Saturday Night Wrestling

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                           American Wrestling Alliance
                                 Proudly Presents
                         AWA Saturday Night Wrestling

                         Live from the WKIK Studios
                                   Dallas, Texas
                                   July 19, 2008
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[As the closing notes to the "Sanford And Son" theme fade into nothing,
the viewing audience is greeted by the sounds of "One More Saturday
Night" by the Grateful Dead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

GM:  Good evening, fans, and welcome to another edition of AWA Saturday
Night Wrestling featuring all the stars of the American Wrestling
Alliance, _the_ major league of professional wrestling.  I am Gordon
Myers, your host for the next two hours of action, and by my side, as
always, the infamous Bucky Wilde.  

BW:  Say it, Gordo.  Whisper it nice and soft, daddy.

GM:  Fine.  The Announcer Of The Half Year, Bucky Wilde.

BW:  That wasn't so hard, was it?

GM:  Not as hard as some of the action we've got in store for our fans
here tonight in Dallas, Texas, Bucky.  We're two weeks removed from The
Battle Of Dallas and fresh off another successful tour where we hit
Houston, Austin, and San Anton-

[The soft piano opening of one "Moonlight Sonata" begins to resonate
over the speakers. Nary a person in attendance needs any further cue.
They immediately rise from their seats and put their hands together. The
massive figure slowly emerges from the entrance sans his traditional
attire. Instead his large frame is cloaked in a sleeveless black t-shirt
and pair of worn jeans. The face of the beast stubbled. His eyes
bloodshot, he wears bags low underneath both eyes. The muscles on his
massive arms clinch and flex as he alternates between opened and closed
fists. And while the crowd cheers, while they rain down their admiration
on their hero, while they try to lift his mood. Nothing seems to be
doing the trick. The man of so man names slowly roams down towards
ringside...

"The Athens Georgia Madman"

"The East Coast Terror"

Ron Houston.]

GM: It looks like we've got Ron Houston coming down here, Bucky. Houston
was not expected to be out here tonight, especially after coming up
short in the battle royal at The Battle of Dallas. 

BW: Coming up short, _again_, you mean. This guy is a perennial choke
artist at this point, Gordo. 

GM: There's been speculation as to why he's been left off the card
tonight, Bucky. Some think his shoulder still hasn't healed, some think
his spirit is broken. Nobody's really sure, but hopefully we'll find out
shortly.

BW: If he doesn't get pinned on the way to this "interview", you mean. 

[Houston's eyes remain cold, hanging bloodshot deep in their sockets.
His buzzed hair thicker, two weeks growth adorning his head, matching
the light brown beard that masks his usually shorn head. He slowly
lumbers down towards Bucky and Gordon, his intentions unclear.. yet his
path is clear... crystal. A beeline right towards Bucky.]

BW: What the-- !!

[Houston's massive arms reach through the air and come down directly on
the collar of Bucky Wilde's shirt, grabbing them firmly with his big
paws. He yanks Bucky forward, his face mere inches from that of what
could easily be called his worst nightmare. A ticked off Ron Houston.]

RH: Ya got a lot of _stroke_ ta come out here and make yer li'l jokes.
Ta make yer li'l quips, at mah expense there, _Buck_. Ya must got a
great big ol' set on ya if ya think that ah'd think any less of mahself
fer comin' down here and puttin ya through the floor. Or fer drivin' yer
skull inta that there ringpost. Or _heck_, just rearin' back mah arm and
drivin' it right inta yer stinkin' heart, twistin' and pulling the
sonuvabitch out. 

[Houston grinds his paws down into the fabric, tugging harder, Bucky's
wide eyes filled with fear as he raises both arms to Houston's hands and
struggles in vein against his rage filled hold.]

RH:  Ya either got a big ol' set on ya.. or yer the _stupidest_ runt in
this entire litter of kittens playin' amongst a wolf like mahself. 

BW: LET ME... 

[Yanks himself away... hard.]

BW:  ... GO!!!

[What?  You think _Bucky's_ breaking free from this grip?! Houston holds
on, his body unflinching in the face of Wilde. Gordon continues to try
to play peacemaker. His arms up as he cautiously observes the scene.
Quietly muttering for Ron to let Bucky go.]

RH:  Ah've come out here, week in and week out. Day and night. Since the
very _day_ this federation opened its doors and welcomed ol' Ron Houston
on inta its arms. Ah've come out here and ah've listened to the same
muddled pile of dung since the day ah slung Broussard outta this very
ring and won mahself that rumble thing. The same skepticism. The same
jokes. The same tired looks. 

Pity. 

Joy. 

Envy.

Fear.

Ah've seen 'em _all_, _Buck_. 

[Houston quickly let's go of Bucky's collars, Wilde staggering backwards
and recoiling behind the table, creating a barrier between him and Ron.
Houston leans over the table pointing one big ol' Athens index finger in
Wilde's direction.]

RH:  And ah'm sick and _tired_ of it all, _Buck_. Of being the brunt of
yer jokes. Bein' pushed around. Brushed aside. Treated like ah'm
irrelevant. Ah come out here week after week, and ah get respect from
_them_... 

[Houston points at the AWA Faithful.. the li'l Madmen that surround the
ringside area. They cheer!]

RH:  ... but it ain't been extendin' much beyond these guardrails that
surround this ring. 

GM:  Ron, just calm down... what the heck has gotten into you? It was
just _one_ match. A drop in a bucket. You look terrible. Like you
haven't slept in days. What's gotten into you?

[Houston's eyes flinch and turn towards Gordon, breaking their stoic
resolve. Their corners crease as he gives Myers an incredulous look.]

RH: "What the heck has gotten inta ya?" "What the heck has gotten _inta
ya_?" What's gotten inta me, Gordon.. is the fact that ah ain't gettin'
the respect ah deserve from either the promoters, the wrestlers in the
back, or _this man_ right here.

[Houston's big ol' Athens finger again points at one Bucky Wilde.]

RH:  Ah'm an _afterthought_. A runnin' joke. A sideshow fer how quick a
buddin', promisin' career can fall by the wayside. Ah'm a dark cloud
hangin' over the lockeroom. Or another missed financial opportunity fer
one of 'em promoters that likes the greenbacks so much. Ah'm the fears
in each and _every_ one of 'em wrestlers in the back, 'cause they all
know that within the blink of an eye... 

[Houston continues to dress himself down, his arms extended out and he
soaks in his own misery.]

RH:  ... they can _all_ end up like ah seem ta have.

[Houston looks down, a look that borders on sorrow. Perhaps regret.
Perhaps something else.]

GM: _Ron_... this is _not_ you... this is all _him_. You know who you
are. I know know you are. Heck, these _people_ know who you are, and
it's _not_ some irate bully coming down throwing his weight around in
the form of a temper tantrum. 

These people, each and _every_ one of them. Every single week, they get
out of their seats and they _cheer_ you. Win, lose, or draw, they
_cheer_ you. And you wanna know why? 

[Gordon points right back at The Athens Georgia Madman.]

GM:  Cause you're their _hero_, Ron. They look up to you. 

[Houston looks up, looking directly at Gordon.]

GM:  Please, Ron. For your own sake. You're _letting_ him win. This is
exactly what Marcus wants. Don't give in, if you give in.. if you allow
yourself to lose control.. then Broussard's already won. Don't let me
down, don't let the fans down... and most importantly.. don't let
_yourself_ down.

[The crowd roars for Gordon's words!  Drawing their support behind Ron.
Houston's taken aback by the the level of support he's receiving. A man
always on the outskirts. Always an outsider. He's genuinely moved by the
support he's received. Both from Gordon, and the Madmen everywhere. His
head rises, held high, he soaks in the cheers as he turns his attention
back to Bucky.]

RH: Yer right, Gordon. When yer right, yer right, and ah'm man enough ta
admit that. He _has_ gotten the better of me and ah _have_ fallen victim
ta mah own anger. Mah own failures. Mah own frustrations.

[Houston closes his eyes and breathes in deeply, his chest caving in as
he draws in his breath. He slowly exhales and opens his eyes, extending
his big right hand towards Bucky. Wilde stares at the hand for a moment,
a bit nervous. A bit taken aback at the same man who so viciously
threatened him would do a 180 so quickly.]

RH:  And Bucky, ah think ah owe ya an apology. 

Ya may not be numero uno in mah book, ya may have made some jokes at mah
expensive, had some chuckles at mah failure. Ya may not like _me_ very
much either, and that's yer right ta feel that way. But none of it
excuses me putting mah hands on ya. And fer that.. ah.. well.. ah
apologize. 

[Bucky cautiously reaches up, and shakes The East Coast Terror's hand.]

BW: Uhh.. it's ok, Ron. [Nervous chuckle] He he, no problemo, bud. 

[Houston relinquishes Bucky's hand and turns back towards Gordon.]

RH: And _thank you_, Gordon. 

From the bottom of mah heart. From the very pit of mah bein', ah want ta
thank ya fer puttin' me in mah place. That's somethin' that ah don't
think _anybody_ else in this entire arena would've had the moxy ta do.
And ah respect ya for it. Ah appreciate ya for it. 

[Houston turns away from both men slowly.]

RH:  But ah can tell ya one man who ain't gonna be _appreciatin'_ all
the support ya've thrown mah way. And as soon as ah get a shot at 'im,
ah'm gonna Fade 'im out once again. 

'Cause while ah may have lost mah way, ah may have gotten mahself
distracted a step or two..  ah ain't lost mah _will_. And ah'm reckonin'
that sooner or later ah'm gonna get mahself in front of Marcus
Broussard. And ah'll release every lick of built of rage on him. Ah'll
unleash mah unrepenting fury on his poor poor soul. Ah'll Fade 'im
out... or ah'll punch him out.

But either way.. 

[Houston begins to walk away slowly.]

RH:  .. there ain't no quit in me. 

[Houston continues to walk away, tracing a path directly up the aisle,
slapping hands with a few fans on the way towards the back. A renewed
vigor. A renewed sense of purpose. An attitude that's been adjusted.
He's on the prowl.] 

GM:  Fans, whew boy, what a way to start the show.  Melissa Cannon is
standing by so let's go up to the ring for our first match of the night!

[Cut to Melissa Cannon in the ring.]

MC:  Tonight's opening contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten
minute time limit.  Introducing first, to my left, from Denton, Texas,
he stands 62 tall and weighs in at 267 poundsKiller Ken Richey!

[The heavy-set Texan takes off a black Stetson hat and waves it over his
head to a mix of boos and cheers.]

MC:  And his opponent, from Anchorage, Alaska

[The crowd roars to life.]

MC:  He stands 6'8 tall and weighs in at 285 pounds... 
WEREWOLF GREGORSON!

[Metallica's "Of Wolf and Man" blasts over the PA as Werewolf Gregorson
steps through the curtain and makes his way down the aisle, an American
flag in one hand and a length of steel chain dangling from the other.]

BW:  Oh, come on. The Battle of Dallas is over, you moron and you lost!

[Gregorson pauses on his way into the ring, apparently overhearing Bucky
Wildes remarks.]

GM:  Uhh, Bucky, after what just happened, are you sure you want to-

BW:  That's right, I'm talkin' to you!  Not so tough without your
pint-sized partner to back you up, are you?

[Gregorson turns to face the announce desk and is ambushed from behind
by his opponent, who clubs him over the head with a double axe handle
chop and then rolls him into the ring.]

BW:  You see, Gordon!  I was right!  Without that crybaby, Despair, to
watch his back, the mighty Werewolf is nothin but a 6'8 joke! You just
watch Killer Ken make short work of this moron now!

GM:  Bucky, something tells me that, by the end of this match, you're
going to regret ever getting out of bed this morning.


"DING! DING! DING!"


GM:  And the referee calls for the bell as Killer Ken Richey takes
advantage of an early opening to dominate the 285 pound Werewolf
Gregorson, who, as my broadcast colleague, Bucky Wilde, alluded to
earlier, is flying solo tonight while his tag team partner, Despair,
recovers at home under doctors orders from a throat injury suffered last
week at the hands of-

BW:  Doctors orders?  C'mon, Gordo, do you really buy into that sob
story?  Despair isn't recovering - he's hiding under the bed in fear of
The Mighty Russians!  And, if his big dummy of a partner had any common
sense, he'd-

GM:  Gregorson with a big boot to the face of Killer Ken Richey,
reversing an Irish whip by the big Texan in the opening minutes of this
match and  _leveling_ him with a size sixteen to the jaw!  And what's
this? Instead of setting him up for the Silver Bullet, he's- I don't
believe it!  Gregorson with that swinging cobra clutch made famous by
his good friend, "Stars and Stripes" Clayton Shaw - the Stars and
Stripes Forever!

BW:  Ohhh, I hate that move, daddy.  This is cute.  Real touching to
pick up the finisher of the guy he got laid out.  Clayton Shaw is laid
up with a concussion at home because of Gregorson so I guess this is
some kind of little tribute to him.


"DING! DING! DING!"


GM:  And there's the bell, ladies and gentlemen, as Killer Ken Richey
goes down in near record time at the hands of Werewolf Gregorson!

BW:  It's one thing to do that to Ken Richey but it'll be quite another
the next time he tangles with- hey, Gordo, why is he lookin' at me that
way?

[Gregorson is leaning over the ropes, eyes locked on Bucky Wilde as
Melissa makes the announcement.]

MC:  Your winner by submission in a time of forty-seven seconds...
WEREWOLF GREGORSON!

[Gregorson rolls out of the ring and approaches the announce desk
quickly as Bucky Wilde backs away, stepping behind his broadcast
partner.]

GM:  Werewolf, congratulations on a decisive singles victory here
tonight and-

[Gregorson snatches the microphone from Myers and points a finger right
into the face of Bucky Wilde.]

WG:  I'm told that punching an announcer is automatic grounds for a ten
thousand dollar fine, is that right, Gordon?

GM:  Uhh, well, from what I- yes, that's correct.

[Gregorson reaches into the pocket of his camouflage fatigues and pulls
out a folded up piece of paper.]

WG:  Here's a check for twenty. Keep the change.

[Gregorson raises his big left fist and cocks back his arm, only to have
Bucky turn tail and run straight back up the aisle to a huge cheer from
the crowd. Smiling, he sticks the paper back into his pocket, shrugs his
shoulders, and raises the microphone to his lips.]

WG:  Grocery list.

[Another huge cheer!]

WG:  Now, since we no longer need to worry about unnecessary
distractions, I'd like to take a moment to address Stevie Scott.

You see, Gordon, Stevie Scott has not only chosen to align himself with
the two biggest cowards in the AWA, he also showed the world how truly
uninformed he is when he tried to get _me_ to throw in the flag at The
Battle of Dallas.

[The crowd boos.]

WG: Bad enough that, whenever it looks as if The Russians are about to
lose a match, they choose either to get themselves disqualified like
they did at Memorial Day Mayhem  or rely on the help of a third party to
give them the upper hand, but when that third party puts his hands on
the flag of my country and asks me to lay it down and surrender, ENOUGH
IS ENOUGH!

[A roar goes up from the patriotic crowd.]

WG:  You see, while Despair and I come from two very different worlds,
we both believe in the same things. We never quit, never submit, never
surrender, and NEVER SAY DIE!

So, Stevie Scott, if you can hear me, at The Battle of Dallas, you made
the biggest mistake of your life when you stuck your nose in our
business.

And, for that, believe me when I say you... will... pay.

[Gregorson cups his hands around his mouth and lets out an ear-splitting
HOOOOOWWWWWLLLLL before making his exit from the announce desk.]

GM:  You heard it, fans.  In the eyes of Werewolf Gregorson, Stevie
Scott is now a marked man.  Don't go away, fans, we'll be right back
with more AWA Saturday Night Wrestling!

[The camera holds on Gordon for a moment before fading to black.

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

"Have you ever dreamed of fame?"

[Cut a little closer.]

"Of glory?"

[A little closer.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Two young students are grappling on the canvas.]

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

You want to wrestle!"

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

...and then come back up to find Bucky Wilde has rejoined the announce
team.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans... and welcome back, Bucky.

BW:  This is totally unacceptable, daddy!  Have these people not heard? 
I was the Announcer of the Half Year!  I can not be expected to work in
conditions like this!  

GM:  Well, maybe if you didn't spend all your time running people down-

BW:  That's called expert analysis, Gordo!  But I wouldn't expect you to
recognize it.

GM:  I see.  At this time, fans, I'd like to welcome the winner of the
10-man battle royal at the Battle of Dallas, and a man who no doubt has
a lot on his mind...he is "The Natural" Adam Rogers.

[As Myers speaks, a rather solemn-looking Rogers walks into the picture,
wearing an expensive-looking charcoal gray suit and dress shirt without
a tie.  As Myers completes his introduction, he then turns to the former
World Champion.]

