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                           American Wrestling Alliance
                                 Proudly Presents
                         AWA Saturday Night Wrestling

                         Live from the WKIK Studios
                                   Dallas, Texas
                                October 11, 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.  I am Gordon
Myers, your host for the next hour of action, and by my side, as
always...

[Wilde puffs out his chest expectantly.]

GM:  Seriously, December can't come soon enough.  The Announcer of the
Half Year, Bucky Wilde.  

BW:  That's right, Gordo - and there are a lot of things going down here
tonight that I've been waitin' all week for, daddy!

GM:  We've got that big Main Event tonight with Adrian Freeman and Rick
Marley finally squaring off one on one - that should be an exciting
showdown with major implications for the Top Ten Rankings.

BW:  I look for Air Marley to get grounded in a major way and for the
Deep Freeze to put him on ice - permanently.

GM:  Shadoe Rage continues his $25,000 Open Challenge.

BW:  After tonight, unlike the United States, the treasury for Rage
Country will still be flush, daddy.

GM:  We're hoping to have the National Champion, Ron Houston, in the
house to address the-

[The epic opening to You Know My Name by Chris Cornell plays in the WKIK
Studios as the audience offers polite applause until Marcus Broussard
strolls out into the light, a slight smile on his face. The crowd erupts
in a chorus of boos for the former AWA National Champion, although a
smattering of cheers can be detected.]

GM:  Well, we knew he'd be here but we didn't expect him right now.

BW:  What an amazing surprise!  The AWA does it again!

[Broussard looks mostly the same as he did the night he lost the belt to
Ron Houston: sandy blonde hair cut short, piercing blue eyes, clean
shaven. He is dressed to wrestle, in white tights, knee pads and boots,
with golden tassles off the boots and a shark on the back of his tights
in gold. The only difference is a small one. Marcus seems more at ease
than last we saw him. He seems relaxed and walks that way, offering a
handshake to an ecstatic Bucky Wilde and then offering the same to
Gordon Myers, who looks it over for a moment before reluctantly shaking
Broussards outstretched hand.]

GM:  The former AWA National Champion, ladies and gentlemen-

BW:  THE SHARK! Marcus, baby, it just wasnt the same without you.

GM:  Indeed, Marcus Broussard, its been a good while since we last saw
you in the WKIK Studios.

[Broussard nods his head.]

MB: Youre right about that, Gordon. Its been far too long since I set
foot in an AWA ring.

GM: Which brings us to just that before your suspension, you were last
seen pitching a hissy fit after being steamrolled by Ron Houston, losing
the National Title in the process. You left the ringside area in
shambles, you put your own bodyguard out of commission and then you
return by saving Ron Houston, the very man you despise?

[Marcus chortles at that.]

BW:  Yeah daddy, what was THAT all about?

MB:  When you get sent home like I did, for darn near three months I
found myself with time to kill. A lot of time to kill, in fact. You can
imagine that it did not take long before I got a little stir crazy and
popped in a tape or a film or a DVD of my first stint in the AWA.  And
after watching myself for a few minutes, I came to a conclusion.

Number one: I am pretty damn good. Theres no other way to say it.

[The crowd boos as Bucky claps his approval.]

MB:  I was the AWA National Champion, and I think its safe to say I was
the epicenter of this very organization. Not a week went by when someone
did not issue a challenge to me, not a week went by where there wasnt a
new contender to the throne. People engaged in blood feuds, in personal
hatred all stemming from the fact that _they_ wanted to be the next in
line. Thats called having an effect on people, Gordon.

The other conclusion is that I didnt handle it very well. I saw myself
doing things and saying things that I have NEVER done. I saw myself
manipulating people and situations in every vain attempt to hold onto
that National Title. I saw myself change right in front of the camera,
night after night, week after week. And it was _not_ for the better.

[Marcus looks into the camera, and then at Gordon.]

MB: I wont apologize for success, Myers, thats for sure. I still believe
that I am the finest wrestler alive today, period. I still believe that
every time someone is unlucky enough to find themselves across from me,
theyre entering my classroom. And frankly, I may never like Ron Houston.

[BOOOO!]

MB:  But I am a man who believes deeply in the integrity that is
inherent in pro wrestling, I was born and raised believing that there
are simple truths in this sport that cannot be found elsewhere. Two men
competing until there is a winner and a loser is about as definitive and
honest as it gets. I trained under people who believed that there was a
right and a wrong way to do things. I learned from people, people like
Adam Rogers, who believed in the sanctity of the squared circle.

And watching myself on tape, it was clear that those things were nowhere
to be found. I let them be forgotten in exchange for a run at the top. I
made a Faustian pact, and in the end I lost my own integrity in exchange
for a glorious run as champion. Im glad I was suspended, Gordon, because
it made me look at myself.

[Gordon Myers looks suspiciously at the former National Champion as he
continues.]

GM:  Indeed it did, Marcus Broussard. And while this all sounds good,
you have carved out a niche for yourself as a calculating, manipulating
individual who always has a backup plan to pull the wool over our eyes.
Excuse me if I dont believe you.

[Broussard shrugs.]

MB:  Cant say I blame you, Gordon. But know this you have all seen the
very worst of Marcus Broussard. Now that my suspension has been lifted,
I intend to show you all the very _best_ of Marcus Broussard. Im not
asking for any favors, I dont want any special treatment as the former
champion. I want to work myself up the ladder, rung by rung, and prove
to everyone out there, but most importantly myself, that I still am the
very best wrestler on the planet.

I intend to recapture the National title, Gordon. I intend to unseat the
man who sits in my position as the champion, and I intend to do it the
right way.

[Broussard slaps Gordon on the shoulder as he begins to walk to the
ring, a very quizzical look on the face of the voice of the AWA.]

GM:  An interesting interview from Marcus Broussard, Bucky. He claims to
be a changed man, but frankly I wouldnt trust that man as far as I could
throw him.

BW:  I believe every word he says!

GM:  I notice you didn't ask him about shoving you down that night he
lost the title, Bucky.

BW:  I don't hold grudges, daddy.

GM:  I'll remember that the next time we seee Sweet Daddy Williams or
Clayton Shaw in the ring.  Fans, Marcus Broussard has apparently picked
now to make his return to the AWA as an in-ring competitor so let's go
up to Melissa for the opening matchup!

[Cut to the squared circle where Melissa Cannon is standing.]

MC: This opening match is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute time
limit!  Introducing first, from Pensacola, Florida, weighing in tonight
at 280 pounds... CRUSHER COOOOOOOLEMAN!

[Coleman fits the image of someone named Crusher. About 6'4 and
stocky, with a hairy black beard and a hairy chest to match. He wears
long black tights and black boots, and raises his hands with a primal
roar as Melissa announces his name.]

GM: This man does not lack for confidence, Bucky.

BW: If you was that hairy, you'd be confident too.

[The referee checks Coleman and nods to Melissa, who continues.]

MC: His opponent! Weighing in tonight at 252 pounds... from San Jose,
California... MARCUS BROUSSSAAAAAAAAARD!

[Broussard raises his hands to the mostly booing audience, and then
motions for the referee to check him. Meekly does so and then signals
for the bell to ring.]


"DING DING DING"


GM: This match is underway, and all eyes are surely on Marcus
Broussard...

[Who starts the match off by offering a handshake to Coleman.]

BW: Here we go baby. The mind games begin!

[Crusher Coleman takes a gander at the outstretched hand of
Broussard... and having probably been duped once before, slaps Marcus
right across the face.]

BW: What?! You don't do that to a former champion!

GM: Crusher Coleman lets Broussard know what he thinks about his new
attitude, and the fans love it!

[Broussard reconsiders for a moment and then goes into action, grabbing
a gloating Coleman's arm and twisting it into an armbar, then going
behind into the hammerlock. He wrenches it in and then slams anelbow
into the upper arm, then another.]

GM: Broussard works over the arm in the early going... and he allows
Coleman a clean escape.

BW: Wait for it, Gordo, wait for it...

GM: Crusher Coleman in the corner- boot to the midsection by Broussard,
and now a chop across the chest stuns Coleman. Another chop, and one
more for good measure!

[Marcus takes the arm he began to work on and laces it over the ropes,
then lays in a fist to the afflicted area.]

GM: Broussard showing his trademark tenacity when it comes to focusing
on a bodypart... and he once again allows Coleman a clean break. He's
been a model citizen so far, Bucky.

BW: He's always been a model citizen!

GM: And now Marcus... he offers another handshake. Broussard at least
trying to make it look like he is playing it straight.

[Crusher considers it... then rushes the former champion.]

GM: Drop toe hold by Broussard! Marcus side stepped the rush and took
the big man down, where he has a decided advantage.

BW: Even you have to admit that when it comes to the mat game, Marcus is
as good as it gets.

GM: Indeed, Bucky, Marcus Broussard is an exceptional mat wrestler. He
might be one of the finest ring technicians I've ever seen in my life, I
have never denied that. I just think the man is as low as low can be.

[The camera zooms in on Broussard in the riding position, maneuvering
into a front facelock and telling Coleman, "You shoulda shook my hand,
big man, that was a bad move."]

GM: Broussard telling Coleman to show some respect, as Marcus drags
Coleman to his feet... whip to the far side- have mercy, a fist to the
midsection, and that doubles the Crusher over.

[Marcus bounces off the short side behind Coleman, and then dives at
his leg with a chop block.]

GM: Chop block by Broussard, and the San Jose Shark is sharp early on,
Bucky.

BW: He's had a lot of time to watch the film and correct the holes in
his game, Gordo, I would expect him to be even BETTER than when he left.

GM: Broussard's now focused in on the lower body of Coleman, as the
Crusher gets to his feet... Marcus grabs Coleman as if for a belly to
back- no sir, an ankle breaker! All that weight crashing down on the
ankle of Crusher Coleman, and that'll leave him limping.

BW: You gotta chop the big man down, daddy, the Shark ain't nobodies
fool. The doctor is back in session, Gordo.

[Broussard lets go of Coleman, and lets him limp for a step... and then
delivers a swift kick to the back of the knee, putting the big man down.
Coleman on his back, Marcus lifts the damaged leg off themat and boots
Crusher right in the quad, causing him to grasp at the leg as Broussard
bounces off the ropes, grabs the back of the still raised leg and flips
over the body of Coleman, tweaking the hamstring of Crusher and making
him shudder in pain.]

GM: An all out assault on the leg of Crusher Coleman, and Broussard is
very cooly telling Coleman that he should have shaken his hand. A very
focused Marcus Broussard in the ring right now.

[Broussard flips the Crusher onto his stomach, lifts the bad leg up and
puts his boot in the crook of his knee... and then _drives_ it into the
mat.]

GM: My goodness, his knee was smashed right into the mat, and Crusher
Coleman is in a world of hurt. Referee Meekly going over to check on
him, as Broussard backs off...

BW: This is when Marcus is at his best, baby, let's see what he's got up
his sleeve here. Just watch...

[Broussard backs into the nearest corner, leans against the turnbuckle
and watches from afar as Meekly makes sure Crusher Coleman can still go.
The ref gets the answer he wants to hear and motions for the action to
continue...]

GM: The former champion has been very well behaved so far, I'll give him
that. Marcus stalks toward the rising Coleman and grabs the injured
leg... and Coleman won't go! He's flailing his arms, trying to grab onto
something....



"OOOOHHHH!"



GM: And inadvertently pokes the referee right in the eye! He was
reaching for leverage and coldcocked Michael Meekly!

BW: Oh baby, here we go! C'mon Marcus, let's see what you got!

[The crowd buzzes, expecting Marcus to call in the cavalry... but the
former champion merely shrugs at the referee and turns just as Coleman
barrels forward... and then grabs him around the waist, and lifts,
twists and hurls Crusher with a picture perfect belly to belly suplex.
Broussard routinely slides into the lateral press... and notices that
the ref is still knocked out.


"DAMMIT!"]

GM: Broussard expressing his frustration at the turn of events, and now
he's counting his own pin, but that's no good Bucky.

BW: Sometimes irony is so ironical.

[Marcus gets to his feet, shoots the ref another look and then drags
Coleman to the corner. A well placed stomp stuns the big man, and then
Marcus hops out of the ring. He grabs both of Crusher's legs, pulls them
underneath the bottom rope and then twists them into a figure four
leglock around the ring post, putting his leg over top and hanging
upside down to complete the move!]

GM: A vicious, vicious maneuver by Marcus Broussard, who is putting on a
clinic on how to wear down a body part!

BW: People should pay for this, daddy. Education is power, and this here
is a master's class.

[Marcus lets go of Coleman's legs and then slides in the ring, going to
the corner and strategize for a moment while Meekly comes to his feet.
The referee takes one look at the downed Coleman, legs spread in the
corner and clutching his lower body, then turns to interrogate Marcus,
having officiated plenty of his matches in the past...


"WHAT ARE YOU TRYIN' TO PULL HERE, BROUSSARD?!"

Broussard puts his hands up to protest, and tells Meekly to ask Melissa
if he doesn't believe him. Which he doesn't, so he does, ducking his
head between the ropes to ask her exactly what happened.]

GM: Broussard is going to find it extremely difficult to catch a break
from anyone, Bucky. Everyone in the AWA knows what he's all about!

BW: He didn't do anything! That's an innocent man in there!

GM: But you're sitting here waiting for him to pull a fast one-




"OOOOOOOOOHHHHHH!"




[When in fact it's Coleman who pulls the fast one, taking the time to
kick a retreating Broussard straight in the nuts. Meekly turns around
just as Coleman lifts up the former champion and plants him with a
powerbomb! The crowd buzzes with upset possibilities!]

GM: CRUSHER COLEMAN! COULD IT BE!? ONE! TWO! TH- NO NO, SHOULDER UP!
Broussard got the shoulder up, and not a millisecond too soon.

[Coleman pops off the mat and gets into the referees face, knowing full
well that he just missed his immortality by a tenth of a second.  He
makes absolutely certain that it was a 2 and a half count, then turns
around to continue the attack on Broussard who is flat on his back...]

GM: A picture perfect powerbomb by Crusher Coleman, who might be
knockin' on destiny's door.

BW: Gotta respect that Coleman took advantage of the situation and
planted Marcus. A stroke of genius, daddy.

GM: A bit of his own medicine may have done Broussard in, as Coleman
picks him up...

[And steps right into the trap. Marcus springs into action, rolling up
on the damaged leg of Crusher Coleman and slapping on the So Cal Clutch
before Bucky Wilde can blink. Coleman submits as soon as the realization
hits him that Broussard played him like a fiddle.]


