Saturday Night Wrestling

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                           American Wrestling Alliance 
                                 Proudly Presents 
                         AWA Saturday Night Wrestling

                         Live from the WKIK Studios 
                                   Dallas, Texas 
                                  April 12, 2008
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[As the closing notes to the "Sanford And Son" theme fade into nothing,
the viewing audience is greeted by the sounds of "One More Saturday
Night" by the Grateful Dead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

GM:  Good evening, fans, and welcome to another edition of AWA Saturday
Night Wrestling featuring all the stars of the American Wrestling
Alliance, _the_ major league of professional wrestling.  By my side is
the colorful Bucky Wilde and Bucky, you've gotta be excited about
tonight's action!

BW:  Absolutely, daddy!  How can you not be?  You've got 30 of the
world's toughest and roughest rasslers climbing into that ring tonight
with the sole goal of tossin' each other to the floor and winnin' the
first spot in the AWA Title Tournament.  It's gonna be wilder than my
mama's back porch when she puts the expired milk out for the cats,
Gordo!

GM:  Expired... never mind.  Fans, the AWA Title Tournament is going to
feature 8 men at Memorial Day Mayhem in Fort Worth in about seven weeks
and that's going to be an exciting night as well.  But before we get too
far ahead of ourselv-

[Myers' attention, as well as the crowd's, is diverted to the left of
the camera view, and the look on Myers' face as he stops mid-sentence
tells that he is perhaps a bit put out with what is on the way.]
 
GM: Now wait a minute.
 
[And walking -- slowly -- into the camera view is the dirty blond head
of "Hotshot" Stevie Scott, still in his civvies of the flowered-y shirt,
bermuda shorts, loafers sans socks.
 
Oh, and he's wearing a neckbrace.  And a bandage on his forehead.
 
Myers now seems quite annoyed at this turn of events, while Bucky Wilde
seems more amused by it.  Stevie, for his part, has a look on his face
that is so serious, it's got to be fake.]
 
GM: Wait just a minute here, Mr. Scott.  This isn't your scheduled time.
 
HSS: I know, I know, Gordo.  But Stevie Scott has something very
important to say, and it just can't wait for whatever Joe Blows you're
supposed to have coming out here to finish up their boring little match.
 Now, Gordo...
 
[Stevie grimaces.]
 
HSS: ...Gordo.  I am afraid that the Hotshot has some bad news.
 
GM: Let me guess.  You will be unable to compete as scheduled tonight.
 
HSS: Gordo, "Hotshot" Stevie Scott will be unable to compete as
scheduled tonight.
 
[Myers rolls his eyes.]
 
HSS: You see, on my way to the studio earlier today, as I was driving my
rental car...there I was, driving the speed limit and being the
generally law-abiding citizen that I am...when...
 
[Stevie claps his hands together very, very close to the microphone
resulting in a sound loud enough to make Myers jump backward a bit.]
 
HSS: BAM!  This idiot rear-ends me!  From behind!  So my head goes WHAM!
 Right into the steering wheel.  And _then_, the force from _that_ blow
made my head snap right back -- that's why I'm wearing this neckbrace --
into the seat.
 
[Stevie stops, shaking his head in anguish, as the crowd begins to get
irritated with this blatantly untrue story.  Of course, Stevie ignores
that.]
 
HSS: I could have been _killed_, Gordo!  I could have been a casualty on
the highways of America!  But luckily, Stevie Scott wears his seat belt.
 Safety first, you know.
 
[Myers rolls his eyes again.]
 
HSS: So obviously, the severe case of whiplash I sustained in this
horrible accident has prevented me from making my much-anticipated and
long-awaited AWA debut tonight and for that, I am extremely
disappointed.  But you see, Gordo, I don't want to cheat the fans by
getting into that ring before I'm ready, before I am at 100 percent,
because these people...
 
[Stevie points at the crowd.]
 
HSS: These people, they _deserve_ to see "Hotshot" Stevie Scott at his
best.  I don't want to cheat them by getting into that ring before I am
ready to show them what I can do.  So I am sad to announce that I will
_not_ be in competition tonight, nor will I be able to compete in the
battle royal.

[The crowd roars after the delivery of this news which seems to
surprises Stevie a bit...

...but that face of surprise gets a little more shocked as we see the
real reason for the cheers of the fans as Tin Can Rust walks through the
entrance curtain into the WKIK Studios.]

GM: Tin Can Rust coming down to join us and he certainly does not look
happy to see you, Mr. Scott!

[Indeed, Rust charges right to the announcers' booth, looking strained
at keeping in the anger he's got from seeing his agitator, Stevie Scott,
among the announcing crew.]

GM: Mr. Rust, you look -

TCR: Myer- Mr. Myers, I should say, I got be apologizing beforehand what
I do. I don't mean to be rude.

GM: I don't follow, Mr. Ru-

[With that, Tin Can Rust takes the mic from Gordon Myers' hand

TCR: Now I came down here and not right to the ring, as I would, cause I
saw something I didn't like. What are you -

[Rust points at Stevie Scott.]

TCR: Doing here? What do you think you're doing, showing your face
around here before my first match here in AWA?  Look, let me tell you
quickly - I've had enough of you. Enough of you talking and enough of
you running down my name like it's any cause of yours! If I -

[The fans let out a cheer as Rust lets out some emotion.]

TCR: If I hear you speaking word one - JUST ONE! - about my name, my
character as a man, or my ability? You will find -

[Stevie rolls his eyes, prompting Rust to grab him up by the collar!]

TCR: Listen, BOY! If I even see you moving that jaw of yours at ANY time
during this match, I WILL come down here and put my fist right through
your mouth! I ain't holding nothing back if it happens again!

[Rust lets go of Scott and backs off away from the announce table.]

TCR: So you better watch it! You better damn well watch it!

[Tin Can Rust flips the mic back to Myers as he backs away towards the
ring, a finger pointing right at Stevie Scott.]

GM:  A very intense warning leveled right at Stevie Scott.  And
apparently, our format is getting juggled a bit right from the get-go as
Tin Can Rust is going to to wrestle right now!  Let's go up to Melissa!

[Cut to the ring where a fired-up Tin Can Rust steps through the ropes
and actually has to be blocked from immediately going after his opponent
by the referee.]

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit.  Introducing first.. in the corner to my right... weighing
in at 250 pounds from Laredo, Texas... MIGUEL CORTEZ!

[The grizzled veteran raises an arm to the jeers of the crowd.]

MC:  And his opponent... standing 6'6 and weighing in at 259 pounds...
from Central City, Kentucky... TIN...CAN... RUST!

[A big cheer goes up from the man from Kentucky...

...and the referee signals for the bell to start the match.]


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  Here we go... and you look a little uneasy over here, Mr. Scott.

HSS:  How should I look, Gordo?  This... this... redneck nutball just
came over here and threatened me in front of all _my_ fans!  

BW:  Totally uncalled for.  I completely agree with you, Stevie.

HSS:  Well, at least one of my broadcast colleagues does!

GM:  He made it very clear.  Don't talk him down and there won't be a
problem - but I'm guessing you'll have a problem doing that.

[The two grapplers lumber into a collar and elbow tieup, both men
jockeying for position...

...until the big man from Kentucky hurls Cortez across the ring and down
to the mat with a huge throw.  The crowd roars as Tin Can Rust waves
Cortez back to his feet.]

GM:  I believe this is as fired up as we've seen Tin Can Rust so far in
the AWA, Mr. Scott.  If that was your intent, you definitely succeeded.

HSS:  Of course that was my intent!  Have you seen how slow this fossil
moves most of the time?  No?  Did you see Jurassic Park, Gordo?

GM:  Oh brother.  Fans, in case you're just joining us, we've got a
third member of our commentary team up here right now in the form of
"Hotshot" Stevie Scott.

HSS:  And the pleasure, of course, is all yours, Gordo.

GM:  I see.

[As Cortez finally gets back to his feet, complaining to the referee
about a hair pull, he finally moves back into a tieup...

...and immediately jabs a thumb into the eye of the veteran from
Kentucky.]

GM:  Oh!  Cheap shot by Cortez into the eyes and that'll give him the
edge for the moment...

HSS:  Good strategy.

GM:  Strategy?  You call going to the eyes a strategy?

HSS:  Don't you?

[Cortez fires a pair of clenched right hands to the side of Rust's head,
knocking him back against the ropes.]

GM:  Irish whip by Cortez... Rust off the far side...

[And absolutely flattens Cortez with a running tackle that knocks the
Laredo native back down to the mat to a roar from the crowd.]

HSS:  Listen to my fans, Gordo!  They're so excited that I'm out here! 
Thank you all!  Thank you all so much!  I'm so sorry you have to watch
this molasses-movin' monkey in my ring!  I apologi-

GM:  Uh oh!

[From inside the ring, Tin Can Rust apparently heard the "monkey"
comment, pointing a threatening finger at Stevie Scott.]

GM:  Looks like you caught the big man's attention, Mr. Scott.

HSS:  What?  What did I say?!

[Rust continues to shout at him, balling up a fist in threat...

...and getting caught from behind with a running double axehandle to the
back of the neck.]

GM:  Ohhh!  Tin Can Rust got attacked from behind, getting knocked
through the ropes out here to the floor.  And that was all your doing,
Stevie Scott!

HSS:  What happened to "Mr. Scott," Myers?!  Are we not friends any
more?

GM:  I don't think we've ever-

HSS:  Look, if that mental midget can't keep his focus in there on the
matter at hand, I can't help it!  It's not my fault!

[Out on the floor, Cortez pulls Tin Can Rust off the barely-padded
concrete, moving to slam him headfirst into the ring apron...

...but TCR puts his hands down on the mat, blocking the attempt!]

GM:  Blocked!  Rust blocked the faceslam attempt and-

[He drives an elbow back into the midsection of Cortez, grabbing him by
the head...

...and slamming his face down into the apron to another big cheer!]

HSS:  My fans are-

GM:  They're not cheering for you!

BW:  Gordo, what's gotten into ya?  Show our guest some respect, daddy!

HSS:  Thank you, Bucky.  If I'dve known this is the kind of treatment I
was signin' on for, I would have-

GM:  Big right hand on Cortez by Rust, firing him back into the ring now
to beat the ten count.

[Rust pauses, glaring at Stevie Scott.]

HSS:  Whatchu got, big man?  You going to come beat up an injured man?

[Shaking his head, Tin Can Rust rolls under the ropes back into the
ring, climbing to his feet...

...and bulldozing a rising Cortez with a big clothesline that takes him
back down.]

GM:  Biiiiig running clothesline by Tin Can Rust.  

[Rust drops his weight down across the chest of Cortez, reaching back to
hook a leg.]

GM:  One!  Two!  Thr- no!  Not quite enough!  I'm actually surprised
that he didn't attempt a pin sooner.  You've gotta think these men
pulling double duty tonight... Rust, Kevin Slater, and Marcus Broussard
among others... they're going to want to finish their match early to
stay fresh for the big Rumble.

HSS:  Rust is too dumb to get that, Gordo.  He may not even realize he's
wrestling twice tonight.  He may not even show up at the Rumble cause
he'll be down the street at the local dive bar trying to score some
Pabst!

GM:  Rust slowly back to his feet, reaching down to pull Cortez off the
mat as well.

[With Cortez doubled up, Tin Can Rust drives his skull down into the
back of his head.]

GM:  Ohhh!  Big headbutt by the man from Kentucky... scoooop... and he
slams him down!

[Rust immediately jumps into the air as high as he can... which isn't
much... and drops an elbow into the chest of Cortez, quickly sliding
into another lateral press.]

GM:  One!  Two!  Thr- again, Cortez slips a shoulder up just in time!

HSS:  What a joke, Gordo.  This goof can't even beat Miguel Cortez! 
What's he thinkin' when he gets up in my grill?

GM:  Your gril- never mind.

[Climbing to his feet, Rust pumps a fist to the cheers of the crowd.]

HSS:  Is he playing to _my_ fans?!

GM:  They're not-

HSS:  Yes, they are!  Steviemania is racing through the AWA!  And all my
Steviemaniacs are solidly behind me in my war of words with this
Kentuckian, Myers!  Don't you forget it!

GM:  Cortez back up... another slam?

[Tin Can Rust hoists Cortez up in a horizontal position across his body,
like he's going for a backbreaker...

...and promptly falls back, hurling Cortez over and across the ring
where he smashes down into the canvas.  The crowd explodes for the show
of strength!]

GM:  THE RING RUSTER!  That'll do it!  That'll- Cortez just rolled out
of the ring!

HSS:  What did I say, Gordo?  This big goof can't even keep the guy in
the ring after he hits his finisher!  

[Rust shakes his head as he steps out to the apron, moving to retrieve
his opponent.]

HSS:  TIN CAN RUST IS A TIN CAN BUST, GORDO!  Ahahahaa!

GM:  You might want to-

HSS:  You want to know how stupid Tin Can Rust is?

GM:  I think you should-

HSS:  Come on, Gordo!  HOW STUPID IS HE?!

[Tin Can Rust pulls Cortez off the mat, firing him back into the ring.]

HSS:  TIN CAN RUST IS SO STUPID THAT WHEN HE MISSED THE 44 BUS, HE WENT
AND TOOK THE 22 TWICE!  AHAHAHAHAHA!

[Turning his back on the ring, Tin Can Rust stands facing the announce
desk, hands on his hips.  Stevie Scott is completely oblivious as he
turns to face Bucky Wilde, his back to the big man from Kentucky now.]

BW:  Umm, Stevie?

HSS:  Wait, wait... you'll like this one, Bucky!  TIN CAN RUST IS SO
STUPID, HE HAD HIS MAMA THROWN IN REHAB BECAUSE SHE WAS HOOKED ON
PHONICS!   OHHHH HOHOHO!

BW:  Well, that was a good one but-

[With Stevie Scott still cracking up over his own jokes, Tin Can Rust
has heard quite enough and is approaching... quickly.]

GM:  I think I'm just going to step aside here for a moment and let you
handle this.

HSS:  Now what are you talking abo- 

[Stevie Scott turns around and finds Tin Can Rust approaching.]

HSS:  Uhh... ummm... wait a second.  Come on.  Wait!  You need to get
back in the ring, man!  You need to-

[Stevie backpedals away from Tin Can Rust towards the exit of the
studio.]

HSS:  You gotta have a sense of humor about these kinds of things, you
see?  Rust?  Come on, man!  Lighten up!  It's just a joke!

[Tin Can Rust says something inaudible as he balls up his fists, the
crowd roaring.]

HSS:  Rust?  Tin Man- err, Tin Can!  Tin Can!  I know your name!  ARE
YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME?!

[Stevie's face is covered with a mixture of terror and frustration as he
continues to back away...

...and the bell rings.]

GM:  What the-?

[Tin Can Rust freezes in his tracks, looking back at the ring where the
referee is raising the hand of a barely moving Miguel Cortez.]

MC:  Fans, the referee has counted Tin Can Rust out of the ring!  At a
time of five minutes and thirteen seconds, Miguel Cortez is your winner!

[The crowd boos and Tin Can Rust turns fifteen shades of red as he grows
even angrier at Stevie Scott...

...who is laughing as he runs for his life, disappearing through the
entryway into the safety of the locker room area.]

GM:  Unbelievable.  Tin Can Rust is upset... he's embarassed... but
mostly, he's furious at Stevie Scott!

BW:  Why?  It's not Stevie's fault!

GM:  How do you figure?

BW:  He didn't make Rust come after him!

GM:  But he taunted and agitated him until he didn't have a choice,
Bucky!

BW:  He had a choice.  Do your job and finish the match... _then_ take
care of whatever else needs taken care of.

GM:  Give me a break.  Fans, Tin Can Rust loses his AWA debut by
countout thanks to Stevie Scott... and you can bet we haven't heard the
end of that one.  Don't go away - we'll be right back!

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

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

"Have you ever dreamed of fame?"

[Cut a little closer.]

"Of glory?"

[A little closer.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Two young students are grappling on the canvas.]

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

You want to wrestle!"

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

...and fade back up to Gordon Myers and Bucky Wilde.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans.  You can feel the electricity in the air here
tonight in Dallas, Texas.  It's out here in the arena... it's backstage
in the locker room.  Everyone knows just how high the stakes are later
tonight in that Rumble match.

BW:  That's right, Gordo.  The Championship Committee is going to
announce at a later date who will receive the other seven spots in the
title tournament but for tonight, one man will bypass all that. 
Tonight, one guy is going to secure his spot in the tournament!

GM:  And in addition to that, he's going to get the match of his choice
on the next Saturday Night Wrestling.  Imagine if someone like Ron
Houston or Buddy Lambert wins it.  They'll instantly be able to settle
their issues with Broussard or Jamie Lilas.  This is just big, Bucky. 
Just huge for one man.

BW:  Plus, the eyes of the Committee will be on that ring tonight.  If
you don't even win, you want to impress them to try to make it in later.
 The stakes could not be higher in this match unless the title itself
was on the line.

GM:  Fans, coming up next-

[What this place needs... is a little more... cowbell. 

CLANK! CLANK! CLANK! CLANK! CLANK! CLANK! CLANK!
 
And then the beloved instrument gives way to the crunchy opening guitar
riff of "Mississippi Queen" by Mountain. The crowd cheers big time and,
just as that next squealing guitar note rips through the building,
"Ragin' Rebel" Ricky Royal, Jr. bursts through the curtain!]
 
#Mississippi Queen you know what I mean
#Mississippi Queen, you taught me everything!
 
[Ricky wears his wrestling gear--red boots and kneepads and a pair of
red trunks with the "Stars and Bars" adorning them. The back of his
trunks reads "Heritage Not Hate" in navy blue while the front says
"Ragin' Rebel". He also wears a sleeveless, dark blue Dallas Mavericks
t-shirt.]
 
GM: And here's the man himself, Ricky Royal!
 
[With the beefy, angular '70s rock song blaring behind him and a big
smile plastered on his stubbly face, Ricky strides down the aisle.
Walking past the announce desk, he enthusiastically shakes hands with
Myers and Wilde and then starts making his way around the ring, slapping
hands with fans as he struts around. Then he hops up onto the apron and
ducks under the top rope before he turns and salutes the crowd
vigorously several times.]
 
GM:  One of the most intense stars in the AWA!
 
BW:  This guy's constantly out of breath, Myers! He's 'bout ta have a
heart attack!
 
[He accepts a microphone handed to him by the ring announcer, who then
vacates the ring as the music fades out. Already out of breath, as Bucky
noted, Ricky starts yelling excitedly.]
 
RR:  A'right, a'right, a'right, helloooooooooooo, Dallas!
 
[Big hometown ovation as Ricky starts pounding his chest right on the
Mavs logo.]
 
RR:  Ain't nothin' I can think of that's better'n a Saturday Night
Rumble! How 'bout you!?
 
[The crowd agrees, with another big ovation.]
 
RR:  So ya'll can 'spect me to be in this ring right here tonight for
the big battle royal!
 
[More cheers!]
 
RR:  But first I wanted to come out here and talk 'bout that _li'l_
battle royal that happened _last_ time. I didn't get a chance to prove
m'self by pinnin' any one a' them big bad boys I got in the ring with.
And that just burns me. 'Specially since I didn't get a chance t'finish
what I started with...
 
[He pauses dramatically, turning to face the entranceway as a buzz
starts to build in the crowd.]
 
RR:  TUMAFFI! 
 
[And the buzz swells into a huge cheer!]
 
RR:  Yeah, you heard me back there, big boy! I'm makin' a guarantee
right here and now! I'mma tell ya, I'mma promise, with God an' all you
people as my witness, by the end a' Memorial Day Weekend, Ricky Royal's
gonna pick up that big ol' Samoan monster and bodyslam his butt in the
center a' this ring so hard the whole buildin's gonna shake!
 