GM: Adam, a lot happened over the holiday weekend at the Battle of
Dallas, from winning the battle royal to being attacked by Marcus
Broussard to unintentionally affecting the outcome of the main event,
and I'm sure you have plenty to say in response to the events that took
place.

[Adam pauses for a few moments, as only the sounds of the crowd can be
heard in the background.  Finally, he leans toward Myers and begins his
answer.]

AR: Response.  That's an interesting choice of words, Gordon.  Response.

You see...all our actions in life, they create responses.  No matter
what we do, no matter what we say, there are responses be it from others
or from ourselves.  So let's talk about the response to what happened at
the Battle of Dallas.

Marcus, I'll get to you in a moment, but let's start with Mark Shaw.

[Rogers pauses, pursing his lips together.]

AR: I made a grave mistake, Gordon.  I cost Shaw the National Title by
sticking my nose in where it didn't belong.  You see, that was my
response to what Marcus did during the battle royal, what he did after
the battle royal, and how he broke rule after rule in his match with
Shaw.  But the problem is, my response?  It was selfish.

I went back out there because Broussard pissed me off.  He pissed me off
by his actions earlier in the night, by first helping me win the battle
royal and then taking me out of action, and then by taking the low road
in his title defense against a man who was well-deserving of the title
shot.  It made me mad, Gordon, and I went out there to try to even the
score.  Problem is, it wasn't my match, and it wasn't the time for me to
settle up anything.

And in the end, I cost Mark Shaw the National Title.

For that, Mark, I am truly sorry.

[The Florida native shakes his head.]

AR: I know that doesn't change what happened.  I know it doesn't put the
National Title around your waist.  I would imagine you're ticked off at
me, and I don't blame you one bit, Shaw.  Just know that if you need
help in the right way and the right time...you know where to find me. 
All you have to do is ask.  But I won't be getting involved in your
business again uninvited.

Now for Marcus Broussard.

[At the mention of the name of the AWA National Champion, Adam's look
intensifies.]

AR: What you're seeing from him, Gordon, is his response.  His response
to the training he received under me and Jeff Matthews in Los Angeles. 
He's only doing what we showed him back in the day, so I suppose I could
blame myself for the fact that he hit me in the head with a
fifteen-pound piece of gold and darn near broke my ankle just to keep
from facing the one man in the AWA that he _knows_ would beat him.

Note, Gordon, that I said I _could_ blame myself.  But I'm not.

Because Marcus...you've got to choose your own road, your own legacy. 
And the legacy you're choosing is that of a man who is afraid.  Afraid
of losing.  Afraid of someone being better than you are.  Afraid of
being nothing more than the third wheel you were when you ran with me
and the Madfox in LA.

Truth is, _boy_...

[The crowd cheers as Rogers slowly gets more and more worked up.]

AR: ...that you _aren't_ the man you think you are, or rather the man
you want everyone to think you are.  There are _plenty_ of wrestlers in
the AWA who are twice the man you'll _ever_ be.  Men like Ron Houston...

[Big roar at the mention of the Athens, Georgia Madman.]

AR: Mark Shaw...Rick Marley...Ricky Royal...

[Adam pauses, then points at his chest with his thumb.]

AR: And Adam Rogers.

I may be limping, pal...but I'm still walking.  It's gonna take a
heckuva lot more than an ankle lock and a ninja to keep me away from you
now, big boy.  So you want my response, Gordon?  I'll give it in six
words.

Marcus Broussard, you're a dead man.

[Another huge roar as the Natural turns and walks off the set leaving
Gordon Myers unable to contain a smile as he turns back to the camera.]

GM:  The San Jose Shark's enemy list grows larger and stronger with
every day.  Fans, let's go up to the ring for our next matchup!

[The opening bass of "Flash's Theme" by Queen begin to throb over the PA
as the AWA fans turn with speckled interest towards the entrance.]

MC: Introducing first... from New York, New York... standing in at 5'10
and weighing in at 195 pounds...

#FLASH... AHHH AAAHHH.. HE'S THE RULER OF THE UNIVERSE#

... FLASH LANDO!!! 

[Flash comes sprinting out towards the ring. His short blond hair and
boyish good looks just oozing out from underneath the big smile he wears
as he taps hands with the fans on his way to the ring. His hairy chest
is semi-hidden underneath a white vest which he removes upon entering
the ring. White wrestling tights accompany his attire.]

GM: Up next, we'll have AWA newcomer, Flash Lando taking on Wilton
Stone.

BW: Going to be a short night for "the Flash" then, daddy. 

GM: Flash has a large mountain to climb if he hopes to overcome Wilton
Stone, that is for sure. And we're about to find out if he can do just
that.

["Rock Me Amadeus" by Falco comes steamin' over the PA system like a
locomotive.]

MC: And his opponent... from Lancashire, England... standing in at six
foot one inches and weighing in at two hundred and twenty five pounds...
here is...

... WIILLLLTTTOOONNNN SSSSTTTOONNNEEEE!!!

[Huge boos from the crowd who immediately spew venom upon Stone. Stone
is in impeccable shape. His tall, tanned, and trimmed frame slowly
making it's way towards the ring. A slight smile creases the lips of
Stone as he ventures out towards the ring, climbing the steps and
stepping into the ring quickly.]

GM: Wilton Stone looks quite confident about his chances verses Flash
Lando, Bucky.

BW: Of course he is, Gordo. He's _Wilton_ _Stone_.. and he's taking on
_Flash_ _Lando_. The writing's on the walls, daddy.


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


[Flash is pumping his fists in the direction of the audience, trying to
rally them behing his cause.]

GM: Stone out of nowhere!  He nails Lando with a series of rights and
lefts to the back of the head.  He turns Flash around.. open hand smack
across the face. 

BW:  We Announcers Of The Half Year would call that a slap, Gordo.

GM: Stone with an irish whip.. Flash off the far side...

[Flash hurls himself into the air with a cross body block.]

GM:  Stone caught him

[Wilton falls backwards, sending Flash flying.]

BW:  Fallaway slam!   That'll do 'em in!

GM:  And look at that smirk on Wilton Stone's face. He is loving every
second of this, and of himself I might add.

[Wilton sits up and "dusts his hands off", quickly rising to his feet
and delivering a series of stomps to the head of the fledgling AWA
competitor. Flash clutches at his head in pain.]

BW:  Wilton's layin' the boots to Flash Lando and Flash can do nothing
but cover up and hold on tight. 

GM:  Stone pulls Lando off the mat and drives a knee to his gut, he
hooks him in a side waistlock...

BW: Big time backbreaker by Stone.

[Flash tumbles off the knee of Wilton. Stone grabs him by his hair and
drags him right back up to his feet.]

GM: Irish whip by Stone, sets for a backdrop... leapfrog by Lando! Flash
hits the opposite turnbuckles and Stone turns... flying forearm smash!

BW: The kid's got some fight in him.

[Flash draws on the mild cheers of the crowd and pumps his fists in the
air as a semi stunned Stone climbs back to his feet.]

GM: Dropkick by Flash! Stone staggers backwards and Flash charges...

[With Stone dazed, Flash attempts to throw himself in a Thesz Press...

...but the man from the United Kingdom snatches Flash out of the air,
spinning around and planting him into the canvas with a spinebuster
slam!]

BW: Goodnight, sweet prince!

[Stone sits up and surveys the damage he's just handed out. Flash lays
motionless on the mat.]

BW:  Stone pulls Lando off the mat and grabs him around the head. That
was a dang nasty spinebuster, Gordo. Flash is like dead weight in his
hands.

GM:  Swinging neckbreaker by Stone! Wilton with the cover. This should
be academic from here.  One!  Tw- oh, come on, referee!

[The camera shows Stone, with a handful of Lando's hair, pulling Lando's
shoulder up before the two count. A smile is plastered across his face
as he yanks the young man known as Flash to his feet.]

BW: Wow, good kickout by Flash. Didn't think he had it in 'em. 

GM:  You know as well as I do that Wilton Stone _pulled_ his shoulders
off the mat. He's having too much fun at this kid's expense to just
finish him off with some dignity.

[A smiling Stone kicks Lando in the stomach and drops him right back to
the mat with a double underhook DDT.]

BW: Mat, meet Flash Lando's head. And thank Wilton Stone for the
introduction.

GM: Stone leaps up to the top turnbuckle and measures the distance
between himself and Flash Lando. Stone leaps....

[Stone leaps a mile into the air, his body crunching in on itself before
releasing and opening back up upon impact.]

GM:  Huuuuuge flying splash by Stone!

BW:  He's collecting frequent flyer miles with that height, Gordo. Some
huge air he got there.

GM: Stone covers Lando!  One!  Two!  Thr- 

BW:  WHAT A KICKOUT BY LANDO!

GM:  There was no kickout, Bucky! Wilton Stone pulled his shoulder off
the mat again!

BW:  You're selling this kid short, Gordo. He obviously has some
resilience in him!

[Meekly admonishes a smiling Stone for pulling Lando's shoulder off the
mat again. Holding a handful of hair, Wilton brushes off the verbal
assault from our pinstriped savior and yanks Lando up to his feet by
those blond locks. He hooks him around the head and leaps forward in an
Ace Crusher.]

GM: THE STONE CUTTER!

BW: Stone with the cover! ONE!!! TWO!!! THREE!!!  He's finally able to
hold Lando down for a three count!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


MC:  Your winner of the match in a time of two minutes and 48 seconds...

WILTON STOOOOONE!

[Stone slides underneath the bottom ring rope and approaches Gordon
Myers.  Myers is already waiting, microphone in hand.  Wilton, breathing
as easily as he was when he walked to the ring, stands next to him.]

GM:  Mr. Stone, it's a pleasure to meet you.  Congratulations on your
first AWA victory.

[Stone scoffs at the remark.]

WS:  Oh, why thank you, Gordon.  It's a pleasure to be here in the AWA
where obviously the talent, like that lifeless creep in there, can
really push me to the limit.

[He looks over at his defeated opponent and laughs.]

WS:  Yeah right.  I could put a pair of tights on you and send you in
there to a victory over that clown.  

[Gordon, trying to hide his frustration, disregards the comment.]

GM:  Where have-

[Stone snatches the microphone out of Gordon's hands.]

WS:  I'm not here to answer your questions, Myers.  Where have I been? 
Is that what you were about to ask?

[Gordon shakes his head no, as he actually was about to ask something
else.]

WS:  I've been waiting.  That's where I have been.  Sitting back and
waiting.  I came out here once and asked for a challenge.  I came in
here tonight and received anything but.  The time for asking and waiting
is over.  I need to get my nails dirty and the way things are going
here, why even dress out?  

So it's time to take.

[Stone looks angry.]

WS:  I guess I thought I would come in here and the curtains would drop
for me.  They certainly have not.  Well, the way things stand now, I
feel as if I should return the money I've received from this company. 
Any bum could do this work.  

Apparently some do.

[He glances back to the aisle where his opponent is being helped out by
AWA officials.]

WS:  I'm not trying to fit in.  I want to stand out.  So from now on, if
you are employed by this company and see me in the locker room, look the
other way or don't look at all.  That goes for you too, Myers.

[Stone pushes the microphone into Gordon's chest and Myers stumbles
back.  Wilton looks around, to the boos of the fans, and soaks it up. 
He shoots Gordon one last look and then heads back to the locker room.]

GM:  Fans, we'll be right back.

[The shot holds on a disgusted Gordon Myers as we fade to black...

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

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

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

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

[Now to the Southern Championship Wrestling logo.]

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

[And then the PWR logo.]

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

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

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

[Fade to black...

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

GM:  Welcome back to AWA Saturday Night Wrestling where we've already
seen some great action tonight and we've still got a ton more for you
including our Main Event of-

["Super Bon Bon" by Soul Coughing fires up in the WKIK Studios, and the
amount of hatred for the man accompanying the music is almost deafening.
Marcus Broussard walks out to the announce desk and holds up his hands,
National title strapped around his waist. The fans jeer their heads off
as Marcus spins around once to show off a dark blue suit, collar left
open natch, and then unbuckles the title. The champ reverently lays the
title on his shoulder as the Super Ninja makes his appearance, sprouting
up as if from nowhere and giving Gordon Myers quite the start. Broussard
laughs to himself as Gordon regains his composure and the music dies
down.]

GM: Marcus Broussard...

[Gordon stops for a moment, the fans still jeering.]

GM: Marcus Broussard, how can you possibly explain your actions at The
Battle Of Dallas? You almost singlehandedly ruined a battle royal, you
decked your so called former friend Adam Rogers with the title belt, you
caused Ron Houston to be eliminated... aren't you a little afraid that
your actions will one day catch up with you?

MB: The theory you speak of, Gordon Myers, is that of karma. The idea
that we are rewarded or punished in the future for our actions in the
past. That's a gnarly theory, my friend, but I'm afraid I'm just too
advanced to give those thoughts any sort of credence. I don't believe in
superstition, Gordon, I don't believe in destiny. I don't believe in
karma, I don't believe in fate and I certainly don't believe in
comeuppance.

I don't believe in any of that crap, Gordon Myers. Ha ha, I just believe
in _me_. The Battle of Dallas was a thinly veiled attempt at getting
this title off of my shoulder, and it didn't fool me for a second. I
went on the offensive right away, with the help of my bodyguard here...
and I did what I had to do.

GM: And what is that exactly?

[Marcus looks at Myers quizzically.]

MB: Like you have to ask.

Little lesson for you, Gordon Myers, because I think you've got
potential, kid. You can be someone someday...

..the biggest man doesn't always win, and the strongest man doesn't
always win. No no, Gordy Myers, the smartest man always wins. It seems
that Mr. Ninja's family needs a little financial strengthening, so I got
him in touch with the man who wants to see Slater's head on a silver
platter.

That's one taken care of.

[Broussard holds up one finger up.]

MB: Mark Shaw got dealt to, twice now. I beat him at Mayhem and I beat
him at the Battle of Dallas. And that was after, mind you, after he
_lost_ the battle royal and got a pity title shot anyway. I'm afraid
that you've worn out your chances, Shaw, so head to the back of the
line. And Adam Rogers.

[Smirk.]

MB: My friend Adam Rogers.

I wanted to leave well enough alone. The past is just that, Gordon.  The
past. No need to drudge it up and rehash the good ol' days, which
weren't so good to begin with. I told you and everyone else that I
respected and admired Adam Rogers as a friend and mentor. His advice to
me was invaluable.

_Was_ invaluable. If he wanted to come into the AWA and be my financial
advisor, or assist me in training and gameplanning, that would have been
great. His experience and knowledge would be ideal in that capacity. But
to come into the AWA and call me on the carpet, and then expect an
immediate response?

I guess he doesn't know me as well as he thinks he does. He got his
response at the Battle of Dallas, Gordon, and the last time I saw him he
was dragging his leg in a walking boot because of it. Take your time
getting healthy, my friend, and when you want to cash in that title
shot, remember why you couldn't use it in the first place.

[Broussard hooks his thumb at himself.]

MB: And that just leaves us with one...

Ron Houston.

[The crowd lets out a huge cheer!]

MB: It's no secret that we haven't gotten along, ever, big man. In fact,
I've done my best to shuffle you out of the AWA on a few occasions. The
way I see it, if I'm ever going to finish off this little vendetta
between us it's tonight, which is why I want everyone here to pay
attention.

I am asking, and campaigning, for the Championship Committee to sign a
match to happen _tonight_, with the National Title on the line.

BW: (off camera) WHAT?!

MB: Ron Houston and Marcus Broussard, one on one, for _the_ most
important piece of gold in the business today. I'm letting it all hang
out, big fella, you and me one on one. Because I _know_ that if I want
to rid this business of you, if I want to rid myself of you, that I've
got to put this strap on the line. And frankly, getting the chance to
run you out of the AWA for good is more than worth the risk of me
losing this belt.

Put it on the docket, Gordon Myers. Houston and Broussard, and we end it
tonight!

[The fans are in shock as a super confident Marcus Broussard exits the
scene, throwing the title over his shoulder and leaving with one hand
held high in the air.]

GM:  Fans, I don't- you heard the man... he wants the match.  Ron
Houston challenging Marcus Broussard for the National Title... tonight?!
 

BW:  I think we heard him wrong, Gordo.  Get him back here and ask.

GM:  We heard him exactly right - and now it's up to the Championship
Committee to decide.  As soon as we find out, we'll let you know, fans -
but for now, let's go up to the ring for our next match!

[Cut to the ring where Melissa is standing.]

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit.  Introducing first... in the corner to my right... hailing
from Little Creek, Oklahoma... and weighing in at 242 pounds... WES
RIVERHAWK!

[A dark-haired Native American, Wes Riverhawk is wearing a maroon
singlet with a black silhouette of a horse and rider on the back.]