"DING DING DING!"


MC: Your winner, in 6:14 by way of submission... 

MARCUS BROUUUUSSSSAAAAAAAARD!

[Marcus gets to his feet and lets Meekly raise his hand, as the crowd
does not know what to make of him.]

GM: A brilliant bit of human chess by Marcus Broussard, who gets the
victory via submission.

BW: That was a thing of beauty baby, a masterpiece if ever these eyes
have seen one.

GM:  Marcus Broussard, the former National Champion, is your winner and
he could very well be on his way back to the top of the AWA and a shot
at the current champion, Ron Houston, Bucky.

BW:  If I'm on the Championship Committee, I give him that shot today,
daddy!

GM:  Well, lucky for us, you're not on the Committee and- hey, wait a
second!

[The crowd begins to roar as the National Champion, Ron Houston, steps
out from behind the curtain, slowly approaching the ring with the gold
and silver title belt slung over his shoulder.]

GM:  Ron Houston is here in the WKIK Studios - and he's heading for the
ring, Bucky!

BW:  He's got no business being out here, daddy!

GM:  The National Champion's got his eyes locked on Marcus Broussard -
the man who actually saved him from Mark Shaw's warpath two weeks ago on
Saturday Night Wrestling.  The entire wrestling world has been buzzing
ever since, trying to figure out what happened and why - and you can bet
no one's been trying to figure it out more than the National Champion,
fans.

[Houston slowly steps through the ropes.  Dressed in street clothes, he
stands across the ring from Broussard, glaring at his long-time enemy.]

GM:  This could get ugly in a hurry, Bucky.

BW:  Marcus just had a match!  This isn't fair!

[The Athens, Georgia Madman slowly walks from the corner, standing in
the middle of the ring as Broussard edges a couple steps out as well. 
The San Jose Shark points a finger at Houston - or more accurately, the
title belt over his shoulder.]

GM:  He's calling out the champion!  He's telling him he wants that
National Title belt back!

[Broussard does exactly that, making the "I want the belt" gesture at
his waist before dropping down to the mat, rolling under the ropes to
the floor to leave the National Champion standing all alone in the
middle of the ring, looking puzzled.]

GM:  Broussard's leaving?  No low blow?  No sneak attack?  What in the
world is going on here?  He's just walking away from Ron Houston and...
well, quite frankly, I don't know what to make of this at all, fans. 
Don't go away - we'll be right back!

[The camera holds on a surprised Ron Houston for a moment before fading
to black...

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

"Have you ever dreamed of fame?"

[Cut a little closer.]

"Of glory?"

[A little closer.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Two young students are grappling on the canvas.]

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

You want to wrestle!"

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

...and then fade back up on the announce desk in the WKIK Studios where
the National Champion, Ron Houston, has joined the broadcast team.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans, and at this time, I'd like to welcome the
National Champion, Ron Houston, to the WKIK Studios here with us. 
Champ, it looks like you have something to say.

[Myers extends the mic to Ron Houston who chuckles.]

RH:  Somethin' to say, Gordon?  Somethin' to say?  Ah guess ah do.  Ah
got somethin' to say to Marcus Broussard.

[Houston runs a hand through his hair.]

RH:  Ah don't know what yer tryin' to pull, Shark.  Ah ain't got a clue.
 But what ah can guess is that it has to do with this...

[The champion pats the title belt.]

RH:  ...right here.  Ah'm guessin' that whatever yer tryin' to do...
whoever yer tryin' to convince that ya changed... it all has to do with
gettin' this back 'round your waist.

Ya saved me with Shaw, Broussard.

[Houston nods.]

RH:  Ah'll give ya that.  And ah'm grateful fer that.

[The East Coast Terror grows stern.]

RH:  But it gets ya nothin' with me.  What we've done to each other...
what we've been through against each other... ah don't forget, Shark.

Ya want this?

[Houston slaps the belt again.]

RH:  Come head on fer it.  Ah'll be waiting.

[The National Champion walks off the WKIK Studios set to the cheers of
the crowd.]

GM:  Ron Houston with some stern words for the San Jose Shark.  Fans,
let's go up to the ring!

[Cut to the ring where Melissa is standing.]

MC:  The following contest is a tag team match scheduled for one fall
with a ten minute time limit.  Introducing first... already in the ring
at this time... at a combined weight of 511 pounds...

Alex Anders and David Mason!

[Two non-descript young men raise their arms to some slight cheers...

...which quickly turn to boos as two pissed-off Russians hit the scene,
Kolya Sudakov diving headfirst under the bottom rope while his uncle
slowly scales the ringsteps.]

GM:  THE RUSSIANS ARE HERE!

[The referee quickly calls for the bell as Sudakov lashes out with a
running tackle that knocks Anders off his feet.  Mason assaults Sudakov
from behind with a double axehandle blow...

...which simply causes Sudakov to turn around, sneer, and bury a boot
into the midsection of his opponent.]

GM:  Sudakov doubles up Mason and-

[With a mighty bellow, Sudakov slams a forearm down across the back of
Mason, knocking him down to the canvas as Vladimir Velikov takes his
place on the apron.]

GM:  Kolya Sudakov, the Russian War Machine, is proving to be exactly
that in the early moments of this tag team affair.

BW:  The Russians are out to send a message to the entire AWA, daddy. 
They know what people are thinking, they know what people believe.  The
Russians are out to erase the memories of WarGames in the worst possible
way.

GM:  Sudakov yanks Mason up by the hair...

[Grabbing Mason around the throat, Sudakov hurls him bodily back into
the turnbuckles nearest Vladimir Velikov.  A quick tag brings the elder
Russian into the match for the first time.]

GM:  In comes Velikov off the exchange...

[With a gravelly bark, Velikov lunges forward with a back elbow to the
jaw of Mason before turning around and applying a blatant chokehold in
the buckles.]

GM:  Choke in the corner!  Come on, referee!

BW:  He's got until the count of five, daddy!

GM:  Velikov's choking the air out of David Mason in the corner - the
referee's trying to force a break...

[At the count of four, Velikov backs away, sneering at the official...

...and then lunges back in, burying a boot into the gut of his
opponent.]

GM:  Velikov's working over Mason... dragging him out by the hair...
irish whip...

[The oncoming Mason gets nailed with a hard shoulderblock that takes him
back down to the mat before a leaping elbowdrop brings three hundred
pounds down across the chest.]

GM:  Ohhh!  He dropped all that weight down on the sternum!  David Mason
is sucking wind for sure after that one.

[Velikov pushes up to a knee, pointing a threatening finger at Alex
Anders who is leaning on the top rope in his corner.]

GM:  The big Russian is back to his feet... waving for his nephew...

[The former MMA star tags himself into the match, grabbing Mason's arms
for a double irish whip...

...and then flooring him with a running double shoulderblock that nearly
knocks Mason from the ring.]

GM:  OHHHH!

BW:  Mason almost ate concrete, daddy!

GM:  Sudakov is taunting the fans at ringside... listen to these fans...

[The WKIK Studio audience starts up a "U-S-A!" chant to the rage of the
Russians who shout angrily back at the paying audience.]

GM:  Sudakov standing ov- ohh!  Hard soccer kick to the ribcage of
Mason!

[The Russian War Machine grabs Mason by the hair, hauling him up to his
feet, and dragging him towards the corner where Anders looks on.]

GM:  Is he- Sudakov's forcing Anders to tag in!

[A shocked Alex Anders slaps the hand, slipping into the ring warily...

...and then charges forward, throwing rights and lefts at Sudakov who
simply sneers before burying a knee into the gut of the attacking
Anders.]

GM:  Oh!  He caught him in the breadbasket!

[Grabbing Anders by the back of the head, Sudakov drives his skull into
the forehead of Anders, knocking him down to a knee...

...and then slamming his own knee into the jaw of Anders, knocking him
flat.]

GM:  Sudakov with a cover!  One!  Two!  Th-

[The crowd boos as Sudakov yanks Anders off the mat by the hair, looking
at the jeering crowd with contempt before climbing all the way to his
feet.]

GM:  Irish whip by Sudakov...

[And as Anders rebounds, Sudakov hurls himself into a high impact
clothesline that knocks Anders flat.]

GM:  OHHHHH!

BW:  Goodness gracious, daddy-o.  I almost caught his head!

GM:  Would you stop?  Give me a break, Bucky.

[Sudakov yanks Anders off the mat by the hair, dragging him towards the
corner where he makes another quick tag, causing Velikov to slowly scale
the turnbuckles.]

GM:  Velikov's going up...

[The Russian War Machine hooks a gutwrench, hoisting Anders over his
shoulder in a backbreaker...

...where he stays until Velikov leaps off the top, smashing his forearm
down across the throat, knocking Anders down to the mat where the elder
Russian applies a lateral press.]

GM:  That oughta do it.  There's a one, there's a two, and there's a
three.


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


[Kolya Sudakov and Vladimir Velikov stand, arms raised, in the center of
the ring as the fans jeer wildly.  David Mason drops off the apron,
refusing to get back into the ring with the powerful Russians as they
walk away.]

GM:  The Russians are victorious in this tag team match.

BW:  Do you think that'll be enough to get them in the tournament?

GM:  That's up to the Championship Committee, Bucky.  I have no idea but
I think it'll go a long way to helping the Russians get in the
tournament field with Rough N Ready.  Don't look now, fans, but the
Russians are joining us here at the announce table.  Congratulations on-
hey!

[Vladimir Velikov snatches the mic away from Gordon Myers, screaming
into it.]

VV:  DO NOT WASTE YOUR EMPTY WORDS ON US, MYERS!

[Myers backs away, leaving Velikov to rant.]

VV:  Let that be a lesson for the entire AWA.  My nephew and I have
learned lessons too, Myers.  My nephew and I have learned not to trust
weak, cowardly Americans like HotScott.

GM:  You mean "Hotspot" Stev-?

VV:  YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN!

[Myers backs off again, shaking his head.]

VV:  Mother Russia is angry with us, Myers.  Mother Russia knows that we
failed her.  We trusted HotScott, Dufresne, Freeman... never again.  The
only force that can be relied on is Mother Russia.  My nephew... the
Russian War Machine...

[Velikov beams at his nephew who is standing in front of the camera.]

VV:  He is unstoppable... UNSTOPPABLE!  No one in the AWA.  No one in
your weak, pathetic America can stand up to Kolya.  No one!

GM:  I'm sure there are a lot of members of the AWA roster who would beg
to differ.

[Velikov snorts.]

VV:  Where?!  Where are these men?  Bring them to us!  Bring them to
Kolya!

[Sudakov smirks at the words of his uncle.]

VV:  You speak big words for your America, Myers.  It's time for someone
to... how you say... back them up.

[With a bark in Russian from his uncle, Kolya Sudakov stomps away from
the broadcast table, shoving past the announcers as he slides under the
bottom rope back into the ring.]

GM:  What's this all about, Mr. Velikov?  Why is Kolya back in the ring?

VV:  You say your Americans can stand up to Mother Russia?  Prove it. 
Prove it now, Comrade Myers, or I'll make you prove it for them.

[Velikov looks menacingly towards Gordon Myers, drawing jeers from the
crowd...

...until a huge cheer goes up as someone charges out of the locker room
area, diving headfirst into the ring, and springing to his feet where he
starts throwing blows like wild.]

GM:  DESPAIR!  DESPAIR!

[The spunky member of the Dead Pool starts throwing rights and lefts at
the big Russian, overwhelming him and knocking him back into the
corner.]

GM:  Despair's working over Sudakov in the corner...

[Despair quickly grabs Sudakov by the arm, firing him across the ring.]

GM:  The big Russian hits the buckles...

VV:  This little man... this bug... he is no match for my Kolya!

GM:  We'll see about that!

BW:  What's he doing out here, Gordo?  

GM:  The Russians made a challenge and Despair's answering it!  

VV:  And where is his little doggie?  Where is that rabid dog Gregorson?

[With Sudakov in one corner, Despair dashes across the ring, leaping to
the middle buckle and slamming his knee into the jaw of the Russian War
Machine!]

GM:  OHHHH!  What do you think about that, Mr. Velikov?

VV:  Silence, Myers.  I will not put up with your disrespect.

BW:  Yeah!  Take that, Gordo!

GM:  Just pointing out that Despair's doing pretty well against your
nephew so far.

[A snap mare takes Sudakov out of the corner...]


"WHAAAAAAAAAAAP!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  HARD KICK TO THE SPINE BY DESPAIR!

[Reaching down, Despair throws Sudakov back first into the buckles and
then charges to the other side of the ring again, flashing a pumped fist
to the fans before sprinting across the ring, leaping into the air...]

GM:  HERE WE GOOOOOO!

[Despair seems to hang in the air forever...

...before slamming both feet into the face of the downed and cornered
Sudakov to the roars of the crowd!]

GM:  OHHHHHH!

VV:  I've seen enough of this!

GM:  Hey!  Where are you going?

[Velikov throws down the mic as he charges towards the ring, slamming
the Russian chain down on the apron and barking orders in Russian at his
nephew.]

GM:  Despair's dragging Sudakov off the mat, shoving him back into the
buckles again... kicks to the ribs... 

[The snapping kicks bring the fans to their feet before Despair leaps
into the air, twisting back and burying his heel into the ribcage of the
mighty Russian.]

GM:  Ohhh!  Big kicks to the ribs - and another whip across the ring...

[Sudakov hits the buckles hard, much to the dismay of his angry uncle
out on the floor.]

GM:  Sudakov in the corner again...

BW:  I can't believe how easily Despair has handled him so far.  He must
be tired, exhausted from that tag team match.  That's the only
explanation I can think of.  I just can't-

GM:  Here he comes!

[Despair sprints across the ring, leaping into the air as Sudakov steps
out of the buckles...

...and snatches Despair out of the sky!]

GM:  Uh oh!  Sudakov caught him and-

[The crowd groans as Sudakov drops to a knee, slamming Despair down
across his bent knee in a backbreaker.]

GM:  Ohhhh!  What power by Sudakov!

[Still holding Despair, Sudakov stands up...

...and brings Despair back down across the knee again!]

GM:  Another one!  Another backbreaker!  

BW:  And he's still not done!

GM:  We're just getting word from the locker room area that Werewolf
Gregorson has not arrived here at the WKIK Studios tonight.  He's
apparently stuck in traffic and running late so Despair is all alone out
here against both Russians!

[Sudakov slowly rises again, Despair like a small child in his arms as
he slowly turns around to show him off to the jeering fans...