[BIG EXPLOSION OF CHEERS! Loud and long enough that Ricky drops the mic
and turns to the crowd with more snap salutes! As the noise dies down,
he grabs the mic again.]
 
RR:  And to get m'self ready for such a... well, such a massive task...
I'm announcin' and kickin' off, here tonight, the Ragin' Rebel Ricky
Royal Bodyslam Challenge!
 
[More cheers, as Ricky jumps up on the second rope in the nearest corner
and delivers one more big fat salute! Dropping back down, he starts
talking again, breathlessly.]
 
RR:  Rules a' the Challenge go like this: I'm givin' m'self 60 seconds.
Any challenger, from anywhere--from that locker room back there, from
this crowd here in front of me, from any street in any city in the great
state of Texas or any other one of these great United States--can step
between these ropes with one a' the world-famous Royals and try to stop
me from bodyslammin' him right in the center a' this ring!
 
[Another cheer! Another salute!]
 
RR:  And without no further ado, I'm lookin' for m'first challenger! I'm
lookin' for one a' you Dallasites to get out a' your seat and get into
this ring! C'mon, somebody, anybody! I know you got guts Dallas, so who
you got me for me? Who you got who's ready? 
 
[Some murmuring in the crowd, the cheers rising and falling a few times
as Ricky scours for a raised hand...]
 
RR:  Ah ha!
 
[And then he sees one: a big, bearded guy, probably around 25 years old.
He has a large beer belly and a Kevin Slater t-shirt on and he sits in
the front row, waving his hand and starting to get out of his seat.]
 
RR:  Tha's right, tha's right, tha's right. I know you had heart,
Dallas. I knew you wasn't chicken to get in the ring and fight the good
fight. C'mon up here, big boy.
 
[The fan climbs up the ring steps and awkward steps through the ropes.
He raises his hands, a dumb smile plastered on his bearded face, to a
big ovation!]
 
RR:  C'mon, c'mon, big boy. Get over here. What's your name?

[Ricky's offering him the mic so he can speak...]
 
BK:  Brian Kraig.
 
RR:  Brian Kraig, Brian Kraig.  A'right, Brian. Looks like you're the
bravest man in Dallas tonight. Whatta ya weigh?
 
BK:  Uh, I'm 'bout 275, sir.
 
RR:  A'right, a'right. That's a good weight, good weight. Not a light
man by any means, folks. He's a big ol' boy. You ready for the Bodyslam
Challenge, Brian?
 
BK:  I'm ready, Ricky.
 
[Brian backs away a few feet and hunkers down, getting into a
low-center-of-gravity amateur wrestling stance. Ricky does the same,
perhaps mocking him a little, while still holding the mic.]
 
RR:  You done some rasslin' in your day, Brian?
 
[Brian says something away from the microphone that is inaudible, but
nods affirmatively with a smile.]
 
RR:  A'right, a'right, then, let's get started. 
 
[He drops the mic and turns toward the announce table, shouting.]
 
RR:  Start the clock!
 
[In the corner of the screen, a small animated clock appears at ":60"
and starts counting down.]
 
GM:  Looks like we got a Bodyslam Challenge here, Bucky! Brian Kraig and
Ricky Royal. 

BW:  The question is... is Ricky Royal beating up on the fans now?
 
GM:  No, no, he's givin' 'em a chance to shine on the big stage is all. 
This is a guy who's shown the utmost respect to every single one of his
fans throughout his career. Anyway, we've got Royal and Kraig circling
each other, feeling each other out... Royal the crafty ring veteran,
Kraig apparently having at least some high school wrestling
experience...
 
BW:  Ah, Ricky's toyin' with 'em.  That's just mean.
 
GM:  Fifty seconds left. Royal speeding up his movements, closing in on
Kraig from Kraig's left-hand side...
 
BW:  The kid looks scared...
 
GM:  Forty-five seconds. And Royal with a right hand--no! 
 
[Royal fakes that big right hand of his, causing Brian to flinch and
duck. Quickly, Ricky reaches in at the cowering fan from the left, hooks
him, and in one fluid motion lifts him up for a big bodyslam!]
 
GM:  He's got him!


"THUUUUUUUUUUUUD!"


GM:  That's it! 


"DING!  DING!  DING!" 
 
GM:  He did it! With forty-one seconds to spare! The first Bodyslam
Challenge is a success for the Ragin' Rebel!
 
BW:  Bit of a mismatch here, though, Gordo. Bodyslammin' some kid from
Dallas ain't the same thing as bodyslammin' Tumaffi.
 
GM:  You can say that again!
 
[Ricky grabs the microphone from the mat and goes over to Brian with a
big smile on his face, offering a hand to the kid. Smiling back, Brian
accepts. Ricky yanks the big AWA fan up onto his feet and pats him
heartily on the back.]
 
RR:  Brian Kraig, ladies and gentlemen!
 
[Big crowd pop! The two share a quick embrace before Ricky raises the
kid's hand.]
 
RR:  Hell of a challenger here! Next week, I'm looking at you,
Ay-Dubbya-Ay! Who we got in the back there that's got enough guts to do
like Brian Kraig? Buddy Lambert? Ron Houston? Kevin Slater? Marcus
Broussard? Huh? Who's it gonna be? Who's got the guts? 
 
Tha's the Challenge, big boys--who's gonna answer!?
 
["Missisippi Queen" kicks up again as Royal drops the mic and salutes
the crowd again before raising both arms to one last big pop.]
 
GM:  And so the Bodyslam Challenge is underway! Who's going to come out
here next time and take on the Ragin' Rebel?
 
BW:  I don't know yet, daddy, but I'm sure there's a whole stable of
guys there in the back with a lot of pride who are gonna be willin' to
face off against Ricky Royal.
 
GM:  Well, we'll find out next time on AWA Saturday Night Wrestling! 
Fans, don't go away, we'll be right back!

[We fade away to black...

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

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

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

Ricky Royal
Blockbuster Video Grand Opening - Lubbock, Texas
April 14

Tumaffi
Hop Sing's Chinese And BBQ Buffet - Corpus Christi, Texas
April 15

Mark Shaw
South Dallas Shopping Center
April 18

Werewolf Gregorson and Despair
San Antonio Indoor Marketplace
April 21

Kevin Slater
Fort Worth Convention Center 
April 23

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

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

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

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

GM:  Welcome back to the WKIK Studios here in Dallas, Texas, and the AWA
has been kickin' it up a notch all night!  We've already seen Tin Can
Rust lose his AWA debut by countout thanks to Stevie Scott... we've seen
Ricky Royal, the Ragin' Rebel, in a Bodyslam Challenge.

BW:  A Bodyslam Challenge where he has told the world that he intends to
bodyslam Tumaffi!  You think he can do it?

GM:  He slammed a 275 pounder with ease tonight.  But like you said,
Tumaffi's not a 275 pound fan.  Ricky's going to have to slam a lot more
people to prove to the world he actually stands a shot to slam Tumaffi,
Bucky.  And now, it's time for our next match which will feature the
"Wild Thing" Kevin Slater!  Let's go up to Melissa!

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

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

He is the Cuban Assassin #6!

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

MC:  And his opponent...

[Crowd starts cheering as the opening chords of Dropkick Murphys' "I'm
Shipping Up To Boston" starts up..]

MC:  Accompanied to the ring by Megan Flarheity, from Boston
Massachusetts, weighing in at two hundred and fifty-five pounds, here is
"WILD THING" KEVIN SLATER!

[The crowd cheers as first Flarheity, wearing black boots, a black
skirt, and green blouse, then Slater step through the curtain into the
arena. Slater is in his normal wrestling attire of  green short tights
with a white stripe on the sides, black knee pads, black elbow pads,
white wrist tape, and white boots with green and white fringes.  Also
wearing a green bandanna, sunglasses, and his white leather sleeveless
duster with "Wild Thing" in green lettering on the back.]

GM:  A very intense look of focus on the face of the Wild Thing, Bucky.

BW:  I would imagine so.  The man's got a lot on his mind.  This Rumble
later tonight is a dream come true for Kevin Slater.  He's fought for
years to get back within sniffing range of a title.  Tonight?  He gets a
chance to be right there.

GM:  Plus, the bounty situation has to be weighing heavily on his mind.

BW:  He's got the Masked Menace with the lovely Miss Chow gunning for
him plus on our Newswire earlier this week, it was revealed that someone
else will make their intent to claim that bounty very clear right here
tonight.  Slater's gotta have eyes in the back of his head in this
building right now.

GM:  Megan Flarheity, Slater's manager and fiancee certainly is scanning
the area, keeping her eyes peeled for trouble.  The Menace and Miss Chow
caught them offguard once, I'm not so sure it'll happen again.

BW:  Well, Megan wants to get some backup for Slater but so far, the
Wild Thing has refused her.  I'm not sure that's a smart move, Gordo.  I
think he may need some help before this is all said and done, daddy!

[They walk towards the ring, Slater slapping hands along the way with
fans.  When they reach the ring, Megan steps up on the apron, followed
by Slater, who holds the bottom two ropes open for her, then enters the
ring himself, heading for the corner nearest the hard camera and
mounting the second turnbuckle, holding his hands out and appealing to
the crowd.  He turns back, and begins removing his jacket and glasses,
handing them to the attendant at ringside, then awaits the start of the
match.]


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  This match is underway!  

[The big Cuban lumbers across the ring, trying to catch Slater offguard
while he was sharing some words with Megan...

...but Slater sidesteps, throwing the Cuban Assassin #6 chestfirst into
the buckles.]

GM:  Ohh!  Hard into the buckles already and-

[Tying his leg around the Assassin's, Slater snaps him down to the mat
with a side Russian legsweep!]

GM:  Kevin Slater is not wasting any time here, Bucky.

BW:  A nice counter and a high impact move to start the match.  Slater
knows the longer he's in the ring, the more exposed he is as a target so
he needs to finish it quickly.

[Pulling the Assassin off the mat by the scraggly beard, Slater shoves
him back into the corner...]



"WHAAAAAAAAAAP!"


GM:  Wooo!  Big chop finds the mark across the chest of the man from
Havana, Cuba right there, Bucky.

BW:  You ever been to Cuba, Gordo?

GM:  Uhh...no, it's illegal for Americans to go to Cuba.  Have you?!

BW:  Errr... 'course not.  Just checking to make sure you're as proud of
a patriot as I am!  

GM:  Uh huh.

BW:  They do make a fine cigar though.

[Slater connects with another hard chop, pausing to look directly into
one of the WKIK cameras.]

"You see that, Menace?!  I'm right here!  Come get me!"

[A third chop blasts across the chest before Slater grabs the Assassin
by the wrist, whipping him to the opposite corner.]

GM:  Irish whip by Slater and just prior to that, you could hear Slater
challenging the Masked Menace... almost daring him to come out here and
face him.

BW:  Be careful what you wish for, Slater.

GM:  The Menace is a dangerous man for sure and when Slater does indeed
tangle with him, he's going to have quite the fight on his hands.  

[Charging across the ring, Slater drives his elbow into the jaw of the
Cuban.]

GM: Running back elbow by Slater!

[Grabbing the Cuban by the beard, Slater tees off, throwing a few more
elbow strikes into the side of the Cuban's head.]

GM:  He's rocking the Cuban, Bucky!

BW:  Well, you called it, Gordo.  He's fired up tonight.

GM:  Another big whip sends the Cuban Assassin #6 hard into the
corner... staggering out...

[As the Assassin staggers to the center of the ring, Slater hoists him
into the air by the upper thighs, spinning rapidly...

...and _driving_ the Assassin down into the canvas!]

GM:  SPINEBUSTER!  SPINEBUSTER BY SLATER!

[Slater gets the crowd going as he hops to his feet, screaming out in
triumph.]

"WHO ELSE WANTS THE MONEY?!  COME CLAIM IT!"

[A hard stomp to the side of the Cuban's head puts him in place as
Slater steps out to the apron, steadily climbing up to the top rope as a
motionless Cuban Assassin #6 lies on the canvas.]

GM:  Slater to the middle rope... now to the top...

[The Wild Thing poses on the top rope, looking out across the cheering
crowd.]

"MENACE!  COME GET ME, MENACE!"

[And then leaps into the air, _driving_ the point of his elbow down into
the chest of the Cuban!]

GM:  OHHHHH!  Flying elbow off the top and that should do it, Bucky!

BW:  It should - but I don't think Slater's done with him, daddy!

[It appears that Bucky Wilde is correct as the Wild Thing pops to his
feet off the flying elbow, shaking his head and throwing his arms in a
double fist pump.]

GM:  Slater's got these fans whipped into a frenzy!

[Pulling the Cuban's dead weight off the mat, Slater tugs him into a
front facelock, nodding his head as the crowd roars.]

GM:  Suplex?  He's got him up!

[But at the peak of the lift, Slater holds... holds... holds...

...and drops straight down, impacting the Assassin's skull into the
canvas!]

GM:  BRAAAAAAINBUSTER!  Now that'll definitely do- he's still not
covering!

BW:  This is Kevin Slater sending a message to everyone in the locker
room... heck, everyone in the _sport_ who is thinking of trying to
collect that bounty!

GM:  Slater's dragging the Cuban up.  The referee is reprimanding
Slater... telling him to finish the match.  He'd better be careful. 
He's risking a DQ if he continues this attack, Bucky.

BW:  I'm not sure if he cares.

[Slater pulls his right elbowpad off, spiking it to the canvas as he
lifts the Assassin up by the hair, holding him up with his left hand...

...and absolutely _obliterating_ the Cuban Assassin #6 with a standing
lariat that sends him crashing down to the mat!]

GM:  A standing lariat by Slater!  That's gotta be it!

[With the Cuban unmoving, Slater drops to his knees, pressing down with
both hands on the chest.]

GM:  One.  Two.  Three!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


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

"WILD THING" KEVIN SLAAAAATER!

[Slater throws a triumphant arm in the air but keeps his eyes scanning
the building, almost as if he's expecting an attack to come at any
moment.]

GM:  Kevin Slater with an impressive victory... but look at him in
there.

BW:  He's panicked, Gordo!  Can you blame him?  The guy's got a price on
his head.  And we know someone else has marked their intent to come
after that price tonight!

GM:  Let's take a look at the highlights of this one!

[Cut to a slo-mo replay of Slater leaping off the top rope, floating
through the air and scoring with the flying elbow drop.]

GM:  One of the few high flying moves left in Slater's arsenal, the big
flying elbow connects right to the Cuban's Communist heart right there.

BW:  Still one of the prettiest flying elbows in the game.

[Dissolve to Slater holding the Menace upside down in the suplex
position before spiking him headfirst with the brainbuster.]

GM:  Slater shows off some power there to keep the big guy up in the air
for the brainbuster.

BW:  And when you thought that was enough to finish off the Cuban?

[One more shot, this one of the devastating standing lariat.]

BW:  The lariat connects and it's a one, two, three.

GM:  Your winner, "Wild Thing" Kevin Slater!  And he's about to join us
here at the announce desk.

[We fade out of the replays just in time as Slater and Flaherity walk up
to the announcer's table.  Slater stands next to Gordon, nodding at him
as Myers speaks.]

GM:  Kevin Slater, good showing here tonight, and more from you to come
this evening.

[Slater leans over as Myers holds the mic in his direction.]

KS:  Exactly Gordon, this was my warm up, and later tonight is the big
event.  You know, I'm a little dissapointed Gordon.

GM:  Why's that?

KS:  Because The Masked Menace didn't come out here yet.  Its no secret
Gordon, I made it clear, all the fans read it in the Newswire, I want
the Masked Menace.  He wants to get ahold of that bounty on me, and I
want a piece of him.  Sure, I'm going to get a piece of him tonight, in
that big Rumble match later.  He won't have to look long, because I'm
gonna get to him first.

GM:  Now Kevin, you know, this Battle Royal match tonight is going to
have numerous competitors from all over the world, and there *is* a
bounty on your head.  Aren't you thinking that there are going to be
others, aside from the Masked Meance that are going to be coming for
you?

KS:  That's a good question Gordon, and it doesn't matter.  Sure, there
are gonna be other people gunning for me, I could go up and down the
list.  But for each guy coming after me, there are gonna be people
coming for them.  But I'm not scared.  I'm confident.  I've been in
matches like this before, I've won matches like this before, and at the
end of this match is a big prize, a place in the tournament for the
title.  And that, I aim to get.  I aim to win this Rumble tonight, and I
aim to win the title.  And I aim to get my hands on Menace along the
way.

GM:  As far as this bounty's concerned, have you found anyone to watch
your back yet?  I mean, in this match tonight, you'll have others
besides the Masked Menace coming after you, surely some backup would
help.

[Slater chuckles, as Flaherity sneaks over to speak so that the mic
picks her up, kinda cutting Slater off, which sparks an annoyed look.]

MF:  As far as backup's concerned, we've put out a couple calls.

[Slater raises a brow, looking confused.]

KS: *We've* put out a couple of calls?

MF:  Well, I put out call er two, yeah.  Yer not twenty-five anymer, ya
big dolt.  Ya canna take on tha 'hole world by yerself.  So I called
'round, see who's up ta helping yer stubborn tail.

[Slater sighs and shakes his head.]

KS:  Meg, I'll be fine.

[He turns back to Gordon.]

KS:  I'm not worried tonight.  Tonight, I'll get my hands on the Menace,
I assure you of that.  And I'll win that Rumble, I assure you of that. 
And as far as this bounty goes, I'm not scared of people trying to make
a quick buck off of me.  Let them come, and I'll take care of them, and
whenever this person or persons who put the bounty up have the guts to
come out of hiding and reveal themselves, I'll take care of them too.  

And when its said and done and the smoke clears, I'll be the one left
standing, and I will get that Championship, no matter who stands in my
way.  Gordon, its been a pleasure.

[And with that, Slater turns and walks toward the back, an annoyed Megan
Flaherity in tow...]

GM:  Some dissension in the ranks between Kevin Slater and his manager
Megan once again.  Fans, don't go away, we'll be right back!

[We fade away...

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

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

[The screen changes to show a graphic reading "April 26th - Dallas,
Texas."]

"On April 26th, we will be back in the WKIK Studios in Dallas, Texas for
another taping of AWA Saturday Night Wrestling!  Be on hand to see the
Rumble winner in the match of his choice in the main event!"

[A new graphic pops up, this one reading May 10th - Dallas, Texas."]

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

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

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

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

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

[And we fade away from the graphic...

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

GM:  The AWA, taking the wrestling world by storm one show at a time! 
And Bucky Wilde, we have heard the clamoring from the fans and we have
responded.  The AWA is going on the road!

BW:  That's right.  The AWA will be on the road after the big Memorial
Day Mayhem show in Fort Worth!

GM:  And stay tuned for more details on when the AWA will be coming to
your town... and when we do, we just might be featuring this man on the
show... the San Jose Shark, Marcus Broussard!  Let's go up to Melissa!

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

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit.  Introducing first, already in the ring at this time,
standing 6 feet tall and weighing 230 pounds... from Dallas, Texas...

[Big cheer!]

MC:  Pat Parker!  And his opponent... standing  6'3 and weighing in at
252 pounds... he is the San Jose Shark...

MAAAAARCUS BROUUUUSSARD!

["Super Bon Bon" by Soul Coughing plays in the WKIK Studio as Marcus
Broussard saunters on the scene. Broussard is wearing white tights with
the outline of a shark on the back in blue, with white kneepads and
white boots with blue trim. His dirty blonde hair is cut short, and the
ever present stubble has been shaved off.]

BW: The odds on favorite to become the AWA cham-peen, Gordo, there he
is!

GM: Marcus Broussard has not been shy in calling himself one of the
pillars of the AWA, and so far he's been proven correct. However, it
seems that Ron Houston has something to say about that.

BW: Ron Houston's a coward, a thief and a yella dog for the way he
attacked the San Jose Shark last Saturday Night Rasslin', daddy!

[Broussard wipes his boots on the apron, ducks into the ring and quickly
discards his ring jacket. Referee Meekly is almost instantly right in
his ear as he backs into his corner.]