MC:  And his opponent... in the corner to my left... he hails from
Vialo, Mexico... and weighing in at 257 pounds... ICEPICK CHAVEZ!

[A broadshouldered, cleanshaven Mexican man wearing a black vest and
black-and-ice-blue tights raises a taped fist as his name is called.]

GM: And this first match is an opportunity for two of the more promising
young stars that have been wrestling south of the border, Bucky.  Wes
Riverhawk is a Native American, but trained in the lucha libre style as
well as a strong background in collegiate wrestling.  He's a former Big
Twelve All-American wrestler who has been training for a year in Mexico.

BW: Yeah, dumb Injun, probably all he does is chop.  Lame-oh.

GM: I can't believe- fans, I apologize for that comment by my colleague.
 You can't say things like that!  Ahem, and Icepick Chavez has been up
and down the West Coast, and is thought of as a top future prospect,
although he's a bit unrefined in style.  He's a fighter who will do
anything to win, and has some punishing moves.

BW: This guy is more my style, Gordo.  A bit wet behind the ears, but I
saw his finish, the Icepick, a few nights ago in San Antonio, an' he can
put a guy away with it, daddy.


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM: This is a high-stakes match.  The winner here will get an AWA
contract, and that is the kind of break both men are hungry for. 
Collar-and-elbow tieup... armdrag by Riverhawk!  Chavez taken down
immediately, and another armdrag as the burly Mexican gets up
immediately!  Chavez up again, and a third... NO!

BW: Ha!  Chavez punched him right in his big nose!  This is so
bizarre... an  American with a Mexican style and a Mexican with an
American style?  

GM: They both have unique backgrounds, to be honest.  Chavez knees
Riverhawk in the side of the head, picks him up, and a huge overhand
right staggers the Native American.  And another drops him!  Riverhawk
didn't face that kind of offense wrestling at the University of
Oklahoma.

BW: He should have been on their football team, not only would the
boosters have bought him a sports car, he'd have learned that kind of
offense... considering how dirty they play!

GM: I get the feeling you're just trying to win fans for yourself here
in Texas, Bucky.

BW: Know your audience, Gordo, know your audience.

GM: Chavez has locked on a chinlock, but Riverhawk already to his feet,
and a back heel trip easily gets him out of the hold, and into his own
chinlock!  It probably wasn't a good idea for the Icepick to trade holds
with an All-American mat wrestler.

BW: Maybe, but he's tough and he hits like a brick.  I don't think he's
going to see anything tonight that's going to take him out, Gord...
uhhhhhh... strike that last statement from the record.

GM: What are you looking at, Buck... oh no.  Oh, no!  Not here!  NOT
NOW!

[The cameras finally catch up to what the announcers see coming.  Now
the fans see it coming also, and they scream a warning to the two young
men in the ring.

But by the time Wes Riverhawk sees it, it is far, far too late.  His
first inkling that something is wrong comes when the ring lights are
eclipsed by four-hundred pounds of angry Samoan.]

GM: TUMAFFI IS HERE!  BUT WHY?!

BW: The word 'duh' is in order here, Gordo.


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM: TUMAFFI SPLASHES BOTH MEN!  HE JUMPED ON RIVERHAWK AND CHAVEZ, AND
CRUSHED THEM BOTH!  Now he's mauling them on the mat... RING THE BELL!  

"*DING*DING*DING*DING*DING*DING*DING*DING*DING*DING*DING*DING*DING*"

[I just don't think that's going to help.  Tumaffi is battering both
guys, pinning them down and hammering them with open hand strikes.  He
hits Riverhawk several times, then Chavez, then Riverhawk, then Chavez.]

BW: Haven't we learned yet what happens when somebody ticks off Tumaffi?
 He shows up the next show and starts demolishing people until the guy
he wants shows up.  And if they somehow grow brain cells and don't show
up... well, he just keeps demolishing people.  It ain't rocket science.

GM: Tumaffi hoists up Wes Riverhawk... SAMOAN DROP!  

BW: I bet he never saw THAT at the University of Oklahoma either.  Well,
unless he dated onea them Oklahoma chicks.  They're kinda
Tumaffi-shaped.

GM: THIS ISN'T FUNNY!

BW: No, but what are you gonna do about it, Gordo?  It's like when a
natural disaster levels your house... ain't no stoppin' it, so ya might
as well find somethin' funny and laugh.

GM: Now Tumaffi has Chavez!  A vicious headbutt... AND CHOKESLAMS HIM ON
TOP OF RIVERHAWK!  And he landed on both of them when he did it!

"*DING*DING*DING*DING*DING*DING*DING*DING*DING*DING*DING*DING*DING*"

GM: They're finished!  What else could Tumaffi do?

BW: ... oh no.  Gordo... he's lookin' at the top rope.

GM: NO!

[Oh, yes.  Tumaffi heads towards the ropes, and steps through them.  It
so happens that Melissa Cannon is standing near there, giving the
official word.]

MC: The referee has ruled this match a NO-CONTEST... HEY!

[Tumaffi reaches down and relieves Melissa of the mic.  Apparently he
has his own official word.]

Tumaffi: OF COURSE IT IS NO CONTEST!  Tumaffi is many times stronger
than even a dozen mainlanders such as these!

[The crowd boos, and Tumaffi demonstrates knowledge of Proper Heel
Behaviour 101 by stopping to glare at them, encouraging them to boo
more.]

Tumaffi: DO YOU NOT KNOW THAT TUMAFFI HOLDS THE VERY LIVES OF THESE MEN
IN HIS MIGHTY HAND?!  So be it!  Tumaffi was merely content to
demonstrate how easy it would be to permanently end their careers!  NOW
IT WILL BE DONE!

[Uh, oh.  He's climbing.]

GM: NO!  NO!  STOP HIM!

BW: ...how?!  Got an elephant gun?  Hopefully one that fires actual
elephants?


Tumaffi: UNLESS!


[The big guy has one foot on the top rope, and another on the second. 
He's one step away from Tidal Waving both men.]

Tumaffi: Unless Tumaffi's demands are satisfied!  Tumaffi will
obliterate the memory of Ricky Royal from the Earth!  Royal will now
show himself, that Tumaffi may dispense with HIM, lest I have to expend
my power on these surrogates!  MOVE QUICKLY, MAINLANDER!


BW: And now we get to see just how dumb Ricky Royal is.

GM: HERE HE COMES!

BW: The answer is... very.

[The fans cheer as Ricky Royal comes flying into the ring...]


"* T H U D(SQUEEEE!)THUMthumthud!*"


[Tumaffi steps off the ropes, and bashes Royal in the head with the
microphone!  The loud sound echoes through the arena as the
cheaply-built mic feedbacks and bounces all over.  Fortunately, the
cheaply-built mic isn't an extremely hard weapon, either, so Ricky is
staggered, but not KOed.]

BW: Man, he's lucky we get our audio equipment cheap, because Tumaffi
off the top with a solid object would have probably given him a
concussion.

[It did daze him, and Tumaffi hammers away with chops.  Thrust chops,
overhead chops, a kick to the face, and a shocking roundhouse kick
(shocking because... well, most people wouldn't think Tumaffi could kick
like that) brings Royal to the mat, where Tumaffi starts choking him. 
This gives some valiant souls time to evacuate Chavez and Riverhawk from
the ring.]

GM: Royal sacrificing himself to give some referees and medics time to
clear the youngsters out of there!  

BW: But at what cost?!  He's goin' home on the Stretcher Express
himself!

[Royal is now hurt, so it is Villain Gloating Time(tm)!]

Tumaffi: SEE HOW EASILY I VANQUISH HIM WITH NO ONE HERE TO SAVE HIM! 
NOW, PREPARE THE STRETCHER!


GM: Tumaffi calling for a stretcher!

BW: That might be overkill, Gordo.  When Tumaffi gets done with him, and
we have to send him to the hospital, we might only need an envelope!

[Tumaffi whips him to the ropes, and throws the Polynesian Burial's
lariat... but Royal ducks!  He careens off the far ropes, and comes
rocketing back with a flying forearm that...

"* B O O M ! *"

[...knocks the monster down!  The fans roar in approval!]

GM: DID YOU SEE THAT?!

BW: Tumaffi whipped him too hard!  He gave him all the momentum he
needed!

GM: And Royal is fired up at knocking the behemoth down!

BW: Yeah?  Too bad Tumaffi's already back on his feet.

[The fans cheers are abated a bit at Tumaffi's quick comeback, but the
"Ragin' Rebel" will not be deterred as he goes downstairs with kicks,
punches, and knees... and he deftly dodges all of Tumaffi's
counterstrike attempts!]

GM: Ricky Royal taking it right to Tumaffi!

BW: You still don't get it!  He's not hurting him!

[Finally, Tumaffi ends the assault with a striaghtforward snatch of
Royal's neck.  He goozles him, and lifts...]

BW: WELCOME TO CHOKESLAM CITY, POPULATION: YOU!

GM: Royal just moved out of town, Bucky!

[...indeed, Royal hooks the ropes with the back of his leg, and manages
to use this resistance to squirm out of Tumaffi's grasp.  Once he has
done so, he drops and rolls to the floor.]

GM: Ricky Royal did what he came to do!  He saved two young men who were
about to have their careers terminated, and there's nothing left for him
to do here!  Tumaffi is enraged, but the fans are loving it!

BW: It's good you're so supportive, Gordo.  He'll need pallbearers at
his funeral.

GM: Royal exiting through the crowd, and Tumaffi is livid!  We will be
back after this!

[With Tumaffi leaning over the ropes, bellowing at the escaping Ricky
Royal, we fade to black...

The sounds of "Change" by Deftones kicks in.  A slow, rotating, three
dimensional object turns around and reveals itself to be none other than
a chromatic, three dimensional pyramid. A metal clanging is heard as it
locks into place center screen.  The pyramid starts rotating for a few
seconds before cracking and exploding into a million pieces leaving
behind a giant question mark.]
 
[The white letter flashes quickly on the silent black screen]
 
 N 
 
[A black and white photographic images comes into focus slowly.  A flash
in the upper left corner triggers suddenly   then one off to the right  
ending with one in the center as it s revealed that the image isn t a
picture but a video capture moving in extremely slow motion.  Camera
bulbs continue to rapidly go off and the video picks up speed as we see
an unknown person fly out of the upper right screen with a huge senton
onto another competitor .]
 
[Back to blackness, the next letter flashes]
 
 A 
 
[The next video opens up quickly.  A recognizable form is seen as in the
last video except his head is cut out of the picture.  He's wearing
chromatic colored vinyl pants with black flames coiling their way from
the shins to his the thighs.  A steel belt wraps through the pants
centered with a bleached white skull for the buckle.  Black steel-toed
boots with chrome kick pads complete the lower half.  He's wearing a
black, sleeveless, skin tight t-shirt stylized with a crucified angel on
the front.  Tanned, muscular but petite arms covered by some sort of
tribal tattoo glisten with oil.  Black fingerless style BMX racing
gloves cover his hands.]
 
[Back to blackness, the next letter flashes]
 
 I 
 
[The Figure is seem from the back.  His long jet black hair flowing to
the middle of his back and what looks to be horns protruding from his
temple curved and pointing to the sky.  He s locked in a  test of
strength  with an unknown American wrestler.  The figure, standing only
around 5 11 looks dwarfed by his competitor.  He struggles in the test
dropping to one knee.  He breaks his right hand free and follows up by
drilling into his opponents groin.   As the referee quickly attempts to
intervene the figure pie-faces him to the mat.  He stands looking at his
temporarily crippled opponent his shoulders heaving up and down with
uncaring, maniacal laughter]
 
[Back to blackness, the next letter flashes]
 
 T 
 
[The camera opens up to the ring.  You can make out the words  Tiger Paw
Pro  etched into the center of it.  Another opponent is tied to the
proverbial  Tree-Of-Woe.   The Figure is off to the left his back to the
camera again.  He drops to a knee, cocking his head sideways and starts
quickly drilling punches into the man s sternum.  After a few seconds he
stands up and kicks the opponent in the side of the head.]
 
[Back to blackness, the next letter flashes]
 
 O 
 
[The camera silently opens back up to the Tiger Paw Pro ring.  From the
quickness of the action it looks to be a six man tag.  Four opponents
are battling it out outside the ring.  The Figure, his back still to the
camera is slugging it out with another wrestler in the center of the
ring.  The Figure his nailed with a violent right hand shot that sends
him stumbling into the ropes.  The opponent revs up and charges with a
clothesline but the Figure drops down pulling the top rope with him
sending the wrestler sprawling outside and to the ring floor.  He stands
  waits a few seconds   then with the quickness of a cheetah springs
from one side of the ring to the other corkscrewing over the top rope
never touching it to the outside onto his opponent]
 
[Back to blackness, the next letter flashes]
 
 M 
 
[The scene opens again.  The figure is standing in what appears to be a
semi-lit locker room  His back is to the viewer, his head bowed.  The
camera slowly spirals around his legs and torso before stopping at the
back of his head.  He runs his hands though his long curly black hair
and _FINALLY_ the camera slowly spins to the front revealing his face,
or does it?  The Figure s face is concealed with a tightly fitted carbon
fiber helmet stylized in the fashion of a bleached white skull.  The
mouth is crudely twisted in sadistic, annoying and mocking smile that
never changes. Two massive horns protrude from the temple region and
point upwards into the sky. The eye slits are covered with a thin opaque
material.  The eye slits flash red once, then again.  They blink rapidly
as if they were  revving up , a small metallic chiming noise is heard
and they finally they stay lit.]
 
[Black to blackness, the next letter flashes]
 
 E 
 
[Our final image opens up once again in the Tiger Paw ring.  The Figure
is standing crouched on the top rope his opponent is on all four s
slowing getting to his feet, as he stands  the Figure leaps off quickly
with a shooting star press.  The video image pauses and Japanese kanji
flash into the bottom of the screen.  They remain for a few seconds then
turn over translating into their English equivalent words.
 
 The Nightmare Before the Dream . 
 
The action becomes un-paused and the Figure lands on his opponents
shoulders then swings though his legs spiking him to the mat with a
vicious Hurracanrana.  He covers for the academic three count]
 
[Back to blackness, the last letter flashes]
 
 A 
 
[As the music slowly starts fading out the man now known as NAITOMEA
stands against an  AWA  backdrop.  He looks into the camera then up at
the ceiling as a, high pitched, metallic sounding synthesized laugh is
emitted from the helmet mouth slits and we fade to black...

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

GM:  Naitomea is coming to the AWA - the latest export to the AWA from
the Land of the Rising Sun and our friends at Tiger Paw Pro.  What an
explosive competitor he looks to be inside the squared circle - and
speaking of explosive, what an explosive situation is developing here in
the AWA as we get closer and closer to our next major event coming up on
Labor Day Weekend, fans.  We'll have more on that later tonight but with
what we've already seen tonight, you have to think that's going to be a
happening you will not want to miss.

BW:  And speaking of things you won't want to miss...

GM:  That's right, Bucky.  Just moments ago, we received the news... you
heard the challenge earlier tonight and the Championship Committee has
given the green light.  Tonight's Main Event will be for the National
Championship when Marcus Broussard puts the gold on the line against Ron
Houston!  What a match that's gonna be!

BW:  I still don't understand it - but I'm ready for it.  I'm ready to
see the San Jose Shark finish off another one of these guys looking to
steal his title from him.

GM:  An interesting point of view to be certain.  Fans, let's go up to
the ring for our next matchup!

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

MC:  The following contest is a six man tag team match scheduled for one
fall with a twenty minute time limit.  Introducing first, already in the
ring at this time... they are the team of Keith Gomez, John Almsted, and
Steven Powers!

[Some mild cheers for the trio.]

MC:  And their opponents...

[A pause as Melissa shakes her head.]

MC:  Respectfully request at this time for you all to please rise and
pay the appropriate respect for the Soviet National Anthem.

[Said song starts up to a huge shower of boos from the AWA faithful as
Melissa continues.]

MC:  On their way down the aisle at this time...

[The curtain parts to reveal the two massive Russians - a steel chain
wrapped across the shoulders of Vladimir Velikov.]

MC:  They are the team of Vladimir Velikov and the Russian War Machine,
Kolya Sudakov...

[The curtain parts once more...]

MC:  And their tag team partner... "Hotshot" Stevie Scott!

[The boos intensify as Scott steps through the curtain, waving the
Soviet flag back and forth on a wooden flagpole with a completely
oblivious look on his face.]

GM:  And here comes the AWA's biggest traitor - this treasonous son of a
gun is going to get his one of these days and I just hope that I'm there
to see it.

BW:  I don't know, Gordo.  Stevie's got some powerful friends by his
side so it may be difficult to get at him.  And I'm not even talking
about Calisto Dufresne or Adrian Freeman who are both as sneaky and
dangerous as they come.