...and brings him down hard across the knee again before dumping him in
a heap on the canvas.]

GM:  A series of backbreakers by Kolya Sudakov, the Russian War Machine,
and Despair is laid out because of it.  

[With a sneer, Sudakov drags Despair off the mat by the back of the
shorts,  throwing him into the buckles...

...and nearly caving in his chest with a snapping kick to the upper
torso!]

GM:  Good grief, Bucky.  What a kick that was and- now what's going on?!

[The crowd jeers as Vladimir Velikov slides into the ring, bringing the
big metal chain with him.]

GM:  The Russians are both in there!  How fair is this?!

BW:  It's not a match,  Gordo.  This isn't a sanctioned match.

GM:  Velikov is in - and we've got a two on one attack on Despair!  The
Russians are working over Despair in the corner!

[Sudakov and Velikov pummel Despair in the turnbuckles to the jeers of
the crowd.]

GM:  Sudakov throws Despair to the mat out of the buckles.  What's gonna
happen to him now?  

BW:  He's going to regret getting involved in this, Gordo!

GM:  They've got that chain - and we've seen this before.  The Russians
have that heavy metal chain, stretching it out between them.  Sudakov
holding one end, Velikov the other... waiting for Despair to rise...
waiting for Despair to-

[The crowd EXPLODES as City Jack and Tin Can Rust come charging from the
back, rolling under the ropes as the Russians charge forward.]

GM:  KENTUCKY'S PRIDE!

[Tin Can Rust tackles Despair to the mat, avoiding the steel chain
clothesline...

...and sending Kolya Sudakov running right into a Metropill forearm
smash from City Jack that knocks the big Russian flat!]

GM:  DOWN GOES SUDAKOV!

[City Jack spins on his heels, slamming a right hand into the head of
Vladimir Velikov, knocking him back into the turnbuckles.]

GM:  Velikov gets rocked as well!  City Jack is taking on the Russians!

[Tin Can Rust gets back to his feet, drilling a rising Sudakov with a
righ hand that knocks the big Russian back against the turnbuckles. 
Rust quickly leaps to the midbuckle, fist clenched.]

GM:  Mounted punches in the corner!  Right hand!  Right hand!  Right
hand!

[Rust takes a momentary break, shouting to the fans...

...and gets upended by Sudakov, tossed over the ropes and down to the
concrete below!]

GM:  OHHH!  DOWN TO THE FLOOR GOES RUST!

[The big Russian grabs the discarded chain off the mat, shaking the
effects of the punches in the corner as he stomps across the ring to
where Jack is pummeling Velikov.]

GM:  Look out, Jack!  Look out!

[Wrapping the chain around his arm, Sudakov winds up...

...and brings it down hard across the back of City Jack's head, knocking
him down to a knee to the jeers of the crowd!]

GM:  OHHHH!  What a shot by Sudakov!  Despair's down!  Rust is on the
floor!  Jack is down and- GREGORSON!  THE WEREWOLF IS HERE!

[The WKIK Studio fans ERUPT in cheers again as a street-clothes clad
Werewolf Gregorson comes charging from the locker room area, diving
under the bottom rope...

...and DRILLS a turned-around Sudakov with the Silver Bullet spear!]

GM:  SPEAR!  SPEAR ON SUDAKOV!  GREGORSON TAKES HIM DOWN!

[The crowd roars as Gregorson throws right hand after right hand at the
downed Sudakov as Velikov staggers out of the buckles, shoving past the
kneeling, stunned City Jack.]

GM:  Velikov's coming out of the corner and-

[The crowd groans as Velikov drives a big boot into Gregorson's face,
knocking him out of his mount position on Sudakov.  The elder Russian
drives stomp after stomp down on the prone Gregorson as City Jack slowly
gets back to his feet.]

GM:  The Russians are taking on the Dead Pool AND Kentucky's Pride! 
This is nuts!

BW:  Look out, Vladdy!

GM:  Ohhh!  City Jack spins him around... right hand!

[The big right hand knocks Velikov off his feet, putting him down on the
canvas.  Jack quickly pulls the big Russian back up, battering him with
right hands again.]

GM:  Jack is pummeling Velikov!  Give it to him, Jack!  Show him what-

[Getting back to his feet, Gregorson grabs City Jack by the shoulder...

...and the Kentucky native spins around, knocking Gregorson off his feet
with a Metropill forearm to a collective gasp from the crowd!]

GM:  Oh my stars.

BW:  Did you see that, Gordo!?  Didya see it?!

GM:  I saw it, Bucky.  But it was an accident.  Look at City Jack - he
can't believe it!

[With City Jack distracted, the two Russians bail from the ring, making
their escape from the WKIK Studios as City Jack stands over the downed
Gregorson.]

GM:  City Jack... it was an accident, a total accident, but City Jack
just knocked Werewolf Gregorson flat as can be.  I can't believe it.  I
just can't believe it.

[From across the ring, Despair shoves past City Jack, helping his
partner back to his feet.]

GM:  Despair's helping Gregorson and-

[The crowd gasps again as Gregorson shoves Despair aside, getting right
into the face of City Jack.]

GM:  Oh no!  Come on, guys - it was a mistake.  It was an accident!  

BW:  Gregorson doesn't think so!

GM:  He's just upset.  Despair is right there as well, trying to talk to
him.  City Jack's trying to explain what happened but Werewolf Gregorson
isn't listening one bit!

[Gregorson and City Jack are nose to nose, shouting at one another.]

GM:  Hopefully we can get this under control - fans, we'll be right
back!

[The shot holds on City Jack and Gregorson nose to nose as we fade to
black...

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

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

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

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

[Now to the Southern Championship Wrestling logo.]

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

[And then the PWR logo.]

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

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

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

[Fade to black...

...and then back up on the WKIK Studios announce desk where Gordon and
Bucky are standing.  Adrian Freeman stands against the standard AWA
backdrop, dressed in his wrestling gear and giving the camera a
thousand-yard stare. The camera pans back to reveal Gordon Myers
standing next to him, apparently not deserving of any attention.]

GM: Adrian Freeman, tonight you and Rick Marley will finally wrestle
one-on-one. Any comments before the match?

AF: Any comments? I don't even know what to say, Gordo. Talking seems
so... redundant at this point. I've been preaching out here each and
every week, trying to expose Rick Marley for the sham he is, but week
after week I get jeered. They call me boring. They tell me to go home.
So it's obvious that words can't convince anyone. Hell, with this crowd
I'm not sure they can even understand them.

GM: Now, I'm not sure

AF (ignoring him): Well, actions speak louder than words, so they say.
So tonight, I'll speak in a language anyone can understand. It's the
language of broken bones, of screams, of humans bending in ways they
never were meant to bend. And even the dumbest redneck will not be able
to deny that it was Adrian Freeman.

GM: But that's not going to be an easy task to accomplish. Many view
Rick Marley as a future superstar, and say that this match is an
important step for him to get into title contention.

AF: Yes, I saw that press release. It's shameful, really, how obviously
biased this promotion is. Rick Marley, National Champion? Can you even
imagine it? It would be a disgrace!

GM: Rick Marley is a world-class competitor, Mr. Freeman, and to be
quite frank I'm sick of you insulting him all the time.

AF: Well, you're in luck Gordo. Because after tonight, nobody will be
talking about Rick Marley. I'm not the albatross around his neck, he's
the one around mine. Only after I defeat Rick Marley in the middle of
ring and prove my superiority to him will I escape the flashy,
crowd-pleasing idiots who have blocked my road to success every step of
the way. This victory will be oh so sweet.

GM: Well, good luck in your match, I suppose.

[Freeman doesn't respond, just walks off.]

GM:  That huge Main Event, later tonight, fans - let's go up to the ring
for our next match!

[We 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.  Introducing first - already in the ring at this time...
From Zeb, Oklahoma and weighing in at 235 pounds, KADEN OATS!

[A few more cheers ring out for the Oklahoma native than on his last AWA
Saturday Night Wrestling appearance.] 

GM:  Kaden, out for a little payback tonight after what happened to his
brother two weeks ago at the hands of Grant Stone.  Even the crowd seems
a little happier to see him.

BW:  It's amazing what a thrashing at the hands of a monster can get
you.

GM:  It was his brother Cooper who took some pounding at the hands of
Grant Stone two weeks ago and tonight, Kaden's looking for some payback.

BW:  I hope his insurance is paid up.

[Oats tugs on the ropes, trying to stay loose as "Camero Crash Helmet"
by Borgo Pass plays over the PA to the jeers of the WKIK Studio crowd.]

GM:  And here comes trouble.

[Showing some fire, Kaden Oats mounts the midbuckle, looking out towards
the entryway as Melissa Cannon continues.]

MC:  Standing 6'[8 and weighing in at 310 pounds... from Louisville,
Kentucky...

GRAAAAAANT STOOOOOOONE!

[Arguably the most feared man in the AWA, Grant Stone, steps into the
WKIK Studios to a thunderous shower of boos from the AWA faithful.  In
dark green wrestling trunks and black boots, Stone shifts his glare from
side to side over the jeering fans as he walks towards the ring.]

GM:  The most dangerous man in the AWA bar none, Bucky.  You're looking
at him.

BW:  That'd be tough to argue, Gordo.  We've seen Kevin Slater, Frank
Dylan James, Luke Steele, and two weeks ago, rookie Rodrick Vida all get
sent to the hospital at the hands of this monster and the AWA hasn't
seen any sign of any of them since.

GM:  There's been a lot of discussion about whether or not Grant Stone
is a bounty hunter working for Bobby Taylor - but what we do know is
that Kevin Slater has put a bounty of his own on Stone, offering a
significant amount of cash to the man who can put Stone in a neckbrace
like he did to Slater.

BW:  And I know you've heard the rumors just like I have, daddy.  Is
someone REALLY crazy enough to go after that bounty here tonight in
Dallas, Texas?

GM:  Like you said, I've heard the rumors too and-

[The crowd roars to life as Grant Stone steps into the ring and
immediately falls victim to a rushing assault by Kaden Oats, a
blitzkrieg of rights and lefts that pushes Stone back against the ropes
in a hurry.]

GM:  Kaden Oats is all over Grant Stone!  Conspicuous by his absence
tonight is Cooper Oats but Kaden is out to do his brother proud tonight
on Saturday Night Wrestling!

[The flurry of offense allows Kaden to grab Stone by the arm, whipping
him across the ring as he sets for a backdrop...

...and promptly gets the toe of Stone's boot slammed into his windpipe,
causing him to straighten up, clutching his throat in pain.]

GM:  Oh!  Grant Stone cuts off the offense of Kaden Oats in a hurry,
going right after that throat...

[A huge haymaker finds the target, causing Oats to stagger chestfirst
into the corner where Stone quickly pursues, grabbing Oats by the back
of the head.]

GM:  Both men in the corner... and Stone SLAMS him facefirst into the
buckles!

[Oats staggers away from the corner, leaning on the top rope to stay
standing as Stone methodically pursues him.]

GM:  Grant Stone showing no mercy here.  

BW:  Did you really expect him to after Kaden Oats attacked him before
the bell?  Oats is lucky that his head is still attached to his body at
this point of the match, daddy.

GM:  You may be right.

[With Oats draped over the top rope, Stone pushes his windpipe down on
the steel cable, laying over Oats and forcing his three hundred pounds
on the back of Oats' head, strangling him against the top rope.]

GM:  The referee is right there to count.  That's a blatant choke
applied by Grant Stone.  The big man is taking the wind right out of
Kaden Oats' sails.

[Releasing the choke at the four count, Stone slowly turns Oats
around...

...and blasts him across the chest with a forearm shot that causes Oats
to cling to the ropes to stay on his feet.  A big boot to the midsection
knocks Oats to a knee.]

GM:  Kaden Oats down to a knee - no sign of- ohhhh!

[The crowd groans as Stone takes a few step running start and drives a
boot into the side of Oats' face, causing him to fall under the middle
rope and drop out to the barely-padded concrete floor.]

GM:  The young man from Oklahoma gets sent out to the floor by Grant
Stone and- uh oh, Stone's going out there after him, Bucky!

BW:  And out on the floor is not where you want to be with Grant Stone. 
That man does enough damage inside the ring - I have no desire to know
what he'd do to someone outside the ring.

GM:  Stone steps out on the apron, dropping down to the floor.

[With a sadistic smirk, Stone drags Oats off the floor by the back of
the tights, grabbing him by the back of the head.]

GM:  Both men up on the floor - ohhh!  Kaden Oats just had his face
slammed into the ring apron by Grant Stone!

[Staggering backwards, Stone hoists Oats up into the air...

...and slams him down with a scoop slam on the barely-padded concrete
floor!]

GM:  OHHHHH!

BW:  Goodbye, Kaden Oats!

GM:  That might snap a spine clear in half, Bucky.  Grant Stone is
cold-blooded, lethal monster.  And somebody needs to stop this man.  I
don't know who or how - but someone needs to stop him.

BW:  It ain't gonna be Kaden Oats, that's for sure.

[Dragging Oats off the protective mats, Stone fires him under the ropes
before rolling under them himself.]

GM:  Both men back inside the ring but Kaden Oats isn't moving at all. 
The referee should stop this match before it goes any further.

[Meekly starts to check on Oats but an approaching Stone forces him to
back off in a hurry as the Kentucky native drags Oats' dead weight off
the mat...

...and then ducks down, hoisting Oats up into an Argentine backbreaker.]

GM:  Uh oh - here it comes... this move should be banned in my opinion! 
This move should absolutely be-



"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"



[The crowd gasps as Stone drops to the side, DRIVING Oats' head into the
canvas at a sickening angle.]

GM:  ETCHED... IN... STONE!

[Stone coldly flips Oats to his back, applying a lateral press.]

GM:  One.  Two.  Three.


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  Grant Stone claims another victim.  He claims anoth-

[The crowd begins to buzz as someone in street clothes races through the
crowd, diving under the bottom rope into the ring...

...and promptly drilling a surprised Grant Stone in the midsection with
a right hand covered in a black glove!]

GM:  Who the- who is that?!

[The blow to the gut causes Stone to drop to the canvas, quickly rolling
under the ropes to the floor clutching his abdomen in pain.]

BW:  Wait a second - I know that guy!

GM:  So do I!  What is he doing here?!  

[A surprised Stone starts to get back in the ring where the 5'11, 220
pound young man is standing, black glove covered-hand reared back and
ready to fly again...

...but backs away as he grabs at his ribs in pain after trying to get
back into the ring.]