GM:  Broussard is definitely considered one of the odds-on favorite to
win the AWA Title... but you have to wonder what kind of chance he
stands in the Rumble, Bucky.  

BW:  Lemme break this down for ya, daddy.  Marcus may not be the
strongest dog in the yard.  He may not be the toughest.  He may not be
the biggest.  But you can bet the farm every day, twice on Sunday, and
three times on Memorial Day, he's the smartest, the cleverest, and the
dog willing to rip its littermate's throat out to get ahead, Gordo!

GM:  The referee backs away from his instructions.


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  And there we go... this one is officially underway.

[Broussard confidently steps out of his corner to the middle of the ring
where he extends his hand.  The crowd immediately starts booing.]

GM:  Right off the bat, the San Jose Shark offers a handshake to Pat
Parker.  The youngster from Dallas, Texas looks a little unsure if he
should accept it.

BW:  Of course he should accept it, daddy!  The man is offering to shake
hands... to cement an offer to conduct this match under the very highest
sportsmanship and honor... why wouldn't you shake the man's hand?

GM:  Because Broussard's not necessarily the most trustworthy
competitor?

BW:  Oh, hushpuppies!

GM:  Pardon me?

BW:  Y'all been listening to guys like Kevin Slater and Ron Houston too
much.  Marcus Broussard hasn't done a single thing here in the AWA to
make people not trust him as much as I'd trust my mama!

[Broussard leaves his hand out, nodding at Pat Parker as he inches
closer...

...and accepts the handshake, which shocks the crowd by being a regular
handshake and not a set-up.]

BW:  See?

GM:  My apologies for now, Bucky.  But you can see why I'd be concerned
for Mr. Parker.

[Breaking the handshake, Broussard claps his hands together and starts
circling the opposition, ducking down and dashing in once only to pull
back out with a grin on his face.]

GM:  Marcus Broussard is having some fun in the early moments of this
one... and into the collar and elbow tieup they go, looking for an
edge... and the San Jose Shark pulls him into a side headlock.

BW:  Perfectly clean too!  No hairpulls or nothin'!

[Broussard cranks harder on the headlock, ignoring Parker's hands and
arms as they go across his face, looking for an escape.  Shifting his
weight, Broussard maintains the headlock and takes Parker down to the
mat.]

BW:  Side headlock takedown... nicely done by Broussard who is showing
off some of that technical skill now.

[Seated on the mat, Broussard wrenches on the headlock, gritting his
teeth as he applies pressure, somehow pushing Parker down onto his
shoulders.]

GM:  A one!  A two!

[Wrapping his arms around the waist of Broussard, Parker rolls him back
onto his own shoulders.]

GM:  Reversal!  One!  Two!

[But Broussard manages to roll it back the other way, shaking his head
at the efforts of the Texan as he cinches the hold in a little deeper.]

GM:  And back to a neutral position, still with the headlock applied.

BW:  Look at the tenaciousness of Broussard, Gordo.

GM:  Isn't it "tenacity?"

BW:  Since when did you become an English teacher?

[A closeup from the camera shows the muscles of Broussard flexing as he
squeezes the skull of his opponent still in the confines of the side
headlock.]

GM:  Broussard trying to wear down Pat Parker with this punishing side
headlock.

[Planting his feet for leverage, Broussard pushes up to torque the head
and neck even more and ultimately force the shoulders back down to the
canvas again.]

GM:  One!  Two!  Parker rolls it back again!  One!  Two!  Thr- ohhh!

[The crowd gasps alongside Gordon Myers, realizing how close Pat Parker
came to pulling off the upset.  Broussard apparently realizes the same
thing, immediately breaking the hold and climbing back to his feet...

...where he reaches out and slaps Parker across the face.]

GM:  Ohh!  Come on!  Sportsmanlike, huh?

BW:  Completely, daddy!  That was an open hand... totally legal!

GM:  Give me a break, Bucky!

[An irate Parker lunges at Broussard who quickly backpedals and ducks
his head between the top and middle ropes, ordering the referee to back
Parker away.]

BW:  That's right, Meekly.  Get that guy away from the Shark.

GM:  Broussard using the rules to his advantage.  

BW:  The sign of a ring general.

GM:  Arguably, I suppose.

[Broussard waits a few moments before ducking his head back into the
ring, smirking at the furious Parker who is arguing with the referee.]

GM:  And by the look on his face, I'm guessing Marcus Broussard got
exactly what he was hoping for out of that little exchange.

[Striding away from the ropes, Broussard gestures at the
still-restrained Parker and shouts out.]

"Come on, kid!  I don't have all day!  I've got a Main Event to win!"

[Parker blows right past the referee this time, sprinting at Broussard
who steps back...

...and ducks his head between the ropes again, forcing the referee to
step in to block Parker's assault.  The crowd boos vehemately for
Broussard's actions.]

GM:  I can't believe this.  _This_ is the guy you've crowned the heir
apparent to becoming the first AWA Champion?

BW:  Absolutely, daddy!  Marcus is the cream of the crop, the head of
the class, the bull o'- well, he's good, Gordo!

[Broussard again waits until the referee has backed Parker away before
emerging from the ropes, brushing "the dirt" off his shoulders as he
straightens up.]

GM:  Parker is livid.  Absolutely furious.

[The argument between Meekly and Parker continues for a moment, somehow
ending up with Parker's back to the San Jose Shark...

...who immediately rushes in, spinning Parker around into a bearhug,
hoisting him into the air and he pops his hips...]

GM:  OHHHH!  BELLY TO BELLY!

[Broussard drops down on Parker, hooking his head and neck with one arm
and reaching back to snare both legs with the other.]

GM:  One!  Two!  Three!  Can you believe it?


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


BW:  I can believe it, Gordo!  What a masterful piece of work we just
witnessed from the Shark, daddy!  He played Parker like Mama pluckin' at
the fiddle at the Wilde Family Reunion!

GM:  It was a nicely executed belly-to-belly, I'll give him that.

BW:  Not that overhead throw like all the young whippersnappers like to
use, Gordo... it was a twisting belly-to-belly... like I used to throw
people around the gym with in my youth!

GM:  Broussard rolling out of the ring.  He's all business now and it
looks like... yep, he's coming right this way.

[Someone has handed Broussard a towel, who throws it over his shoulder
and meets Gordon Myers at the desk.]

MB: Look at that, Gordon Myers, it doesn't get any better. Go ahead
camera man, zoom in.

[The camera zooms in on Broussard.]

MB: Whoever gave me this towel should get their eyes checked, because
there's not a drop of sweat on me. I'm just that good Gordon Myers. 
Just _that_ good.

[Broussard chucks the towel out of the picture.]

MB: But what you just saw right now was just a small piece of the pie.
Just a little sliver, Gordon Myers. In a few minutes I'll be back out
here to compete in an open invitation Rumble. And you do know
what's at stake, correct? You are aware of the prize at the end?

GM: Yes, mister Broussard, I certainly am.

MB: A free ticket into the AWA Title tournament... an automatic bid into
the competition to crown the first AWA Heavyweight champion. Do you
think for one moment that I would waste even one iota of energy on this
five and dimer, when the race for the gold is just about to start? Do
you think I'd let my focus waver for one solitary second?

Not a chance, Gordon Myers. I am focused one hundred and fifty percent
on winning this battle royale tonight and rolling into the tournament.
One roadblock in my way, one roadblock hurdled. You don't get to be the
best in-ring competitor on the planet by getting caught up in menial
distractions, like the one I just dealt with. You don't become Marcus
Broussard by getting thrown off by the small things. Tonight, little
man, tonight is all about proving once again just what the San Jose
Shark is all about. It doesn't matter how many people are in the ring,
because I will go through them like a hot knife through butter.

Tonight is _my_ night, Myers, it's my night.

GM: But do you really think a battle royale suits your talents? The name
of the game is muscling people over the top rope, not beating them on
the mat.

MB: The name of the game could be Vietnamese Poetry, and I'd still
manage to win it. Every situation calls for a different game plan, and
believe me my game plan for the battle royale isn't the same as the one
I just executed a few moments ago. But suffice it to say that if I tell
you I have a plan, you can take it to the bank. It doesn't matter who
gets in my way, Gordon Myers, they'll get dispatched all the same.

GM: Even... Ron Houston?

[A cheer from the crowd, as Broussard gets upset at the name.]

MB: Ron Houston is a back jumper and a coward, Myers. I was missing a
teammate and he still couldn't get the job done, so he had to wait until
all hell broke loose. If that overgrown mouth breather wants to get in
the ring, he has only to utter the word. I am certainly not a hard man
to find, but I'm not so sure Ron Houston has the guts to face me one on
one. And if by chance he comes across my path tonight in the battle
royale, it will only re-inforce his fear because I _guarantee_ that I
will eliminate Ron Houston tonight.

GM: Guarantee?

MB: I guarantee it. I guarantee his elimination, I guarantee my victory
and I guarantee that when it's all said and done, the AWA Championship
Title will be around my waist. Take it to the bank, buddy.

[Broussard walks off the set leaving a still-head shakin' Gordon Myers
behind.]

GM:  A very confident Marcus Broussard, fans... only moments away from
the Main Event that he thinks is all his for the taking.  Don't go away,
fans, we'll be right back with The Russians!

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

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

"Have you ever dreamed of fame?"

[Cut a little closer.]

"Of glory?"

[A little closer.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Two young students are grappling on the canvas.]

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

You want to wrestle!"

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

...and then fade back on a shot of Gordon Myers seemingly alone at the
announce desk.]

GM:  Fans, one of the hottest brewing rivalries in the American
Wrestling Alliance is the one between the team of Werewolf Gregorson and
Despair and the team of the Russians, Kolya Sudakov and his under
Vladimir Velikov.  It was on the first edition of Saturday Night
Wrestling when the Russians brutally assaulted-

[A voice is heard from off camera, deep and scratchy.  It is the voice
of Vladimir Velikov.]

VV:  More lies and mistruths to your American public?

[Myers looks startled as the massive Velikov and his thinner but more
athletic looking nephew step into sight.]

VV:  Comrade Myers, the people of our proud nation are not happy when
you slander us.

GM:  Slander?  Did you not attack Gregorson and Despair on the first-

VV:  Attack?  You mistake us, Comrade.  We were... how you say...
communicating.

[Myers looks incredulous.]

GM:  Communicating?

VV:  The men of weak will and insignificant hearts communicate with
words - true Russian warriors communicate with actions.  These Americans
you put forth... you sell your people that these Americans are the best
tag team in the AWA, yes?

GM:  They defeated the Upper Crust on the last Saturday Night Wrestling
when you refused to meet them!

[Velikov chuckles.]

VV:  Yet we arrived to fight... and your AWA officials would not permit
it.  Your AWA officials coddled the Americans... protected them from the
ferocity of the Russian War Machine!

[Velikov slaps a hard hand across his nephew's chest.]

VV:  My nephew has fought around the world with the Russian spirit
driving him forth.  He has battled the best the world has to offer and
has yet to fall back.

And you expect us to fear these... cowards? 

[Velikov snorts with disdain.]

GM:  Then why do you refuse to face them?

VV:  Refuse?  We do not refuse.  We welcome their futility.  Bring them
to us, Comrade Myers.  Bring them to us, AWA.

GM:  Do you believe you can defeat them?

[Another snort.]

VV:  Comrade Stalin once said, "I believe in one thing only - the power
of human will."

You look at myself.  You look at my nephew.

[Sudakov rolls his neck, a fierce look on his face.]

VV:  You look at your cowardly, simpering Americans.

[Velikov puts a heavy hand on Myers' shoulder.]

VV:  And then, dear Comrade, you ask yourself whose will is greater.

[Velikov holds a stare at Myers for a moment and with a bark in Russian,
he and his nephew walk away towards the ring where Melissa Cannon is
standing.]

GM:  Fans, let's go to the ring.

[Cut to the ring where two wrestlers are already standing.]

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a twenty
minute time limit.  Introducing first-

[But as soon as the Russians roll into the ring, they charge across it
to where the unannounced duo of Keith Smith and Red O'Martin are
standing.]

GM:  They're not gonna wait for the introductions!

[Melissa Cannon bails from the ring as Velikov overwhelms Smith with a
barrage of forearms, knocking him back into the corner where he
continues to pummel him with right hands to the side of the face as his
nephew hits a thrust kick to the ribcage that knocks O'Martin from the
ring.]


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  Is that the bell to start the match or to stop it?

[As the referee starts reprimanding Velikov for the clenched fists, it
becomes apparent that the bell was starting the match.]

GM:  Vladimir Velikov in the corner, pounding Smith down to a knee...
ohh!  Hard knee up into the jaw of Keith Smith knocks him flat to the
mat.

[Reaching down, Velikov grabs a handful of hair, dragging Smith across
the canvas to the middle of the ring...

...where he promptly leaps into the air, driving a heavy kneedrop down
into the forehead!]

GM:  Ohhh!  

BW:  That's a skullcrusher, daddy!  Nearly 300 pounds slamming down on
the head with a bony knee?  Mmm mmm mmm.

[Velikov repositions his knee so that it presses down on Smith's
windpipe, ignoring the referee as a five count starts.]

GM:  A blatant choke by the Russian... three... four...

BW:  He's got til five and he used every bit of it.

[Standing up off the mat, Velikov drives a few hard stomps down onto the
chest of Smith.]

GM:  Keith Smith's in serious trouble already.  And his partner's not
faring much better.  That one kick from Sudakov seems to have taken him
out of the match.  He's on the floor still, clutching the ribs.

[Velikov raises a triumphant arm, soaking up the jeers of the crowd.  On
the mat, Smith rolls to his stomach, crawling towards the corner where
he expects his partner will be.]

GM:  Smith's looking for a tag and sadly for him, there's not one
coming, Bucky.

BW:  No, there's sure not.  Look at O'Martin out on the floor.  Man, I
didn't know Russians hated Irishmen so much.

GM:  Velikov's just laughing at him as he crawls towards the corner. 
What a sick- 

[The Russian runs a couple steps and leaps up, dropping a big elbow down
on the back of Smith's head and neck.  He kneels on the canvas for a
bit, breathing heavily as he looks across the ring at his nephew.]

GM:  Looks like the big Russian's sucking some wind.  

BW:  Well, he's not exactly a rookie, daddy-o.   Vladimir Velikov's been
in this business since the early 80s.

GM:  A lot of people think he's still stuck in the early 80s, Bucky. 
Does this guy even realize there's no Soviet Union anymore?  He's out
here talking about Stalin, I mean... give me a break!

[Velikov pushes to his feet, walking across the ring to tag in the
Russian War Machine, Kolya Sudakov.]

GM:  There's the exchange and here comes... man, this guy is just a
killer, Bucky.

BW:  They used to call him the Pro Wrestler Hunter/Killer in his Mixed
Martial Arts days for all the pro wrestlers he laid to waste.  But now,
they call him the Russian War Machine... and with good reason.

[Sudakov slips through the ropes, immediately races across the squared
circle, and buries a boot into the ribcage of a stunned Smith.]

GM:  Oooh!  Hard soccer style kick to the ribcage!

[Leaning over the ropes, Sudakov barks in Russian at the downed O'Martin
as his Uncle translates by screaming at the fans.]


"Look at your weak Americans!  No match for strong will!"


[Sudakov smirks as he pulls the injured Smith off the mat, shoving him
back into the corner where he snaps off two hard kicks to the body that
double up his opponent.]

GM:  Brutal assault- now what's he doing?

[Sudakov piefaces Smith back into the corner, pushing his head back
against the buckles.  He leans close, screaming in Russian at the
wounded grappler.]

GM:  Oh, come on!  Referee, give me a break!

[Grabbing Smith up under the arm, Sudakov _hurls_ him down to the mat
from the corner.]

GM:  A big time throw from the corner puts Smith back down on the mat...

[And as Smith rolls to his stomach, trying to push up from all fours...

...Sudakov sprints across the ring, soccer kicking the skull of the
downed Smith!]

GM:  Ohhhhh!  Tell me that's it.  Please tell me that's it.

[With Smith motionless on the mat, Sudakov simply puts a foot down on
his chest.]

GM:  Arrogant cover.  One.  Two.  Three.


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


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

THE RUSSIANS!

[The crowd boos wildly as Sudakov and Velikov stand over their
unconscious opponent.]

GM:  Dominant victory for the Russians.  And that's gotta be a scary
thing to see for the other twenty-eight men in the Rumble tonight.  If
the Russians can perform like that in a battle royal environment, we
could very easily see one of them in the AWA Title Tournament.

BW:  Forget the tournament.  You could very easily see one of them with
AWA Title, daddy!

GM:  That's for sure.  Fans, we've been talking about it all night...
heck, we've been talking about it for two weeks!  And now, it's finally
here.  It's time for the Rumble!

BW:  Oh yeah!

GM:  The 30 Man Rumble is up next so don't go away cause we'll be right
back!

[We fade away to black...

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

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

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

Ricky Royal
Blockbuster Video Grand Opening - Lubbock, Texas
April 14

Tumaffi
Hop Sing's Chinese And BBQ Buffet - Corpus Christi, Texas
April 15

Mark Shaw
South Dallas Shopping Center
April 18

Werewolf Gregorson and Despair
San Antonio Indoor Marketplace
April 21

Kevin Slater
Fort Worth Convention Center 
April 23

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

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

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

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

GM:  Alright!  It's the moment we've all been waiting for!  It's time
for this huge 30-Man Rumble.  And between us, Jason Dane, and Mark
Stegglet... there's not a lot left to say about it, Bucky.

BW:  It's all about the gold, Gordo.  It's all about the gold.  A lot of
men fight their entire lives for a shot at gold in this business and
never get it.  Tonight, 30 men get the chance to win one match and get
the shot at the title.

GM:  Nothing says it better than that.  Before we go up to Melissa, I
did want to note that you may have noticed we've left about 75 minutes
for this match.  We know it'll at least go an hour... 30 men entering at
two minute intervals... but we've left 75 minutes for it.  If we go past
the 75 minute mark, we will be posting video of the final moments on our
website within moments of the match's end.  If we have time left in the
show, we do have a fill-in match ready to go as well between Kendall
Stanton and veteran Karl Kane.

BW:  Enough's enough, daddy!  Let's get this battle royal a-rumblin'!

GM:  You said it, Bucky!  Fans, this is going to be an incredible hour
of action!  Take it away, Melissa Cannon!

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

MC:  The following contest is your MAIN EVENT of the evening!

[The crowd roars!]

MC:  It is a 30-Man Open Invititational Rumble where the winner will
receive the first slot in the AWA Championship Tournament to be held at
Memorial Day Mayhem as well as their choice of match for the next
Saturday Night Wrestling!

[Another roar from the WKIK Studio audience.]

MC:  The rules are as follows.  All 30 men have drawn a random number
moments ago.  That number determines their order of entry into the ring.
 Every two minutes, another competitor with join the battle.  To be
eliminated, you must be thrown over the top rope and have both feet
touch the floor.  The last man remaining in the ring will be your
winner!

[One final roar of the crowd as Melissa smiles.]

MC:  And now... the man who drew #1...

[The crowd falls to a hush.]

BW:  Who's the unluckiest man in the buildin', daddy?

GM:  We're about to find-

[With the question on everyone's mind, the sounds of the Dropkick
Murphys' "I'm Shipping Up To Boston" provides the answer.  The crowd
explodes into cheers.]

GM:  It's Kevin Slater!  The Wild Thing has drawn the first number in
this 30 man Rumble!

[Slater walks through the entrance curtain, looking a little
disappointed but still determined nonetheless.]

BW:  Well, that's fitting, daddy-o.  I asked who the unluckiest man in
the buildin' was... and for sure, it'd be Kevin Slater these days,
Gordo.

GM:  I have to agree.  It'll be incredibly difficult for Slater to go
from start to finish.  You have to survive in that ring for over an hour
to do it.