GM:  You may be right but they're piling up some dangerous enemies,
Buck- 

[The crowd buzzes as the Russians suddenly storm the ring, diving
headfirst into the ring and launching into an immediate attack on the
trio in the ring as the referee calls for the bell to start the match. 
Outside the ring, Stevie Scott is still waving the flag.]

GM:  Look at that buffoon.  He doesn't even realize he's supposed to be
in the ring.

BW:  Maybe he's letting his friends do the dirty work.

[Velikov immediately barrels over Keith Gomez, using his massive body to
knock him through the ropes outside the ring near Stevie Scott...

...who promptly starts stomping and kicking at Gomez' downed body as
Velikoff joins his nephew in attacking Almsted and Powers.]

GM:  Look at this!  These guys are just no match for the Russians at
all.  Kolya Sudakov, the Russian War Machine, is just toying with
Almstead, slapping his strikes away.

[Sudakov has backed to the center of the ring, allowing Almsted to throw
blow after blow that Sudakov either blocks or just absorbs without
showing any effect.  A lunging right hand is slapped away by Sudakov who
hits a push-off kick to the gut that doubles up Almsted, knocking him to
a kneeling position on the mat.

Nearby, Velikov's viciousness is on display as he corners Powers and
sinks his teeth into his forehead.]

GM:  Oh, come on!  Referee, get in there and stop that!

[On the floor, Stevie has set the flag aside as he pulls Gomez to his
feet...

...and whips him into the wooden staircase!]

GM:  Ohhh!  

BW:  Even Stevie's getting in on the attack now.  This is just a
playdate for these guys!  

GM:  They're just a bunch of bullies, Bucky.  Plain and simple.

[Inside the ring, Velikov grabs Powers by the wrist, whipping him at his
nephew...

...who leaves his feet with a beautiful leaping shoulderblock that
knocks Powers down to the canvas in a heap.]

GM:  The Russian War Machine is absolutely unstoppable inside that ring.
 You mix that former MMA background with the pro wrestling skills
instilled by his uncle and Sudakov is just a monster.

[Velikov yanks Almsted off the canvas, firing him into the ropes.  As he
rebounds back, both Russians pick him up off the mat, hold him high...

...and throw him hard onto the mat with a crushing double standing
spinebuster slam!]

GM:  OHHHH!  That oughta do it.

BW:  I don't think so.

GM:  Velikov's ordering his nephew to pick Powers up... where's he
going?

BW:  Oh, we've seen this before!

GM:  Velikov's out on the apron, heading up the ropes...

[And as the three hundred pound bear climbs the corner, Sudakov swings
Powers up into an over-the-shoulder backbreaker hold...

...just long enough for Velikov to leap from the top, driving his
forearm down across the throat of Powers and swinging Powers down to the
mat in a heap.]

GM:  And there's a cover.  One!  Two!  Three!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


MC:  Your winner of the match in a time of one minute and 49 seconds...

The Russians and Stevie Scott!

[The trio raises their hands in victory as they exit the ring to the
jeers of the fans, walking over to the announce table where Gordon Myers
is waiting.]

GM: An impressive win for the trio of the Russians and Stevie Scott, but
gentlemen...

[A beaming Stevie Scott enters the picture, flanked by the Russians on
each side.]
 
GM: ...as you well know, there is quite a bit of difference in beating
your opponents tonight and beating the likes of Kentucky's Pride,
Werewolf Gregorson, Despair, and Rick Marley.

[Stevie shakes his head emphatically as he reaches over and pulls the
microphone toward him.]

HSS: Wrong, Gordo!  There's _no_ difference in those clowns and the
clowns you just mentioned.  You know why?  Because when the dust clears,
baby, they're all going to be nothing more than casualties of war!

GM: Speaking of war, Mr. Scott, you have raised the ire of several in
the AWA, myself included, with your blatant disregard for the American
flag and your support of the Russian flag.

[Stevie gives Myers an incredulous look.]

HSS: Flag?  You think that's what this is about, Gordo?  A _flag_? 
Again, wrong answer.  Oh-for-two so far, pal.  Be careful not to get to
strike three.  My Com-Vlad won't like that.

[Myers casts a glance at the omninous presence of the big Russian.]

HSS: It ain't about no stinking flag, Gordo.  It's about what these guys
here stand for.  They have purpose, they have focus, they have White
Russians which taste really bad at first but then they kinda grow on
you.  So what if they represent a country that was America's bitter
enemy back 20 years ago and still hold to the ideals that the Soviet
Union carried back then?  At least they know what they stand for. 
Course, I guess Tin Man Bust and Country Jim know what they stand for,
too...and that's a great big ol' buffet.

GM: Mr. Scott, I just cannot believe you'll just blow off the things
that the American flag stands-

[Myers is cut off by Velikov.]

VV:  Hah!  What is these things of which you speak, Comrade Myers?  Hrm?

[Myers looks a little frightened to reply.]

GM:  Well, uhh...

VV:  Does your American flag stand for the cowardice of a man like
yourself to speak his mind in front of men who are so clearly superior
to him?

[Gordon bristles but doesn't reply.]

VV:  Does it stand for the frailty of boys like Despair and Marley whose
throats swelled with tears when they met stronger warriors like us? 
Hrmm?

[No response.]

VV:  Maybe it stands for the cowardice of men like your little pup, the
Werewolf, who comes out here, barking and howling like a rabid dog
instead of coming to face us himself?

Do you know what we do to rabid dogs in Mother Russia, Comrade Hotshot?

[Stevie grins.]

HSS:  The same thing we do in the States?

[Velikov laughs that gravelly chuckle.]

VV:  Exactly.  And that is what will happen to the little pup if he...
how you say... crosses our paths again.  Kolya and myself consider that
fight over, Comrade Myers - the little pup would do well to do the same.

[Gordon speaks up again.]

GM:  But what about Kentucky's Pride?  Surely you-

[Velikov interrupts.]

VV:  Comrade Hotshot and Comrade Dufresne have them... how you say...
well in hand, I'm sure.  But if they need help from the true power in
the AWA, they need only ask. 

HSS:  That's right, Gordo!  The Russians have my back just like I've got
theirs.  Marley's not the only one making allies all over the place.  In
fact, after tonight, Marley's going to need all those friends to help
him to the hospital!

[Bucky Wilde cackles wildly at the thought of that just as a collective
groan is heard throughout the WKIK studios as the opening riffs of ZZ
Top's "Sharp Dressed Man" come blaring through the loudspeakers, as they
recognize the entrance music immediately.  The curtain flies open and
from it steps one of AWA's most popular (if popular meant despised)
competitors, "Ladykiller" Calisto Dufresne.  Dufresne is clad in a white
button down shirt with light blue stripes, a pair of designer blue jeans
and a pair of brown flip flop sandals.  Large Dolce and Gabbana
sunglasses cover his eyes and his long blonde hair is pulled back into a
tight pony tail.  There is a small bruise almost completely healed seen
on his cheek, probably the result of a City Jack right hand.  

As the boos rain down, Dufresne approaches the announce desk, shaking
hands with the three wrestlers around the table.  Gordon Myers lifts the
mic up.]

GM:  Calisto, I-

[Dufresne reaches out, snatching the mic away.]

CD: Sit down, Gordo.  Calisto Dufresne only speaks with the very best,
and the very best does not include you.  If anyone's gonna get the
opportunity to speak with the Ladykiller after his resounding victory at
the Battle of Dallas, it's gonna be the Announcer of the Mid-Year, Bucky
Wilde.

[Wilde grins widely, coming around the announce table where Dufresne
hands him the microphone.]

BW: Thanks for the kind words, daddy!

CD: Hey, you deserved it, buddy.  Your fair and balanced coverage of the
AWA deserves recognition and it's clear that the fans here can recognize
talent that they don't posses when it comes around!

[Dufresne takes a bow as the boos continue.]

BW: Well, Calisto, we're all excited to see that you'll be back in
action tonight, and right where I expected you'd be from day one - the
Main Event!

[Gordon leans in.]

GM:  Well, technically, he's not in the Main Event anymor-

[Dufresne nudges Gordon aside.]

CD: Damn right, Bucky.  Damn right.  It's taken much too long, but after
the AWA decided to pay me what I deserved, they realized that you can't
stick the cornerstone of your franchise in six-man tag team matches with
men who have less talent in their whole bodies than I do in my pinky
finger.  The fans clamored for Calisto Dufresne to be in the main event
and they got their wish!

[If he took a long walk off of a short pier they'd get their wish.]

BW: What are your thoughts on your opponent tonight, daddy?

[A puzzled expression comes across Dufresne's face.]

CD: Who _is_ my opponent tonight?

[Gordon leans in again.]

GM:  You know very well that you're taking on Rick Marley!

[Dufresne lets out a surprised laugh as the crowd cheers at the name of
one of their favorites.]

CD: It really must be my birthday, Bucky!  Rick Marley has no idea what
ethics, honor and fair play is about.

[Even Bucky can't help but flash an incredulous look at Dufresne.]

CD: It's true, Bucky.  Rick Marley knew exactly what was happening at
Memorial Day Mayhem when he _recruited_ me to help him with City Jack! 
He asked me for my brilliant advice and when he realized he couldn't
beat that fat, out of shape, pig by himself, he asked me to step in. 
All so he could pursue his selfish goal of winning the National
Championship.  A goal at which, without the help of the Ladykiller, he
failed miserably.

[The fans boo at this nonsense.]

CD: The truth hurts, folks.  And so does my right hand.  

And in just a little while, Rick Marley will get a healthy dose of both.

[A nod.  A wink.  A smile.  "Sharp Dressed Man" kicks in once again as
Dufresne gives Bucky a pat on the back and walks off alongside the
Russians and Stevie Scott.]

BW:  The words of a true AWA superstar, Calisto Dufresne.  Hold yer
horses and don't get all jumpy, peoples - we're goin' right back up to
the ring!

["Knocking At Your Back Door" by Deep Purple kicks in over the PA
system. Soon, the duo of Rough N Ready, along with their manager, Sarah
Sharpe, come out from the back and make their way out to the ring.]

GM:  Now that Mr. Dufresne has left the building, I think I'll resume my
duties if that's okay with you.  And now we are joined by Dave Cooper
and Eric Matthew Somers, the team of Rough N Ready... we will be seeing
them in tag team action momentarily.

BW:  Dave may be up in their years, but I gotta give him credit... he
really held his own against some of the best in AWA in that top
contenders battle royale in Dallas.

GM: Well, Dave has said himself that he would rather be focusing on the
tag team ranks, but his showing in Dallas proved he can handle himself
just as well in the singles ranks.

BW: If I were him, I'd be dumping that nutcase he calls a partner...
he'd be better off without him, for sure.

[Rough N Ready now make their way over to the announce position. Somers
approaches Bucky and extends his hand as Bucky now takes a step back.]

BW: [to Somers] Hold on... don't you go standing next to me.

EMS: Now, Bucky, why should be getting so upset... I just wanted to
congratulate the award-winning broadcaster, Bucky Wilde... even if rumor
has it he just got the sympathy vote.

BW: Sympathy vote? You take that back!

[Gordon just chuckles.]

EMS: [grinning] Hey, I said it's just a rumor. You never know what to
believe these days, do ya, Bucky? [Turning to the camera] Like the fact
my buddy Dave here could have walked out with a shot at the top title in
this place... just think about what might have happened if he got his
hands on Marcus Broussard.

DC: Well, Eric, it's good to know that my partner believes I have what
it takes to beat Broussard for that title... but you know as well as I
do that what we are here for is to claim the top spot in the tag team
ranks of the AWA. As far as I'm concerned, I don't care whether they put
us up against Kentucky's Pride, the Russians or anybody else... Rough N
Ready is not going to be denied the ultimate goal of being the best tag
team this place has to offer.

GM: Well, gentlemen, you have made it clear that the two of you will
take on anybody at any time.

DC: Gordon, when we said it, we meant it... and whoever it is that
chooses to answer our challenges, you can bet our manager will get that
match signed, because it's the only way we get to prove who is the best
tag team in the AWA.

SS: And Gordon and Bucky, the two men who I represent certainly
understand the folks running this company want to take things one step
at a time, but that being said, these two men are getting a bit
impatient. Because it's one thing to come out and say that you plan to
be the best tag team AWA has to offer, but in order to prove that, there
needs to be that championship gold to aim for... the very thing that
proves who is, in fact, the best AWA has to offer.

GM: Well, the Championship Committee, last I heard, is still discussing
exactly how and when to determine such champions.

SS: And it's good to know that the Committee is taking a serious look at
it... because Rough N Ready is certainly serious about proving who is
the best, and I'm certainly serious about making sure these two men are
made a part of whatever means are done to determine those champions...
because they will settle for no less than being the champions. Now, if
you'll excuse us, we've got a match to wrestle.

[With that, Rough N Ready make their way to the ring, where Melissa
Cannon is waiting to make the introductions.]

MC: Ladies and gentlemen, the following tag team contest is set for one
fall... introducing first, to my left, both hailing from Minneapolis,
Minnesota, at a combined weight of 490 pounds, the team of Albert
Anderson and Jason Jones!

[Two men, one with blonde hair and the other with black hair, both
wearing white trunks and wrestling boots, raise their arms in the air
upon being introduced.]

MC: And to my right, managed by Sarah Sharpe, at a combined weight of
615 pounds and hailing from Albuquerque, New Mexico, here are Dave
Cooper and Eric Matthew Somers, collectively known as Rough N Ready!

[Somers grins again as he raises a fist, while Cooper just nods. He then
steps onto the apron as Somers moves forward.]

GM: And it looks like the big man of this duo will start things off.

BW: This guy is crazy in the head... the nerve of him to call my award
the result of a sympathy vote.

GM: He said it was just a rumor, Bucky.

BW: A rumor that should be put to rest... it was _not_ a sympathy vote.

[Gordon chuckles again.]

BW: Stop laughing!

GM: My apologies to our award-winning broadcaster.... and meanwhile,
Somers is offering a test of strength to Anderson, who doesn't seem to
be willing to oblige.

[Somers has his right hand up in the air as Anderson objects.]

BW: That's smart thinking, Gordon... Somers may be a loon, but Anderson
knows Somers is that much stronger than him.

GM: Anderson arguing with Somers, who just waits there for his opponent
to make a move.

[And that Anderson does... going for a kick to the midsection, only for
Eric to suddenly lower his hand, catching Anderson's leg and now leaving
his opponent flailing away.]

GM: And just like that, Somers was ready for Anderson... he immediately
spins Anderson around and lifts him up.. atomic drop by Eric Matthew
Somers!

[Anderson staggers in pain after the impact to the spine as now Eric
grabs Anderson and spins him around so he faces toward him.]

GM: Somers pulling back the arm of Anderson... there's that devastating
heart punch!

BW: Illegal! How can the referee allow that to stand?

GM: Some have debated whether or not the heart punch should be allowed,
but Marty Meekly is allowing it here... Somers now dragging Anderson off
the mat and sends him into the ropes... overhead press!

[Somers holds Anderson up above his head for about 15 seconds before
casually tossing him to the canvas.]

GM: And there you see the incredible strength displayed by the big man
of Rough N Ready... now Somers dragging Anderson up and the tag is made
to Dave Cooper.

BW: Cooper in the ring as Somers holds him back... palm strike right to
the chest! Come on, Marty, get that lunatic out of there!

GM: Marty Meekly warning Somers to leave, and Somers just pats the
referee on the back.

BW: If I were the referee, I would have disqualified him right there!

GM: He meant no harm to the referee, Bucky.

BW: The man is nuts! I've got the papers to prove it, too!

GM: Bucky, that's enough. Cooper with Anderson and applies an abdominal
stretch in the center of the ring. A simple yet painful submission hold
applied by the veteran Cooper.

[As Marty Meekly goes to check for the submission, Jones suddenly rushes
the ring and nails Cooper from behind. Cooper is momentarily stunned as
Jones now tries to take advantage.]

GM: Jason Jones entering the ring illegally and now going to work on
Cooper... the referee trying to get some semblance of control.

BW: It's a Meekly, Gordon... they can't even control traffic.

GM: Cooper sent into the ropes... no, a reversal by Cooper, and he
catches Jones with a back body drop! And Jones decides he's had enough!

[As Jones rolls out of the ring, Anderson tries to take advantage with a
punch, but Cooper blocks it and then fires off one of his own.]

GM: The veteran Dave Cooper with a headbutt to Anderson... he now sends
Anderson for the ride... into the ropes and catches his foe with a
spinebuster slam!

BW: And Anderson is rolling away quickly... he wants out!

[Anderson gets to his corner as Jones reluctantly tags in.]

GM: Jones a little hesitant to get in that ring... no doubt Dave
remembers him breaking up that submission hold earlier.

BW: And then Jones couldn't capitalize on it... big mistake. If you're
going to try to help your partner, you better make sure you actually do
that.