GM:  Stone's staggering away - Grant Stone, for the first time in the
AWA, is in retreat!  

[Inside the ring, the young man with short dirty blond hair cut close to
his head runs the gloved hand over his well-trimmed beard, smirking as
Stone backs towards the locker room area.]

GM:  Grant Stone's in retreat - and that bounty may not have been cashed
in here tonight but we may have gotten one step closer to someone,
ANYONE, stopping this monster!

BW:  I can't believe THIS is who came to claim the bounty.  What must
Bobby Taylor be thinking now?

[With Stone cleared out, the young man steps out of the ring to the
cheers of the crowd, walking over to the announce desk.]

GM:  We're about be joined over here at the desk by- well, Shane
Taylor... welcome to the AWA, my friend!

[Grinning like an idiot, "Scorchin" Shane Taylor claps Gordon Myers on
the shoulder as he grabs the mic.]

ST:  Thanks, Gordon.  It's been a long time in comin', I tell ya that
for sure.  Since Day One this place was opened, I begged, I pleaded, I
bargained - I needed to be here - to do this.

[Taylor rubs the gloved hand over his chin.]

ST:  But it wasn't as they say... meant to be... until now, Gordon.

GM:  So, you?  You're going for the bounty?

ST:  Someone's gotta do it, Gordo.  Kevin Slater is like an older
brother to me.  I've known the man for over ten years and he is my
friend.

[Taylor's grin is gone.]

ST:  Something had to be done, Gordon.  Ya get that?  Something had to
be done.  And if it wasn't gonna be Bobby to step up and do it, it's
gonna be me.

Kev, I know you're home watching this... I know you are.

[Taylor gets very serious.]

ST:  By hook or by crook, I will see Grant Stone in a neckbrace. 
Guaranteed.  And the next time we step into these studios, Grant Stone,
you sonuvabitch... I'm comin' for ya.

["Scorchin" Shane holds up the black gloved hand.]

ST:  And she's comin' with me, baby.  See ya soon.

[Taylor grins at Gordon Myers again as he walks off the set leaving the
distinguished play-by-play man shaking his head.]

GM:  "Scorchin" Shane Taylor is here and he's comin' for Grant Stone! 
Fans, we'll be right back!

[The shot holds on Gordon Myers a moment before fading 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:

Rick Marley and Kentucky's Pride
Laredo Fashion Plaza - Laredo, Texas
October 12

Rough N Ready
Dallas Ford - Dallas, Texas
October 13

Sweet Daddy Williams
Houston Fashion Plaza - Houston, Texas
October 15

Werewolf Gregorson, Despair, and Adam Rogers
Harris Chevrolet - Dallas, Texas
October 17

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 WKIK Studios announce desk where, at this
point, the members of Rough N Ready, Dave Cooper and Eric Matthew
Somers, walk onto the interview set, their manager Sarah Sharpe
accompanying them.]

GM:  Welcome back to AWA Saturday Night Wrestling, fans, and it looks
like Rough N Ready, the first team to be entered into the National Tag
Team Title tournament, wants to join us to share a few words.

BW: Can we opt for them not to join us?

[The answer is no, apparently, as Somers immediately approaches Wilde,
who backs up a step.]

BW: Oh no... you stay away from me.

[Somers does not stay away from him... he immediately he puts his arm
around Bucky's shoulder, causing the former manager to look a bit
worried.]

EMS: Now, you should know by now not to be afraid of me... when we are
out here on this set to just talk to you and Gordon, I'm just a nice guy
and you have nothing to worry about.

[Bucky doesn't seem to be convinced, and it's causing Gordon to chuckle.
Somers gets a slight grin on his face, but then ultimately pulls away
from Bucky.]

EMS: All right, if it makes you feel better, I'll leave you alone...
besides, you didn't use your deodorant this morning.

BW: You... hey! I did too!

[Somers ignores Bucky and turns to Gordon.]

EMS: Now, Gordon, don't get too confused with me telling Bucky what a
nice guy I am out here... because that's only because we are in your
company and you don't happen to be standing across the ring from us as
our opponents. And hey, just because Dave and I are more than happy to
sign an autograph for a five-year-old kid or stop to get a few photos
with the groupies who hang out by the arena doors, doesn't mean that
we're gonna play nice with whoever it is we happen to face in that ring.

GM: Well, we have seen in recent weeks the two of you on a roll in the
tag team ranks, and it appears the championship committee has taken note
and named you the first team to be entered into the tag team tournament.

[Dave, who has just been standing next to Gordon, Sarah by Dave's side,
now speaks.]

DC: Gordon, you talk about us being the first team to be part of the
chase for the tag team titles... and rumor has it that Werewolf
Gregorson and Despair are none too happy about not being the first to be
named a participant in the tournament. But regardless of whether or not
there is any truth to the rumor, the fact is this... there's a
difference between being the first named to a tournament, and being the
team that actually wins the tournament.

[He turns to the camera.]

DC: See, Eric and I don't care whether we are the first, the last, or
somewhere in between of the tag teams named to the tournament... what we
care about is walking out of the tournament with those tag team titles
in our possession, because that's what matters the most. It doesn't
matter who gets the first pick of a slot or where we get seeded... our
objective is to take whoever it is we face, show them what we are made
of, and then move on to whichever teams comes our way, until our final
goal is realized.

EMS: You know, Dave, I wonder.. could it be that maybe Werewolf
Gregorson and Despair were the type that, when they were kids, they were
more concerned when they were picked to be on somebody's team?

BW: What does that have to do with anything?

EMS: Nothing in particular, just a little observation... but speaking of
observations, I do observe that now the guys who call themselves the
Dead Pool are talking about how they were getting tired of defending the
red, white and blue against a couple of Communists and now they mean
business. Well, I'm glad to hear those two say that, because Rough N
Ready always means business... and Gordon and Bucky, the two of you
shouldn't be worrying about a change of attitude from them or anyone
else... what you need to worry about is the fact that, while Dave and I
will be nice to the little kid who wants our John Hancock, we certainly
ain't gonna be nice to any team they put against us in the ring... just
ask the Glamour Boyz about that!

GM: Speaking of which, word has it the Glamour Boyz want another crack
at the two of you.

DC: Gordon, if those two men... and men is a term I use loosely when
describing them... want another shot at Rough N Ready, we will be more
than happy to give it to them. Who knows... Michael Taylor and Nick
Hunter could end up facing us in the race for the tag team titles. Just
remember that the last time you faced us, as talented as you are, you
sure seemed to be looking past us. Don't make that mistake again,
because I can assure you we aren't going to make that mistake with you,
the Dead Pool, the Russians or anyone else we face.

GM: Well, gentlemen, thank you for joining us, and it has been a
pleasure.

BW: The pleasure was all yours.

SS: Gordon... actually, I have something else to quickly discuss with
you.

BW: He's a married man if I'm not mistaken, Sarah.

SS: [looking at Bucky] And I'm a married woman... now keep your mouth
shut. [Turning back to Gordon] Gordon, we've all heard Hoff say that
Dave never gave his boys an opportunity when they were younger. But the
fact is, we are all about somebody getting an opportunity provided they
demonstrate they are mature enough to handle it. Well, the three of us
caught a young, up and coming talent elsewhere and we though he would be
a good fit for the AWA. So I talked to AWA officials, and they agreed to
give this young man a tryout match... and we will be there to personally
watch him in action next show.

GM: Can you give us some details about who this new talent is?

SS: Gordon, we'll just let his talents speak for himself next week. I
will say, though, that this individual is not a well-known veteran, just
a young kid who has been making the most of opportunities before him,
and we think he's somebody who could be an asset to the AWA.

GM: We certainly look forward to that... thank you, Sarah.  And coming
up next, we've got-

[The members of Rough N Ready depart as Chopins Death March begins its
dirge.  The fans start booing immediately as the music plays.]

GM:  Here comes the loudmouth. What does he want this time?

BW:  I think its time for him to see if somebody can take his money,
daddy. That $25,000 is still up for grabs.

GM:  What are the rules of this contest? $25,000 if you pin him and
$15,000 if you go past five minutes?

BW:  Dont matter. Nobody come close yet, daddy.

[Shadoe Rage sweeps out in his most outrageous robe yet, a crimson and
pink feathered and sequined number. He wears a long, trailing pink scarf
wrapped around his head and his eyes are outlined in black kohl. He
holds up the money bag in one hand as he approaches the announce desk.]

SR:  I heard a rumor, man.

GM:  Did you now?

SR:  I heard Paul Driscoll isnt coming back. I heard that hes a beaten
man and that one visit to Rage Country ended his career.

GM:  From what we understand, that appears to be the case. I hope youre
happy.

SR:  No, Im not happy. Because now I have no one to make suffer while I
await my passport to the National Title. Im not so upset this week as I
was last time on the show. Ive come to accept that cheating me out of my
birthright seems to be a national pastime outside of Rage Country. Thats
okay. Because a King and God will never stoop. A King and God will never
bow. Ill just win. Thats right. Ill just win, baby.

BW: And speaking of winning, baby, you gonna give another poor sap a
chance to be rich and famous.

SR: You know it, man. But the chance to be rich and famous is fleeting
and whoever is chosen on this trip to Rage Country  I just feel sorry
for your luck. Bring me some competition!

GM: Well, a young man by the name of Paul Devers is in the ring, Mr.
Rage. Why dont you give him the chance to make some money?

SR: Dont fool the people. They dont believe he can take this money from
me. You dont believe it and neither does Paul Devers whoever he is.
Watch this. And hang on to my money, man.

[Rage drops the money bag on Buckys lap as he heads to the ring,
sprinting towards the ring, diving under the bottom rope.]

GM: Shadoe Rage rushing the ring. Paul Devers has his back turned
discussing something with the referee!

BW: Bad idea. You never take your eyes off Shadoe Rage!

[Shadoe Rage leaps up and plants his knees in Devers' back. He grabs him
in a rear facelock and topples backwards, cracking Devers back against
his knees.]

GM:  And Shadoe Rage with some kind of backbreaker type move. Paul
Devers is in a world of hurt.

BW:  And Shadoe Rage hasnt even taken off his robe. This might be some
kind of first for the AWA!

GM:   Shadoe Rage measuring him and drops the knee to the throat. Wheres
he going?

BW:  Up top, daddy. And what goes up must come down!

[And so it does. Shadoe Rage comes down heavy with a top rope elbow drop
to Devers chest. The ring robed terror immediately bounces to his feet,
stepping on Devers neck as he raises on finger in the air.]

GM:  Just like that - there's one... there's two... and there's three.


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


MC: Ladies and gentlemen  here is your winner  SHADOE RAGE!!!!!!

[The fans boo the short nights work but Rage simply golf claps and
waves.]

GM: Shadoe Rages money never really in doubt. I think that might have
been all of 30 seconds.

BW: And he still looks as fresh as when he came through the curtains.

[Shadoe Rage exits the ring, pausing long enough to snatch back his
money.]

SR: Nobody does it better! NOBODY!!!!!!

[Rage storms away, money bag in hand, leaving Gordon Myers behind
shaking his head.]

GM:  We'll be right back, fans, but as we go to break, let's take a look
at these words from "The Natural" Adam Rogers!

[We fade from a shot of Gordon and Bucky...

Chop. Chop. Chop.

The camera begins its focus with a closeup of a silver ax head, crashing
down into a log and sending slivers of wood flying in all directions.
The ax swings down again, this time embedding the head in the log and
staying put as the single camera zooms back to reveal the holder of the
ax.

"The Natural" Adam Rogers.

One thing for certain is that he doesn't appear to be in his element.
The man from the beaches of Florida now wears a red flannel shirt,
worn-out blue jeans, and tan Dickies steel-toed boots. His blonde hair
is unkempt, a sign of the work he's been doing with that ax. He rests
his right hand on it as he looks toward the camera.]

AR: Last place you probably expected to see me, huh?

[A smile.]

AR: For those of you in the AWA who may not be familiar with me and my
background...which obviously includes you, Mark Shaw...let me fill you
in on what this is all about. My father, the legendary George Rogers,
you see...he toured across the country back in his heyday. Wasn't like
it is now, where you fly from city to city and have people there to take
your bags, shine your shoes, and blow smoke up your tail. Back in his
time, you drove. You didn't make a lot of money, and you did whatever
you had to do in order to put food on the table.

Dad spent a good amount of time up here in east Tennessee...that's where
I am right now, up in the Smoky Mountains. See, the doctors, they told
me I couldn't be at the WKIK studios this week, what with Mark Shaw
blindsiding me with that steel chair...had to stay away, because they
knew good and well I'd be looking for a little payback. So I decided to
come back up here for a few days...clear my head, blow off some steam,
but most of all to get back to what it was like for me back in the days
we travelled all over Tennessee, Georgia, Virginia, the Carolinas,
watching my dad and dreaming of the day where I'd be the Rogers everyone
talked about.

[Adam pauses, glancing off to his left, unable to keep the tight smile
off his face.]

AR: When we made our home up here in east Tennessee, like I said, money
wasn't that easy to come by. Yeah, dad was one of the best in the
business, but business was run a little differently back then. Paychecks
weren't always given when they were supposed to be, and they didn't
always turn out to be worth any more than the paper they were printed
on. So dad, he would put me and my brothers to work, doing things like
this. We didn't have a heater in the house...dad said we couldn't afford
to having to rely on a Charles Kinkaid paycheck.

[Adam again pauses, pulling the ax out of the log and sending it
crashing back down into it.]

AR: It's been awhile since I've been up here and done this. Guess I was
15 when we moved down to Florida. Coming back up here has been
good...it's helped me to remember all the blood, the sweat, the tears
people like my father put into the business so people like me can have
it as good as we do today. For those who haven't gone through it or at
least watched it from the front rows or the local National Guard
Armories and high schools, maybe they just don't get it.

Do you, Mark Shaw?

You can't get it, because if you did? You'd have more respect for the
sport. You'd have more respect for the AWA National Title. And you'd
have more respect for yourself.

[Rogers leans on the ax, shaking his head.]

AR: Instead? You've let yourself become weak...mentally weak. Obsessed
with the AWA National Title and winning it through any means necessary.
You've taken your self-pride, your dignity, and you've thrown it away
completely. You've resorted to sneak attacks, you've resorted to
breaking rules, just because of a fifteen pound piece of gold and
leather.

But right now, I want you to listen and I want you to listen good.
Because, pal? I've been there. I've done that. And I can tell you what
it gets you.

Nothing.