BW:  And from what Megan's been tellin' the locker room, Slater hasn't
gone 60 minutes in his life!

GM:  Would you stop?

[The Wild Thing steps into the ring, raising an arm to draw some more
cheers as the music fades out.]

MC:  And now... the man who drew #2...

[The crowd waits, a buzz growing.]

GM:  Maybe it'll be the Menace.  Wouldn't that be something?

BW:  It would be.  We might have no one in the ring when #3 arrives if
it's the Menace, daddy.

GM:  All eyes on the entryway and-

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

[The crowd (mostly) cheers for the arrival through the curtain of
"Showtime" Rick Marley to Bon Jovi's "It's My Life."  Marley pops
through the curtain, pausing just beyond to stare into the ring...

...then dashes the distance to the ring, diving under the bottom rope,
popping up to his feet, and nailing a surprised Slater with a standing
dropkick that puts him back against the ropes.]


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  And this Rumble is officially a-go, Bucky!

BW:  Rick Marley off to a quick start and he's already got Slater on the
ropes!

[With the Wild Thing stunned, Marley dives down to grab a single leg,
trying to pull Slater up off the mat and get his momentum going over the
ropes...

...but a pair of hard right hands breaks Marley's grip, causing him to
stagger away from the former two-time World Champion.]

GM:  Slater with a quick escape.  He's been in this kind of match
before, Bucky.

BW:  He certainly has.  The EMWC used to have an annual Rumble event so
Kevin Slater is very familiar with this kind of environment.  I don't
know if Marley can say the same.

GM:  Again, every two minutes another competitor will join this fight
inside the squared circle until all 30 have made their way out here.

[A quick charge by Slater drives a running big boot into the side of
Marley's face, knocking him back against the ropes where he grabs the
top rope to stay on his feet.]

GM:  And now it's Rick Marley who is up against the ropes.  That's a bad
place to be in a match like this, Bucky.

BW:  That's right, daddy.  As much as you can, you want to stay away
from the ropes, away from the edges of the ring.  Unless you can
handcuff yourself to the ropes, stay away from 'em!

GM:  Slater's measuring Marley... here he comes!

[The Wild Thing races towards Marley, arm outstretched for a
clothesline... a blow that is almost sure to send Marley over the
ropes.]

GM:  He's trying to eliminate Marley right he- ohhhh!

[The crowd gasps as Marley drops his head, backdropping Slater over the
ropes...

...where he somehow manages to land on his feet on the ring apron.]

GM:  Slater's still alive!  He landed on the apron!  He's still in this!

BW:  For now, he is!  But if Marley can knock him off the apron, he's
done... he's gone... he's kaputski, Gordo!

GM:  Marley realizes it too.  He's going to try to eliminate a former
World Champion right here and now.

[Balling up his fist, Marley drives it into the side of the stunned
Slater's skull, causing him to grab the top rope to keep on the apron. 
A few more clenched fists drop Slater to a knee on the apron, still
clutching the rope.]

BW:  That top rope may be the only thing saving Slater right now, daddy!

GM:  We've got about thirty seconds until #3 joins the match - and you
just don't know if that'll be a good thing for Kevin Slater or a bad
thing.

BW:  It's definitely a bad thing, Gordo.  Even if it's just in the backs
of their minds, all these guys know Slater's got a price on his head. 
Even with such high stakes, you gotta think about shanking him in the
ribs and taking home a cash bonus.

GM:  And you still have to wonder just who is the person who is going to
reveal themselves as going after that bounty here tonight.

[As the ten count to #3 begins, Marley measures Slater for a moment then
races to the corner closest to where Slater is standing, leaping off the
second rope and springing back with a dropkick...

...but comes up empty as Slater flattens out on the apron, causing
Marley's legs to hit the ropes, flipping him to dump him in a bad way on
the mat just as the sounds of "The End" by The Doors starts.]

GM:  Ohhhh!

BW:  And that's why they call it a high risk move, daddy!

GM:  You can hear the music... just who is number three in this match?

[The curtain parts and someone unrecognizable to AWA fans steps into
view.  He's overweight, out of shape, and wears an unkempt beard.  His
black hair hangs past his shoulders in matted clumps which goes a long
way to cover up a scar that runs from below his left eye to his lip.]

GM:  I'm not sure... fans, I apologize but this must be one of our
mystery entrants, I think.  Let me get some confirm- are you serious?

[The man kinda wobbles in the direction of the ring, pointing a
threatening finger...

...but not quite at the ring.  Close... but not quite.]

GM:  Fans, I'm being told that that... that's the Man of Steel!

BW:  Are you- ehehehehehe.

GM:  What's so funny?

BW:  He's supposed to be this big American hero, come to save us all
from the tyranny of evil... and from where I'm sittin', it smells like
the only thing he's saving is a bottle of hooch, daddy!

GM:  Give me a break, Bucky.

[After a few moments, Man Of Steel stumbles to the ring apron, rolling
in where he's met with a hard right hand by Kevin Slater that
immediately knocks him back against the ropes.]

GM:  Not the most polite greeting there from the Wild Thing.

BW:  Look at the clock, Gordo.  It nearly took Man of Steel a whole
minute to get into the ring!

GM:  I just can't believe the physical condition of the Man of Steel. 
Granted, most of us haven't seen him in a decade or so but... 

[With Slater pushing on the Man of Steel's upper body, trying to force
him over the ropes, Rick Marley regains his feet, stumbling over to help
Slater by grabbing a leg on the man from Kansas City.]

GM:  And now Marley's trying to help Slater eliminate someone else.

BW:  That's one of the interesting things about this kind of match,
Gordo.  One second, someone's trying to throw you over the ropes... the
next, you're trying to help that person eliminate someone else.

[Breaking off the elimination attempt, Slater and Marley doublewhip Man
Of Steel across the ring...

...and send him crashing down to the mat with a double back elbowsmash
that takes him off his feet.]

GM:  Down goes the Man of Steel courtesy of a big double elbow.  Marley
to the ropes...

[And Slater hiptosses Marley, throwing him down on top of the Man of
Steel!]

GM:  Ohhh!  Impressive doubleteam by Slater and Marley right there.  I
didn't expect to see that out of them for sure.

BW:  You're bound to see a lot of things you didn't expect in a match
like htis one, daddy.

GM:  Marley with a few mounted punches on the Man of Steel, now they're
pulling him up off the mat...

[Slater holds the Man of Steel by the matted hair, pointing out to the
floor.]

GM:  Slater's calling his shot!  He says he's gonna toss the Man of
Steel!

BW:  He'd better hurry up with it.  We're about to get our fourth in the
ring!

[The crowd counts down from ten and as the buzzer sounds...]

GM:  Werewolf Gregorson!

[The Alaskan hits the ring as the house of fire and immediately uncorks
a right hand on everyone standing.]

GM:  He's taking everyone down!

BW:  Not sure that's the smartest strategy in there, Gordo.  He's-

GM:  What is this all about?

[The crowd boos wildly as the camera cuts to reveal Calisto Dufresne now
standing at the announce desk.]

CD:  I was standin' in the back gettin' ready to get on out of here and
some suit came up to me and told me to get out here and earn my
paycheck.  I tried to grab a broom since that's about all I'm gettin'
paid enough to do but he told me to join you fella on the mic.  So, here
I am.

BW:  And it's a pleasure to have you!

[Inside the ring, Gregorson has managed to throw Marley across the ring
with a huge biel throw and is now measuring him for the Silver Bullet
spear tackle.]

GM:  Gregorson's measuring Marley for the Silver Bullet!  

CD:  A spear tackle in a battle royal?  That guy's dumber than he looks
and I didn't even think that was possible.

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

[And as Marley wobbles to his feet, Gregorson charges across the ring...

...and promptly spears the hell out of Man Of Steel who happened to
stagger in front of Marley!]

GM:  OHHHH!  WHAT A SPEAR!  WHAT A TACKLE!

CD:  Pshhh... that old man is so lit up, you could see him from space.

GM:  The Man of Steel is down... but that definitely was not the intent
of Werewolf Gregorson.

[With Gregorson a little surprised by his victim, Marley leaps into
action, drilling Gregorson with a running leg lariat to the back of the
head that knocks him off his feet.]

GM:  Ohhh!  Down goes Gregorson!  Rick Marley with a spinning kick of
sorts to the back of the head and we've got Gregorson down... we've got
Man of Steel down... 

[And just as Marley regains his feet, Kevin Slater hooks him by the
tights, hurling him over the ropes...

...where Marley hooks the rope with both hands, barely avoiding his feet
touching the floor as he powers himself back over the ropes into the
ring...

...and levels Kevin Slater, who had turned his back on Marley thinking
he had eliminated him, with a running forearm to the back of the head.]

GM:  Down goes Slater as well!  Marley almost got eliminated but he just
managed to stay in this thing.  No eliminations yet in this one.

CD:  If I was in there, I'd be the only one in the ring.

GM:  You had your chance.  Fans, we need to take a quick break.  Do not
go away!

[We fade away...

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

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

[The screen changes to show a graphic reading "April 26th - Dallas,
Texas."]

"On April 26th, we will be back in the WKIK Studios in Dallas, Texas for
another taping of AWA Saturday Night Wrestling!  Be on hand to see the
Rumble winner in the match of his choice in the main event!"

[A new graphic pops up, this one reading May 10th - Dallas, Texas."]

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

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

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

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

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

[And we fade away from the graphic...

...and back up on the ring where another body has joined the fray.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans!  As you can see, Dave Cooper from the new tag
team Rough N Ready joined the match during the commercial break.

[Inside the ring, we catch a glimpse of Cooper snapping off a gutwrench
suplex on Rick Marley.  Kevin Slater has Man of Steel cornered, using
big chops on him as Werewolf Gregorson rests in the opposite corner.]

CD:  Doesn't do much good to be a member of a tag team in a match like
this unless his partner joins him.

GM:  Well, we're about a minute or so away from the next person entering
the match so you just never know.  If Eric Matthew Somers is the man who
drew number six, this makeup of this match changes completely.

BW:  It would change for the moment but even a tag team can't last fifty
minutes, Gordo.

GM:  You never know.

[With Marley on the mat, Cooper has moved to the corner where he and
Slater have managed to each grab a leg on the Man of Steel, hoisting the
near three hundred pounder off the mat.]

GM:  And now it's the Man of Steel that's in trouble!  Slater and Cooper
have him up and he's fighting it, throwing wild haymakers at both of
them as quickly as he can.

[The crowd actually roars a bit for the Man Of Steel's offensive flurry,
high-speed clenched fists to the skulls of both men as quickly as he can
throw them...

...which finally breaks their grip, getting his feet back on the
canvas!]

GM:  The Man Of Steel breaks away from what looked like certain
elimination and you've gotta be impressed by that, Calisto Dufresne.

CD:  I do?  I'm more impressed that he actually found the ring after he
staggered out here.

GM:  Give me a break.  We're just about thirty seconds or so from our
next entry into this matchup... the man who drew number six.  And it's
still very early in this one but not a single man has been eliminated
yet.

BW:  Ten minutes in, they're all holding firm.

[Lunging out of the corner, Man of Steel levels both Cooper and Slater
with a big double clothesline as Rick Marley moves in on a cornered
Gregorson.]

GM:  Uh oh.  Marley might want to let a sleeping werewolf lie if you ask
me.

[Pulling Gregorson to his feet in the buckles, Marley blasts him with a
big chop across the chest...

...which seems to have no effect.]

GM:  The fans are counting down to our next entry now...

[Another chop...

...another cold stare from Gregorson.]

GM:  Here comes Number Six!

[The crowd boos as the original Hardcore Luchador, El Corazon Negro,
jogs out from behind the curtain, sliding into the ring where Gregorson
has just shaken off another big chop and let loose a wild howl that the
fans quickly echo as he lunges forward, scooping Marley off his feet...

...and pressing him high overhead!]

GM:  GORILLA PRESS!  GORILLA PRESS!

[Gregorson turns one full revolution, showing off his power as he aims
to throw Marley to the floor...

...and runs to the ropes with the intent of doing so but somehow Marley
manages to wriggle free, landing on his feet on the mat.]


"CRAAAAAAAAAAACK!"


[And uncorks a nasty superkick to the jaw of Gregorson that causes the
big man to fall backwards, getting tied up in the ropes in the process.]

GM:  CASTING CALL!  HE HIT THE SUPERKICK!

CD:  And I'd have to say if it wasn't for the lucky break of getting
tied up in the ropes, Gregorson would be eliminated right now.

[Marley looks to charge back in but gets cut off by El Corazon Negro who
catches him from behind with a headbutt to the base of the spine.]

GM:  Ohhh!  Cheapshot from behind by the Hardcore Luchador!

[Spinning Marley around, ECN hits a couple quick right hands before
dragging him back to the ropes.]

GM:  Got him by the arm... he's going to whip Marley into Gregorson...
here we go!

[But Marley reverses the whip which sends the luchador races towards
Gregorson...

...who somehow gets free from the ropes just in time to catch the man
from Mexico coming in, hoisting him into the air, and then pressing him
high above.]

GM:  Gorilla press on El Corazon Negr- OHHHHHHH!  HE'S GONE!  HE'S
ELIMINATED!

[The Hardcore Luchador slams into the barely-padded concrete with a thud
thanks to Gregorson who is celebrating the elimination with a big
howl...

...and not noticing Rick Marley preparing to attack him yet again.]

GM:  Marley!  Keep your eye on "Showtime!"  Five men left in the ring
but we're moving closer to the man who drew number seven joining the
fray...

[And as Gregorson turns around, Marley charges him...

...and finds himself pressed high in the air as well!]

GM:  ANOTHER ONE!  ANOTHER GORILLA PRESS!  ANOTH- OH!  Marley goes to
the eyes!

[The crowd boos the cheating a bit as Marley quickly buries a boot in
the blinded Gregorson's gut, hooking a front facelock.]

GM:  LIMELIGHT!  LIMELIGHT!

[Marley spins, ready to spike Gregorson's head into the canvas with the
twisting diamond cutter known as the Limelight...

...but Gregorson powers him off the mat in mid-move, hoisting him high
into the air where he re-positions him...

...and _drives_ him down to the mat with a sitout powerbomb!]

GM:  OHHHH!  WHAT A MOVE BY GREGORSON!  Some type of powerbom-

CD:  It's a Blue Thunder powerbomb.  Sweet mercy, how did you get this
job when you don't know any of the moves?

[With Gregorson and Marley down on the mat, our attention turns to
Slater and Cooper who are doubleteaming Man Of Steel once more,
battering him with rights and lefts near the ropes before firing him to
the ropes.  As he bounces off them, the crowd starts counting down.]

GM:  Man Of Steel off the ropes... ducks the double clothesline...

[And _leaps_ into the air, levelling both Slater and Cooper with a big
flying double shoulderblock!  The crowd erupts into cheers for the move
but quickly to boos as the seventh man strides into view.]

GM:  Whooooa my!  The Man Of Steel takes them down and-

BW:  SUDAKOV!

[The Russian War Machine sprints to the ring, diving headfirst into it,
and popping up to his feet behind the Man Of Steel...

...and as the American Hero slowly turns...]

GM:  No!  NOOOO!


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


BW:  HEAD KICK!  HEAD KICK BY SUDAKOV!

[The lethal standing high kick to the head by the former Mixed Martial
Artist causes Man Of Steel to crumple to the canvas like he'd been shot
and is easy picking as Sudakov drags him to his feet and hurls him over
the ropes.]

GM:  Ohhh!  The Man Of Steel is eliminated by Kolya Sudakov!

[And as Sudakov turns around from dumping the American Hero to the
floor, he finds himself standing face to face with Werewolf Gregorson as
the WKIK Studios loses... their... minds!]

GM:  Oh yeah!  Gregorson and Sudakov are eye to eye, nose to nose! 
We're finally gonna see it!

BW:  And would you look at this?  Slater, Marley, Cooper... they're all
stepping back to the corners to watch!  EVERYONE wants to see the
Russians take on Gregorson and Despair and we're going to see part of
that right now!

CD:  You know, the Russians really get a bad rap around here.  They're
pretty good guys though.  I was discussing my contract with them and-

GM:  Would you stop?  I can't believe that you-

[The crowd explodes as Gregorson throws the first punch... and the
second... and the third... a barrage of punches that backs Sudakov down.
 But the Russian War Machine is quick to fight back, leaping up and
scoring with a flying knee that staggers the former Marine.]

GM:  What a fight this is!  Sudakov with a knee... and Gregorson is down
to a knee now.

[Grabbing the Alaskan by the head, Sudakov drives his knee up into the
face of Gregorson once... twice... and then throws him down to the mat
by the hair.]

GM:  Oh, come on!  

[Sudakov stands over the downed Gregorson, taunting the AWA faithful...

...which brings Dave Cooper into action, turning a full rotating before
popping a surprised Sudakov in the back of the head with a rolling elbow
smash!]

GM:  OHHHH!  Down goes Sudakov!

CD:  Look at that!  Backjump by this Rough-E-Nuff guy.

GM:  Rough N Ready.

CD:  Whatever.  The Russians have it right, Gordo.  They're trying to
fight the honorable fight and the Americans here in the AWA are the ones
trying to drag it down to their level.

[Cooper quickly drags Sudakov up to his feet and shoves him back into
the closest corner where he quickly mounts the midbuckle.]

GM:  Here we go!  Count 'em off, Bucky!

BW:  Do I look like I'm on Sesame Street?

GM:  With that jacket, maybe.

[Cooper fires right hands down into the skull of the Russian, the fans
counting along with every blow thrown...

...but leaving himself very exposed as Rick Marley decides to seize the
opportunity, sliding along the ropes and upending Cooper, knocking him
off the ropes and down to the floor!]

GM:  Dave Cooper's eliminated!  One-half of Rough N Ready is out of this
match!

BW:  Which puts us down to four men in the ring... but we're about to
add a fifth.

GM:  Time is ticking down.  And some fans are giving Rick Marley a hard
time.

CD:  Nothing wrong with what he did.  

GM:  I don't think your approval will help him with the fans.

[The buzzer sounds as "Stars And Stripes" Clayton Shaw bursts into view,
diving under the ropes... 

...and breaking into a spring, _drilling_ a cornered Kolya Sudakov with
a big clothesline!]

GM:  And Clayton Shaw wastes no time in going after the Russian!

[The crowd roars as Shaw breaks away, pumping his arms, screaming,
hollering, and waving for the other men in the ring to join his attack
on Sudakov.]

GM:  Yeah!  The Americans are ganging up on the Russian!

CD:  Oh, this is really fair.

GM:  SLATER!

[The Wild Thing races across the ring, leaving his feet to squash
Sudakov in the corner with a flying corner splash.]

GM:  Sudakov is helpless!

CD:  Don't be so sure about that.

[Gregorson is next, bullrushing the corner with a running leaping elbow
strike to the side of the head, backing away and pointing to "Showtime"
Rick Marley who races in, leaping into the air for a big corner
splash...

...and getting snatched out of the sky by the Russian War Machine who
_slams_ him thunderously down to the mat with a modified Uranage!]

GM:  OHHHHHHH!

CD:  Told ya!

[Sudakov marches over the downed Marley out to the center of the ring,
slapping an arm across his own chest and waving all three men towards
him.]

GM:  Shaw moving in on hi- ohh!

[A hard front kick to the ribcage doubles up Clayton Shaw and a downward
elbow to the back of the neck puts him down on the mat just as the Wild
Thing approaches.]

GM:  Slater with a right hand... and another... a thir- blocked by
Sudakov!  Ohh!  To the throat!

[The crowd boos as Sudakov drives the edge of his fingers into the
windpipe of Slater before spinning around and knocking the Boston native
flat with a spinning backfist.]

GM:  Good grief!

CD:  Man, I need this guy on my side.  He's a monster!  No wonder they
call him the Russian War Machine!