GM: Cooper approaching Jones, but it's Jones with a finger to the eye.
Now he takes Cooper to the corner and tries to ram him into the
buckle... but Cooper blocks it!

[Dave then immediately sends Jones' head into the buckle, causing his
opponent to stagger backward. As Jones stumbles, Cooper immediately
floors him with a lariat.]

GM: Jason Jones unable to maintain the advantage, and now Cooper brings
Jones up... sends him into the neutral conrer and tags in Somers.

BW: Oh no, not the nutcase again.

GM: Somes going to the opposite corner as Cooper takes him by the arm...
Irish whip and an avalance finds the mark on Jason Jones!

[Somers steps back and pulls the weary Jones forward, casually shoving
him to the canvas.]

GM: And Jones at the mercy of Somers, who drags him off the mat... nice
gutwrench suplex executed by Eric Matthew Somers.

BW: And here comes Albert Anderson to the rescue... or so he believes.

GM: Anderson stomping away on Somers as he is still down on the
canvas... but Dave Cooper enters the ring and Anderson is on the
receiving end of a big lariat!

[Anderson rolls out under the bottom rope to the floor as Somers gets
back to his feet, grabbing Jones by the throat as Jones has gotten to
his feet.]

GM: Somers with that big hand around Jones' throat... now Cooper gets
back to the apron and slaps hands with Somers!

BW: It's Roughhousing time, Gordon!

GM: Cooper to the second rope...Somers pulling Jones forward and into
the slam... the kneedrop by Cooper! Roughhousing it is!

BW: And there's your cover... one... two... three!

GM: Another impressive victory for Rough N Ready!

[Sarah Sharpe applauds her charges and climbs onto the apron, ducking
between the ropes as Cooper and Somers raise their arms in victory.]

MC: The winners of this match, in four minutes and 37 seconds... Rough N
Ready!

[As Sarah Sharpe stands between her charges, the trio is suddenly
blindsided by a pair of charging thugs in street clothes.  Miss Sharpe
is sent forward into the ropes, and as she scurries to safety the two
unknown entities jump EMS and Cooper, one chop blocking Somers' knee and
the other raining blows down on Cooper, until they're down on the mat
and unable to protect themselves from the flurry of shots.]

GM: What in the world is going on here?  Rough N' Ready just won their
match and all of a sudden these two... whoever they are... They're just
laying waste to Somers and Cooper!

[The first of the two men, the one with shoulder length brown hair,
grabs Cooper and begins to deliver repeated knee strikes into Cooper's
face.  As Sharpe begins to scream for security, Somers tries to make a
comeback and tackles the second attacker around the legs.  He gets in a
few shots to the head before a cheap poke to the eye allows him to gain
the advantage and latches onto EMS with a cross armbreaker.]

GM: Fans, it's broken loose here and until we get some security out here
to resolve matters, I'm afraid this isn't going to- what the hell is
he-?!
 
[Gordon's outburst is directed at what's just taken place in the ring. 
A third man has climbed out of the stands, but this one is decidedly not
a wrestler.  This skinny, older gentleman slides a pool cue into the
ring to one of the two mystery attackers.  He quickly grabs it and
blasts Somers between the eyes with it, knocking him flat and snapping
the cue down the middle.]

GM:  Ohhh!  What a shot with that pool cue, breaking it in half over the
skull of Eric Somers!

[Dave Cooper staggers back to his feet just in time to get belted in the
stomach with half of the broken pool cue, and then the two would-be
assaulters lift him up and hit a tandem brainbuster suplex on the
canvas.]

GM:  Goodness!  Double brainbuster!  What a brutal assault on both
members of Rough N Ready!

[The two wrestlers drag Cooper and Somers into the middle of the ring
and lay them out next to one another, as the male on the outside stalks
Sarah Sharpe for a few moments, licking his lips.]

GM: Fans, I apologize for my language a few moments ago but Rough N' 
Ready have been laid out in the middle of the ring, all at the hands of
these three men who came out of the crowd and-

BW: Uh oh, they're headed this way.  I'm done.

[And indeed the three men are headed to the interview desk.  The one
wearing the cheap suit grabs the microphone left by the departed Bucky
Wilde, and addresses Gordon.]

GM: Who do you people think you are?!?

Man in Suit: Glad you asked, Myers.  You don't know who I am, but you
soon will.  More importantly, you don't know who these gentlemen beside
me are, but soon enough, you will.  Let's get some introductions out of
the way first.  My name is Robert Hoffstedder Junior, but you can all
just call me Hoff.  You'll all soon be able to call me the man who
unleashed the newest force upon the AWA, the two men standing right
beside me.

[As Hoff puts a hand on the shoulder of the blonde man, the brunette
flexes for the camera.  In the ring, medics attend to both Eric Somers
and Dave Cooper as a distraught Sharpe looks on.]

"Nasty" Nick Hunter.  "Marvelous" Michael Taylor.  The Glamour Boys.  
Learn these names and take this lesson well, AWA.

GM: But why did you attack Rough N' Ready from behind?

Hoff: Why don't you go do your investigative job and ask them, Myers?  
Cooper knows very well why they were our first targets.  I'm sure
there's enough room in the ambulance to ride to the hospital with them.

[Turns to Taylor and Hunter.]

Hoff:  Let's go gentlemen, I think we've made our first impression a
lasting one.

[And just like that, Hoff drops the microphone on the desk, and leads
the Glamour Boys away through the crowd.  The camera cuts back to the
ring where the AWA medical staff is working on both members of Rough N
Ready before fading to black...

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

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

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

Rick Marley and Kentucky's Pride
North Dallas Spectrum - Dallas, TX
July 25

Paul Driscoll and Rough N Ready
West Dallas Galleria - Dallas, TX
July 27

Sweet Daddy Williams and Mark Shaw
Dallas Ford - Dallas, TX
July 29

Werewolf Gregorson, Despair, and Ricky Royal
Harris Chevrolet - Dallas, TX
July 31

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 AWA Saturday Night Wrestling announce desk
where Gordon Myers and Bucky Wilde are standing.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans, to the WKIK Studios here in Dallas where we
just saw... well, I guess I don't quite understand exactly what we just
saw.  All we know is that Rough N Ready was brutally assaulted by a tag
team calling themselves the Glamour Boys along with their manager.  They
used a pool cue on both members of Rough N Ready who had to be helped
from the ring by AWA medical staff.  We do not know the condition of
either man but we will update you as soon as we find out.

BW:  What in the world is goin' on here tonight, Gordo?

GM:  It certainly is one of the craziest AWA Saturday Night Wrestlings
so far, isn't it?  It's like a war zone out here during every match.  I
don't know what to think.  And now we're just moments away from what is
now our Hour One Main Event between Calisto Dufresne and Rick Marley.

BW:  The Main Event!

GM:  According to Calisto Dufresne, you are correct, Bucky.  But
according to the Championship Committee, our Main Event will be the
National Title defense pitting Marcus Broussard, the champion, against
his most dangerous challenger, Ron Houston.

BW:  Well, that'll be good too.

GM:  But as we said, it's about time for our Hour One Main Event and...

[A loud squeal from the female fans in the audience is heard.]

GM:  At this time, we are being joined here at the announce position by
"Showtime" Rick Marley.  

[Marley steps into the camera shot, putting an arm on the shoulder of
Gordon Myers.]

GM:  Rick, you've been in the middle of quite a bit of bad blood from
the likes of Adrian Freeman, Callisto Dufrense, Stevie Scott...even The
Russians.  What do you attribute this to?

[Marley shrugs at Gordon's question before answering.]

RM: My winning personality?  I'm not sure, Gordo...for some reason some
guys see my face and just seem to want to cave it in...and you forgot
our esteemed champion Marcus Broussard in there too.  But all of those
guys have something in common.  Each and every one of them: from Scott,
to Dufrense, to Broussard to Freeman...all of 'em took their best shot
at taking away my career, and each and every one of them came up short.

I'm still here.  I'm still flying.  And now I'm looking for some
payback.  I already got a small piece of Dufrense during our tag
match... and now we're gonna step into that ring and go one on one, and
I'll SHOW him why you don't try to pull the types of stunts he's been
after.

He wants to play Karate Kid and sweep the leg on City Jack. 

Fine.

We'll see how he likes it when the brace is on the other knee.  I'm
finished playing around with guys like you, Dufrense.  

No more jokes.

No more games.

That karmic debt you've been building up is coming due, and I'm here to
take the deposit on the butt kicking that City Jack will finish off...
after you handed me some friendly advice on going after CJ's knee, I'm
gonna provide him with the same...make things nice and even.

GM: Aren't you giving away your entire game plan, Mr. Marley?

RM: Yup.  This isn't a case of gamesmanship, Gordo.  This isn't a case
of my trying to get inside of Dufrense's head.  This is me calling him
out and saying 'Just try to stop me'.

GM: And what are your plans for the other men you mentioned...what
happens if they involve themselves in your match?

[Marley smiles for the first time.]

RM: Oh, I'm betting on 'em, Gordo...I'm betting on 'em.

[With a nod of his head, Marley heads down towards the ring.]

GM:  Take it away, Melissa!

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

MC:  The following contest is our Hour One Main Event!

[The crowd roars.]

MC:  Introducing first... already in the ring at this time... standing
5'10" and weighing in at 215 pounds... fighting out of Miami, Florida...
he is the man known as "Showtime"...

RIIIIICK MARRRRRLEY!!!

[Marley jumps up on the midbuckle, soaking up the cheers from the WKIK
Studio audience.]

MC:  And his opponent...

[The opening riffs of ZZ Top's "Sharp Dressed Man" begin to blare across
the sound system, the crowd responding to the music with a chorus of
boos.  The camera cuts to the entranceway, where the curtains part to
reveal one of the AWA's most despised (and annoying) characters,
"Ladykiller" Calisto Dufresne.  

Surprisingly, Dufresne is already dressed to wrestle, skipping the usual
three piece suit.]

MC:  Standing 6'3 and weighing in at 245 pounds... from Avery Island,
Louisiana... 

He is the Ladykiller...

CAAAAALIIIIISTO DUUUUFRESNE!

[The jeers grow louder as Dufresne approaches the ringside area,
taunting some of the fans in the bleachers.]

GM:  Maybe we're seeing a different side of the Ladykiller, Bucky.  No
suit, no preening - all business.

BW:  He does seem a lot more focused than usual, Gordo.  I think he
realizes what a win over Rick Marley will do for his career here in the
AWA.  After all, Dufresne's #9 in the Top Ten - Marley's #4.  A win here
for the Ladykiller catapults him into the Top Five, in my opinion.

GM:  You could be right.  The Championship Committee will make that
decision ultimately though.

[The Ladykiller stands out on the floor, screaming at a couple angry
ringside fans as Rick Marley stands inside the ring, waiting for his
opponent.

After a few more words, Dufresne climbs the steps, standing on the ring
apron glaring at his opponent.]

GM:  Dufresne sure doesn't seem to be in any hurry to get in there,
Bucky.

BW:  He's a calculating competitor, Gordo.  Don't rush him.

[With the referee insisting he get inside the ring, Dufresne shakes his
head, staying on the apron...

...which brings an irate Rick Marley charging across the ring, grabbing
Dufresne by the hair, trying to pull him into the ring.]

GM:  He's got him!  He's got Dufresne!

BW:  Not fair!  That's not fair, Gordo!

[The crowd roars as Marley yanks the hair of Dufresne, trying to pull
him over the ropes but the Ladykiller resists, clinging to the ropes,
fighting the effort.]

GM:  Marley trying to pull him in!  Dufresne trying to- oh, come on!

[The cheers turn to boos as "Subzero" Adrian Freeman comes sprinting
from the locker room area, diving headfirst under the bottom rope...

...and driving a running forearm to the back of Marley's neck, breaking
his grip on Marley!]

GM:  This is a setup, Bucky!  This was all a setup!

[Freeman quickly yanks Marley away from the corner by the hair, hooking
a half nelson.]

GM:  Uh oh.  

[The Australian hoists Marley into the air, dropping down to a knee and
bringing "Showtime" down across the bent knee!]

GM:  OHHHH!  Half nelson backbreaker by Freeman!

[And finally, Calisto Dufresne steps into the ring, exchanging a high
five with Freeman as the duo starts stomping the downed Marley in unison
to the jeers of the crowd.]

GM:  This is awful!  Somebody needs to put a stop to this!

BW:  I love it!  I hope my DVR is working at home because this is one of
the greatest moments in AWA history, daddy!

[Freeman and Dufresne stomp Marley a few more times before pulling him
off the canvas, shoving him back into the corner.]

GM:  A two-on-one attack... kicks to the body in the buckles...

[With a quick word between the two, Freeman and Dufresne opt to trade
off, driving big chops into the upper body of the man known as
"Showtime."]

GM:  Double whip from the corner...

[Dufresne grabs Freeman by the arm, firing him across the ring...

...and blasting Marley in the buckles with a running lariat!]

GM:  Ohhh!  A big running clothesline in the corner... and that's got
Marley in even more trouble than he was in before.  "Subzero" and the
"Ladykiller" are doing a big number on-

[The crowd ERUPTS!]

GM:  HERE COMES THE CAVALRY!  CITY JACK!  TIN CAN RUST!

[The two members of Kentucky's Pride hit the ring as quickly as they
can, sliding under the ropes...

...right into an attack from Dufresne and Freeman who are waiting for
them, throwing big haymakers.]

GM:  Rick Marley just got a reprieve but Kentucky's Pride is under
assault now.  Dufresne with a right hand on City Jack... and another...
and anoth-

[The cheers grow louder as City Jack blocks the right hand and throws a
snapping jab of his own, causing Dufresne to stumble backwards.  A
running clothesline from Tin Can Rust knocks Freeman off his feet.]

GM:  Kentucky's Pride is taking them down!  Kentucky's Pride is taking-

[The cheers turn to boos as the curtain parts once more...]

GM:  Oh no.

BW:  Here comes the _true_ cavalry, daddy!

[Stevie Scott, Vladimir Velikov, and Kolya Sudakov sprint into view,
diving headfirst into the ring and immediately overwhelming City Jack,
Tin Can Rust, and Rick Marley.]

GM:  Can we get some security out here?

[The Russians are all over Tin Can Rust, beating him down in the corner
as Dufresne and Stevie work over City Jack.  That leaves Adrian Freeman
throwing big stomps into the chest and throat of a downed Rick Marley in
the corner.]

GM:  We need some help out here in a hurry!  We've got a five on three
situation.  These eight men have been at each others' throats for months
and it's spilling over out here!  

BW:  It's chaos!  It's anarchy!  It's war!

[The crowd roars once more as Werewolf Gregorson comes tearing out of
the locker room...

...with a steel chair in hand, diving under the ropes into the ring.]

GM:  GREGORSON'S GOT A CHAIR!!

[And let the bodies hit the floor as the rulebreakers pour out of the
ring, diving through the ropes out to safety as Gregorson swings the
chair wildly, looking to connect with anyone or anything in sight.]

GM:  WEREWOLF GREGORSON MAKES THE SAVE!  

[After a bit, the other fan favorites regain their feet, standing their
ground as Freeman, Dufresne, Scott, and the Russians beat a retreat from
the ring, each group trading threats with one another from their
positions.]

GM:  Fans, war has broken out here in the WKIK Studios!  We need to get
some control in here - we'll be right back after the break!

[Fade out on the big showdown...

...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 graphic changes to show a list of cities, venues, and dates.]

"On July 25th, we'll be in Corpus Christi, Texas at the American Bank
Center for live AWA action!  On July 26th, we'll be in the Great Plains
Coliseum in Lawton, Oklahoma.  And don't miss us on July 27th at the
Muskogee Civic Center in Muskogee, Oklahoma!"

[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 to the announce team.]

GM:  Hello, fans, and welcome to the Power Hour, the second of our two
hours here with you tonight on AWA Saturday Night Wrestling.  As you can
see, we managed to regain some control during the commercial break - and
we can inform you now that the Championship Committee is hard at work
reviewing what has happened here tonight.  

BW:  I'd hope so.  I still can't believe Gregorson threatened to punch
me!

GM:  We are being told that before we go off the air here tonight, the
Championship Committee will be making an official announcement regarding
tonight's show as well as the Labor Day supershow coming up.  We'll
bring that to you as soon as they're ready - but for now, at this time,
please welcome "Pistol" Paul Driscoll!

["Black" by Sevendust plays throughout the WKIK Studios and the audience
gives a good reaction to their fellow Texan. Paul Driscoll comes on
screen in his wrestling gear of blue tights, boots and kneepads, and a
sleeveless denim vest. Driscoll raises a hand to acknowledge the
audience and then runs that hand through his short brown hair, as he
stands to the right of Gordon Myers in front of the AWA background.]