A title? Maybe. But that title means nothing, if you go get it in the
way you've been doing it. Hey, I've been there...I won the most
prestigious championship in professional wrestling history but the
problem, Mark Shaw, was that I did it the way you're trying to do it
now. At one time, I threw my self-respect, my dignity away because I got
too obsessed over the wrong things. That's why I'm in the AWA
now...because I couldn't leave my career like it was when I retired as a
world heavyweight champion.

Yeah...I had the belt. But I lost this.

[Again he pauses, looking at his surroundings.]

AR: I lost the understanding of what this business is about. Lucky for
me, I found it again. And unlucky for you, I'm going to show you. One
way or the other.

Something else you need to understand, Mark Shaw, about my past is this.
I've been where you are. I know how you're thinking. And brother...I
know how to get down and play dirty. So you want to keep attacking me
from behind? You want to keep swinging chairs?

[Adam pulls the ax out of the log, taking his time to get a good grip
before swinging it back down with greater force than any previous blow.
As the head lodges over halfway into the log, Adam hangs
on...pulls...and the head stays in the log while the handle? The handle
comes out in his hands. He smiles, holding it up to the camera.]

AR: Then I might just have to bring me a little equalizer back to Texas.

[From the shot of Adam Rogers holding the axehandle, we fade to black...

...and then 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 fades back to the WKIK Studios broadcast table where Gordon
Myers and Bucky Wilde are standing.]

GM:  Welcome back to AWA Saturday Night Wrestling, fans, and at this
time, we'll bring in a man who has requested to address the fans of the
AWA. He is none other than "Hotshot" Stevie Scott.

[Stevie walks into the view of the camera, wearing surprisingly normal
attire. No longer is he in his flower-dyed silk shirt, bermuda shorts,
etc. He only wears a t-shirt, faded blue jeans, and cowboy boots. His
sandy blond hair, which had hereunto been pulled into a ponytail, is now
let down over his shoulders. His face is covered by a dark but thin
beard.]

GM: Stevie Scott, it has been a rough last few weeks for you here in the
AWA.

[Stevie nods as Myers leans the mic in his direction.]

HSS: It has, Mr. Myers, it has.

[Before he gets any further, the crowd begins a loud "STE-VIE SUCKS!"
chant, prompting Scott to pause and send his gaze across the audience
that is having much fun at his expense.]

HSS: Hang on...hang on...OK, I deserve that. I really do.

[The chant continues but not as loud as the interview continues.]

HSS: That's why I'm out here, you know? I mean...two weeks ago, it was
pretty much the lowest point of my career, losing to the Cuban Assassin.
I've got to tell you, Mr. Myers, it was really hard for me to get back
into that ring after what happened at The Last Stampede.

[Pop for that.]

HSS: It was. I mean, my world...just falling apart. My friends, gone,
all because I wanted to protect my eyesight. Did you hear what I said?
My eyesight, my well-being, was less important to them than winning that
match. Stevie Scott gets blinded? No problem, so long as we win. Some
friends, huh?

[The crowd's jeers have toned down some, as the members of the audience
perhaps get a little confused as to what is going on.]

HSS: Two weeks, Mr. Myers...two weeks ago, when I got my shoulders
pinned by a guy who probably hasn't won a match since I was in
Knoxville...I entered that ring unprepared. Unmotivated. For the first
time in my career, I had no desire in wrestling a match.

[Stevie shakes his head.]

HSS: So I thought. I thought long and I thought hard, Mr. Myers, about
the direction of my career here in the AWA. Stevie's Hotspot. Sending
insults and barbs at two hard-working guys like Kentucky's Pride. It's
like I became a dang sideshow...a clown for everyone's amusement, and
eventually a punching bag for the white hats of the AWA.

[Almost silence from the crowd now as Stevie continues.]

HSS: The conclusion I came to is that it's time. Time for changes. Time
for a new Stevie Scott. 

So that's what you're going to see over the next several weeks, Gordon
Myers. A new Stevie Scott.

GM: What will this new Stevie Scott be like?

[Stevie grins a li'l bit.]

HSS: You'll just have to wait and see.

[With that, Stevie walks away from the announcer table.]

GM:  A very mysterious Stevie Scott with some ominous words.  Fans,
let's go up to the ring for our next match!

[Inside the ring, we see two men - one wearing half white-half gray
wrestling tights while they other wears red wrestling tights with a
black box pattern on the middle of the tights.] 

MC: Introducing first, hailing from "the stratosphere"... weighing in at
a combined 351 pounds... Snowblind and Gale Force - NATURE'S STORM!

[A smattering of boos sound out for the two underweight wrestlers in the
ring as they raise their hands. Both wrestlers look very young -
probably not even of drinking age yet.]

MC: And their opponents -

["My Old Kentucky Home" plays over the sound system, bringing the fans
to their feet.]

MC: Hailing from Kentucky and weighing in at a combined 564 pounds, the
team of Tin Can Rust and
City Jack... KENTUCKY'S PRIDE!

[City Jack and Tin Can Rust both enter arena to a loud pop from the
crowd. They both seem to be in fine health, recovered from the grueling
War Games match in Laredo. As Rust heads to the ring, Jack makes sure to
round the outside and slap the fans' hands nearby.]

GM: After a long layoff, Kentucky's Pride is back in the AWA ring. Looks
like it will be Tin Can Rust to start this off against... uh...

BW: You don't know who their opponents are?

GM: I know I heard Nature's Storm, but I seem to have misplaced their
names... somewhere...

BW: Skinny guy #1 and skinny guy #2, Gordo. That help?

GM: Barely. I'll take it that the young man in white and grey is...
Snowblind?

BW: And the other beanpole is Gale Force. Guess they're weathermen?

[Rust and Snowblind meet in the center of the ring, with Gale Force
extending his hand out for a shake. Rust naturally goes for the honest
handshake... and Snowblind returns with a swift kick to the nether
regions! The fans boo as Rust doubles over.]

BW: Ha! Oldest trick in the book and that fossil still fell for it!

GM: Dishonest tactics already from these two young wrestlers.

BW: Hey, if your opponents are dumb enough to get that over on ya,
that's Rust's fault.

[With Rust still doubled over, Snowblind runs back into the ropes,
rebound, and leaps to deliver a nice ax kick to the back of Rust's head.
TCR falls to the mat as Snowblind makes a tag to his partner.]

GM: Early tag and here comes in the larger of the two, Gale Force.

[Instead of coming into the ring, Gale Force ascends the turnbuckle and
leaps, landing square on the lower back of Tin Can Rust.]

GM: Nice bodysplash there from Gale Force!

BW: From these cards... I mean, from my memory, he calls that "The
Gust".

GM: I can see why you're the announcer of the mid-year, Bucky.

BW: And soon to be announcer of the year, daddy!

[Gale Force makes a tag to Snowblind and they both go on the attack,
laying stomp after stomp on the downed Rust. Frustrated, City Jack tries
to enter the ring, but the ref blocks him.]

GM: Nature's Storm really working over Tin Can Rust early in this match
and - Oh, come on ref!

[Seeing the ref's back turned, both Gale Force and Snowblind lift their
legs up high and give a stiff stomp again to the nether regions of TCR.
The crowd really boos now as both Force & Snowblind raise their hands
triumphantly.]

BW: I don't see anymore baby Flash Pan Bust's in the future.

GM: "Flash Pan Bust"?

BW: Bit of a reach?

GM: A bit. Gale Force finally getting out of the ring and Snowblind goes
to work on Rust, continuing to stomp away at his knees.

BW: If Kentucky's Pride can't handle these two featherweights, how are
they going to even win one match in the National Tag Title tournament?

[Snowblind drags Rust over to his team's corner, props him up against
the turnbuckle a bit so his head rests on the bottom buckle and then
tags in his partner.]

GM: Both Gale Force and Snowblind in the ring again.

BW: It is a tag TEAM match, Gordo.

[Both Gale Force and Snowblind back up on opposite ends of the ring and
then run full force towards TCR, leaping in unison as they approach and
then deliver a crush double dropkick to Rust's head.]

BW: Whoo, daddy! Rust might not be awake after that one!

GM: Nature's Storm showing skill beyond their young faces.

[Snowblind, cocky over that last move, spits in the direction of City
Jack. This, of course, prompts Jack to try to enter the ring, but again
the ref blocks Jack from entering since he hasn't gotten a tag.
Meanwhile, Gale Force has gone to the outside and gotten a chair.]

GM: Come on ref, turn around!

[Gale Force holds the chair on top of Rust's slumped over head as
Snowblind backs up.]

GM: No! Don't do this!

[As Jack pleads his case to the ref, Snowblind runs full force, leaps,
and connects with a leaping ax kick onto the chair, knocking it hard
into the back of Tin Can Rust's head. HUGE boos from the crowd, some of
the nearby fans chucking their trash towards Gale Force on the outside.]

BW: Anyone got a doctor in the house?

GM: This is awful! Both Gale Force and Snowblind have wrestled nothing
but a dirty game since the onset of this match!

[Jack's face goes red with anger as he sees what happened. He drops down
and approaches - as fast as CJ can - the still celebrating Gale Force,
rears back...]

GM: METROPILL! Jack hit that forearm shot right into the back of Gale
Force's head and the youngster dropped like a ton of bricks!

BW: Ton? More like four or five. These guys are fast and all, but wow...
they're soft if that's all it took to drop him!

GM: Jack put all his effort on that one, though and Gale Force is down.
He hasn't moved.

[Jack stands over the still Gale Force for a moment before the ref
admonishes him as CJ walks over to his corner.]

GM: Snowblind with a cover... ONE! TWO! THRE-

[Just at the last second, Rust somehow gets his shoulder up as the fans
erupt.]

GM: Rust still has some fight in him!

BW: I'd be surprised he could stand straight after the beating his
noggin's taken.

[Snowblind looks over to his corner and doesn't see his partner at
all... he looks around and finally sees Gale Force sprawled out on the
mat below. Snowblind complains to the ref, causing more boos from the
crowd.]

GM: This young man, Snowblind, has the audacity to complain to the
referee? After all his team has done?

BW: The two non-tagged-in wrestlers shouldn't engage each other, Gordo -
you know that.

GM: What about the use of chairs or illegal hits?

BW: Hey, can't get 'em all the time.

GM: Is he... Is he asking the ref to send City Jack away from ringside?

BW: I think that's what I heard.

GM: But it's a tag team match!

[With Snowblind trying to plead his case, Jack gets in the ring and
drags his partner nearby to his corner. With a loud slap - on loud
enough that the ref turned - City Jack makes his way through the ropes!]

BW: He can't do that!

GM: He just did! Tables turned!

[The fans are really cheering now, hoping to see the other member of
Nature's Storm get their comeuppance. Snowblind backs up, trying to talk
to City Jack as a look of fright comes over the youngster. Jack, though,
is hearing none of it as he slowly corners Snowblind.]

GM: He's begging!

BW: And... I think he's crying...

[Indeed, Snowblind drops down on his knees and begs his case, tears
streaming down his face as he does so. Jack, though, only wags his
finger in the face of Snowblind before slapping him hard in the face.]

GM: Oh! That slap could be heard straight through the highest of seats!

[Snowblind flops down from the slap, but tries to bring himself up with
the help of the ropes. He's still trying to talk his way out of the
beating he's going to get... but Jack's still deaf to his words.]

GM: Jack forcibly drags Snowblind to two feet - oh, headbutt! And
another! And another!

[Jack then shoves Snowblind into the turnbuckle and cocks his right arm
back. Snowblind, like a deer in the headlights, only just stands there -
his wet eyes wide with fright.]

GM: METROPILL! Another one levels Snowblind as he flops to the mat!

[On the other side of the ring, Tin Can Rust finally start to shake away
the pain and heads to his corner as Jack ensnares Snowblind in his arm.]

GM: Bearhug...

[The crowd cheers in anticipation as Jack turns with ease and flattens
Snowblind with his belly-to-belly finisher.]

GM: METROBOOM! And there's the cover... ONE! TWO! THREE! Kentucky's
Pride wins!



"DING! DING! DING!" 



MC: Your winner of the match in a time of seven minutes and five
seconds...

KENTUCKY'S PRIDE!


[Tin Can Rust meets his partner in the ring, shaking each others' hand
and two exchanging words about the match. Rust holds the back of his
head as he and Jack head to the outside towards the announcers' desk.]

GM: City Jack, Tin Can Rust, it looks like you've recovered from the War
Games match.

TCR: Mr. Myers, I was recovered the moment I left Stevie Scott in a heap
in that ring. Getting that final retribution? Nothing - no sleep, no
rest, no nothing could've done better for myself than that. Maybe I
recovered a little too much, though, cause those two we just fought... I
should've seen the stuff they were doing...

CJ: Oh, sure on right there! Havin' Scott and that Ca-list-o gettin'
their just due was sweeter than anything I could've even thought! And
now to see the two of them not even a pack of thieves no more? Ha, just
shows that the personal glory can never - and I do mean never - one-up
what's right in this world.

GM: I do have to ask, though, about what went on earlier tonight.

CJ: That? Heh -

[Jack flashes a smile and shakes his head.]

CJ: That was just a little ol' misunderstanding. Nothin' more, I tell
ya.

BW: Nothing more?

[Bucky Wilde takes up a mic and heads over to Jack.]

BW: You clocked Werewolf Gregorson! 

CJ: Hey, son, I didn't see him comin' there. Thought he was one them
Russians before I realized he ain't at the time.

BW: You didn't seem sorry about it.

TCR: What are you trying to get at here, Wilde?

BW: Well, I heard some saying that the two of you may have taken more
credit in that match than was due to you. Some are saying -

[Some boos from the nearby fans, however Jack motions his arms down to
quiet them.]

CJ: Hold on, people! Let me hear the man talk.

[Jack nods to Wilde.]

BW: Some are saying that you two took your own personal glory a bit too
much there. If I remember correctly, wasn't it you City Jack who put
your team at a disadvantage by shoving aside Despair at a -

[Some more boos from the pro-Kentucky's Pride crowd.]

BW: By shoving Despair aside at a critical point in the War Games match?

[Jack smiles, chuckles a bit.]

CJ: Naw, naw, I just -

BW: But you did put your team and Marley at risk there.

[Jack's demeanor gets a little less coldial, but he tries to maintain.]

CJ: I was just all up over-anxious there, bud. Nothin' meant by it. I
knew afterward it wasn't the brightest thing to have done did.

TCR: Look, Jack saw Dufresne in the match and wanted to get to him.
There was nothing to it. 

BW: And didn't you grandstand at the end there a bit too much?