GM:  Gregorson is all that's left!  It's down to Gregorson and Sudakov
again!

CD:  No contest.

GM:  Are you serious?  Gregorson has an extensive martial arts
background as well!

[This time, it's Sudakov who is first to act, lashing out with a front
kick that Gregorson slaps away with one arm, using his left arm to try
to punch Sudakov right in the nose...

...but Sudakov grabs the wrist, spinning under the outstretched arm to
drive a backhanded chop into the ribcage of Gregorson.  Still holding
the wrist, Sudakov swings back the other way to bury a fist in the
midsection of his foe.  He quickly switches his grip into a Thai clinch,
bringing up a knee that catches Gregorson squarely on the nose.  A
double fist to the gut by Gregorson breaks the clinch and allows him to
hook Sudakov's head with his left hand, driving elbow after elbow into
the side of Sudakov's head.]

GM:  LOOK AT THAT!

[The crowd explodes as the elbows fly faster and faster and faster,
Sudakov's eyes becoming more and more glazed with every blow.  Gregorson
breaks his grip, spinning around to score with a rolling elbow that
knocks Sudakov back into the closest corner as the crowd counts down
towards the man who drew #9.]

GM:  These two men are almost a blur of motion in there as Gregorson
moves in on the corner... ohhh!  Leaping front kick to the gut of
Sudakov puts him down on a knee...

[The buzzer sounds and the Upper Crust's Bling Bling Beaumont sprints
into view to a mixed reaction from the WKIK crowd.]

GM:  Here comes Bling Bling Beaumont!  And while he's usually quite the
fan favorite, on the last Saturday Night Wrestling, the Upper Crust did
not wrestle the cleanest match against Gregorson and Despair, Bucky.

BW:  These fans are just fickle, daddy!  Who knows why they boo someone?

GM:  Well, I just explained-

CD:  Whatever.  True fans... like _my_ fans... know you have to do
whatever it takes to win.  Winning is what counts, Gordo, you've been
around long enough to know that.

[Sliding into the ring, Beaumont charges across and nails Gregorson with
a running double axehandle to the back of the head, knocking him down to
the mat and drawing some jeers from the fans.]

CD:  Oh, come on.  Why are they booing now?

GM:  I'll take a wild guess and say that siding with the Russians isn't
a good way to gain the fans' enduring love, Mr. Dufresne.

CD:  Is that a hint?

[The crowd continues to boo as Beaumont and Sudakov work together,
stomping the downed Gregorson.]

GM:  A brutal assault on Gregorson.  He needs some help and he needs it
quickly.  Fans, we need to take another quick break.  Don't go away...
we'll be right back with more of this exciting Rumble matchup!

[We fade away from the assault on Werewolf Gregorson.

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 come back up to reveal Kevin Slater and Bling Bling Beaumont
exchanging chops in the middle of the ring while Shaw and Gregorson
doubleteam Sudakov in one corner.  "Showtime" Rick Marley is kneeling in
another corner, clutching his throat and keeping an eye on the action.]

GM:  Welcome back to AWA Saturday Night Wrestling, fans.  We are live in
Dallas, Texas and we're about a third of the way through this huge
Rumble to determine the man who will take the first slot in the AWA
Title Tournament to be held at Memorial Day Mayhem!

[The buzzer sounds to bring in the man who drew #10 for this matchup...

...and the crowd roars as the sounds of "Mississippi Queen" rocks the PA
meaning the "Ragin' Rebel" Ricky Royal is on his way to the ring.]

GM:  Ricky Royal draws #10 which means he may only need to survive 40
minutes to win this thing.  And with each number drawn, the odds get
better and better.

CD:  Wow, that's brilliant math skills.  Bucky, what did you ever do to
get saddled with a genius like this guy?

[Royal dives under the bottom rope as Wilde chuckles at Dufresne's
comment...

...and goes to work on EVERYONE at the same time!]

GM:  Ricky Royal hits the ring and- 

[The crowd cheers as Royal drills Beaumont with a right hand, knocking
him off his feet.  He greets an incoming Kevin Slater the same way,
flooring the Wild Thing.]

GM:  Down goes Beaumont!  Down goes Slater!

[Spinning around, Royal spots Marley in the corner and drills him with a
running right hand that nearly sends Marley over the ropes but the
athletic superstar manages to hang on to the ropes, staying inside the
ring as Royal spins again and blindly charges the corner where Shaw and
Gregorson are smacking around Sudakov...

...and drills all three men with a right hand!]

GM:  Listen to these fans!  Ricky Royal's got them whipped into a
frenzy!

[With everyone else in the ring downed or staggered from his assault,
Royal leaps to the midbuckle and salutes the roaring fans.]

CD:  Wait a second.  When Beaumont hit Gregorson, the fans booed him. 
When Royal does it, I need earplugs!  I don't get it!

[Bling Bling Beaumont seizes the chance as he races along the ropes,
shoving Royal from his perch...

...but only causing him to fall out to the ring apron!  The crowd sighs
with relief.]

GM:  Ohhh my!  Ricky Royal almost had his night ended in a heartbeat!

CD:  He's not safe yet either.  Beaumont's pounding him right now,
trying to knock him to the floor!

[The crowd groans with every blow as the lanky Compton, California
native throws big right hands at the staggered Ricky Royal Jr.]

GM:  Royal's hanging onto the ropes... somehow, someway... he's managing
to stay on that apron.

BW:  For now.

[Frustrated, Beaumont backs away, measuring Royal as he straightens up.]

GM:  What's he-  BICYCLE KICK!

[But as Beaumont lashes out with that long leg, aiming for the skull of
Ricky Royal...

...he comes up empty as Royal moves, inadvertently crotching himself on
the top rope!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  Ohhh my!  Not a very soft landing for Bling Bling Beaumont and he's
feeling the effects of his mistake right now.

[And he's about to feel it a little more as Royal grabs the top rope,
shaking it up and down to drive the rope into the nether regions of the
Upper Crust member, sending howls of pain through the air.]

GM:  We're about to be joined by the man who pulled #11 this morning and
he'll be our eighth man in the ring!  El Corazon Negro is gone, Man Of
Steel is gone, and Dave Cooper from Rough N Ready is gone.

CD:  Isn't it from Nice And Easy?

GM:  Rough N Ready!

[With the crowd counting down, Kevin Slater takes a chance and hits a
running elbow on the still crotched Beaumont, knocking him over the
ropes and down to the floor.]

GM:  Ohhh!  Bling Bling Beaumont is eliminated!

CD:  That was fast.  A quick night for Beaumont and I've got a feeling
that Mr. Styles won't be too happy with that.

GM:  Beaumont's gone... but who is about to replace him?

[The buzzer sounds and the crowd cheers at the sight of the veteran
brawler Soup Bone Samson walking into view, large steel chain draped
around his neck.]

GM:  Soup Bone Samson draws #11!

CD:  Heheheh.

GM:  What's so funny?

CD:  The guy is older than you are, Myers.  No chance that he can
survive over 40 minutes to win this thing.  He might as well just go
back to Shady Pines Retirement Center right now.

GM:  Shady Pines- give me a break!

[Samson rolls into the ring and immediately goes after a kneeling Kolya
Sudakov, shoving Clayton Shaw aside as he drives a headbutt down onto
Sudakov.]

GM:  Right after Sudakov!

BW:  Those two are no strangers to each other, Gordo.

GM:  That's right.  It was last fall that those two absolutely destroyed
one another in a Russian Chain Match for Southern Championship
Wrestling... a match that Bucky and I had the pleasure of calling.

BW:  One of the bloodiest wars I've ever seen, daddy.

GM:  And they're picking up right where they left off, trading blows in
the middle of the ring...

[A stiff headbutt to the bridge of the nose from Samson causes Sudakov
to fall back against the ropes where Werewolf Gregorson leans over,
trying to pick a leg up off the mat.  He is quickly joined by Samson who
grabs the other leg.]

GM:  They've got Sudakov up, fans!  Kolya Sudakov's night may be about
to end!

[On the other side of the ring, Ricky Royal is battering Kevin Slater in
the corner with a barrage of right hands as Rick Marley works
underneath, trying to get Slater up into the air.]

GM:  Marley and Royal are trying to toss Slater but not having much luck
yet.  But look at this... now Clayton Shaw is coming to help on Sudakov!
 We've got Shaw, Samson, and Gregorson all trying to topple the Russian
War Machine out to the floor!

[Clayton Shaw ducks his head under the ropes, reaching up to try and
pull the Russian down over the top rope.]

GM:  Sudakov's struggling... trying to stay in the match.  He could
really use some help from his Uncle Vladimir right now - there's no
question about that.

CD:  Maybe I should go give him a hand.

GM:  You stay right where you are.  You could be in this match helping
him if you weren't such a-

CD:  A what?

GM:  I'm a family man - I think I'll keep it to myself.

CD:  You'll be keeping your teeth to yourself - in a jar next to the bed
if you mouth off to me, old man.

BW:  I think he already keeps his teeth in a jar next to the bed.

CD:  Ehehehehe.  You're probably right, Bucky!  Is this next call
brought to you by Polident, Gordo?

[While the announcers bicker, Slater uncorks a hard forearm that breaks
him away from Ricky Royal.  A rake of Marley's eyes breaks his grip as
well.  The Wild Thing walks out of the corner, leaning against the ropes
to get a breather.]

GM:  Kevin Slater looks a little winded in there.  We saw him in action
earlier tonight and now he's been in this match for about twenty
minutes.

CD:  And I'll go ahead and tell you since you've never been in the ring.
 Twenty minutes in a battle royal is like an hour in a regular match. 
So many opponents.  So many different styles.  You're constantly
defending yourself and if you get a break, you spend the whole time
looking over your shoulder.

GM:  We're about to find out who drew #12.  At what point do you
consider you drew a good number?

CD:  Number 30.  Never settle for anything but the best.  That's a good
lesson for the AWA to remember when they crown a champion other than
myself.  They'll just be settling.

[The buzzer sounds once more and a pretty good reaction goes up as
"Hellion" Mark Shaw, the barrel-chested big man walks into view, wasting
no time as he circles around the ring over near where the Sudakov
elimination is being attempted.]

GM:  Mark Shaw's not even getting in the ring!  What's he doing?

CD:  He's going to join in and try to eliminate Sudakov!  No one wants
the Russian War Machine in there any longer.  He's just too dangerous,
Gordo.

GM:  Mark Shaw is- he's still on the floor...

[Reaching up from the floor, Mark Shaw grabs ahold of Sudakov by the
head and neck...

...and _yanks_ down hard, pulling the Russian over the ropes and down to
the floor!]

GM:  SUDAKOV'S GONE!

CD:  He's not the only one!

[The crowd response settles down a bit as they spot "Stars And Stripes"
Clayton Shaw on the floor as well, having gotten tangled up with Sudakov
on the way over the top.]

GM:  Clayton Shaw's gone as well!  Mark Shaw just eliminated two men
without even stepping into the ring!  That puts us down to six men
inside the ring!

BW:  And take a look at this staredown, willya?

[Clayton Shaw regains his feet, staring coldly at "Hellion" Mark Shaw
who returns the gaze for a moment...

...then turns away, rolling under the ropes into the ring.]

GM:  What on Earth is going on between those two men?

BW:  I have no idea but I'm dyin' to find out, daddy!

CD:  I'll give you the downlow, Bucky.

GM:  You know the story?

CD:  Of course.

GM:  Well, I'm sure our viewers would like to know.

CD:  Sorry.  I don't get paid enough to give on-air exclusives to _your_
viewers.

[Climbing to his feet, Mark Shaw grabs the nearby Rick Marley by the
hair, tugging him hard into a gutwrench.]

GM:  Good grief!  He just manhandled Rick Marley like a rag doll!

[Shaw shows off his power by easily gutwrenching Marley up into the air,
twisting him around...

...and sitting out in a thunderous powerbomb!]

GM:  OHHHHH!  What a powerbomb by Mark Shaw!

[Shaw pushes off the mat, completely ignoring Marley's prone form as he
moves away towards Soup Bone Samson.]

CD:  What a maroon.  He didn't even try to toss Marley out.  

GM:  I have to agree.  It's a questionable decision when that's the
whole point of this match.  Toss the man to the floor, eliminate him,
and be the last man standing.

BW:  It seems like Mark Shaw's more intent on sending a message right
now then he is to eliminate people.

CD:  No better way to send a message than to eliminate everyone in my
book, Bucky.

GM:  Again, I have to agree.

CD:  Admit it.  You wish I was out here for every match.

GM:  Ermm... hey!  Take a look at Mark Shaw!

[Good distraction, Gordon.  Shaw is driving his shoulder into the ribs
of a corner Soup Bone Samson, trying to take the wind out of his sails.]

CD:  That's a good strategy on someone like Samson.  He's not going to
have much stamina anyways so if you can knock the wind out of him, he'll
be easy pickings soon enough.

GM:  Only six men in the ring but we're just moments away from adding a
seventh at the unlucky #13.

BW:  Not so unlucky though, Gordo.  If you draw #13, you only have to
last about 35 minutes.  For most of these guys, I'm not too upset if I
draw #13.

[Once again, the buzzer sounds... and the crowd roars as Dallas-favorite
Erik Reid jogs into view, quickly climbing up on the ring apron and
stepping into the ring.]

GM:  Erik Reid is Number Thirteen!

CD:  And that Iron Claw doesn't do him a lick of good in here, Gordo.

GM:  Perhaps.

[And Erik Reid makes an immediate impact... on the jaw of Werewolf
Gregorson with a savate kick that knocks him back into the turnbuckles.]

GM:  Reid nails Gregorson... but quickly moves back out.  He wisely does
not want to get near the ropes if he can avoid it.

[Spinning on his heels, he spots Kevin Slater nearby and uncorks a
beautiful standing dropkick that knocks Slater back against the ropes
where Rick Marley dives in again, trying to shove Slater over the
ropes.]

GM:  Marley and Slater are it again.  They were the first two men in
this ring over twenty minutes ago and they're _still_ going at it trying
to toss one another.

[Across the ring, we spot Ricky Royal pounding away at Mark Shaw near
the ropes, breaking up his assault on Soup Bone Samson.]

GM:  Royal and Shaw going at it as well.  Samson's resting in the
corner.  He looks pretty winded already.  Those shoulders took a lot out
of him, I think.

CD:  I expect he used a lot of energy trying to toss Sudakov too.

GM:  You may be right.

CD:  Of course I'm right.

[Erik Reid stands in the center of the ring, looking around at his
options as Slater drives a pair of elbows down into the back of Marley's
head which causes him to stagger back towards the middle of the ring
where Reid grabs him by the head...]

GM:  Reid grabs Marley coming in... irish whip...

[Reid backpedals a couple steps to get closer to the ropes for what he's
about to attempt.]

GM:  Marley off the ropes...

[The Dallas native drops his head to attempt a high back body drop,
sending Marley sailing through the air... high into the air... too high
in fact...]

GM:  What the-?!

[The crowd collectively gasps as Marley somersaults all the way through
the backdrop attempt, somehow landing feetfirst on the top rope before
springing back with a moonsault on a standing but shocked Erik Reid!]



"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"




GM:  I DON'T BELIEVE WHAT I JUST SAW!

BW:  Can you do that?

CD:  Are you serious?

[Rick Marley gets to a knee, smiling at the roaring crowd cheering for
the breathtaking counter...

...but has little time to celebrate as Kevin Slater rips him off the mat
to his feet by the hair...]

GM:  No rest for "Showtime!"

[Slater races to the ropes, hurling Marley over the top rope and turning
away, celebrating his elimination...

...an elimination that doesn't occur as Marley manages to hook the
ropes, scrambling to land on the ring apron where he quickly leaps back
up, springing off the top...

...and _driving_ both feet squarely into the back of Slater, a move that
sends the Wild Thing sailing over the opposite ropes...

...where he too manages to stay on the apron!  The crowd roars in a
deafening reaction for the exchange of athleticism!]

GM:  What a match this is!  Can you believe that?

BW:  Rick Marley is gaining some fans here tonight in the WKIK Studios
and Kevin Slater's not doing too badly either.  Fans, hang on!  Don't go
away!  We'll be right back!

[We fade away to black...

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

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

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

Ricky Royal
Blockbuster Video Grand Opening - Lubbock, Texas
April 14

Tumaffi
Hop Sing's Chinese And BBQ Buffet - Corpus Christi, Texas
April 15

Mark Shaw
South Dallas Shopping Center
April 18

Werewolf Gregorson and Despair
San Antonio Indoor Marketplace
April 21

Kevin Slater
Fort Worth Convention Center 
April 23

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 ring now with eight bodies in it.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans!  We're almost to the halfway point in this huge
Rumble match and Canada's own Barry Paulson just became the 14th man in
this match!

BW:  And the eighth in the ring right now!

GM:  That's exactly right!  Slater, Marley, Gregorson, Royal, Samson,
Shaw, Reid, and now Barry Paulson are still in the ring at this time. 
And just before we went to break, the two men who have been in this
match the longest absolutely dazzled us with a breathtaking exchange. 
Both men were oh-so-close to elimination but somehow have managed to
stay in this thing.

BW:  And now they're working together!

GM:  They certainly are.  You can see Slater and Marley have Erik Reid
against the ropes and are trying to tip him over the top and out to the
floor to eliminate him.

[On the opposite side of the ring, Werewolf Gregorson and Mark Shaw are
trying to muscle Ricky Royal to the floor.  And nearby, Barry Paulson is
getting jabbed into oblivion by the rock-hard fists of Soup Bone
Samson.]

GM:  Look at Paulson's head snap back on those jab punches, Bucky!

BW:  He's got some of the hardest punches in the business.  And if he
hits that big left hand, you _will_ go down.

CD:  I wouldn't.

GM:  Everyone does.

CD:  I thought you'd realize by now that I'm not like everyone else,
Gordo.

GM:  That's for sure.  And we are getting close to the man who drew
#15... the official halfway point in this match.

CD:  And if you can get the #30 spot, this is when you start feeling
pretty good about your draw.  If you can win this thing and go less than
30 minutes to do it, you're in a pretty good position.

[The fans start counting down as Samson hits an uppercut that knocks
Barry Paulson back into the buckles where the veteran follows in
pursuit.]

GM:  In the buckles... ohhh!  Big shoulder the ribs by Samson.  He's
returning the favor from when Mark Shaw did this to him earlier in the
match.

CD:  Returning the favor from Mark Shaw... on this Canadian?  Tell me
something, Gordo.  Did your last job involve taking orders through a
giant clown's head?

[The buzzer sounds and the crowd cheers as an obviously fired-up Tin Can
Rust storms into view, rolling into the ring...

...and immediately blasting a surprised Mark Shaw with an uppercut to
the jaw that knocks him back into the ropes.]

GM:  Ohhh my!  What a shot from Tin Can Rust!  He's number fifteen in
this match...

CD:  And he already lost once tonight so you know he's a little upset
about it.  I'd be pretty embarassed if I lost to Miguel Cortez, I know
that.

GM:  Thanks to Stevie Scott!  That wasn't a clean loss and you know it!

CD:  I'm sorry.  Did Stevie Scott restrain Tin Can Rust?  Did he prevent
him from getting back in the ring?

GM:  Well, no, but-

CD:  Did he tie him down?  Did he shackle him to the floor?  I'm pretty
sure the AWA's crack team of referees would have DQd Cortez if that
happened.  Did I miss that happen?

GM:  You know very well that it-

CD:  Then what's the problem?  The problem is that Tin Can Rust is too
stupid to realize when he should get back in the ring and not chase
after someone who was innocently doing commentary.  So, now he's got a
loss to Miguel Cortez on his record as a result.

[Inside the ring, Rust drives a clenched fist into the skull of Rick
Marley, laying him flat for a moment.  Rust turns his attention and pops
Erik Reid with a haymaker as well.]