GM: In just a few minutes you will be wrestling Mark Shaw in a
long-awaited rematch. Anything you'd like to say before this match
happens?

PD: I wanna tell ya that I b'lieve in doin' things the right way. I
uphol' the traditions o' this fine sport the way my Dad did, and the way
his Dad did 'fore him. I know my place, I know how to do business, an'
the way things work.

But I gotta tell ya, fans, 'at ol' Mark Shaw makes me wonder. I bus' my
butt, same as he does. I drag myself out here when I don't feel like it,
an' even when I do, same as him. I give the fans they money's worth.
Jus' like Mark Shaw. In fact, he an' I have already gone toe to toe, and
heck if it wasn't one o' the best _fights_ at' the AWA's ever seen.

But here's the difference, Gordy. Mark Shaw been gettin' every
opportunity in the dang worl' to make hisself famous. Title shots, high
profile main event matches, every dang chance to make hisself a
somebody.

What about me? What about ol' Pistol Paul?

[Driscoll shrugs.]

PD: I ain't sayin' I's jealous o' all his success, I'm just sayin' that
I want my piece o' the pie too. Ain't too long ago 'at I was the top dog
aroun' these parts, an' once you get that fix you gotta have it over'n
over again. Now me an' ol' Mark tore the house down, an' we're gon' do
it again tonight.

But this time, Gordon Myers, I want you an' everyone watchin' to realize
that I'm fightin' with a purpose. Las' time me an' he threw down, it was
jus' to get yer knuckles dirty an' get the blood flowin'.

[At this, Paul looks right at the camera.]

PD: This time it's about cash. _This_ time, it's about makin' yer way up
'at totem pole.

I seen ya get that title shot a few weeks ago, I seen ya give the champ
all he could handle, after I did all the heavy liftin' in the battle
royale. Well played, friend, well played. Way I see it, you dang near
should be champ an' we should be clashin' fer that National title
tonight.

But I tell you what Ace, you found out the hard way 'at them Sharks is
slippery. Ya cain't jus' walk in there with a fancy suplex an' a
Japanese name for it. Ya gotta have a plan, an' ya gotta think ahead. I
ain't sure you do that at this point in yer career, but you can bet the
farm 'at _this_ hard charger knows all about plannin' ahead.

I learnt from our last dance, an' this time I'll know what to look for,
an' when the time is right you might find yerself eatin' yer teeth after
I knock 'em out with a discus punch.

[Driscoll raises his right hand, intensity now the name of the game and
the fans cheer in response.]

PD: Then I'm gonna pin ya, one two three, clean as it gets, an' then
while you wonder whether yer a black hat or a white hat, I'll be
collectin' 'em fat checks they been sendin' to you on accident. It's
about business tonight, Ace, an' that's what makes it personal. I want
yer spot on the Top Ten, an' I'm gonna take it the only way I know how.

[Paul raises one fist again, calmer now.]

PD: The Pistol, boy, ha ha... he's comin' for ya.

[And with that, Driscoll walks off the set leaving Bucky and Gordon
behind.]

GM:  You heard 'im, fans.  Let's go up to Melissa for the next match!

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

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit.  Introducing first... already in the ring at this time...
standing 5'11 and weighing in at 202 pounds... Cody Callis!

[A few cheers for the spunky-looking redhead.]

MC:  And his opponent... standing 6'8 and weighing in at 285 pounds...
from Berlin, Germany... he is accompanied to the ring by the "Agent To
The Stars" Ben Waterson...

HE IS THE BUTCHER...

BRUUUUUUUNOOOO VERRRRHOEVEN!!!

[As the haunting tunes of John Carpenter's "Halloween Theme" start to
creep over the PA, the curtain flies open and the man known as the
"Agent To The Stars" strides into view, chatting away into a Bluetooth
earpiece as he soaks up the jeers from the crowd.]

GM:  Ben Waterson, the man who paved the way for the enormous Butcher to
come to the AWA, is leading his charge to the ring.

[Following closely behind, the huge shape of Bruno Verhoeven steps into
the aisle. For a moment, the young German's eyes wander around the
arena, disgust obvious on his face as his cheeks turn a bright shade of
red. He then marches toward the ring, not acknowledging the crowd at all
anymore. His movements are tense, almost rigid, and his jaw is working
all the time. Bruno slowly climbs the ring steps, pushes down the top
rope and climbs over it into the ring.]

GM:  Look at the size of this monster, Bucky.  Unbelievable.

[Verhoeven takes a moment to glare at the referee before he moves into
the center of the ring and raise a gloved fist above his head. The
salute lasts only a few seconds before he lumbers back into his corner.]

BW:  I would not want to be Cody Callis right now.  Not one bit.

GM:  Can't say that I blame you there.

[The referee calls for the bell which brings Verhoeven marching out of
the corner immediately.]

GM:  There's the bell... and apparently, we're now being joined by Ben
Waterson on commentary.  Mr. Waterson, this is some find that you've
brought to the AWA.

ATTSBW:  Absolutely, baby!  Bruno Verhoeven, the Son of the Butcher, is
the most dangerous man to come to American pro wrestling in ages!  You
can keep your Ron Houstons, Mark Shaws, and all the others.  This man is
the true toughest man in the AWA.

[In the center of the ring, Verhoeven slowly lifts his massive paw into
the air.]

GM:  Your man is calling for a test of strength here.

ATTSBW:  Absolutely, he is.  Bruno and I have discussed it and until
someone manages to beat him in the test of strength, he's going to start
each and every match like this to show the world his brute power, Gordon
Myers.  

GM:  You have to be pleased with how he performed on the recent tour.

ATTSBW:  He's still undefeated, isn't he?  Of course I'm pleased!

[A nervous Cody Callis slowly lifts a hand into the air, locking fingers
with the big man from Berlin and then lifting his other hand to repeat
the process.]

GM:  Here we go with the knucklelock and-

[With a mighty bellow and flick of his wrists, Bruno pushes Cody Callis
down to his knees with relative ease, glaring down at his helpless foe.]

GM:  Just like that, Bruno Verhoeven wins the test of strength.

ATTSBW:  How can you be surprised at that, Gordon Myers?

GM:  I didn't say I was.  Only a fool would be surprised at that result.

BW:  Can't blame Ben for thinking you were surprised then, can you?

ATTSBW:  Hah hah!  Good one, Bucky!  You looking for new representation,
Bucky?  There's always room for award winners at Waterson International.

BW:  I might take you up on that.

[Inside the ring, Verhoeven breaks the knucklelock, driving a boot
squarely into the chest of Callis, knocking him flat on the mat.]

GM:  Ohh!  Right to the heart!  This guy is a monster in every sense of
the word, Mr. Waterson.

ATTSBW:  You got that right, Gordo.  You wouldn't want to run into The
Butcher in a dark alley.  He's the guy your parents warned you about -
and the one you always told your parents only came out at night.   He's
the horror movie beast come to life.  You keep your Freddy and Jason and
Michael Myers - those fools got nothin' on the Butcher, baby!

[Bruno reaches down with one of those big hands, yanking Callis off the
canvas by the throat.]

GM:  That's a blatant choke there.  I can't say I approve of that.  The
referee is reprimanding him for the illegal move but he seems totally
oblivious to that.

ATTSBW:  He is, Gordo.  He's only trained to respond to my voice.  If I
told him to go in there and rip this kid's spine out, he'd do exactly
that.  He's a trained animal of the most savage kind!

[Verhoeven grabs his victim around the throat with his other hand,
hoisting him up into a double choke...

...and then hurling him spinefirst into the nearest set of turnbuckles!]

GM:  Ohhhh!  What power!

ATTSBW:  That's right, baby!  Everyone wants to talk about Mark Shaw
being the strongest man in the AWA but the Hellion's got nothing on my
man.

BW:  They'd make one heck of a tag team though, wouldn't they?

ATTSBW:  I like your style, Bucky.  Mr. Shaw, give me a call, willya?

[Bruno moves in towards the buckles where Callis' arms are draped over
the ropes to stay on his feet...

...and lunges into action, balling up those massive fists in a barrage
of punches.]

GM:  Goodness!  He's not a human punching bag!  Get your man off of him,
Mr. Waterson!

[After some brutal blows to the body of the young opponent, Bruno backs
away, sneering at the official who is reprimanding him.  He keeps on
backing up, slowly moving to the opposite corner.]

GM:  Your man is taking his time in there.

ATTSBW:  He's measuring him, baby.  He's very methodical.

GM:  All the way across the ring... his eyes locked on Callis...

[The big man from Berlin stampedes across the ring, racing towards his
prone opponent...

...who somehow manages to hurl his body out of the corner at the last
minute, causing Bruno to slam chestfirst into the turnbuckles.]

GM:  Ohhh!  Cody Callis got out of the way!  I think Bruno took a little
too long there, Mr. Waterson.  Perhaps a rookie mistake right there by
your man.

ATTSBW:  Ain't no thang, Gordo.  He'll recover.

[Callis tries to seize the moment, firing rights into the ribcage of
Verhoeven from behind in the corner.]

GM:  And this is Cody Callis' chance!  This is his moment to shine!

[Spinning the big man around in the corner, Callis leaps to the second
rope, holding up a clenched fist to the cheers of the WKIK Studio
audience...

...and starts throwing it down at the head of the Butcher.]


"ONE!"
"TWO!"
"THREE!"
"FOUR!"
"FIVE!"
"SI-

[But before the sixth blow can land, Bruno Verhoeven adjusts his
position, gripping Callis around the thighs...

...and DRIVING him down to the canvas with a thunderous powerbomb!]

GM:  Ohhhh my!

ATTSBW:  Now that's what I call a counter, baby!

[Lumbering out of the corner, Verhoeven drops down in a lateral press.]

GM:  Cover!  One!  

ATTSBW:  NO!  NO!  PULL HIM UP!

[From inside the ring, Verhoeven hears his agent's cries and pushes off
the opponent, tugging him off the mat by the hair.]

GM:  Oh, come on, Mr. Waterson.  There's no call for that.

ATTSBW:  Oh no?  I want the whole world to know exactly what they're in
for when they sign on to face this man.  Whether it's Houston or Shaw,
Driscoll or Slater, Rogers or Marley... you're all in store for the
worst night of your life if you get inside the ring with Bruno
Verhoeven.

[Back on his feet with a hand wrapped around the throat of Callis, Bruno
hoists him into the air...]

ATTSBW:  I believe that's my cue.  Good evening, gentlemen.

[...and brings him crashing down across a bent knee in one of the most
infamous and dreaded finishing moves in all of professional wrestling.]

GM:  SLAUGHTERSLAM!

BW:  It's over, daddy!

GM:  I believe you're right.  One.  Two.  And there's the three.


"DING!  DING!  DING!"

MC: Your winner of the match, as the result of a pi-HEY!

[The crowd boos as Melissa Cannon is interrupted.]

GM: Ladies and gentlemen, it seems as if "Agent to the Stars" Ben
Waterson has some more to say as he has just grabbed Melissa's
microphone and rolled into the ring.

ATTSBW: You are not fit to announce this triumph, Cannon! The honor
belongs to me!

[Bruno Verhoeven stands in the middle of the ring over the crumpled body
of his opponent. Waterson quickly moves besides him, grabbing the wrist
of the "new Butcher" with a triumphant expression on his face.]

ATTSBW: This man right here - the most exciting newcomer to AWA - has
proven his undisputed superiority once again.

[He raises the arm of his charge who stares down blankly at his agent.]

ATTSBW: I want each and every wrestler in the back to get a good look at
Bruno Verhoeven, look at him!  FEAR HIM!  I told you all... Houston,
Shaw, Marley, Slater... all of you... 

Consider... yourselves... warned!

[The crowd boos Waterson's words as he continues to gloat.]

ATTSBW:  With this man by my side, I will _rule_ the AWA! There is no
one to stand in my way now! He will be my right hand, my tool for
conquering the world of wrestling! The Championship Committee better
call me in the next few days to draw up the plans for a title shot
before I send Bruno here their way and -

GM: NO!

[With no warning and with tremendous speed belying his size, Bruno
Verhoeven has whirled around and thrown a tremendous clothesline at Ben
Waterson's head. Waterson falls to the mat as if shot.]

BW: What the ... Verhoeven has assaulted his agent!  Waterson is out
cold!  What's going on here?

[The crowd is as confused by the actions of the rookie monster as Wilde
and Myers are. Bruno, though, does not hesitate a moment as he leans
down to grab Waterson's throat and pull the unconscious man back up to
his feet ... then further up ...]

GM: Slaughterslam!

BW: I have no idea what is going on!

[Bruno looks around in the ring for a moment before he finds the mic
Waterson has dropped before. Then he speaks, a deep voice with a thick
German accent, while staring down at his agent who now rolls around on
the mat in pain.]

BV: Du call me ... a tool? Du zink I am your slave, ja? I come here to
continue ze crusade of my Vater, ze great Otto Verhoeven! I come here to
bring ze Americans down, to confront zem with ze reality of zeir
weakness!

Not your tool, Herr Waterson! Not your right hand! Du were simply means
to get me here.

[The audience has started to boo the German who looks at the people now,
his cheeks flushed a bright red.]

BV: Now, zat I have arrived, zere is no more need for Herr Waterson.
Zere is only Bruno Verhoeven. The New Butcher! And every one of your
beloved American fighters in the back vill have to answer face their
vorst terror once ze next vords vill regain their meaning!

[He climbs to the second rope of a turnbuckle and raises his right fist
high above his head.]

BV: WELCOME ... TO THE SLAUGHTERHOUSE!

["Halloween" kicks in at this moment! Verhoeven remains in his pose as
we cut back to the ringside desk.]

GM: Young Bruno Verhoeven here with a statement that changes everything
we assumed about him. In only his second appearance on AWA Saturday
Night Wrestling he has separated from Ben Waterson in a sickening
fashion.

BW: That Slaughterslam looked sick, Gordon Myers. Let's hope that the
"Agent to the Stars" has only lost his prized charge and not suffered
worse here tonight.

GM:  As many people know, Waterson was a former wrestler himself until
injuries forced him out of the sport and into his current role as a
manager... agent... what have you.  Those injuries may have been
reaggravated here tonight.  We're going to need to get some help out
here for Ben Waterson.  Fans, we'll be right back.

[The camera zooms in on Waterson, screaming in pain as his former client
steps over the ropes and out of the ring while we fade to black...

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

"Have you ever dreamed of fame?"

[Cut a little closer.]

"Of glory?"

[A little closer.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Two young students are grappling on the canvas.]

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

You want to wrestle!"

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

...and then fade back up on the announce desk where Gordon Myers stands
behind the interview podium, microphone in hand, looking directly into
the camera.]

GM: Coming up next, fans, is a man who just two weks ago fell a hair
short of his goal of winning the National Title. A title many feel is
rightfully his. That man is, of course, the Hellion, Mark Shaw.

[To the loud cheers of fans, Shaw steps out and moves towards Myers.
Shaw is dressed to wrestle and has his usual steely focus already
chiseled on his face.]

GM: Mr. Shaw, two weeks ago, you spoke of redemption and second chances.
I would suggest that this is your theme tonight. Because tonight, you ll
be facing one Paul Driscoll. It was not long ago that the two of you
fought to a double countout, and tonight will be your long awaited
rematch.

[Shaw takes the microphone.]

MS: You re right Myers. I m not going to come out here and talk about
what happened on the last show. I ain t out here to complain. Everyone
saw what happened, and everyone knows what shoulda happened. And so it
doesn t do me any good to come out here and complain.

Sooner or later Broussard, you ll have to face me again. And sooner or
later, you ll run out of tricks. And sooner or later, I will be
champion.

But right now, I want to turn my attention to you, Paul Driscoll. You
see, you and I... we have unfinished business. Last time we met, well,
it s a fight that people are still talking about. Last time we met, you
and I opened eyes. Last time we met, people have the opportunity to say
 did you see that?  or brag to their friends that they were there.

But there is one thing that we didn t have last time. And that thing is
what every great fight needs. And that is a winner. Last time, there was
no winner. Last time, we didn t settle anything.

But you can bet everything you got, and everything you can get your
hands on, that tonight, things are going to be different Driscoll.

Now, people may be listening to this and think to themselves  but Mark!
You re all business. You re all about being the best. This sounds like
there s something personal involved. This doesn t sound like the Mark
Shaw we all know.  And to that, I only got one thing to say.

There ain t nothing more personal to me than being the best.

Gordon Myers, tell the people who was at the top of the rankings last
week.

GM: As you well know Mr. Shaw, that was you.

MS: That s right, it was me. I was, at last, acknowledged as being
number one. And to stay that way, I ve got to beat Paul Driscoll
tonight.

I ve said it from day one. If I can t be the best, I don t want to be
anything. So tonight, Driscoll, we finish our business.

And tonight Driscoll, I stay number one.