TCR: Grandstand? Grandstand? Son, I don't ever grandstand nothing. We
got the win - Me, Jack -

BW: But-

TCR: Marley, Gregorson, AND Despair. We all won that match. We all did
our parts. Without any of 'em? We would've gotten beat and beat soundly.

[Bucky hands the mic back to Gordon Myers and puts his hands up before
going back to the desk.]

TCR: It was a team effort, Bucky - no one here right now took no more
than his fair share there in that match! We all beat 'em using all
ourselves! And what happened earlier? Everyone was on edge - Jack and
Werewolf especially. 

[As Rust bores a hole through Wilde, Myers tries to turn the
conversation back.]

GM: Uh... City Jack, you saw the last show where Despair and Werewolf
Gregorson announced -

CJ: Dead Pool, yeah.

GM: Right. You heard what they had to say about the upcoming AWA
National Tag Team tournament?

CJ: Mr. Myers, I know, I know. This ol' sob ain't gone through his
career without seein' allies become opponents none. They want the titles
- we all do, that's sure. At some point, some way, we two here may have
to meet them two in the ring. It's all a part of our accepting bein' in
the ring. When it comes time to face 'em - and face 'em we will, whether
it be in a tournament or in any ol' match - we're opponents.

GM: So no hard feelings when they lay claim to the titles? And no hard
feelings after tonight?

CJ: Mr. Myers, that's what them two are supposed to do! I ain't gonna
stand here and say they ain't got no claim to the titles - them two can
fight and fight well! Any team wantin' to win them tag titles better say
they're good 'nough for 'em. Shoot, right here, right now? For the
Rust'er over there -

[Rust turns his attention away from Myers for a moment.]

CJ: I want it to be known that we - Kentucky's Pride - we gonna take
them titles home. 

GM: You're saying you are going to win the tournament?

CJ: Home, Mr. Myers - home! Right here -

[Jack slaps his belly and then makes a belt motion around it.]

CJ: Around our waists. So bring on them all - bring on Rough N' Ready,
bring on them Glamour Boys, and sure on bring on the Dead Pool. We'll
beat 'em all cause that's what a winnin' champion tag team says AND
does!

[A big hand clap by City Jack ends his sentence as he and Tin Can Rust
make their exit, leaving Gordon Myers and Bucky Wilde behind as we fade
to black...

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

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

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

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

[Now to the Southern Championship Wrestling logo.]

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

[And then the PWR logo.]

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

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

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

[Fade to black...

...and then back up on the WKIK Studios where Gordon Myers and Bucky
Wilde are standing.]

GM:  Welcome back to Saturday Night Wrestling, fans, as we pass the one
hour mark of the show and keep on goin'.  We've still got our big Main
Event still to come with "Showtime" Rick Marley taking on "Subzero"
Adrian Freeman.  Also, Mark Shaw will be in action as well.  But at this
time, I would like to welcome here to ringside the Chairman of the
Championship Committee, Stephen Ross.  Mr. Ross, welcome once again to
the WKIK Studios.

[The well-dressed Stephen Ross steps into view, shaking the hand of the
Play-By-Play man.]

SR:  Thanks, Gordon.  As always, it's my pleasure.

GM:  Now, I understand that the reason we have been joined out here by
you tonight is the situation between Ricky Royal and Bruno "The Butcher"
Verhoeven.

[Ross nods.]

SR:  That'd be correct, Gordon.  Earlier in the week, we announced that
Mr. Royal and Mr. Verhoeven had an... incident... outside of the
wrestling ring last week that was of great concern to the Championship
Committee.  Now, no video of this situation exists but we have received
several first-hand accounts.

GM:  I've heard rumors - we all have - but what exactly happened?

SR:  From the reports we have received, Bruno Verhoeven was making a
public appearance at a Dallas auto dealership last week when Ricky Royal
appeared out of nowhere to assault him.

GM:  Oh my.

SR:  He attacked Verhoeven from behind - who responded in kind.  From
what I understand, quite the brawl broke out.

BW:  I bet Bruno put him down, daddy!

SR:  Well... eventually.  Royal worked him over pretty good, smashed his
head into a car hood or two.  Bruno returned the favor though and gave
as good as he got.

BW:  So, I don't get it.  Why the disciplinary hearing?

SR:  Unfortunately, things got a little out of hand and... well,
ultimately, Ricky Royal hit a fan.

[Myers' gasp is audible.]

SR:  It was accidental we believe but... it happened.  

GM:  Well, I guess that explains the hearing.  What was  the result?

SR:  After much consideration, the Championship Committee has opted to
fine Bruno Verhoeven an undisclosed amount of money for his part in the
brawl.

GM:  And Royal?

SR:  Ricky Royal has been suspended from the American Wrestling Alliance
for a minimum of 30 days for his role in the incident.  

GM:  30 days?

BW:  Sounds light to me.

GM:  Bucky, please.  I think we- HEY!

[Gordon Myers is interrupted as a chair is flung through the picture.
The camera swivels around to reveal Bruno Verhoeven, clad in a black
track suit with white stripes, barrelling through the curtain, ignoring
a number of suited officials who stand in his way but narrowly avoid
being run down by the New Butcher. Verhoeven rolls into the ring and
just as Melissa Cannon steps through the ropes to flee the rampaging
behemoth.  Bruno scoops up the mic she dropped and starts to bellow into
it as he looks around wildly and red-faced.]

BV: You zink you can stop me?! You zink you can keep me in ze back,
chastising me like a little boy, while, somewhere, Ricky Royal valks
around, talks and laughs?

[He thrusts an accusing index finger at the camera, or the audience, or
an imagined foe.]

BV: You _saw_ vat he did in Laredo! You saw how he disrespected my
FAZER! He insulted Otto Verhoeven, a man he is not fit to lick die
BOOTS! Vat I did zat night vas just a first strike! Royal vill pay ...
again and again ... until his apology is written in his BLOOD and GUTS!

[Bruno is breathing heavily, exhausted by his own rage.]

BV: Zere vere no reasons for his actions! By his ignorance, by his
impertinence, he provoked zis reaction! It vas to be ze night of me
proving myself to my fazer! Instead, I had to vatch zat dog Royal ...

[He closes his eyes and violently shakes his head, as if he tries to get
rid of the memories. When he opens his eyes again, he looks ready to
cry, his face a crazed mixture of fury and frustration.]

BV: Do not hold me back, AWA! Give me Royal or face the consequences!

[Bruno drops the mic and rolls out of the ring again. The group of
officials give him a wide berth as he strides to the back.]

GM: Ladies and gentlemen, we apologize for this unscheduled
interruption.

BW: Yeah, but really, what could we do? I guess the National Guard or
Godzilla would be able to stop Bruno Verhoeven but in this mood I
wouldn't really bet against the New Butcher. Phew, Royal really is in
deep trouble - well, whenever they decide to let him back into the
building.

GM:  Shall we go on, Bucky?

BW:  Absolutely.  I've been waiting for two weeks now to see what Mark
Shaw would do in the ring with his new attitude.  Maybe he'll even cave
someone's skull in with a chair again, daddy!

GM:  Let's hope not.  Fans, we go up to the ring to Melissa Cannon!

[Cut to the ring where Melissa 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 5'11 and weighing in at 240 pounds... Dale Boggs!

[A non-descript pasty white guy raises a scrawny arm to a few cheers.]

MC:  And his opponent...

[There is no music as the curtain parts and the mysterious black robed
and hooded individual who played a role in Mark Shaw's descent into
insanity steps into view.]

MC:  He stands 6'2 and weighs in at 270 pounds... from Los Angeles,
California...

He is the Hellion...

MARRRRK SHAAAAAW!

[Shaw steps through the corner to stand behind the cloaked individual. 
He pauses there, arms down, head bowed as he waits for instructions...

...which comes in a slight wave towards the ring that sends Mark Shaw
barreling towards the ring, diving under the bottom rope into the
squared circle.  He springs to his feet as a fearful Dale Boggs charges
towards him and the bell rings.]

GM:  Here we go!

[Boggs throws weak right hands as fast as his body will allow...

...and gets dropped to the mat with a vicious knife-edge chop across the
sternum.]

GM:  Well, so much for the offense of Dale Boggs, Bucky.

BW:   You didn't really think he stood a chance anyways, did you?

GM:  I thought... well, you never know in the AWA...

[Shaw reaches down to the mat, yanking Boggs up by his stringy brown
hair, quickly wrapping both of his massive hands around the throat of
Boggs.]

GM:  Come on, referee!  That's a choke!  You can tell that's a choke
from the back row of the WKIK Studios!

[With a powerful lift, Shaw hoists Boggs up into the air.]

GM:  Oh, come on!

BW:  He's got til five to break, Gordo.

GM:  It may be too late by then.

[As the count reaches four, Shaw tosses Boggs into the nearest
turnbuckles before sprinting in with a clothesline that would surely
have taken Boggs off his feet if Shaw hadn't leaned against him to push
him into the corner.]

GM:  Shaw's holding him up in the corner... oof... another big chop in
the buckles.

BW:  How is Boggs even on his feet?

[Shaw steps away from the corner, hoisting Boggs into the air and
slinging him over his shoulder...

...and then stampedes out of the corner, powerslamming Boggs into the
canvas!]

GM:  Big running powerslam!  That oughta do it!

[Shaw reaches back to snag the leg as the referee drops down to count.]

GM:  One.  Two.  Thr-

[The crowd boos as Shaw pushes off of the downed Boggs, yanking the
youngster off the mat by the hair to break the pin count.]

GM:  Give me a break!  This match should be over right now!

[A sneering Shaw throws Boggs back down to the mat before quickly taking
the mount position, raining down right hands onto the downed Boggs.]

GM:  Punches from the mount by Mark Shaw - you've gotta think his
hooded... manager?  Advisor?  I don't even know this guy's name let
alone what his purpose is out there.  Whoever he is, you've gotta
believe he's pretty impressed.

BW:  I know I'm impressed, Gordo.  I've always thought Shaw had a lot of
talent but he just needed something... just that little something... to
put him over the top.  This change of attitude might be exactly what he
needed to put him on the top of the AWA, daddy!

GM:  Shaw drags Boggs off the mat again...

[The Hellion quickly applies a rear waistlock, hoisting Boggs high up
into the air and dumping him down on the back of his head and neck!]

GM:  OHHHH!

BW:  A released German suplex by Mark Shaw - this has gotta be over now.

GM:  It should've been over a long time ago!

[Shaw again applies a lateral press as the referee drops down to count.]

GM:  One... two... thre- come on!

[The crowd boos as Shaw again pulls the rookie off the mat before the
three count by the hair, shaking his head at the insistent referee. 
Shaw promptly rolls Boggs to his stomach.]

GM:  Boggs on his belly - Shaw on top... oh!

[The jeers grow louder as Shaw proceeds to fishhook Boggs, ripping and
tearing at his face as the kid screams in pain.]

GM:  Another illegal attack by Mark Shaw...

[The referee gets in Shaw's face as he counts, ordering him to break the
hold...

...which Shaw does, immediately grabbing the referee by the shirt.]

GM:  Uh oh!  There's that Mark Shaw temper!

[But a slow gesture from the hooded man forces Shaw to break his grip on
the official, seething as he turns away, reaching down towards the
on-his-stomach Boggs...

...and hooking his arms around Boggs' waist, hoisting him off the mat.]

GM:  GUTWRENCH!  LOOK AT THE POWER!

[The crowd roars as Shaw powers Boggs straight up off the mat in the
gutwrench...

...and then DRIVES Boggs into the canvas with a standing powerbomb!]

GM:  OHHHHHH!

BW:  Unbelievable power!  Incredible strength!  Mark Shaw just picked
Boggs clear up off the mat, tossed him through the sky, and PLANTED him
on the mat!

[Shaw stands motionless, looking down at the spiked Dale Boggs with the
fans jeering all the while.  A slight nudge of the boot causes Boggs to
roll over onto his stomach.]

GM:  What's he got in mind now?

[Dropping down to his knees, Shaw applies a bodylock with his arms and
starts throwing his knees into the head of the stunned Boggs.]

GM:  Knees!  Knees!

BW:  The referee should look at stopping this.

[The crowd grimaces with each and every knee strike that smashes into
the skull of Boggs...

...who throws an arm onto the mat, slapping the canvas.]

GM:  He tapped out!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


[A few more knees find the mark before Shaw pushes up to his knees,
completely expressionless as the referee raises his arm in victory. 
Shaw's eyes are locked on the hooded man at ringside who slowly extends
an arm at Shaw... then makes a slight gesture as Shaw springs back to
his feet, reaching down to rip Boggs off the mat by the back of the
trunks.]

GM:  He's got Boggs back up!  Come on, referee!  Somebody's gotta stop
this!  Somebody's gotta-

[Hooking a side waistlock, Shaw hoists Boggs into the air...

...and DRIVES the back of his head and neck into the canvas at a
sickening angle!]



"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"



GM:  Backdrop Driver!  The Backdrop Driver is put on display by Mark
Shaw after the match... this match was over but Mark Shaw had one more
exclamation point to put on it.

BW:  What a dangerous move that is, Gordo.

GM:  It certainly is.  And I think we're going to need to get some help
out here for- oh no.

BW:  Okay, this might be going too far.

GM:  MIGHT BE?!

[The crowd roars its' disapproval as Mark Shaw rolls to the floor,
reaching under the ring and coming out with a steel chair gripped in his
hand.]

GM:  This isn't good.  We saw exactly what Mark Shaw could do with a
steel chair two weeks ago.  It was incredibly effective and incredibly
dangerous.

BW:  Just ask Adam Rogers who is still laid out at home with a
concussion thanks to Shaw.

[Shaw rolls back into the ring, steel chair in hand...

...and promptly shoves down a protesting Marty Meekly!]

GM:  Ohh!  Mark Shaw is an animal!  A monster!  He's got that chair -
the referee is down and  the Hellion, Mark Shaw, is looking to bust that
chair over the head of Dale Boggs!  He's looking to-

[The crowd ERUPTS as Ron Houston comes charging from the curtain.]

GM:  THE CHAMP!  THE CHAMP IS HERE!

[Houston dives under the bottom rope, cranking back a right hand as he
gets to his feet...

...and ducking under a wild chair swing by Shaw, popping him with the
haymaker and causing Shaw to drop the chair!]

GM:  Big right hand by Houston and-

[The crowd roars as the National  Champion scoops up the discarded
chair, winding it up as Mark Shaw dives from the ring, retreating as
Houston slams the chair down on the ropes.]