GM:  Nine men inside that ring and it's getting a little crowded, fans. 
There's not much room to move around so you've got everyone bumping in
to everyone else.  Fists are a-flyin' and no one quite cares who they
hit with them.

[The crowd begins booing wildly as "Hotshot" Stevie Scott emerges from
the tunnel, a smug expression on his face as he eyes the battle inside
the ring.]

GM:  What's he doing out here?!  He's not in this match!

CD:  Is there a rule preventing him from being out here?

GM:  All managers and valets are banned from ringside!

CD:  I don't believe Mr. Scott is acting in the capacity of a manager
for anyone in this match... and I'm most certain he's not a valet for
them.  So, I fail to see how that rule applies.

[Scott creeps closer to the ring, trying to catch the eye of Tin Can
Rust.]

GM:  You know he's up to no good!  Don't deny it!

CD:  That remains to be seen.  But what I _do_ know is that there's no
reason for him not to be out here under the rules, Mr. Myers.

[Myers lets loose an audible sigh.]

GM:  I give up.  Fans, we are getting close to the arrival of the man
who drew #16 in this contest.  Over halfway there and the fight is still
going strong.  We've still got Slater and Marley in the ring... they've
been there the whole time which means they're crossing the half hour
barrier inside the ring.  That's gotta be impressive... even to you, Mr.
Dufresne.

CD:  It's alright, I suppose.  Slater's a little more impressive since
he had a match earlier tonight.  Plus, he's got a little more wear and
tear on him from all those years carrying Taylor, Steele, and Myers
around on his back.

[From outside the ring, Stevie slaps his hand on the apron a few times,
starting a "TIN! CAN!  RUST!" chant to draw the brawler's attention...

...which finally works, TCR stomping away from the downed Erik Reid to
go over to Stevie Scott's side of the ring, shouting at the Hotshot from
inside the ring.]

GM:  This is ridiculous!  Someone get Stevie Scott out of here!

[As Tin Can Rust continues to bellow at Stevie Scott, threatening him
with physical harm, the buzzer sounds and the fans give a polite
reaction to "Pistol" Paul Driscoll as he jogs from the back, rolling
under the ropes...

...and immediately flooring Erik Reid with a huge haymaker!]

GM:  Whoa!  Down goes Reid!

[Driscoll pauses for a moment, glaring at the downed Reid.]

GM:  That... well, that almost looked personal, Bucky.

BW:  I wasn't aware those two guys even knew each other, Gordo.

GM:  Driscoll flattened Erik Reid... is staring a hole right through him
now and-

[But before we can see what's going to happen next, Barry Paulson spins
Driscoll around, drilling him with a big left hand and shoving him back
to the closest set of ropes.]

GM:  We've got ten men in the ring right now!  This match is over a half
hour old!  #1, #2, and #4 are still in there, showing tremendous
resiliency to not get eliminated.

BW:  You may have spoken too soon, daddy!  Check out Marley!

[The crowd buzzes, some cheering wildly as Marley is basically out of
the ring with just his legs wrapped over the top rope to save himself. 
His entire upper body is outside of the ring as Ricky Royal and Werewolf
Gregorson work together to try and break the leg grip, battering the
knees and thighs.]

GM:  How is he still hanging on, Bucky?

BW:  Look at Gregorson!  He's got the point of the elbow buried in the
quad, just pushing down with all his weight, trying to find the right
nerve to break Marley down.

[Royal is down on all fours, his head and arms between the ropes as he
tries to pull Marley free from his position.]

GM:  "Showtime" Rick Marley is in some serious trouble right here and if
he doesn't get an assist, I think he's done for.

[Tin Can Rust suddenly finds himself in danger as Soup Bone Samson grabs
him from behind, trying to up-end him over the ropes as he was shouting
at Stevie Scott.]

GM:  And now Tin Can Rust is in trouble as well!  We've got two men on
the verge of elimination!  Marley is- I don't know _how_ Marley's
hanging on but Rust has a pretty good grip on the ropes.  Look at that
jerk!  Stevie Scott is just verbally berating him while Samson tries to
toss Rust over the top!

[Leaning back with his head on the apron, Stevie Scott screams directly
in Tin Can Rust's face.]

"YOU'RE A NOTHIN'!  A NOBODY!  A NEVER-WAS!  A-"

[Stevie's diatribe gets cut off as Soup Bone Samson backs away from Tin
Can Rust, pulling him back over the ropes so that they can look each
other in the eye...

...and points right at the Hotshot with a "Shut this loudmouth up!"  The
crowd roars as Tin Can Rust ducks under the ropes, grabbing Stevie by
the collar and trying to pull him through the ropes into the ring.]

CD:  That's it.  I've seen enough of this!

[Dufresne drops his mic, walking out from behind the broadcast desk to
where Stevie Scott is being accosted, slipping his hand into his pants
pocket as he does so.]

GM:  Now where is _he_ going?

BW:  I think he's helping Stevie Scott!  

GM:  Why?

BW:  Well, Stevie's being unlawfully assaulted yet again and-

GM:  Unlawfully assault- give me a break, Bucky!  Scott stuck his nose
in and-

[The buzzer sounds, cutting off Gordon's diatribe...

...and the place goes almost deadly silent as the monstrous Tumaffi
strides through the entrance curtain.]

GM:  Oh... my... lord.

BW:  Here he is, Gordo!  The man who ran away with the fan poll as to
who would win the Rumble!  He's the easy favorite to win this thing
tonight!

GM:  But... but... he's number 17.  That's over 25 minutes he has to
survive in there carrying all that weight.

BW:  It's no problem when there's no one left in the ring with you,
daddy!

GM:  There's ten men in there!  

BW:  Fifteen with Tumaffi but not for long!

[The massive Samoan steps through the ropes into the ring...

...where all the action has stopped, all eyes now on the big man.]

GM:  Not a single man has moved.  They've all stopped to watch.  They've
all stopped to try and figure out how to handle this beast.

BW:  If they were smart, they'd all rush him together right now...
luckily for him, they're not that smart.

GM:  Tumaffi is number 17 and-

[And Ricky Royal bursts through the crowd of wrestlers, sprinting at
Tumaffi, leaping into the air, and immediately throwing fists of fury as
he lands on his feet.  The crowd explodes!]

GM:  HERE WE GO!  HERE WE GO!

[Tumaffi braces himself against Royal's barrage of shots...

...and then shoves him away, down to the mat with a thud as Barry
Paulson races to replace him.]

GM:  Here comes the Canadian!  

BW:  Poor brave soul.

GM:  Rights and lefts, trying to chop down the big man...

[The big man reaches out with his right hand to grab Paulson by the hair
and drives his skull into the head.]

GM:  Ohhhh!  Mighty headbutt by Tumaffi!

[Reaching to grab the stunned Paulson with his left hand as well,
Tumaffi uses a powerful biel throw to toss the Canadian over the ropes
and down to the floor below!]

GM:  OHHHHHH!  WHAT POWER!  WHAT STRENGTH!

BW:  Barry Paulson is eliminated!

[Racing to take his place is Werewolf Gregorson, throwing chops to the
side of Tumaffi's neck, trying to stun the giant...

...but Tumaffi shoves him back a few feet, giving enough space for him
to somehow get his leg up in a thrust kick to the heart!]

GM:  OH!  How did he get this foot up high enough to do that?

BW:  I have no- ELBOW!!

[The crowd gasps as the four hundred pounder leaves his feet, crashing
down with his weight squarely on the chest of Gregorson in the form of
an elbow drop.

Outside the ring, Stevie Scott is struggling to get free from Tin Can
Rust's grip still...

...and suddenly finds himself free as Calisto Dufresne uncorks a big
punch... with the same hand that had just dipped into his pants pocket. 
Tin Can Rust crumples backwards from the shot, dropping motionless to
the mat as Stevie Scott scampers away and Dufresne calmly puts his hand
back in his pocket before walking away from the ring.]

GM:  Tin Can Rust is out cold!  

[Dufresne quickly rejoins the announce desk.]

GM:  What did you do?  What did you hit him with?

CD:  The great equalizer, Gordo... my hand of steel.

GM:  Literally, I'm thinking!

CD:  I have no idea what you're talking about.

[An exhausted Kevin Slater pulls Tin Can Rust's dead weight off the mat,
completely unaware of what happened to him as he shoves him over the
ropes to the floor.]

GM:  Tin Can Rust is eliminated!  Kevin Slater tosses him to the floor
but he had no idea what you just did, Calisto Dufresne!

CD:  I was just helping an innocent man.  You can pout all you want
about it but Stevie Scott did not deserve that kind of treatment and it
was my duty as a defender of justice to stop it.

GM:  Defender of- that just makes me sick!

[The buzzer sounds as Tumaffi climbs back to his feet.]

GM:  Despair!  Despair is number 18!

[The fiery cruiserweight slides under the ropes just as Tumaffi pulls
Gregorson up off the mat, shoving him back into the corner.  He
immediately charges across the ring to try and save his tag team
partner...

...and gets met with a brutal reverse knife-edge chop that knocks him
off his feet.]

GM:  Down goes Despair!

[With Gregorson cornered, Soup Bone Samson drills Tumaffi across the
exposed back with a big forearm shot.  A second one causes the big
Samoan to turn around...

...and retort with a crazed bellow before an uppercut martial arts
thrust sends Samson sailing over the ropes and down to the concrete
floor below!]

CD:  Uh oh!  Samson might have broken his hip there!

GM:  We've got some officials out here helping Tin Can Rust out of here.
 He's just completely dead weight.  What in the world did you hit him
with?  I still want to know!

BW:  Nine men left in the ring!

GM:  Nice subject change.

[Tumaffi turns back to face the ring just as Ricky Royal rages in
towards him again, throwing wild right haymakers with enough force to
actually stagger the big Samoan a bit.]

GM:  Those punches are taking quite a bit out of Tumaffi!  He's been the
target of almost everyone in the ring since he got in there and-

[A big Mongolian chop out of nowhere knocks Royal down to his knees. 
Grabbing Royal by the shoulders, Tumaffi measures him for a huge
headbutt...

...but gets caught with a running Yakuza kick to the skull by Kevin
Slater, knocking him back into the waiting arms of Mark Shaw.]

GM:  BACKDROP DRIVER?!  NO WAY!

CD:  You're exactly right, Myers.  There's no way.

[Shaw lifts and lifts, showing incredible physical strain, but he just
can't manage to get Tumaffi off his feet...

...and a big elbow gets driven down into the back of his head, knocking
the Hellion off his feet.  Slater races in, peppering Tumaffi with fists
to knock him back into the buckles.]

GM:  And now it's the Wild Thing working over Tumaffi!  He's got him
backed into the corner and is just teeing off with those huge right
hands!

[Despair staggers to his feet...

...and gets greeted with a double dropkick from Erik Reid and Rick
Marley that sends Despair sailing over the ropes and down to the floor!]

GM:  DESPAIR IS ELIMINATED!  

CD:  Eliminated in less than two minutes.  I guess he'll have a lot
to... despair... tonight.

BW:  Ahahahaha.

GM:  We're down to eight in the ring but we must be quickly approaching
the man who drew #19 in the match.  Almost the two-thirds mark of the
matchup.

BW:  Still some big names left.  No Menace... no Broussard... both
mystery entrants.

GM:  What about Buddy Lambert?  Ron Houston?

BW:  I said big names, Gordo.

[Slater leaps up to the midbuckle to pummel Tumaffi some more...

...but gets shoved right back down by the mighty Samoan.]

GM:  Man, this guy is strong.  Tumaffi wobbles a bit as he comes out of
the corner...

[And gets caught with a double dropkick from Marley and Reid that knocks
him right back into the corner.  A bit too fired up perhaps, Reid mounts
the midbuckle, raining down right hands on the big Samoan.]

GM:  The fans are counting along with the punches!  Four... five...
six... NO!

[The crowd echoes Gordon's cry as Tumaffi somehow powers out of the
corner, holding Reid up in a gorilla press...

...and with a mighty bellow, he _hurls_ Reid over the ropes, clearing
the padded area on the floor and dumping the Dallas native _directly_ on
the unforgiving concrete!]

GM:  Oh... oh my god.

[The cries of pain from Erik Reid echo through the WKIK Studios as the
mighty Tumaffi's deep laugh does the same from inside the ring.]

GM:  We need some help out here, I think.  Erik Reid just got thrown
_over_ the padding on the floor... he landed _right_ on the concrete,
chestfirst on the floor.

[Reid rolls to his back clutching his ribcage as Tumaffi bellows from
inside the ring, turning back to face his next victim.]

GM:  Get some- okay, we've got some medics coming out here to help Erik
Reid.  What a dangerous match this is, Bucky.  We've seen some guys take
some very hard falls to the floor.  Nothing like that but dangerous
nonetheless.

CD:  Nothing feels quite like going over the top rope and landing on
concrete, Gordo. 

[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 fade away...

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

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

[The screen changes to show a graphic reading "April 26th - Dallas,
Texas."]

"On April 26th, we will be back in the WKIK Studios in Dallas, Texas for
another taping of AWA Saturday Night Wrestling!  Be on hand to see the
Rumble winner in the match of his choice in the main event!"

[A new graphic pops up, this one reading May 10th - Dallas, Texas."]

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

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

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

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

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

[And we fade away from the graphic...

...and back up on the ring where Paul Driscoll is trading punches with
Kevin Slater.  Rick Marley is leaning against the turnbuckles, trying to
catch a breather.  Adrian Freeman is choking Mark Shaw on the mat.  And
in the middle of it all, Tumaffi is standing tall... with Werewolf
Gregorson on his back trying to apply a sleeperhold and Ricky Royal in
front of him throwing punches at the big Samoan.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans!  We are ticking closer to the man who drew #20
but right now... look at the action we've got going on inside that ring
with Royal battering Tumaffi and Gregorson trying to lock in that
sleeperhold.

CD:  That's a dumb move if you ask me.

GM:  Nobody did if you beg my pardon.

CD:  See, Gordo... that's the problem.  You don't appreciate my expert
analysis.  If you put the man to sleep, how do you get his four hundred
pounds over the top?

GM:  I don't-  OHHHHHH!

[Tumaffi falls backwards on the canvas, crushing the Alaskan beneath
him!]

CD:  Or that might happen!

GM:  I don't know if that was an intentional counter or if Tumaffi just
ran out of steam there for a bit.

[The buzzer sounds as Ricky Royal looks a bit surprised at the downed
Tumaffi, almost as if he's unsure of what to do next.]

GM:  Hikarimono!  The man from Japan checks in at #20!  And that's gotta
be a good spot to be in.  He only needs to survive for twenty minutes to
stand a chance to win the whole thing.

BW:  This is all a joke, daddy.  No one stands a chance but Tumaffi!  No
one!

GM:  I beg to differ with that!

[Slightly dazed, Tumaffi pushes himself up off the mat...

...and eats a big right hand from Royal that spins him around.  Just as
he turns, Hikarimono leaps to the top rope, springboarding off with a
cross body...]

GM:  CROSS BODY!

[The crowd collectively gasps!]

BW:  CAUGHT!  TUMAFFI CAUGHT HIM IN MID-AIR!

[And with an impressive show of power, he throws Hikarimono up into the
air...

...snatching him out of the sky onto his own shoulders and _driving_ him
into the canvas with a crushing Samoan Drop all in one motion!]

GM:  OHHHHHHHH!

BW:  Get the spatula!

CD:  After that?  You might need a hose to get Mr. Roboto out of there. 
Domo arigato and thanks for playing!

[Tumaffi slowly gets back to his feet... and this time finds himself the
victim of a barrage of hard right hands from both Mark Shaw and Ricky
Royal!]

GM:  The doubleteam is on!  Look at Tumaffi!  I don't care what you say,
Bucky, he's starting to weaken in there!  He's been the target of almost
everyone and he's starting to weaken!

[The combined blows knock Tumaffi back against the ropes.  Across the
ring from him, a wounded Werewolf Gregorson climbs to his feet and moves
in.]

GM:  Gregorson coming in to assist and- 

[The proud Alaskan shoves both Shaw and Royal aside as he drives fist
after fist into the head of the wobbly Tumaffi, further weakening him.]

GM:  I don't know if moving Shaw and Royal out of the way was a smart
idea.  They were doing pretty well-

[Gregorson cups his hands to his mouth and howls, drawing a reply from
the fans as he sprints to the ropes.]

GM:  SILVER BULLET COMING UP!

[But as Gregorson hits the far ropes, Shaw and Royal sprint towards him
and connect with a running double shoulderblock that send the Alaskan
sailing over the ropes and down to the floor!  The crowd is deflated by
Gregorson's elimination but quickly cheer again as Royal and Shaw move
back in on Tumaffi.]

GM:  Werewolf Gregorson is eliminated by Mark Shaw and Ricky Royal!

[Seizing the moment, 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!"

BW:  And just like that, we're down to five guys in the ring!

GM:  The mighty Tumaffi, "Pistol" Paul Driscoll, "Hellion" Mark Shaw,
"Ragin' Rebel" Ricky Royal, and the man who was the first in the ring,
"Wild Thing" Kevin Slater are the only ones left at the moment.

BW:  Spoke too soon.

[The buzzer sounds.]

GM:  Oh jeez.

[The crowd boos wildly as the elder statesman of the Russians walks into
view, the heavy steel chain draped across his shoulders.]

GM:  Vladimir Velikov is number 21!  The Russians aren't out of this
quite yet.

[Velikov walks into the WKIK Studios, barking in Russians at the jeering
fans...

...and walks right into an upset Werewolf Gregorson who lashes out with
a right hand on Velikov, staggering the big Russian!]

GM:  We've got a fight on the floor!  Gregorson and Velikov!

[Gregorson's attempt at a second blow is swatted aside as Velikov
returns the favor.  The two men stand trading punches in fast forward
for a few moments before Velikov sneaks a thumb into the eye of
Gregorson.]

GM:  Oh!  Cheap shot by Velik- what's he doing?!  NO!  STOP HIM!

[The crowd buzzes as Velikov, with evil intentions in his eyes, wraps
the heavy steel chain around his arm...

...and nails the blinded Gregorson with a standing clothesline using the
cian, knocking the Alaskan to the floor where he immediately grabs for
his throat!]

GM:  We need to get some help out here!  We need some- no!

[Velikov unwraps the chain from his arm, looping it around the throat of
Gregorson and with his knee posted in Gregorson's back, he starts
pulling back on the chain!]

GM:  HE'S CHOKING HIM WITH THAT CHAIN!  WITH THAT HEAVY METAL CHAIN!

[AWA officials are immediately on the scene, trying to break Velikov's
grip...

...when suddenly the crowd erupts!]

GM:  DESPAIR!

[Gregorson's tag team partner sprints from the entranceway, leaping onto
the back of Velikov which topples him down to the floor.  Despair
quickly rolls on top of Velikov and starts throwing right hands at the
bald skull of the big Russian.]

GM:  Despair just saved his partner!  He's rocking the Russian-

[The boos grow louder again.]

GM:  SUDAKOV!

[The Russian War Machine storms into view, diving into a full body
tackle that knocks Despair off of the downed Velikov.  Sudakov quickly
uses his MMA skills to secure full mount and begins pummeling with
clenched fists from the top.]

GM:  The Russians are all over Gregorson and Despair!

[Velikov quickly recovers from his assault at the hands of Despair,
returning to scoop up his steel chair...

...that he lashes down across the exposed back of Gregorson!]

GM:  Ohhh!  Oh my!

[Velikov sneers at the AWA officials protesting and raises the chain
once more...

...and brings it down hard across the flesh again, leaving a hideous red
welt across the back.]

GM:  We need some help out here!  If anyone in the back can hear me,
please send some more help out here for Gregorson and Despair!  These
Russians... these damned Russians...

BW:  Gordo!

GM:  I can't help it!  These guys are sick, Bucky!  Absolutely
disgusting!

