked off his feet from a Ricky Royal right hand!]

GM: Yeah!  Down goes Dufresne!

[And not stopping there, Royal lunges right back at Tumaffi, throwing
fists as quickly as he can.]

GM:  Right hand!  And another!  And- look at the flurry of fists flying
at the skull of the Samoan!

[Tumaffi falls backwards from the barrage into the ropes where Royal
goes for an irish whip...

...that Tumaffi easily blocks, using his power to pull Royal towards
him, connecting with a fierce headbutt that knocks Royal to a knee.]

GM:  Look at Royal!  Refusing to stay down!

[The Ragin' Rebel fires fists at the ample midsection from his knee,
trying to get an edge...

...but another big headbutt stops him for a moment.]

GM:  The referee is trying to get Tumaffi out of the ring.  He's trying
to-

[Royal springs to his feet, leaping at Tumaffi with a haymaker, throwing
three or four more before Tumaffi returns the favor with a brutal
reverse knife-edge chop.]

GM:  Ricky Royal and Tumaffi are trading blows in the center of the ring
and-

[The referee attempts to step in again as Royal throws three or four
more right hands.]

GM:  The referee is trying to- OHHHHH!

[The crowd gasps as both Royal and Tumaffi turn to the side and shove
Meekly down to the canvas!]

GM:  Uh oh!  That might be it right there, Bucky!  Both men shoved the
official down and like I said earlier, we're just not going to tolerate
that kind of-


"DING DING DING!"


GM:  Yep, there it is.  The referee is... what's the decision?

[Royal and Tumaffi don't even appear to have heard the bell, still
throwing rights and lefts, headbutts and chops, forearms and elbows at
one another in the middle of the ring as the referee rolls to the floor,
speaking to Melissa Cannon.]

MC:  The referee's official decision is that both teams have been
disqualified!  This match is out of control and has been thrown out!

[The fans boo the decision but Royal and Tumaffi don't even react, still
pounding the hell out of one another when suddenly Marcus Broussard
yanks Ron Houston off the apron from behind.]

GM:  Broussard pulls Houston off the apron!  He's got him on the floor
and- ohhhh!  BROUSSARD PUT HIM SHOULDERFIRST TO THE POST!  RIGHT TO THE
STEEL RINGPOST!

[Houston crumples down to the floor, grabbing at his shoulder as Mark
Shaw drops down off the apron, moving to trade right hands with
Broussard outside the ring.]

GM:  We've got fighting inside the ring!  We've got fighting outside the
ring!

[Calisto Dufresne charges around the ring, drilling Shaw from behind
with a running right hand that floors him, allowing both Broussard and
Dufresne to stomp away at Shaw at will.]

GM:  There's a mugging out on the floor!  Mark Shaw is being mugged by
Broussard and Dufresne.

[Pulling Shaw off the floor, they fire him back into the ring, both men
rolling in behind him to continue the attack.]

GM:  Ohh!  Tumaffi with a big headbutt and he throws Royal to the
corner... 

[Running the few steps to the corner, Tumaffi crushes Royal in the
corner with an avalanche splash!]

GM:  OHHHH!  AVALANCHE IN THE CORNER!

[With both Shaw and Royal down, the crowd is deflated as the three
rulebreakers stomp away at will.]

GM:  Shaw's down.  Royal's down.  Houston's down.  And their opponents
are having their way with-

[The crowd _erupts_ as the locker room seemingly empties.]

BW:  What in the world is going on now?!

GM:  SLATER!  REID!  GREGORSON AND DESPAIR!!  

[The ring quickly fills up as those four men join the battle, helping to
fight off Tumaffi, Dufresne, and Broussard.  But just as things start
cooking...]

GM:  And here comes the Russsians!

[Kolya Sudakov and Vladimir Velikov come stampeding into the ring,
immediately tangling with Despair and Gregorson.  Right behind them is
the Masked Menace who yanks a surprised Slater out of the ring.]

GM:  Slater's out of the ring...

[The crowd erupts as Erik Reid locks the Iron Claw on Tumaffi!]

GM:  CLAW ON TUMAFFI!

[The cheers somehow grow louder as Shannon Stokes, Tin Can Rust, Bling
Bling Beaumont, Clayton Shaw, Jamie Lilas, and Rick Marley join the fray
as it deteriorates to everyone hitting whoever they can reach.]

GM:  We've got a full-scale riot on our hands, fans!  We're out of time!
 We'll see-

[Inside the ring, Ron Houston has managed to get back in and as he spins
a surprised Marcus Broussard around, he scoops him up quickly into a
fireman's carry before spinning once and hurling him outwards to the
canvas!]

GM:  FADE TO BLACK!  FADE TO BLACK!  HOUSTON TAKES OUT BROUSSARD!  UNTIL
NEXT TIME, WE'LL SEE YOU AT THE MATCHES!

[The camera pulls all the way out to show the chaos of everyone brawling
with everyone...

...and we fade to black.]