GM:  Shaw bails out!  Ron Houston just cleared the ring of Mark Shaw -
getting a little bit of payback for two weeks ago, Bucky.

BW:  And that can't make Mark Shaw OR the hooded man happy, Gordo.

GM:  I wouldn't think so.

[Shaw quickly confers with the hooded individual, not saying a word but
nodding his head repeatedly as the duo backs away from the ringside area
towards the locker room.]

GM:  And Mark Shaw decides he will live to fight another day rather than
 get back in there with Ron Houston and that steel chair.  Fans, we'll
be right back!

[The camera shot holds on the ring where Ron Houston is still holding
the steel chair, looking out on the retreating Mark Shaw and then fades
to black...

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

"Have you ever dreamed of fame?"

[Cut a little closer.]

"Of glory?"

[A little closer.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Two young students are grappling on the canvas.]

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

You want to wrestle!"

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

...and then fade back up on the announce desk in the WKIK Studios.]

GM:  Welcome back to AWA Saturday Night Wrestling where it's Main Event
time here in the WKIK Studios, Bucky.

BW:  It's been a wild night here in Dallas but it's not over yet, Gordo.

GM:  It's certainly not.  We've been waiting a long time to see Adrian
Freeman and Rick Marley go one on one in singles competition - and in
just a few moments, we're going to see exactly that.  But before we do,
let's take a look back almost six months ago to see how this rivalry got
started!

[We cut to footage labelled "AWA Saturday Night Wrestling - April 12,
2008 - Invitational Battle Royal."  As we join the footage, the buzzer
goes off as the EMTs work on Erik Reid on the floor.  "Try Honesty" by
Billy Talent plays as "Subzero" Adrian Freeman struts through the
curtain.  He casts a disparaging look at the injured Erik Reid before
climbing up on the apron and stepping into the ring.]

GM:  The Australian, Adrian Freeman, has joined the match at #19!

BW:  I'm surprised anyone in that locker room is continuing to come out
here after watching what Tumaffi has done to everyone since he came out
here.  Everyone else might as well just call it a night and save
themselves the trip to the ER, daddy!

GM:  With #19 in the ring, we've got eight competitors in there. 
Slater, Marley,  Gregorson, Royal, Mark Shaw, Driscoll, Tumaffi, and now
Adrian Freeman.

BW:  And both Slater and Marley have been in there closing in on forty
minutes, Gordo!

GM:  They certainly have.  Slater's gotta be running on fumes right
now... maybe just willing himself on with the chance to tangle with the
Masked Menace... fans, I hate to do this right now, but we need to take
a quick break!  We'll be right back!

[We cut ahead to join the action once more.

Rick Marley pulls the squashed Hikarimono off the mat, tossing him over
the ropes to the floor.]

GM:  Hikarimono is gone as wel- FREEMAN!

[The Australian sneaks up behind Marley, upending him over the ropes.]

GM:  AND MARLEY'S GONE TOO!

[Not so fast, Mr. Myers.  Despite Freeman spinning away, confident his
job is done, Rick Marley manages to hook the top rope, only one foot
skimming the floor before he pulls himself back up.]

GM:  No!  He's still alive and-

[The Australian spins back around, rushing in on Marley who while upside
down snares the incoming Freeman in a headscissors...

...and uses the headscissors to pull Freeman from the ring, dumping him
out to the floor!]

GM:  Adrian Freeman is eliminated!  The 19th man in the match is
eliminated by Rick Marley who was the second man in the match and is
somehow still in the ring!

[Marley pops back to his feet, taunting Freeman as he turns around...

...and gets _rocked_ by a discus punch from "Pistol" Paul Driscoll
sending him sailing back towards the ropes...

...the ropes that Freeman pulls down to cause Marley to sail over them
and out to the floor!]

GM:  MARLEY'S GONE!  A huuuuge discus punch by Pete Driscoll sends him
to the ropes and Adrian Freeman who Marley just eliminated pulls down
the ropes to pay back "Showtime!"

[With both Marley and Freeman eliminated, we fade away from the older
action and rejoin our announce team at ringside.]

GM:  And that chance encounter six months ago has led to this one-on-one
showdown.  This is gonna be something else.  Let's take it up to Melissa
for the introductions!

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

MC:  The following contest is your MAIN EVENT of the evening.  It is
scheduled for one fall with a thirty minute time limit.

Introducing first...

["Try Honesty" by Billy Talent starts up to a shower of boos from the
AWA faithful.]

MC:  Standing 5'11 and weighing in at 190 pounds... hailing from Sydney,
Australia...

"SUBZERO" AAAAAADRIAN FREEEEEEMAN!!!

[Freeman steps through the curtain to a even louder outpouring of boos
from the AWA crowd.  He looks fit but not overly muscular.  His blond
hair has dark blue streaks in it, cut in a bowl style.  The jeering fans
greet him as he slowly makes his way down the aisle, climbing the wooden
ringsteps as he ignores the crowd.]

GM:  Adrian Freeman has been waiting months for this match, Bucky.  He
made his debut in that open-invitiational Rumble for a spot in the
National Title tournament - got eliminated by Rick Marley and has been
out for payback ever since.  Tonight, he gets his chance at that.

BW:  And I think he's gonna do it, Gordo.  Marley started off his AWA
career with a lot of fire but he's been cold as ice lately.  I expect
Subzero to freeze him up a little bit more and put him on ice once and
for all.

GM:  Get all that out of your system yet?

BW:  Ice.  Cold.  Freeze.  Brrrr.  Okay, I think I'm good.

[Freeman steps through the ropes, settling into the corner as his music
fades out.]

MC:  And his opponent...

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

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

GM:  One of the most popular men in the entire AWA, Bucky.

BW:  All those cheers won't mean a thing when he's screaming for mercy
in the Deep Freeze in just a little while.

GM:  We'll see about that.

[Melissa continues.]

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

"SHOWTIME"... RICK MARRRRRRRLEY!!!

[The cheers grow louder as the fans see "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. 
White spotlights trail up from his black boots and cascade up the pant
legs.

Marley stops about 15 feet from the ring, at which point he sprints the
distance, 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:  Listen to these fans going crazy for Rick Marley!  They are on
their feet here in the WKIK Studios and "Showtime" Rick Marley is paying
tribute right back to 'em, Bucky.

BW:  You keep sayin' that like I'm supposed to be impressed or
something.  Rick Marley being cheered is nothing new.  Adrian Freeman
being booed is nothing new.  And neither of those things'll make a lick
of difference in the outcome, daddy.

[Marley hops down off the middle rope, settling into the corner as
Melissa Cannon exits the ring and Michael Meekly steps between the two
men, signalling for the bell to start the match.]


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  This one is officially underway and there's a lot on the line,
Bucky.

BW:  Marley thinks he was robbed of his rightful shot at the National
Title back at Memorial Day Mayhem and in my opinion, he sees Freeman as
a stepping stone to gettting back to the top of the Top Ten contenders
list.  

GM:  I don't think he considers Freeman a stepping stone at all.

BW:  He's overlooked this kid from Day One, Gordo.  Freeman was almost
like an afterthought to Marley.  Marley's got his focus way past Adrian
Freeman and tonight, I think it's gonna cost him.

GM:  And if Adrian Freeman were to score the win, you'd have to image
he'll sail up the Top Ten as well.

BW:  Absolutely.

[While the announcers analyze the situation, Freeman and Marley have
slowly edged out of their respective corners, circling one another as
they dash in and out, looking for an opening to strike.]

GM:  A little bit of a feeling out process going on right now - and it's
Freeman who lunges in with a collar and elbow tieup.

BW:  Marley needs to stay away from getting tangled up with Freeman. 
Marley's not a bad mat wrestler but Freeman outclasses him in that area.

[Proving Bucky's words, Freeman quickly hooks Marley by the wrist,
twisting his arm behind him in a hammerlock.]

GM:  Hammerlock slipped in by the Australian, cranking up on the wrist
as he tries to wrench that arm.  

[Marley searches for an escape, reaching back for a snap mare but
Freeman shakes it off, pushing up harder on the wrist to cause Marley to
grimace in pain.]

GM:  Marley trying to find a way out of this tight hammerlock - and
Freeman gives it to him by switching his grip to a side headlock before
taking Marley down to the mat.

[Freeman cranks down on the headlock as Marley tries to regroup on the
canvas.]

GM:  And this is what Freeman's gotta do, right?

BW:  Absolutely.  Keep Marley grounded, don't give him a chance to use
those high flying skills.  If you keep Rick Marley on the canvas, you
stand a good shot of neutralizing his offense.

GM:  Freeman's definitely trying to keep him down as he cinches in that
headlock a little tight- rollup!

[The crowd cheers as Marley hooks his arms around the waist of Freeman,
rolling him onto his shoulder for a pin attempt.]

GM:  One!  Two!

[Freeman breaks the headlock, quickly scampering to his feet and away
from Marley who rises with his right hand clenched.]

GM:  Rick Marley appears to be looking for a fight but Adrian Freeman's
not about to give it to him.

BW:  That's a no-win situation for Freeman too, Gordo.

[Smirking at his opponent, Freeman slowly walks alongside the ropes,
waiting for Marley to get back to a standing position which he finally
does.]

GM:  Both men back to their feet now... 

[And they lunge right back into the collar and elbow which Marley pushes
against, using his strength advantage to force Freeman back against the
ropes where the referee calls for a clean break.]

GM:  Michael Meekly calling for the break... and there it is!

[The fans applaud Rick Marley's sportsmanship as he backs away from
Freeman, arms up to defend himself if needed.  Freeman simply shakes his
head as he walks alongside the ropes again, looking for an opening...

...and lunges in with a dive, grabbing a leg of Marley and yanking it
out from under him.]

GM:  Single leg takedown by Freeman!

[Holding the left leg with his right arm, Freeman sloppily wails away on
it with his left forearm, smashing the arm down over and over across the
knee of his rival.]

GM:  And Freeman's going for the leg.  We knew he would at some point.

BW:  That's right, daddy.  You want to take a high flyer out of his game
- you take out that wheel!

GM:  Not much in terms of execution on those blows to the leg but
they're still very effective.

[Freeman quickly scampers to his feet, still holding onto the foot of
Marley as he drives a few kicks into the knee and hamstring of
"Showtime."]

GM:  And look at Freeman going after that leg now.  Like a shark
smelling blood in the water, "Subzero" is all over that limb - punches,
kicks, stomps.

[Still holding the left foot, Freeman leans over to grab the right
leg...

...and gets an upkick square in the chest that sends him sailing off and
down to the mat!]

GM:  Ohh!  Marley kicks him off!

BW:  Good thing for him because Freeman was going for the Deep Freeze.

[Freeman and Marley race to their feet, Marley shaking his leg as he
regains his feet.]

GM:  Both men up... Freeman!

[Adrian Freeman dashes forward as they both rise, burying a boot into
the midsection of Rick Marley, doubling him up...

...and then popping Marley under the chin with a European uppercut that
knocks Marley back against the ropes.]

GM:  Ohh!  What a shot by Freeman right there!  A hard European forearm
and- big chop by Freeman!

[Grabbing the arm of Marley, Freeman fires him to the ropes with an
Irish whip.]

GM:  Whip off the ropes... backdr-

[The crowd roars as Marley spins around on approach, backflipping over
the backdrop attempt to land on his feet behind Freeman...

...and leaps immediately back up into the air, lashing out with both
feet squarely to the jaw that knocks Freeman down to the mat.]

GM:  Dropkick on target by Marley!

BW:  But Freeman's right back up and-

[Another big explosion of cheers as Marley hits another standing
dropkick that knocks Freeman off his feet.  With the Australian down,
Marley hits the far ropes, charging back across the ring...]

GM:  Here comes Marley!

["Showtime" lives up to his name by leaving his feet, snaring the
standing Freeman's head between his legs...

...and using his momentum to spin around, swinging Freeman through the
ropes and out to the floor to another huge roar from the crowd!]

GM:  OHHHH!  MARLEY TAKES HIM TO THE FLOOR!!

[Marley quickly gets back to his feet, sizing up the recovering Freeman
on the floor as the crowd buzzed excitedly with anticipation.]

GM:  Marley's gonna fly!  He's waiting, measuring Freeman...

[The Australian slowly gets to a knee, trying to shake the cobwebs. 
Marley races to the far ropes, sprinting across the ring...

...which sends Freeman fleeing, racing up into the bleachers full of
fans causing Marley to pull to a stop, glaring outside the ring as the
crowd jeers Freeman.]

GM:  Freeman made a run for it and Air Marley had to delay his flight...
for now.

BW:  Brilliant move by Freeman though.  Marley was able to pull up this
time but next time?  Maybe Marley eats some concrete.  That would have
definitely turned the tide in this one.

[Freeman stands halfway up the bleachers, waving Marley away from the
ropes.  "Showtime" quickly steps up on the middle rope, gesturing for
the Australian to get back into the ring.]

GM:  Freeman slowly making his way down the steps... the referee's
laying the ten count down on him...

[Reaching up, Freeman pulls himself up onto the ring apron...

...just as an overly-aggressive Rick Marley moves in on him, reaching
out to hook him.]

GM:  Marley's moving in and-

[But Freeman jabs a thumb into his eye before grabbing Marley around the
back of the neck, dropping off the apron.]

GM:  Ohhh!  He clotheslines Marley on the top rope, snapping him back to
the mat!

BW:  Brilliant!  He sucked Marley into coming after him and he made him
pay for it, Gordo.  That completely turns the tide in this one.

GM:  It certainly does - and now Freeman's going back after that leg.

[Out on the floor, Freeman reaches under the ropes, dragging Marley's
lower body towards him.  When he gets Marley's legs over the apron, he
lifts Marley's injured left leg into the air...]

GM:  No, no!  Not that!

[...and then SLAMS the knee down on the edge of the ring apron!]

GM:  Ohhh!  That'll do even more damage to that knee, Bucky.

BW:  That's kind of the idea, daddy!

GM:  Marley grabbing at the knee but Freeman's not done with him,
slapping the hands away...

BW:  He's gonna do it again!

GM:  The referee is reprimanding him but Freeman just doesn't care.  Up 
goes the leg... and DOWN across the apron.  Good grief, Bucky.

[Marley scoots back into the ring, pulling his legs away from Freeman
who slowly climbs up the wooden ringsteps before stepping through the
ropes to break the ten count.]

GM:  The Australian, Adrian Freeman, back into the ring now.  He's like
a predator in there, stalking Rick Marley as "Showtime" tries to drag
himself off the mat, hanging onto the top rope.