[A shout in Russian from Velikov causes Sudakov to stand up, glaring
down at the wounded Despair, his arms over his face to attempt to ward
off the strikes.  Sudakov quickly joins his uncle, both men lifting
their arms in triumph, holding the steel chain high as they simply walk
away from Gregorson and Despair.]

CD:  I guess Vladimir's got no interest in fighting in this Rumble. 
Just like me!

GM:  I think he accomplished exactly what he wanted to accomplish.  And
we're getting word from the officials at ringside that with Velikov
leaving ringside, he has been thrown out of this match.  We're back down
to five men in the ring, all brawling, all fighting their hearts out to
win that spot in the AWA Title Tournament... and out here, some thug
just threw that away for a chance to hurt his enemy.

CD:  Thug?  That seems severe.

GM:  He attacked a man with a steel chain... he and his despicable
nephew!

[The buzzer sounds as the AWA officials manage to get Despair to his
feet, helping him out of the area as the medics work on Werewolf
Gregorson.]

GM:  Number 22 is about to come out here and-

[The crowd erupts!]

GM:  It's Buddy Lambert!  The Spitfire is number 22!  

CD:  Hey... it's the guy who is trying to rip me off.

GM:  What do you mean?

CD:  Well, they call me the Ladykiller... but after what he did to poor
Sunshine on the last Saturday Night Wrestling-

GM:  Would you stop?  Give me a break!  That was all Jamie Lilas' fault!

CD:  I guess it depends on your point of view.

GM:  Lambert up on the apron.  He joins Slater, Royal, Shaw, Driscoll,
and Tumaffi in the Rumble.  Six men in there... eight more still to
come.

BW:  And we _still_ haven't seen Marcus Broussard.  The San Jose Shark
had the luck of the Irish with him tonight.

GM:  Maybe not because we haven't seen Ron Houston yet either and you
know he's gunning for Broussard.

[Lambert slingshots over the ropes into the ring, immediately driving a
big right hand into the head of Tumaffi.]

GM:  And the Spitfire immediately joins the attack on Tumaffi.  Right
now, Tumaffi's under attack from all five men inside the ring! 

CD:  If they're going to stand a chance to get rid of the big boneheaded
Samoan, this is exactly what they need to do.  All five of them need to
try to push him over the ropes.

GM:  That's exactly what they're trying to do.

[With Tumaffi on the ropes, all five men spread out and try to get him
over the ropes.  Mark Shaw and Ricky Royal work the bottom, trying to
get the legs up while Slater and Driscoll hold the arms, keeping the
bellowing big man from countering.  And in the middle of it all, Buddy
Lambert just keeps peppering Tumaffi with right hands.]

GM:  They've got Tumaffi wrapped up pretty well.  Now it's just a matter
if they have enough power to get the big man up.  It's not going to be
an easy task.

[Gritting their teeth, Shaw and Royal do somehow manage to get his legs
off the mat.  Lambert quickly ducks underneath, raising up to try and
add more lift.]

GM:  They're doing it!  They're doing it!

[Tumaffi starts to struggle more, trying to free himself from the grip
of five men.  Slater and Driscoll try to tighten their grips on his arms
as he begins to wriggle free.]

GM:  Look at Shaw!  Look at the power on Shaw!

[Dropping down to his knees, Shaw manages to get one of Tumaffi's legs
on his shoulders and pushes up with his legs, hoisting him higher and
higher into the air.]

GM:  Listen to the crowd!  They've got Tumaffi up!  They're gonna toss
him over the-

[But Tumaffi breaks an arm free from an exhausted Kevin Slater, hitting
him with a backhand chop that knocks Slater away from the dogpile. 
Tumaffi uses the freed right arm to violently swing down with an
overhand chop that staggers Ricky Royal.]

GM:  Tumaffi's fighting back!  They've gotta hang tough in there!  They
need to-

[Reaching across his massive body, Tumaffi jams his fingers into the
throat of Driscoll, breaking his grip as well.  With his arms free,
Tumaffi pummels downwards with both hands, finally getting his feet back
down on the mat.]

GM:  Unbelievable!  Absolutely unbelievable!

BW:  I told ya, daddy!  No one's stopping Tumaffi in this one!

[The buzzer sounds to bring the 23rd competitor to the ring... and to
possibly give Bucky Wilde a coronary.]

BW:  What the-?  Is that-?

[Yes it is, Bucky.  It's the self-written, self-performed sounds of "I'm
Gon' Be Your Sweet Daddy", a song that pretty much sounds like what
you'd expect it to, which sends the Dallas, Texas crowd into a loud
ovation from the Southern fans who've seen the competitor who uses this
godawful music for years.]

BW:  No, no, no!  I thought we left him behind in Georgia, daddy!  I
didn't know he was comin' with us!

GM:  I knew you'd be pleased.

BW:  Pleased?  I am NOT pleased that someone hired that no-account,
fat-and-I'm-talkin'-Orca-fat, worthless, scum-sucking, filthy as his
mama's drawers on a muggy day in Atlanta, son of a carpet layin'
alcoholic-

GM:  Take it easy now.

BW:  You take it easy, daddy!  

[And just then, a rather rotund man makes his entrance through the
curtain to an even louder cheer!]

GM:  The Sweet Daddy is in the WKIK Studios!

BW:  NO!  NO!  NO!

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

BW:  This idiot doesn't even know he's supposed to be in the ring in a
match!  He may just walk back to the locker room after he's hugged all
these people!

GM:  Oh, come on... he's just having a good time.

BW:  Get him in there with Tumaffi and then _I'll_ be having a good
time.

GM:  Sweet Daddy Williams is in the AWA and you just might be looking at
the next AWA Champion.

BW:  Over my dead body, daddy.  My mama will have him scaled, gut, and
fried up like catfish on a hot Sunday cookout if I say the word!

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

...and then he walks right for Tumaffi, snapping off a jab to the chin.]

BW:  Yes, yes, yes... kiiiiiill him.  Kill the morrrron!  Kill the
morrrron!

[A few more jabs to the chin seem to do little to Tumaffi but it's
making the Sweet Daddy pretty happy as he does a bit more jiggin' before
throwing a roundhouse right.]

GM:  BIIIIIIG right hand!

[But Tumaffi seems to not feel it as he reaches out to grab Paul
Driscoll by the head...

...and promptly hurls him over the ropes to the floor!]

GM:  What the-?!  Out of nowhere, Tumaffi just tossed Paul Driscoll as
well!

[The big Samoan spins around, facing the other five men in the ring and
with a mighty bellow, he slaps his own chest.]

GM:  Goodness.  What's going to stop this guy?

BW:  Nothing!  I've been saying it all night, daddy!  Nothing will stop
Tumaffi!

[Mark Shaw grabs Sweet Daddy Williams by the shoulder, whispering
quickly in his ear, gesturing at Tumaffi.]

GM:  Alright!  The Hellion and the Sweet Daddy are going to work
together to take down Tumaffi!  They need to all work together again.

[Sweet Daddy Williams nods his head at Shaw, clapping his hands together
as he walks towards Tumaffi...

...and suddenly gets pulled back into a side waistlock by Shaw before
being hoisted into the air and having his head and neck _obliterated_
with a crushing backdrop driver!]

BW:  BAAAAACKDROP DRIIIIVER!  The greatest thing I've ever seen!  Mark
Shaw is my new hero!

[The crowd boos Shaw for the backdrop driver... but he seems oblivious
as he pulls Williams off the mat, throwing him over the ropes to the
floor with ease.]

GM:  Sweet Daddy Williams is eliminated... and I guess it's every man
for himself.  But Mark Shaw didn't win himself any fans by doing that to
the Sweet Daddy, Bucky.

BW:  He won himself a fan sitting right here at the booth, Gordo! 
Greatest thing ever!

GM:  I see.  Back down to five men in the ring.  Slater, Royal, Lambert,
Tumaffi, and Mark Shaw who just eliminated Sweet Daddy Williams.  But
we're about to get a sixth man in there.

[The time ticks down and the buzzer sounds.]

GM:  Who's it gonna be this time?

[With all eyes turned towards the entryway, no one emerges.]

GM:  I don't understand.  Did the timer go off early?

[Inside the ring, Kevin Slater and Buddy Lambert are wrapped up, Slater
trying to up-end the Spitfire over the ropes.  Across the ring, Mark
Shaw and Ricky Royal are still working over Tumaffi in the corner, again
trying to hoist him off the mat.]

GM:  Where is-

[Suddenly, the Masked Menace sprints into view from the entryway, the
crowd buzzing at finally being able to see Slater and the Menace square
off.]

GM:  The Masked Menace is #24!  And Kevin Slater's still in the ring!

[But the Menace dives headfirst under the ropes, running across the
ring...

...and with Slater distracted by Lambert, the Menace easily throws
Slater over the ropes to the floor!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  The Masked Menace eliminates Kevin Slater!  The Menace waited until
Slater was distracted and he _immediately_ eliminates him!  Kevin Slater
lasted in that ring for some 45 minutes and _that's_ how he get
eliminated from the match?  Disgusting.

CD:  Again, Myers... you're over here crying and whining when no one did
anything wrong!  Yeah, he jumped Slater from behind but how many people
have been eliminated from behind in this thing?

[Slater climbs to a knee on the floor, looking up at the big masked man
who is mocking him from inside the ring...

...but who quickly joins him thanks to Buddy Lambert!  The crowd roars
for the elimination!]

GM:  Haha!  Turnabout is fair play and the Spitfire eliminates the
Masked Menace!

[And once the Menace hits the floor, Slater's on him like white on rice,
throwing right hands at the masked man's head.]

GM:  LOOK AT SLATER!  The Wild Thing is all over the Menace!

[indeed he is, Gordon.  Slater's fist is repeatedly slamming into the
Menace's head as the masked man attempts to get away from the onslaught
from the Wild Thing.]

GM:  The Menace is running scared!  The Menace is desperately trying to
get away from Slater!

[Just a few feet from the front row, Slater continues to tee off on the
Masked Menace, rocking him repeatedly with haymakers.]

GM:  Finally!  Finally, Kevin Slater's getting some payback on- 

[The crowd gasps in unison as a member of the audience climbs from their
seat in the front row...

...and _drills_ Slater from behind with a big right hand, knocking him
flat.]

GM:  What the-?!

[The Menace seizes the chance to beat a retreat, unaware that Slater's
being assaulted by someone else.]

GM:  Someone from the crowd just attacked Kevin Slater and-

BW:  Look at the size of that guy!

[Removing a Dallas Cowboys jacket and hat, throwing them to the ground,
we now get a glimpse of the man underneath.  Nearly 6'3 and around 350
pounds, this massive, barrel-chested black man glares down with icy eyes
on the stunned Kevin Slater.]

GM:  This must be him!  We heard someone else was coming for the bounty
and this must be him!

[The man pulls Slater to his knees, balling up his right hand that he
shows to the camera revealing "THUG" tattooed on his hand, one letter
per hand, before he drives the clenched fist into the skull of Slater...
once... twice... three times.]

GM:  Somebody needs to stop this.

[Grabbing a battered and exhausted Slater by the hair, the man drags him
over by the announce area where there's more room to move.  He yanks
Slater into a half nelson, hoisting him up...

...and then dropping him down over a bent knee.]

GM:  Ohhhh!

BW:  A half-nelson backbreaker... and he did it with ease!  With ease,
Gordo!  This guy is a monster!

[Suddenly, "High Profile" Darryl Styles appears from the entryway...

...applauding.]

GM:  Is- is Darryl Styles involved with this?!

[Styles definitely appears to be as he draws closer, shouting directions
to the big man.]

GM:  This guy... this thug is pulling Slater off the floor... a full
nelson?

[Using his power, the big man hoists Slater off the floor, swinging him
violently back and forth while still in the full nelson.]

GM:  Come on!  Let the man go!  This is enough!

[AWA officials arrive on the scene, seeming to think the same thing. 
After a few more moments, the man releases the hold, allowing Slater to
slump motionless to the concrete floor.

Darryl Styles dances around in front of the camera, screaming into it.]

"YOU CAN MAKE THE CHECK OUT TO THE UPPER CRUST, YA DIG?"

[Grabbing the big man by the wrist, Styles lifts his arm in triumph
before the duo slowly makes their way through the entryway and vanish
out of view just as the buzzer sounds.]

GM:  We've got a mess out here... the buzzer sounds and-

[The crowd gives a polite reaction to the big man from Rough N Ready,
Eric Matthew Somers.]

GM:  6'9, 350 pounds... Eric Matthew Somers is a big, big man.

CD:  And coming into the Rumble this late, he may have a big, big
impact.

GM:  Somers is #25... only five more competitors to go.  Ricky Royal has
been in the ring the longest of the five men in the ring now... he came
in at #10 so he's been in around a half hour.  Mark Shaw came in at #12
so he's right there as well.

BW:  And Tumaffi's been in there about fifteen minutes as well.

GM:  For someone his size, that may feel like a half hour or so.

CD:  Especially since he's too dumb to remember to breathe.

[Somers steps over the ropes...

...and walks right up to Tumaffi.]

GM:  Whoooa boy.  Take a look at that.  

BW:  He's giving up fifty pounds or so but he's three inches taller. 
This could be interestin'.

[Somers jabs a finger in Tumaffi's chest, giving him the verbal
smackdown as he continues to poke away...

...to which Tumaffi replies with a bellow and a hard reverse knife edge
chop across the chest!]

GM:  Ohhh my!  Big chop by Tumaffi!

[Somers responds with a thunderous forearm slammed down across the
pectorals.]

GM:  Somers isn't backing down!

[Another chop by Tumaffi!]

GM:  Right hand by Somers!  These two behemoths are trading blows in the
middle of the ring!

[And seeing an opportunity, Lambert, Shaw, and Royal join in... all four
men taking turns throwing a right hand at Tumaffi, slowly backing him
towards the ropes.]

GM:  Tumaffi's in trouble!  They've got him wobbled!

[Shaw and Royal race to the ropes in unison, rebounding back with a
double clothesline that knocks Tumaffi two more steps towards the
ropes...]

GM:  He's only a foot or two away from the ropes!  That's where they
need him if they're going for an elimination!

[This time, it's the Spitfire, Buddy Lambert, who races to the ropes,
rebounding back...

...and _connecting_ solidly with a flying forearm to the noggin of the
big Samoan, knocking him one more step back towards the ropes.]

GM:  Shaw and Royal knock him back!  Lambert knocks him back further! 
And that leaves the big man!

[And with a huge rally clap rockin' the WKIK Studios, Eric Matthew
Somers races to the ropes...

...and connects with a big running clothesline that knocks Tumaffi back
into the ropes, hanging onto the top rope to stay on his feet!  Huge
ovation!]

GM:  Somers puts him on the ropes!  The big man rocked him!  One more,
big man!  One more like that might take him over the top!

BW:  I don't think so.

GM:  We're about to find out!

[Somers lifts a big arm to the sky, drawing cheers from the Dallas
crowd.  He pumps his fist a couple of times, then throws his big body
into the ropes, rebounding back...

...and connecting with another huge running clothesline.  This one
actually lifts Tumaffi off the mat a bit... but the big Samoan slumps
back down, not going over the ropes.]

BW:  Told ya!

GM:  He almost got him.  You saw him come off the mat!  If Somers keeps
chopping at that tree, eventually he's gonna bring it down, Bucky. 
Eventually that big tree has to come down!

CD:  That analogy works better on Somers since he's tall.

GM:  Why are you still here?

[With a frustrated Somers driving a pair of forearms into the face of
Tumaffi before yanking him back to his feet, throwing his arms over the
ropes to keep him up, the countdown to #26 begins.]

GM:  The fans are counting down to the next entry.  We've still got some
major superstars who haven't come out here yet - men who got very lucky
with their draw earlier today.

BW:  I think he's going for another clothesline.

[The buzzer sounds as Somers backs a few steps away, pointing a big
finger at Tumaffi, and pumping his fist to the sky once more.]

GM:  This'll do it!  I know this one will do it!

[But as Somers starts to run to the ropes, the speedy "Supersonic"
Shannon Stokes emerges from the entryway, races to ringside, and leaps
onto the apron where he pulls down the top rope...

...which causes Somers to topple over the ropes to the floor!]

GM:  OHHHH!

BW:  Haha!  Shannon Stokes caught him napping and he's eliminated the
big man!  One of the smallest men in this match just eliminated one of
the biggest and you've gotta love the irony in that one, Gordo.

GM:  I do?  I thought Somers was on the verge of changing the complexion
of this match completely.  He was very close to taking out the heavy
favorite in this Rumble, Bucky.

CD:  Close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades, baby.

[As Stokes slips into the ring, he's immediately dropped with a right
hand by Buddy Lambert.]

GM:  I don't think Shannon Stokes is going to get a very warm welcome in
there as he just cost them their best chance at eliminating Tumaffi from
this match.

[Stokes pops back up, only to get bodyslammed back down by Mark Shaw,
further proving Gordon's point.]

GM:  And as Shannon Stokes gets pinballed around the ring, we need to
take our final break.  One last time, fans, and the rest of the match
will come to you without commercials!  Don't go away!

[We fade away as Ricky Royal drops Stokes with an uppercut.

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 fade back up on the ring where Mark Shaw gorilla press slams
Stokes to the canvas.]

GM:  My goodness!  A thunderous slam down to the canvas by Mark Shaw
and-

[And the buzzer sounds again, bringing #27 to the ring.]

GM:  Who is it?  Who is the lucky man who drew #27?

[The crowd jeers wildly as the San Jose Shark, Marcus Broussard walks
through the entranceway.]

GM:  Broussard!  Marcus Broussard drew #27!

BW:  You're looking at the man who will be your first AWA Champion,
daddy!

GM:  We'll see about that.  Six men in the ring now.  Ricky Royal, Mark
Shaw, the mighty Tumaffi, Buddy Lambert, Shannon Stokes, and now Marcus
Broussard.

[Broussard does not seem to be in any rush to get into the ring,
stopping to jaw with a ringside fan as he approaches the squared
circle.]

GM:  It's not enough to get to come in at number 27, now you have to
stall your entrance even more?

BW:  It's smart 'rasslin, Gordo.  Why should he rush in there and get
all tangled up right away?

GM:  Because it's the right thing to do.

CD:  A lot of people get hurt doing the right thing to do, Myers.

[Broussard pauses to shake hands with a college-aged man who is "going
against the grain" and cheering for the San Jose Shark as he slowly...
very slowly... makes his way around the ring.]

GM:  Lambert's calling him into the ring.  The Spitfire would like a
piece of Broussard, I think.  Shaw and Royal would as well after the tag
match on the last Saturday Night Wrestling.

[The San Jose Shark simply smirks at the invitation from Lambert,
turning his back to talk to his fan once more...

...which gives Buddy Lambert the chance to hoist Shannon Stokes high
into the air, walking towards the ropes...]

GM:  What's he gonna do with Stokes?

[And bring Stokes crashing down on a bent knee with an atomic drop, the
impact of which sends Stokes sailing over the ropes, crashing into
Broussard and knocking the Shark into the first row of seating!  The
crowd roars!]

GM:  Oh yeah!  Stokes is eliminated and Lambert just humiliated the San
Jose Shark!  He's begging Broussard to climb into the ring... absolutely
begging as Mark Shaw is chopping Tumaffi in the corner.  The big man has
lost a lot of his energy.  He isn't throwing people around like he was
earlier.  And now Shaw's taking advantage of it.

[Getting to his feet on the floor, Broussard whips his jacket down to
the ground.  His face is red with a mixture of embarassment and anger as
he glares up at the fiery Buddy Lambert who is leaning over the ropes,
waving for Broussard to get in the ring.]

GM:  Lambert is all fired up.  He wants Broussard in there so badly. 
Marcus Broussard is one of the favorites in this match and you can bet
Lambert would like a shot at him because of that.

[Ricky Royal charges across the ring from corner to corner, drilling
Tumaffi with a running clothesline that knocks Tumaffi to a kneeling
position in the corner.  Shaw continues to chop away at Tumaffi,
blistering his chest with repeated knife edge chops.]