[And with that, Shaw walks off towards the ring.]

GM:  There you have it, fans.  Let's go up to Melissa for what should be
a very exciting encounter!

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

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a thirty
minute time limit.  Introducing first, already in the ring at this
time... fighting out of Los Angeles, California... he stands 6'2 and
weighs in at 270 pounds... he is the Hellion...

MARRRRRK SHAAAAAAW!

[Shaw is settled in the corner, arms crossed over his chest, waiting for
his opposition.  He's in his usual wrestling gear of long black
wrestling pants that vanish into a pair of black boots.]

MC:  And his opponent...

[The instantly recognizable beginning to "Black" by Sevendust blasts out
WKIK Studios as the fans let loose a loud cheer. The curtains are
quickly swept aside and out from the back strides "Pistol" Paul
Driscoll, paying no attention to the fans. Driscoll is clad in dark blue
wrestling trunks, with matching boots and kneepads.  Driscoll also wears
a sleeveless denim vest to the ring.  His short brown hair glistens with
water and sweat as he stalks to the ringside area, and then clangs up
the steps.]

MC: Coming to the ring and hailing from Odessa, Texas.  Weighing in
tonight at 263 pounds...

"PISTOL" PAAAUUULLL DRIIISSCCCOOOOOOOLLLLL!!!

[As he enters the ringside area, Paul quickly hops up the wooden stairs
and enters the ring, whipping off the denim vest and throwing it
outside, then ascending the nearest turnbuckle, raising one hand into
the air and surveying the crowd.]

GM: Last time these two met in the ring, we ended in a stalemate, Bucky.
I can assure you that neither that man right there, nor "The Hellion"
will want to see that happen again here tonight. 

BW: Both men are coming off what I'd assume they'd consider to be
disappointing performances at The Battle of Dallas too, Gordo. With Shaw
losing his chance at the AWA National Title when he lost to my main man,
Marcus Broussard again. Driscoll, meanwhile, came up short along with
seven other men in that Battle Royal.

GM: I can assure you that both men will be at the top of their game
tonight as they look to rectify the draw they fought to last time. 


"Ding! Ding! Ding!"


GM: And away we go, Bucky! 

BW: Shaw charges Driscoll!

[The Hellion wastes little time in taking it to Driscoll driving a
clothesline into his chest that sends Paul to the mat.]

GM: Mark Shaw with a hot start already, he's driving boot after boot
into the chest of Paul Driscoll, Bucky.

BW: Shaw pulls The Pistol off the mat.. BIG right hand by Mark Shaw!

[Driscoll goes staggering back into the corner. Shaw methodically moves
forward, grabbing Driscoll by the head and driving another hard right
hand into The Pistol's skull. Driscoll flops backwards from the impact,
exposing his chest for a little too long.]

"SSSSMMMMMMMAAAAAACCCCCCCKKKK!!!"

"SSSSMMMMMMMAAAAAACCCCCCCKKKK!!!"

"SSSSMMMMMMMAAAAAACCCCCCCKKKK!!!"

GM: Three knife edge chops by Mark Shaw and Driscoll's going to have a
bruised and burned chest after those shots, Bucky.  Shaw with an irish
whip.. he charges and leaps for a body splash.

GM: Nobody home!

[Shaw staggers out of the corner, turning into a waiting Paul Driscoll.]

BW: Bulldog! 

[The crowd cheers as Driscoll snares his opponent in a quick side
headlock, dashing a few steps before leaping into the air, smashing
Shaw's face into the canvas!]

GM:  A high impact bulldog headlock right there and both of these men
have started this match off with a flurry of offense.  There's no
feeling-out process at all in this one.

[Regaining his feet,  Driscoll quickly bounces off the ropes and leaps
in the air with a big elbow drop across the chest and neck of Mark
Shaw.]

GM:  A leaping elbowdrop finds the mark and this is quite the seesaw
battle already, Bucky. Shades of last time. With hopefully a more clear
cut result. 

BW: If by clear cut, you mean a victorious Paul Driscoll, then I
wholeheartedly agree.

GM:  You like Driscoll?

BW:  No, but I'd prefer to not see Shaw get another shot at the Shark
anytime soon.  If that means Driscoll has to knock his lights out, then
I'm all for it.

[Driscoll pulls Shaw up and hooks his head, draping Shaw's arm over his
own.  He grits his teeth as he hoists him up in the air.]

GM: Paul Driscoll lifts Mark Shaw _way_ up in the air above his head and
drives his back into the mat with a big time vertical suplex.

BW: You think that maybe Marcus Broussard has gotten into Mark Shaw's
head and he's perhaps overlooking this match, Gordo?

GM: I'm sure that Shaw remembers the last time these two met and
realizes he's going to need to bring everything and the kitchen sink if
he plans on getting past Paul Driscoll and keeping the top position in
the Top Ten rankings.

BW:  That spot's real important right now with the Championship
Committee trying to determine the lineup for the Labor Day show.  If
you're in the Top Five, you stand a very good shot at getting the title
match against Marcus that night.

GM:  Or against Ron Houston.

BW:  Sure.  If you want to cling to that fantasy, have at it.

GM:  Can you imagine what a fight a showdown between Houston and Shaw
would be?

[Driscoll pulls Shaw up and leans him against the ropes, grabbing his
arm and whipping him.]

BW: Irish whip by Driscoll, Shaw comes barreling back... 

GM: DDT by Shaw! DDT by Shaw! Driscoll lowered his head for a backbody
drop and paid for it in the form of a big time DDT from Mark Shaw. 

BW: Shaw covers...

GM: ONE!  TWO!  THR-- KICKOUT BY DRISCOLL!

[Shaw sits up and The Hellion wastes no time going back to work, pulling
Driscoll off the mat.]

BW: That was close, Gordon. And Mark Shaw knows it. 

GM: That was a high impact DDT by the Hellion that had him very close to
winning this one in a hurry.  Shaw with a series of stiff forearms to
the head of Paul Driscoll.  He hooks him around the waist in a
bearhug... PIVOT!  LIFT!


"THUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUD!"


GM:  Belly to belly suplex!

BW:  What a ripoff!  He's trying to get inside Marcus' head now by using
his own move!

GM:  Mark Shaw with another cover... ONE!  TWO!  THR- NO!

BW:  Just before that hand hit the mat for a third time, Driscoll fired
his shoulder up off the mat.  And he needs to get his stuff together if
he wants to stand any chance of winning this match, Gordo.  Right now,
Mark Shaw is having his way with the big Texan.

[Shaw sits up with an "are you serious?" look on his face. The Hellion
slowly pulls himself back to his feet and leaps in the air, driving a
leg into the throat of Paul Driscoll.]

GM: Shaw with a leg drop to Driscoll. He's looking to soften Paul up a
little bit more to set up that Backdrop Driver that he's famous for. The
question is, with two men so evenly matched up, can either of them seal
the deal this time?

BW: While you've been blibber blabberin' about their similarities, Shaw
scoops Driscoll up and drops him with a scoop slam in the middle of the
ring.

GM: The big Mark Shaw, the California native, bounces off the ropes and
leaps into the air...

[Shaw leaps for a body splash.]

BW: Nobody home! 

GM: Paul Driscoll rolled out of the way at the very last second and Mark
Shaw landed face first in the middle of the ring. 

BW: And now nobody may be home upstairs for Mark Shaw after hitting the
mat that hard. 

[Driscoll rolls over and up to his hands and knees, he crouches behind
Shaw as the big Californian slowly pulls himself up to his feet and
turns...

...and gets his head nearly ripped from his shoulders as Driscoll hurls
himself forward, driving his bicep across the chest and throat of the
Hellion!]

GM: DRISCOLL WITH A LARIAT!

BW: He just lariated Mark Shaw right out of his boots!  You know the
expression heads are gonna roll?  Well I think Paul Driscoll is taking
it quite literally here tonight.

GM: And now it's Driscoll who hooks the leg... ONE!  TWO!  THR-- KICKOUT
BY SHAW!

BW: What in the world?

[Driscoll's a bit taken aback by the kickout, having thought for sure
that he caught Shaw flush with that lariat. He pulls The Hellion off the
mat and scoops him up onto his shoulder.]

GM: Paul Driscoll showing his strength, which to be honest is probably
his most underrated asset since coming here to AWA. People don't realize
just how strong this man really is.

BW: Driscoll is pacing around the ring with Shaw on his shoulder. He
charges across the ring...

GM: HUGE RUNNING POWERSLAM!

BW: Did you see the ring shake, Gordo? I'm pretty sure it moved a few
inches!

GM: Paul Driscoll got absolutely all of that powerslam, Bucky. And he
knows it too! He hooks the leg!

BW: ONE!  TWO!  THREE!

GM: HE DID IT!  HE DID IT!  PAUL DRISCOLL PINNED MARK SHAW!

[Except for one fact, Mark Shaw's leg was draped across the ropes and
Michael Meekly knows it too, pointing at the foot of The Hellion and
waving off the three count.]

BW:  Noooo! Gah!

GM:  Shaw got his foot on the ropes!  The Hellion is still alive here in
this rematch between two of the AWA's finest.

[Driscoll hasn't realized that Shaw's foot has managed to save him. He
slowly walks away with his arms raised, pacing across the ring. Meekly
taps him on his large shoulders and the big man from Odessa slowly turns
and is not at all happy with the news he's provided.]

BW:  Paul Driscoll is not happy in the least, and who can blame him,
Gordo. He just got robbed!

GM:  Mark Shaw clearly had his foot on the ropes, Bucky. There was no
robbery here tonight despite how badly you want Mark Shaw knocked out of
the #1 contender spot!

[Driscoll continues to exchange words with Meekly, three big Texas
fingers held up in his face. Not realizing a crawling Shaw who grabs him
from behind.]

BW:  Schoolboy!

GM: ONE!  TWO!  THRE--


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  So close!  So very close for Mark Shaw right there!

[An irate Paul Driscoll roars back up to his feet. Still jawing with
Meekly a bit. He pulls Shaw off the mat behind him.  Mark is still
feeling the effects of the powerslam and lariat as Driscoll stuffs a
knee into his gut, doubling Shaw over.]

BW: Driscoll with an irish whip... NO! Reversed by Shaw!

[And as the big Texan rebounds back, Shaw hoists him off the mat,
spinning around with him...

...and PLANTING him into the canvas with a spinebuster slam!]

GM: SPINEBUSTER!  SPINEBUSTER!  SHAW HIT THE SPINEBUSTER!

[Shaw collapses to the mat next to Driscoll.  Both men lay sprawled out
across the mat.]

BW: Look, he's.. he's.. sleeping!  Shaw's taking a nap in the middle of
the match!

GM:  You know as well as I do that Mark Shaw is exhausted from the tough
road he's had to get to tonight, plus the brutal match he's already
fought here tonight with Paul Driscoll.  He just couldn't take advantage
of- wait a second!

[Shaw slowly crawls over and drapes an arm over Driscoll.]

GM:  ONE!  TWO!  THR-- DRISCOLL KICKS OUT!

[The crowd roars with a mixed reaction for the kickout, leaving a buzz
in the air behind them.]

GM:  Neither man can put the other away. They could be destined to do
this forever, Bucky.

BW: Well, then I guess it's a good thing we have time limits.  You think
Shaw would lose the top spot with a draw?

GM:  Only the Championship Committee knows for sure.

[The Hellion pulls himself off the mat and finds his bearings as
Driscoll slowly works his way up as well.]

GM:  Shaw charges Driscoll... big running shoulderblock takes the big
Texan off his feet! 

[The big Texan tries to quickly get back up, looking to stay off the
canvas.]

GM:  Driscoll gets back up... another shoulderblock takes him off his
feet! 

BW:  This is a unique strategy for so deep into the match, Gordo.  It's
like he's trying to wear him down but the time for weardown moves is
long over.

GM:  Driscoll up again... and taken right back now with another running
shoulder tackle!

BW: Just stay down, Paul! He can't shoulderblock a man on his back!

GM: [Oozing sarcasm] That's a sound strategy, Bucky.

[Driscoll grabs his left shoulder in pain from the series of
shoulderblocks that just came tumbling down upon him. He has no time to
relax, however, as the big boot of Mark Shaw quickly enters the frame
and drives itself down.]

GM:  Shaw with a series of boots to the chest and head of Paul Driscoll.
 Just a burst of sudden offense from the man known as the Hellion as he
tries to take some of the fight out of his big opponent.  

[Reaching down, Shaw yanks Driscoll off the canvas, hooking him in a
gutwrench.]

GM: This could spell trouble for Paul Driscoll...


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


BW: GUTWRENCH POWERBOMB!

[Shaw, sensing that it may still take more punishment to put Driscoll
down, slowly makes his way over and does not attempt a pinfall, instead
pulling the big Texan back up.]

GM:  No cover there for the Hellion.  He must not think he's done
enough.  He doesn't want to waste any energy with a pin attempt that has
no chance.

BW:  I hate to say it - but it's not a bad strategy.

GM:  Shaw with a full nelson! He's got a full nelson locked on Paul
Driscoll in the middle of the ring.

BW: I don't think he's going for a submission here, Gordo!

GM: Shaw lifts... 

[The powerful Los Angeles native hoists Driscoll into the air in the
full nelson, spinning the Texan in the air and sending him crashing down
to the canvas with a thunderous slam!]

GM:  SLAM!  SLAM!  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE- ANOTHER KICKOUT!

[The crowd lets out a slight moan, thinking they had seen one of their
favorites, Mark Shaw pull off the victory.]

GM:  I thought he had him there, Bucky.

BW:  So did he, I think.

[Shaw immediately roars off the mat, yanking Driscoll up.] 

GM:  Both men back to their feet... Shaw with a whip to the corner. 
Here he comes!

[The Hellion races across the ring...

...and connects with a big avalanche-style splash in the corner!]

GM:  OHHHHH!  Shaw connects with the running splash and Driscoll is
dazed, staggering out of the corner...

[With his opponent in trouble, Shaw drops down in a three point stance.]

GM:  Uh oh!  Driscoll's in trouble!  Shaw's set... 

[The big man erupts out of the three point stance with a running
tackle...

...but the Texan sidesteps it, throwing Shaw towards the corner where he
hits chestfirst.]

GM:  Ohhh!  Countered by Driscoll!  He saw the tackle coming and he got
clear of it...

[And as Shaw staggers back the other direction, Driscoll sprints towards
him.]

GM: SPEAR!  WHAT A TACKLE BY DRISCOLL!

[Shaw grabs his ribs in pain, rolling around on the mat. Meanwhile,
Driscoll has collapsed himself, the war he's encountered having taken a
lot of the steam out of him.]

GM:  What a fight!  What a battle!  Both men are down and these two men
have certainly given these fans their money's worth tonight, Bucky. 
What a throwdown we've seen between these two!

BW:  And it's still not over!

GM:  Driscoll uses the ropes to pull himself back to his feet first. 
And this could be trouble for Mark Shaw now.  Back and forth matchup
between these two big powerhouse brawlers.  

[Shaw still is on the canvas, clutching his ribcage in pain.]

GM: The Hellion is in a world of pain, Bucky.  Paul Driscoll caught him
flush with that spear and he might have cracked a rib on impact.

BW: Sissy. 

GM: Driscoll grabs Shaw by the head and pulls him up... 

"SSSSMMMMMMMAAAAAACCCCCCCKKKK!!!"

"SSSSMMMMMMMAAAAAACCCCCCCKKKK!!!"

"SSSSMMMMMMMAAAAAACCCCCCCKKKK!!!"

"SSSSMMMMMMMAAAAAACCCCCCCKKKK!!!"

"SSSSMMMMMMMAAAAAACCCCCCCKKKK!!!"

GM:  ... FIVE chops to the chest of Mark Shaw. Payback for those knife
edge chops that he himself was the victim of earlier in this match.

[Shaw grabs his chest in pain as Paul hoists him up into a fireman's
carry...

...and suddenly drops backwards, smashing Shaw into the canvas yet
again!]

GM:  SAMOAN DROP!  

[Driscoll hangs on to the leg in a sloppy pin attempt.]

GM:  ONE!  TWO!  THRE-

[Michael Meekly shoots up two fingers.]

BW: No, Shaw kicked out! Last second, but he kicked out!

[A frustrated Paul Driscoll slaps the mat in frustration before kneeling
over his opponent, pounding away with a clenched right fist to the head
repeatedly.]

GM:  Blow after blow to the head of the Hellion!  Driscoll may have
snapped! 

BW: Vicious shots by Paul Driscoll!  I love it!

[The Pistol continues to plow into the skull of Mark Shaw with right
after right. His frustration adds weight to each blow as they come 
tumbling down on the forehead and jaw of Mark Shaw.]

GM: Paul Driscoll is pulling out all the stops to ensure that he gets
the win he feels he deserves.

BW: The win that he _does_ deserve, Gordo.