[Freeman smirks at his injured opponent...

...and promptly kicks Marley hard in the back of the knee, taking Marley
off his feet and back down to the mat.]

GM:  No mercy there.

BW:  Did you expect anything less?

GM:  Not really, no.  Adrian drags Marley to the middle of the ring-
what's this?

[The crowd grows uneasy as Freeman twists the leg around his own.]

GM:  Spinning toehold applied by Freeman, cranking and twisting on that
injured limb!

[The referee dives in to check if Marley wants to submit as Freeman
leans over, screaming at his opponent.]


"GIVE UP!  SAY IT, YOU PIECE OF GARBAGE!"


[Marley throws a weak right hand upwards, trying to break free as
Freeman turns up the pressure on the spinning toehold.]

GM:  Marley's not giving up.. holding on somehow... but the longer he
stays in this hold, the more damage will be done.  

BW:  Brilliant analysis, Gordo.

GM:  "Showtime" Rick Marley MUST find a way out of this hold and do it
quickly.

[Freeman steps out of the spinning toehold, then executes it again...

...but this time, he bends over a bit too far as Marley reaches up,
pulling Freeman down into an inside cradle!]

GM:  CRADLE!  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR- ohhh!

[The Australian kicks out just in time, quickly scampering to his feet
as Rick Marley grabs the ropes, trying to pull himself off the mat
again...]

GM:  Marley on his feet...

[Freeman charges his prey, arm outstretched...

...but Marley drops down, pulling the top rope down with him which
causes Freeman to sail over the top rope, smashing down to the
barely-padded concrete floor below!]

GM:  Ohhhh!  Freeman goes down hard to the floor!

BW:  Lucky counter by Marley to avoid that clothesline.  But he can
barely stand, Gordo.  How does he stand a chance of actually beating
Freeman at this point?

[Grabbing the top rope, Marley hauls himself to his feet, hopping on his
right leg to avoid putting pressure on the injured limb.  He leans on
the top rope, trying to catch a second wind.]

GM:  Marley's trying to avoid using the left leg that Freeman has torn
apart so far in this matchup.

[The referee moves near the ropes, starting a ten count on the dazed
Australian who has just managed to push himself to a knee, shaking his
head back and forth in an attempt to clear the cobwebs.]

GM:  Both men are up - both men look pretty tired at this point.

[Freeman pushes the rest of the way to his feet...

...just in time for Rick Marley to use the ropes to push himself into
the air, swinging down with both feet catching Freeman squarely in the
chest and knocking him flat on the floor again!]

GM:  Ohh!  Nice swinging kick by Marley - that'll buy him some more time
to recover.

BW:  He's not looking for time, Gordo.  He's rolled out to the floor now
and he's looking to inflict some punishment of his own, daddy!

GM:  Marley's dragging Freeman off the floor by the hair...

[The crowd cheers as Marley slams Freeman's head into the canvas,
sending the Australian staggering away from the fan favorite.]

GM:  Marley smashes his head to the apron!

BW:  DQ!  DQ!

GM:  You wish.

[Grabbing Freeman again, Marley hooks him like he's attempting a hip
toss with his left...

...and promptly drives his right knee up into the midsection of Freeman
repeatedly.]

GM:  Two.. three... four knees to the body...

[With Freeman softened up, Marley executes the left armed hiptoss on the
barely-padded concrete...

...and then immediately leaps into the air, dropping both legs down
squarely across the chest of his Australian rival!]

GM:  Ohhh!  Did you see that, Bucky?

BW:  Of course I saw it.  They're out here by us, Gordo.  Uh oh!

GM:  What?

BW:  I think Marley hurt his knee with that double legdrop!

[Wincing, Marley rolls away from Freeman, using the apron to drag
himself off the floor.  He pulls Freeman off the floor again, tossing
him under the ropes into the ring.]

GM:  Marley rolls Freeman back in... and now back up on the apron...

[The crowd roars as Marley raises his right arm in tribute to them,
letting them know he's about to try something risky.]

GM:  High risk offense coming up, Bucky!

[Marley grabs the top rope, leaping up for a springboard...

...but slips off, dropping off the ropes to land on his feet inside the
ring.  He cringes from the impact, immediately reaching for his left
knee.]

GM:  Ohh.  He couldn't do it.  Too much pain on the leg.

BW:  He shouldn't have even been trying it.  That was too dangerous to
try on an injured leg.  He got lucky that he just slipped like that.  He
could've busted his head open if he fell the wrong way.

GM:  He's trying to regroup though...

[The crowd roars as Marley stands in the corner, setting up for an
attempt at the Casting Call superkick.]

GM:  Freeman on a knee... now to his feet...

["Showtime" lunges forward, uncorking his snapping superkick...

...but the injured knee just won't support the kick, forcing him to toss
it up far too slow and allowing Adrian Freeman to catch the right boot.]

GM:  Caught!  Freeman caught the superkick!

[Freeman hooks the leg completely before executing a dragon screw
legwhip on the right leg, ripping and tearing the knee to take Marley
down to the mat!]

GM:  OHHHHH!

[The Australian wastes no time to scamper to his feet, pulling both of
Marley's legs under his arms...

...and turning "Showtime" over into the Deep Freeze Boston Crab!]

GM:  DEEP FREEZE!  DEEP FREEZE APPLIED!

BW:  That's it, Gordo!  Ring the bell - the party's over!

GM:  You can hear Marley screaming in pain.  The legs, the back - both
under severe assault by the man from Australian.  He's really cranking
back on those legs, trying to lower his body to put more pressure on the
back as well.

[But the hold is applied too close  to the ropes, allowing Marley to
inch just slightly forward and wrap his arms around the bottom rope to
force a break.]

GM:  Break!  

BW:  That's a big mistake on Freeman's part.  Adrian Freeman is usually
much smarter than that in the ring but he may have just let his anger at
Marley get the edge on him.

[A few well-placed stomps knock Marley from the ring, pushing him out
onto the apron.]

GM:  Marley gets knocked to the apron now, still trying to clutch at
that injured knee.

[Freeman reaches over the ropes, dragging Marley to his feet...

...and an eruption of boos comes from the AWA fans as someone new enters
the WKIK Studios.]

GM:  What the- what is HE doing out here?

BW:  I have no idea.

GM:  Fans, Calisto Dufresne, the Ladykiller, has just entered the WKIK
Studios!  The fans here in the Studios are really letting him have it
too!

[Dufresne swaggers into the ringside area, looking up emotionlessly at
the action inside the ring as Freeman grabs the top rope, tugging hard
to slingshot Marley over the ropes into the ring!]

GM:  Marley gets brought back in the hard way... and there's a cover!

[The referee drops down to count as Freeman hooks the right leg.]

GM:  One!  Two!  Thr- no!  Marley just barely slips a shoulder off the
canvas in time.  Rick Marley just barely got out of that pin attempt. 
We almost got a three count there.

[Freeman climbs back to his feet, promptly pinning the left ankle to the
mat with his foot...

...and then leaps up, slamming his own knee down on the left leg of
Marley!]

GM:  OHHHH!  

BW:  All that weight - all 190 pounds down on the injured limb!

GM:  Freeman back to his feet, looking down at Marley who is trying to
crawl away from his opponent.

[The Australian drags Marley up off the mat by the hair...

...and slaps him across the face to the jeers of the crowd.]

GM:  Oh my!

[An irate Marley explodes at Freeman with a series of right hands that
brings the crowd to their feet.]

GM:  Marley's tearing into him!  The slap went too far!  The slap went-

[Marley snaps off a boot to the gut...

...that gets caught once again by Adrian Freeman!]

GM:  Freeman caught the kick again!  He caught the-


"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!


[The crowd EXPLODES as Marley leaps into the air, snapping off a hard
kick to the back of the head.]

BW:  ENZUGIRI ON TARGET!

GM:  Both men are down now!  Both men are laid out from the impact of
that head kick!

[Michael Meekly steps in, ready to lay down a double count.]

GM:  Oh, please don't let this match end like this.

BW:  Both of these guys are down.  That enzugiri took a lot out of both
of them.

GM:  The count's up to three.  Listen to these fans trying to rally,
trying to inspire Rick Marley to get to his feet and keep the fight
going.  Can he do it?  Can "Showtime" keep the lights on?

BW:  I don't think so, Gordo.  That knee is shot.

GM:  The count to four... now to five...

[The referee is counting pretty slowly, trying to give both men as much
time as possible to get up before the ten count.]

GM:  We do not want this to end in a no-contest - that's for sure.  

[The boos increase as Freeman extends his arms, pushing himself off the
mat to a knee.]

GM:  Freeman's up to a knee - trying to get the rest of the way up.

[The Australian turns his body, rolling Marley to his back and diving
into a lateral press.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR- shoulder up again!

[A big shower of cheers falls on Rick Marley for his kickout.]

GM:  Freeman's getting frustrated, Bucky.

BW:  Apparently.

[The crowd boos as Freeman pounds the canvas with his fists.]

GM:  He thought he was going to get him there - that's for sure.

[The Sydney native climbs to his feet, dragging Marley off the mat by
the hair...

...and blasting him with a European uppercut that knocks "Showtime" back
into the corner.]

GM:  Ohh!  What a shot by Freeman!

BW:  Marley might need to check his dental work after that one, daddy!

[Approaching the buckles, Freeman leans over to hoist Marley onto his
shoulder, depositing him on the top turnbuckle.]

GM:  Uh oh!  Rick Marley's in trouble now!

BW:  Freeman's got some evil intentions right here and right now, Gordo.
 He's gotta be looking for a superplex!

GM:  It would appear so.  He's got Marley seated on the top buckle,
Freeman scaling the ropes...

[But as he steps to the midbuckle, Rick Marley fights back.]

GM:  Ohh!  Right hand by Marley!

[A stunned Freeman grabs the top rope to keep on the buckles...

...and leaves himself wide open for another big right hand to the side
of the jaw.]

GM:  He's rocking Freeman!  Marley's fighting back and he's fighting off
the Australian!

[A third right hand seems to stun Freeman...

...and a big bell clapping double forearm smash sends Freeman sailing
off the ropes and crashing down onto the canvas below!]

GM:  He knocks Freeman down!  He knocks Freeman off the buckles!

[Freeman immediately grabs for his ankle, screaming in pain as the
referee dives down next to him to check his condition.]

GM:  Freeman might have hurt himself with that- MARLEY STANDS!

[The crowd roars as Rick Marley looks down at his rival, arms held
high...

...and hesitates just a little too long as Calisto Dufresne climbs up on
the apron, slamming his right hand into the injured left knee of Marley,
a blow that causes Marley to fly off the ropes, smashing facefirst down
to the canvas below!]

GM:  OHHHHH!  DUFRESNE!  I CAN'T BELIEVE-

[Adrian Freeman, with his ankle suddenly healed, crawls over to the now
downed Rick Marley.]

GM:  No!  Not like this!

[Freeman throws himself across Marley in a lateral press, reaching back
to tightly cradle both legs.]

GM:  COVER!  

[Michael Meekly dives to the mat to make the count.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!!  THREE!!!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


MC:  Ladies and gentlemen... your winner of the match...

AAAAAAADRIAN FREEEEEEEEMAN!!!

[The crowd boos wildly the decision as Meekly raises Freeman's hand into
the air.]

GM:  Adrian Freeman is your winner by hook or by crook... uh oh.  Come
on, referee!

[The boos grow louder as Calisto Dufresne rolls under the ropes into the
ring and immediately starts stomping the downed Rick Marley.]

GM:  Dufresne told the world he wanted payback on the man who he felt
had gone after his face in WarGames - Rick Marley - and I guess this is
that payback.

BW:  This is the first part of that payback, daddy!  Look at Dufresne! 
He's furious!

[Dufresne is talking trash with each stomp to the downed Marley,
screaming at the injured high flyer as he leans over to drag Myarley off
the mat.]

GM:  He's pulling Marley up - come on!  Not like this!

[With a quick tug, the former PWR Pacific Champion pulls Marley into a
front facelock, hoists him into the air...

...and SPIKES the fan favorite's head into the mat!]

GM:  OHHHHH!

BW:  WHAM, BAM, THANK YOU MA'AM!  That's it!

GM:  Well, I guess it would be if this was an actual match, Bucky, but
since it's not it's- now what's he doing?  

BW:  He's picking Marley back up!  He's gonna do it again!

GM:  Somebody's gotta stop this- somebody needs to-

[Holding Marley off the mat by the hair, Dufresne shouts at him again...

...and then spins on his heels, HURLING Marley over the ropes and down
to the concrete floor!]

GM:  Ohhh!  Marley gets sent over the ropes to the floor - and at least
that'll end the beating he's taking at the hands of the "Ladykiller"
Calisto Dufresne, Bucky.

BW:  You sure about that?

GM:  Is he- this arrogant jerk is going out after him!

[Dufresne slowly steps out to the ring apron, soaking up the jeers of
the AWA faithful as he drops down to the concrete floor near where Rick
Marley is lying.]

GM:  Marley's down on the floor - he can barely move.  

BW:  Dufresne doesn't seem to care one bit, Gordo.

GM:  You're absolutely right.  

[Grabbing Marley by the wrist, Dufresne drags him several feet away from
the ring.]

GM:  He's dragging Marley off of that padding.  There's not much padding
there but at least there's some.  He's dragging Marley off the padding
on the concrete to the cold, hard, unforgiving concrete itself.  But the
question is why, Bucky?

BW:  I don't have the answer but you can bet it's not a good thing for
Marley.

[Kneeling next to Marley, Dufresne whispers a few unheard words to him
before grabbing him by the hair.]

GM:  He's turning Marley's head so that... so that he's facedown on the
concrete?

[Dufresne slowly gets up, smirking at the booing fans...]

GM:  Maybe he's changed his mind.  Maybe he's-

[He suddenly leaps into the air...

...and SLAMS the sole of his boot down onto the back of Marley's head,
smashing Marley's face against the concrete floor!  The WKIK Studio
audience falls silent at the act, looking on in disbelief as Dufresne
simply walks away from his injured opponent.

After a moment or two, Marley rolls to his back, revealing a face
smeared in crimson.  AWA officials quickly are on the scene, clustering
around the injured Marley who is barely conscious as they tend to him.  

Just inside the entryway, Calisto Dufresne turns back to watch the
scene, a slight grin on his face as Marley's injury is worked on. 
Dufresne looks almost... proud... of his work...

...as we fade to black.]