GM:  Shaw and Royal continue their attack on Tumaffi and I think you can
tell very clearly the two men who are the most determined to eliminate
Tumaffi from this match.  Those two have spent a large part of the match
trying to get him out of the ring and- is that the countdown?

[Indeed it is, Gordon.]

GM:  Are you telling me that coward Broussard has stayed outside the
ring this entire time?  The entire two minute period, he's managed to
stall getting into the ring?

CD:  Judging by where he's standing, I'd say you are correct.

[And as the buzzer sounds... the WKIK Studios _erupts_!]

GM:  HOUSTON!  RON HOUSTON TEARS THROUGH THE CURTAIN!

[The look of pure terror on Marcus Broussard's face tells all the story
in the world as he frantically rolls into the ring...

...and gets popped with a big uppercut from Buddy Lambert who grabs
Broussard by the arm and whips him into Houston as soon as Houston steps
into the ring.]

GM:  HOUSTON'S GOT BROUSSARD!  He's the reason for that injured left
shoulder and-

[The crowd roars as Houston hurls Broussard into the closest corner,
barreling in with a knee to the gut.  A hard boot to the face
straightens Broussard up.]

GM:  Ohh!  What a kick there!

[Holding Broussard in place with his left arm, Houston throws big right
haymaker after big right haymaker into the head of the San Jose Shark.]

GM:  He's beatin' the tar out of Broussard!

[A hard right back elbow cements Broussard into the corner as Houston
backs off, spinning right around to charge back in with a clothesline...

...but at the last moment, Broussard raises up, bringing his knee
squarely in contact with the injured left shoulder!  Houston recoils
away in pain, clutching his arm.]

GM:  Oh!  He went to the shoulder!

[The San Jose Shark quickly moves into motion, hammerlocking the arm,
and stepping on the back of Houston's knee to force him down to a
kneeling position where Broussard quickly switches to a straddle
armbar!]

GM:  Ahh!  You can hear Houston screaming all the way in Fort Worth,
fans!  Broussard's cranking on the arm, ripping and tearing at that
injured shoulder.

[Peeling off the three-on-one assault on Tumaffi, Buddy Lambert walks
over towards Broussard...

...who promptly breaks the hold, driving a thumb into the eye of Lambert
as he approaches.]

GM:  Oh!  Cheap shot! 

[Stepping away from Houston, Broussard hooks a handful of Lambert's hair
and _hurls_ him over the ropes...

...but the Spitfire hooks onto the top rope, managing to stay up on the
apron.]

GM:  Barely stays on the apron!  Buddy Lambert just barely hangs on
right there- ooh!  Hard right hand by Broussard!  And another!  He's
trying to knock Lambert off the apron and get the elimination.

[Pushing up to his feet with one arm, Ron Houston leans against the
ropes, wincing in pain...

...and then barrels across the ring towards Broussard.]

GM:  LAAAAAAAARIAAAAAA-

[But at the last moment, Broussard flattens out, causing Houston to hit
his huuuuuuuge lariat squarely on the chest of Buddy Lambert which sends
the Spitfire sailing off the apron, crashing down to the concrete
floor!]

GM:  Ohhhh!  Lambert's gone!  Buddy Lambert's been eliminated!  Look at
Houston... he didn't mean to do it.  He feels terrible about it.

BW:  He's about to feel a lot worse!

[Hooking Houston from behind, Broussard spins him around, hooking the
arm and _driving_ down with an armbar takedown.]

GM:  Ohhh!  That could have separated a shoulder right there!

[Rolling over the downed Houston, Broussard hooks the arm in a Fujiwara
Armbar and pulls waaaaaay back!]

GM:  Armbar!  

BW:  And he learned this from Jeff Matthews when they were teammates! 
No one applies an armbar like Jeff Matthews so if Broussard learned this
from him, Houston's in trouble!

[The Athens, Georgia Madman screams like a banshee as Broussard plants
his feet, bridging backwards to put more pressure on the Fujiwara
Armbar!

The buzzer sounds, making everyone ignore the screams of Houston for the
moment.]

GM:  Number 29 is...

[The crowd bursts into boos.]

GM:  "Peerless" Jamie Lilas!  Six men in the ring... one more to go...
we've got Ricky Royal, Mark Shaw, Tumaffi, Marcus Broussard, Ron
Houston, and now Jamie Lilas.

BW:  And that means that the final entry into the Rumble is one of the
mystery entrants!

GM:  That makes me very anxious to see who it is, Bucky.

[Jamie Lilas struts his way into the WKIK Studios... of course, taking
the time to mock Buddy Lambert as he walks past him for just getting
eliminated.  Lambert, the true sportsman, ignores Lilas as he is helped
back to the locker room.]

GM:  Lilas up on the apron, joining the fray now...

[The Peerless One takes one look at Tumaffi now trading brutal chops
with both Ricky Royal and Mark Shaw...

...and quickly walks to the other side of the ring where Broussard has
given up on the Fujiwara, shoving Houston back into the corner.]

GM:  And look at this... Jamie Lilas is helping Marcus Broussard with
Ron Houston.

CD:  Very smart.  Work together to take out a bigger competitor.  It'll
increase both of their chances of winning this thing... unless Number 30
is who I think it is.

GM:  What?  You know who Number 30 is too?

CD:  There were some big rumors backstage earlier.

GM:  Bucky?  Did you hear these rumors?

BW:  Nah, I was down at the Waffle House down the street before the
show.

[Lilas and Broussard trade off taking turns driving punches into the
wounded Ron Houston for a few moments before double irish whipping him
from corner to corner.]

GM:  Double whip... Broussard grabs Lilas by the arm, whips him
across...

[And as the Peerless One approaches quickly, Houston rears back his big
right hand...

...and drives it squarely into the heart of Jamie Lilas!]

GM:  PULSEKILLER!  THE HEART PUNCH BY HOUSTON AND-

[He grabs a handful of Lilas' hair, _hurling_ him over the ropes to the
floor to a huge ovation...

...and promptly turns to point a menacing finger at Marcus Broussard!]

GM:  LILAS IS GONE!  JUST LIKE THAT!  

[Broussard quickly backpedals to the corner, raising his hands up to beg
off.]

GM:  Marcus Broussard is begging for mercy and I've got a feeling he'll
get none of that from Ron Houston after sending him to the doctor with a
shoulder injury!

BW:  He shouldn't be wasting time like this though... you never know
what'll-

[A deafening bellow from Tumaffi cuts off Bucky as he connects with a
crushing headbutt that knocks Shaw off his feet and then wraps his hand
around the throat of Ricky Royal, hoisting him high into the air...

...and _planting_ him with a sloppy chokeslam!]

GM:  There wasn't a lot of lift on the chokeslam.  Tumaffi's been in
this ring for over twenty minutes.  He's gotta be absolutely exhausted. 
Somehow he got a second wind right there to take Shaw and Royal down... 

[And he marches out to the center of the ring, standing between
Broussard and Houston.]

GM:  He's blocking Houston's path!  He's blocking Ron Houston from
getting to Broussard!

[The San Jose Shark looks as relieved as you could ever look, shouting
for Tumaffi to finish off Houston...

...and the big Samoan barrels towards the corner, catching Houston by
surprise and smashing him with an avalanche in the corner!]

GM:  OHHHHH!  Tumaffi squashes Houston in the corner!

[Broussard applauds the splash, shouting for Tumaffi to do it again.]

GM:  Listen to the San Jose Shark.  He's screaming for Tumaffi to finish
him... screaming for-

[The crowd starts to count down as Tumaffi turns away from Ron
Houston...

...staring dead in the eyes of Marcus Broussard.]

BW:  Uh oh.

GM:  He's got Broussard in his sights!  Maybe Tumaffi doesn't like being
ordered around by the San Joes Shark!

[The buzzer sounds once more, bringing the final entry into the WKIK
Studios.]

GM:  Who is it?  Who drew number 30?

[But no one emerges from the entrance.]

GM:  Where is he?  

[Tumaffi suddenly lunges forward...

...and a trapped San Jose Shark gets hit with 400 pounds of flesh in the
turnbuckles!]

GM:  AVALANCHE!  AVALANCHE ON BROUSSARD!

BW:  And Tumaffi stands alone!  Tumaffi is going to win this whole
thing!

CD:  Oh yeah?

[Suddenly, Calisto Dufresne throws down his mic, charging from the
announce desk, diving headfirst into the ring, still wearing his suit...

...and sporting something shiny on his right hand.]

GM:  What the-?!

[With Tumaffi unaware, Dufresne sets up behind him, and as the big
Samoan turns around...

...he _UNLOADS_ with a giant brass knuckles aided right hand!]

GM:  OHHHHHHH!

[Tumaffi's eyes roll back in his head from the blow, staggering badly
backwards.  He's wobbly, his arms circling trying to keep from toppling
over, almost an unconscious effort more than anything else.  Dufresne
screams at the big Samoan.]

"FALL, YOU BIG GOOF!  FALL!"

GM:  And we just got confirmation, Calisto Dufresne, the Ladykiller, is
Number 30!  He tricked us all!  He told everyone he had no desire to be
in this match and somehow he managed to get the number 30 slot in the
Rumble!

BW:  Tumaffi's going down!  He can barely stand!

[Seeing his chance, Ricky Royal climbs to his feet, shoving Dufresne
aside...

...and ducks down, tucking an arm between the legs of the mighty
Tumaffi.]

GM:  SLAM!  HE'S GOING FOR THE SLAM!

[With the roaring crowd cheering him on, Ricky Royal braces his legs,
lifting as hard as he can.  

An irate Dufresne moves to attack with the knuckles but a lunging tackle
from Mark Shaw knocks him down to the canvas where Shaw rips the knucks
away, tossing them aside as he pummels the downed Ladykiller.]

GM:  Come on, Ricky!

[The crowd is chanting "RIC-KY!  RIC-KY!  RIC-KY!" desperately trying to
inspire the Ragin' Rebel to pull off the slam...

...and to the surprise of almost everyone, Tumaffi actually comes up off
the canvas.]

GM:  HE'S GONNA DO IT!  HE'S GONNA-

[But just as he manages to get a leg up, Tumaffi shifts his weight,
crashing down with all four hundred pounds squarely across the chest of
Ricky Royal!]

GM:  OHHHHHH!  HE SQUASHED HIM!  HE SQUASHED ROYAL!!

[Tumaffi rolls off of Royal, breathing heavily as his hands go up to his
head where Dufresne popped him with the brass knuckles.  The San Jose
Shark staggers over to the downed duo, pulling Royal off the mat...

...and chucking him over the ropes to the floor!]

GM:  RICKY ROYAL IS ELIMINATED!

BW:  And then there were five!

GM:  Mark Shaw, Tumaffi, Marcus Broussard, Ron Houston, and Calisto
Dufresne.  One of these five men will secure the first slot in the AWA
Title Tournament in just a short while!

[With Royal gone, Broussard tries to yank Tumaffi off the mat by the arm
but has no luck in moving the dead weight...

...which makes him easy prey for Ron Houston who lunges forward, taking
Broussard down with a big spear tackle!]

GM:  BROUSSARD AND HOUSTON!  BROUSSARD AND HOUSTON!

[The San Jose Shark and the Athens, Georgia Madman tussle on the floor,
each getting the advantage before losing it right away.  Tumaffi lies
motionless a few feet away.  Suddenly, Mark Shaw is on his feet and
Calisto Dufresne is propped up over his shoulder.]

GM:  Shaw's got him up!  He's got Dufresne up!

[And as he charges towards the ropes, Dufresne somehow hangs on...

...which causes both men to topple over the ropes, crashing down to the
concrete below!]

GM:  Ohh!  Look at that!  Shaw and Dufresne are gone!  Just like that,
we're down to three men!

[With the ring suddenly very empty, Houston pulls Broussard off the mat,
dipping down to hoist him into a fireman's carry.]

GM:  FADE TO BLACK!  FADE TO- no!  Broussard goes to the eyes!

[And promptly _spikes_ Houston skullfirst into the canvas with a
snapping DDT.  Broussard rolls off to the corner, resting for a moment.]

GM:  All three men are down.  Ron Houston, Marcus Broussard, and
Tumaffi!  One of these three men will be getting the first slot in the
AWA Title Tournament at Memorial Day Mayhem! 

BW:  And they get a match of their choice on the next AWA Saturday Night
Wrestling!

GM:  The stakes are oh-so-high... but at the moment, none of them are-

[The crowd buzzes as Tumaffi sits up...

...and then climbs the rest of the way to his feet, looking with fire in
his eyes at the two downed competitors sharing _his_ ring.]

GM:  Oh no.

BW:  And that's _not_ the guy you want to recover first!

GM:  I suppose not but you've gotta get him over the ropes somehow,
Bucky.  No one was going to get him up off the floor... no one had a
chance of being able to-

[The crowd _erupts_ as Ricky Royal suddenly leaps up on the ring
apron... only wearing one boot.  Why, you ask?

Because the other boot is being clutched in his hand.]

GM:  What the-?!

BW:  Get him down from there!  He had his chance!

[With a rabid Rebel Yell, Royal is in the ring racing towards the
still-standing Tumaffi...

...and promptly _blasts_ him over the head with his boot!]

GM:  WHAT A SHOT!  Look at Tumaffi!

[The big Samoan staggers a bit from the blow from the boot... but he
does not fall...

...so Ricky Royal kicks the WKIK Studios up a notch with his big boot
covering his arm.]

GM:  What's he-  BOOT!  BOOT!  BOOT!

[The crowd explodes as Royal absolutely pummels the life out of Tumaffi
with the boot in his hand, repeatedly whipping it down across the
massive skull of the Samoan, slowly but surely draining the
consciousness out of him!]

GM:  Tumaffi is dazed!  Tumaffi is staggered!

[Royal salutes his fans, racing to the far ropes, and rebounding back...

...and scoring with a leaping boot shot to the head!]

GM:  ANOTHER SHOT TO THE HEAD!!

BW:  He still can't take him down!  

[Whooping all the while, Royal leaps up to the middle rope, salutes the
fans...

...and _leaps_ off, smashing the boot down on the top of Tumaffi's head,
a blow that knocks him back so that he's leaning against the ropes!  The
crowd roars with approval!]

GM:  RICKY ROYAL'S GOT HIM DAZED!  He's got him on the ropes!

BW:  With the help of the boot!  But it doesn't matter... no way he's
getting him- NO!

[The crowd _erupts_ as Royal throws the boot aside, dropping down and
getting one of Tumaffi's legs on each shoulder...

...and rises, slowly pushing Tumaffi up off the mat!]

BW:  NO, NO, NO!

GM:  He's got Tumaffi off the mat!  The fans are driving him, Bucky! 
It's gotta be the fans and that Ragin' Rebel spirit driving him to get
the mighty and massive Tumaffi in the air!  He's trying to dump him! 
He's trying to-

[Suddenly, Ricky Royal gets an assist as a staggered and hurting Ron
Houston joins the Mississippi native, dropping down under Tumaffi's
right leg to help lift, higher and higher and higher until...]

GM:  HE'S GONE!  THEY DUMPED TUMAFFI!  THEY DUMPED TUMAFFI OVER
THE TOP TO THE FLOOR!!

[The crowd explodes in its' loudest roar of the night as Tumaffi slams
down to the concrete floor below!]

GM:  TUMAFFI IS ELIMINATED AND WE'RE DOWN TO-

[But before Ron Houston can process what's going on, the cold-blooded
Shark swoops in behind him, hooking him from behind, and dumping him
over the top rope to the floor!]

GM:  NO!  NOT LIKE THAT!

BW:  Yes!  He did it!  I called it!  I told you that Marcus Broussard
was going to be the first AWA Champion!  I told you he was your
champ-een, daddy!

GM:  I can not believe... after the tremendous night of action we just
witnessed...

BW:  After the tremendous night of action we just witnessed, the best
wrestler in the world just won the big Rumble!  It's only fitting,
daddy!  Oh, my mama's gonna throw the biggest party since the South won
the war!

GM:  The South won- what?!  Never mind that!  How in the world is this
happening?  How in the world is Marcus Broussard the winner of this
Rumble?

[Broussard crumples down to his knees, holding a triumphant arm in the
air.  He's so excited he can barely stand it.]

BW:  He's the best... arooooound.

GM:  Stop.  Just... please stop.  I can't believe this, fans.  We're
waiting for the official announcement but Marcus Broussard, the San Jose
Shark, has won the Rumble and will go to Memorial Day Mayhem to battle
to become the first AWA Champion.  Absolutely amazing.  I don't know
what to say so thankfully we're running low on time and-

[Suddenly, the camera shot changes, revealing a referee waving his hands
and screaming...]

"NO!  No, it's not over!"

[The camera pans away from the referee to show Ron Houston with one leg
up on the apron and one foot...

...firmly on the massive belly of Tumaffi who hit the floor just before
he did.]

BW:  WHAT?!

GM:  He didn't touch the floor!  He landed on Tumaffi and didn't touch
the floor!  Tumaffi bought him enough time to pull himself back up on
the apron.  That one foot hit Tumaffi and allowed him to save himself!

BW:  Wait... no!  Someone's gotta go warn Marcus!

GM:  You stay right here!

BW:  Let go of me, Gordo!  I gotta warn Marcus!

[With Broussard still kneeling in triumph, Ron Houston rolls into the
ring, pulling himself up to his full height, still clutching the injured
left shoulder...

...and slowly walks up right behind the San Jose Shark.]

GM:  Uh oh!  The Shark's about to get speared and reeled on to the boat!

BW:  Let loose a' me, Gordo!  MARCUS!  MARRRRCUS!

[Reaching down with his right hand, he taps Broussard on the shoulder,
grabbing his left wrist to raise it in the air.]

GM:  He's raising his hand!  And look at Broussard!

[An almost teary-eyed Broussard gets to his feet, lifting his other arm
in victory as well, still unaware that it's a very large "referee"
congratulating him...]

GM:  Broussard _still_ thinks he won it!  Marcus Broussard is-

[THE CROWD ERUPTS!]

GM:  LOOK AT HIS FACE!

[Broussard's eyes go wide, now staring at the man holding his wrist. 
The San Jose Shark tries to subtly tug his hand away... to no avail.

With a grin on his face, Houston pulls Broussard's arm hard, right up
into a fireman's carry.]

BW:  NO!  NO!  SOMEBODY STOP THIS!

[And the Athens, Georgia Madman simply walks over to the ropes, clinging
tightly to the screaming and wriggling San Jose Shark...

...and swings him off in the Fade To Black, sending Broussard sailing
over the ropes and down to the concrete floor below!]


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


MC:  LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, YOUR WINNER OF THE RUMBLE...

RONNNNNN HOUUUUUUUUUSTON!!!

[The crowd _erupts_ yet again as an injured Houston leans over the
ropes, grinning at Broussard who is now lying on the concrete floor
barely moving.]

GM:  RON HOUSTON HAS DONE IT!  RON HOUSTON IS GOING TO 
MEMORIAL DAY MAYHEM TO FIGHT FOR THE AWA TITLE!  

[Houston gingerly lifts his injured arm in triumph, still smirking as
Broussard rolls over to his back, staring up at the lights in
disbelief.]

BW:  I can't believe this, Gordo!  I'm filing a protest!  This isn't
right!  Marcus Broussard won this Rumble!

GM:  You can say that!  He can say that!  But the record books will
always say differently!  This win... this night... belong to Ron
Houston!  We're out of time!  We'll see you next time... at the matches!

[We get one more shot of an irate Marcus Broussard lying on the floor,
his face covered in disbelief.

One more shot of the crowd, roaring its' approval for the night of
action they just witnessed.

And one more shot of "The Athens, Georgia Madman" Ron Houston standing
tall over 29 other competitors who came up short when it came to being
known as "the man" on this night.

Fade to black.]