[Driscoll pulls Shaw off the mat and drives a rising knee into his
skull, sending the Hellion tumbling backwards into the ropes, the three
long vines being the only support for the massive Los Angelian. Driscoll
fires a left arm square at the skull of The Hellion.]

GM: Shaw caught the arm! 

[Shaw turns his back, still holding the arm, and brings the left arm
hard down across his own shoulder!]

GM:  OHHHH!  What in the world was that?  Some kind of an armbreaker, I
guess.  He caught Paul Driscoll's left arm out of nowhere and really did
some damage with whatever that move was.  The shoulderblocks earlier and
that move right there really have done a number on the left arm of Paul
Driscoll. 

BW:  Driscoll rolls out of the ring in pain.  He's hurtin' for certain,
daddy!

[Shaw, not wanting to see a repeat performance of last time - not
wanting the victory he deserved to slip through his fingers, rolls out
of the ring immediately and grabs Driscoll by his tights.]

GM:  Shaw rolls right out and tosses Driscoll back into the ring!  He is
not leaving this match in the hands of fate, he is making his own fate
out here this time.

BW: I don't think he's going to like his "fate" when Paul's done with
him. 

GM: Shaw rolls back in and grabs a staggering Paul Driscoll by the left
arm in a hammerlock. He lifts him around the body.

[And slams Driscoll down to the mat on top of his own arm!]

GM:  He just drove Paul Driscoll's entire body down on his own arm!

[Driscoll rolls on the mat clutching his arm in pain as a rejuvenated
Mark Shaw stands over him. Practically frothing at the mouth, Shaw pulls
Paul back up to his feet and kicks him in the gut, doubling him over.]

GM: Shaw with a standing headscissors!  This could mean trouble for Paul
Driscoll.

BW: "Could mean trouble"?  It most definitely will.

[Shaw leans over and hooks Driscoll around the waist, going to lift him
in the air.  The oncoming powerbomb is apparent in his stance however,
two things stick out, one being how close to the ropes they are... and
two, that Paul Driscoll is fighting for his life.]

GM:  Shaw's got him hooked... he lif- 

[The crowd roars as Driscoll blocks the lift attempt, struggling to get
free from Shaw's grasp.]

GM:  Driscoll's trying to free himself but Shaw's still got him
hooked...

[The big man from Los Angeles rains down a few forearms across the back
of Driscoll, trying to knock the fight out of him.]

GM:  He's going for it again... lift-

[But this time, it's Driscoll who does the lifting...]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  BACKDROP!  BACKDROP OVER THE TOP TO THE FLOOR!

[The crowd roars for the effective counter as Driscoll slumps down to
the mat below.]

GM:  Driscoll is absolutely exhausted in there.  What a physical
encounter this has been.

BW:  I don't think he got out all of that backdrop though, Gordo.  I
think Shaw got his feet underneath him a bit.  I think he's not in as
bad of shape as Driscoll thinks!

[Analysis that proves to be true as Driscoll rolls to the floor to find
Mark Shaw on his feet and ready to fight...

...something that Driscoll is more than happy to oblige him with.]

GM: Shades of last time, we're back outside the ring!

BW: Not another countout, please!

GM: They're firing away on each other! Lefts and rights! Meekly begins
his count!


"ONE!"


"TWO!"


"THREE!"


"FOUR!"


"FIVE!"


[Shaw and Driscoll continue to pound away on each other. Sweat flying as
they each land staggering right hands in succession.]


"SIX!"


"SEVEN!"


[Shaw throws a massive right hand that sends Driscoll backwards into the
ring apron. Shaw clutches him around the head and pivots.]


"EIGHT!"


[He tosses Driscoll back into the ring with all his might.]


"NINE!"


[And hearing Meekly reach nine, he rolls into the ring himself.]


BW: So close! I was sure we were about to see another countout there,
Gordo.

GM: I was too, Bucky!  Both men just barely beat the count.

[As Shaw rolls back in on nine, Paul Driscoll is waiting.  Having
quickly risen to his feet, he drives a double axe handle into the back
of a rising Shaw. And another. And another. Shaw attempts to fight
through the smashes and slowly battles his way to his feet.]

BW: Shaw just took three massive double axe handle smashes from Paul
Driscoll, his back has got to be killing him. 

GM: Shaw's standing against the ropes. Driscoll's just _nailing_ him
with rights and lefts. 

BW: Go, Paul, go!

[Driscoll drives rights and lefts into the head of a stunned and
disoriented Hellion. He winds up his arm and spins, driving it through
the air towards Shaw.]

GM: DISCUS PUN-- SHAW DUCKS UNDERNEATH!

BW: NOOOO!!!

GM: SHAW HOOKS DRISCOLL FROM BEHIND...

[And spins his body so that his back is facing away from the ropes.]




"THUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUD!"



GM:  BACKDROP DRIVER!

BW: He caught all of it! Get out of there, Paul! 

[Tired, Shaw slumps down on top of Driscoll, not even able to hook a
leg.]

GM:  ONE!  TWO!  THREE!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  It's over, Bucky!

BW:  I knew Paul Driscoll was worthless.

GM:  Mark Shaw outlasted "Pistol" Paul Driscoll in a thrilling battle. 
What a physical war this war and Shaw just barely squeaked out a victory
in this one.

[An exhaused Shaw rolls off of Driscoll, lying on the canvas as Melissa
Cannon makes it official.]

MC:  Your winner of the match in a time of twelve minutes and 51
seconds...

MAAAAAARK SHAAAAAAW!

[The crowd rises to their feet, paying tribute to both men as they lay
exhausted on the canvas.]

GM:  Listen to these fans, showing both men their appreciation for what
they just saw.  They love both of these men and I'm sure, for many, it
was difficult to cheer for one man over the other.

BW:  Who cares?  Driscoll failed me.

GM:  Paul Driscoll is anything but a failure, Bucky.  He put up a
tremendous fight and I'm sure I'm not the only one hoping that some day
we get to see these two hook 'em up one more time.

[Shaw slowly climbs to his feet, raising an arm in triumph before
stepping through the ropes, dropping down to the floor and making his
exit.]

GM:  Mark Shaw would almost certainly keep the #1 spot in the Top Ten
after that win, Bucky.

BW:  Gah.  Don't remind me.

GM:  Your man's time is running out, I think.  If Houston doesn't get
him, Shaw will.  Or maybe it'll be Rick Marley.  Or Kevin Slater.  Or
what about the man who is owed a title match, Adam Rogers?

BW:  None of them stand a chance, Gordo.  Not a single one.

GM:  That remains to be seen.  In fact, as Paul Driscoll fights up to
his feet, I think I'd like to see him go one-on-one with the San Jose
Shark as well!

BW:  I would too if he fights like he did tonight.  Loser.

GM:  Listen to these fans!  They don't think he's a loser!

[The crowd roars for "Pistol" Paul Driscoll as he gets to his feet in
the middle of the ring, nodding his head and waving a hand to the
cheering fans.]

GM:  I love it.  What a moment for Paul Driscoll!  These fans are
letting them know exactly how much they appreci- what the-?!

[The cheers turn to a concerned buzz as someone comes charging out of
the crowd, diving headfirst under the bottom rope, springing to their
feet...

...and leaping right into the air, grabbing Driscoll's head from behind,
and pulling him down so that his back slams into both of his attacker's
knees as they hit the mat!]

GM:  OHHHH!  WHAT WAS THAT?!

[The attacker springs to his feet, yanking off a hooded sweatshirt and
throwing it to the side.  At 6'3, 248, his upper body is chiseled like a
sculpture and even in street clothes, there's no doubt he's one of the
most flamboyant men in the business.]

BW:  SHADOE RAGE!  SHADOE RAGE HAS STRUCK AGAIN!

[The erratic Rage springs to his feet again, pointing at the jeering
fans, dragging a thumb across his throat before screaming at the downed
Driscoll.]


"I'm the best in the world!  You can't keep me caged!  You can't hold me
back!"


[Rage drives a few hard stomps into the head of the downed and exhausted
Driscoll before diving atop him, wrapping his hand around the windpipe.]

GM:  Choke!  Shadoe Rage is choking the life out of Paul Driscoll!  What
in the world is he even doing here?!  

BW:  He showed up during the tour as well, Gordo!  Trying to get into
the arenas, going as far as buying a ticket to get a chance to storm the
ring!

GM:  Where on earth is security?  This guy is nuts!  He's got no
business being here!

[Rage breaks the choke, threatening a backhand that sends Michael Meekly
scampering away as Rage stomps towards the corner, stepping through the
ropes to the apron.]

GM:  Oh, come on!  Get some help out here!  This guy is psychotic!

[The Canadian quickly scampers up the ropes to the top, standing high
above the ring, glaring out at the jeering fans before hurling himself
gracefully into the air, sailing like a high diver...

...and burying his elbow right in the throat of the downed Paul
Driscoll!]

GM:  OHHHHH!

BW:  He calls that the Death Drop, Gordo!

GM:  I don't give a- I don't care what he calls it!  Someone needs to
get this nutcase out of our ring!  Someone needs to-

[The crowd roars as Mark Shaw comes lumbering out of the locker room,
diving into the ring...

...which causes Shadoe Rage to leap from the other side of the ring,
racing towards the emergency exit as the Hellion looks for another
fight.]

GM:  Yeah!  Mark Shaw comes back to save the man he just defeated in the
middle of the ring.

[But as Shaw drops to a knee to check on Driscoll, a look of concern
crosses his face.]

BW:  It may have been too late.

GM:  Fans, we've gotta take a break!  We'll be right back!

[Mark Shaw stays kneeling next to Paul Driscoll, trying to help him off
the mat as we fade to black...

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

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

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

Rick Marley and Kentucky's Pride
North Dallas Spectrum - Dallas, TX
July 25

Paul Driscoll and Rough N Ready
West Dallas Galleria - Dallas, TX
July 27

Sweet Daddy Williams and Mark Shaw
Dallas Ford - Dallas, TX
July 29

Werewolf Gregorson, Despair, and Ricky Royal
Harris Chevrolet - Dallas, TX
July 31

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 AWA Saturday Night Wrestling announce desk
where Gordon Myers and Bucky Wilde are standing.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans.  

[Myers shakes his head.]

BW:  What's wrong, Gordo?

GM:  I'm physically and emotionally exhausted, Bucky.  This show has
taken a serious toll on me.  We've seen so many brawls, so many sneak
attacks, had so many surprising moments...

BW:  And we haven't even had the National Title match yet!

GM:  I know.  It's been a long night here in the WKIK Studios, fans, and
I hope you're loving every second of it.  A quick note - Paul Driscoll
was able to walk from the ring under his own power so early indications
are he'll be just fine.  I don't know if you'll be able to say the same
about Shadoe Rage if Driscoll gets his hands on him.

BW:  That nutcase ran out the emergency exit right down the street with
security chasing right behind him.

GM:  Fans, just to make it official, Shadoe Rage is not a member of the
AWA talent roster.  That's not for lack of effort though.  Rage has been
trying to get a deal signed for weeks to no success.  It hasn't stopped
him from showing up at every AWA event and getting involved however. 
Something's gotta be done about this as well.  

[Myers sighs.]

GM:  Earlier tonight, fans, we saw Ricky Royal put his body on the line
to save two young competitors from the wrath of the mighty Tumaffi. 
Well, coming up next, Ricky Royal is scheduled for one-on-one action...
and well, I'd like to believe differently but after everything that's
happened here tonight, how can we not expect that Tumaffi will be out
for payback?

BW:  You can't.  No chance.  Tumaffi will make his presence known before
the night is over.

GM:  And unfortunately, I'm going to bet it'll be sooner than later. 
Let's go up to the ring and find out!

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

MC:  The following match is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit. Already in the ring... hailing from Galveston, Texas...
BARRY DENVER!

[In the ring, a young man sporting curly blonde hair and wearing a blue
singlet raises his arms to scattered applause.]

MC:  And his opponent...

["Mississippi Queen" by Mountain kicks up to big cheers which become
even louder when the long-haired Ragin' Rebel himself runs through the
curtain in a Texas Rangers t-shirt and his stars-and-bars trunks and
boots, throwing a vigorous salute into the air.]

MC:  From Vicksburg, Mississippi ... weighing in at 270 pounds... he is
the RAGIN' REBEL... RICKYYYYYYYYY ROYYYYALLLL!!

GM:  Royal's fresh off a victory over Tumaffi at the Battle of Dallas
and looks fired up about it.

BW:  A cheap victory, daddy! And don't you forget that!

GM:  Well, Bucky, Royal feels he's got no other choice but to pull out
all the stops in his quest to end Tumaffi's reign of terror, as we saw
earlier tonight when he prevented Tumaffi from putting another pair of
youngsters in the hopspital. That monster is on a rampage and everyone
in the AWA is suffering.

[Royal slaps hands with the fans as he makes his way down the aisle. He
nods to Bucky and Gordon as he passes the announce desk and climbs up
into the ring. He gets one last round of cheers as he raises his arm and
salutes again. Finally he shakes hands with Barry Denver before pulling
his t-shirt off and getting ready for the match.]

GM:  Okay, looks like we're just about ready here...

[DING! DING! DING!]

GM:  And we're underway... Royal the veteran, Denver the youngster.
We've got a bit of circling, feeling each other out... and a lockup.
Royal quickly takes control, yanking Denver into a headlock. Nice move
by Denver to shove him off into the ropes... and Royal knocks him down
with a vertical cross body! 

[Royal rolls off and gets back to his feet, charging in on Denver as
soon as the rookie is up.]

GM:  Denver ducks a clothesline, run off the ropes... oh, Royal catches
him coming back... SIDE SLAM! And listen to these fans cheering on their
hero!

BW:  What kind of hero wins a match by whacking a guy in the head with a
foreign object? That's what we saw your "hero" do at the Battle of
Dallas, Gordon.

GM:  When the guy deserves it, because the guy's been putting people in
the hospital for four months, then that's what a hero does.

[Royal pulls Denver up by his hair and Irish whips him to the ropes...]

GM:  Clothes- no! Denver ducks another clothesline from Royal... off the
ropes again, Royal turns... OH!

[Denver leaps at Royal trying for a sloppy clothesline, but the
lightweight simply bounces off the sturdy body of the Ragin' Rebel and
hits the mat hard.]

BW:  Well, that was pathetic.

GM:  Royal didn't even have to do anything, he just outweighs Denver by
so much that he bounced off of Royal's chest like it was a brick wall.
OH! And an elbow drop across the sternum by Royal... he covers... 1...
2... no! Denver kicks out!

[Royal gets up, allowing Denver a second to regain his feet, as well.
And then he hooks him into a scoop.]

GM:  BODYSLAM! That plants him back on his back...

BW:  Which is where he's spent most of this match.

GM:  And a fistdrop by Royal keeps him there!

[Royal again pulls Denver to his feet... whips him to the corner...

GM:  Royal charging in!

BW:  But Denver gets a foot up! Boot right to the face of the charging
Ricky Royal! Nice move!

[Royal staggers back, turning in a circle and clutching at his jaw... as
Denver dashes out of the corner toward him.]

GM:  CHOP BLOCK! He takes Royal's knee out from under him! That's his
bad left knee. He's had it operated on twice. 

[With Royal down on one knee, Denver runs off the ropes... and comes
back in with a jumping knee to the face of the Ragin' Rebel that sends
him flat onto his back.]

BW:  Knee to the face of Royal! That's what I like to see, daddy! 

GM:  Ricky Royal is down!

[Denver pulls Royal back up to his knees by his long hair... but Royal
fights back with a hard shot to the gut, eliciting a nice crowd pop.]

GM:  Fist to the midsection by Royal! And another! And another! Look at
the Ragin' Rebel fight back, like he always does!

[The crowd starts getting louder and louder as Royal hulks up, landing
blow after blow, first to the gut of Barry Denver, then, back on his
feet, he starts with right hands to the face.]

GM:  A right hand! Another right! And another! And now a big knife-edged
chop! Another one! A third! He's backing up Denver into the ropes now...
and he whips him across the ring!

BW:  You were doin' so good, kid...

GM:  ROYAL WITH A CLOTHESLI- NO! Denver ducks it yet again! Off the
ropes again! Flying cross body! BUT HE'S CAUGHT! Royal catches him...
lifts him onto his shoulder... 


[THUD!!!]


GM:  And there's the Delta Driver! That powerslam variation of Royal's
is one of his signature moves and usually signals that the end is
near...

BW:  Oh, here we go...

GM:  Royal steps out on the apron now... climbing up to the rop rope... 

["YYEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHOOOOOEEEEEEE!!!"]

GM:  And he lets out one of those Rebel Yells, because here it comes...

BW:  I hate that noise.

[Leaping off the top rope, 270 pounds of gravity-assisted momentum
transferred through one heavy flying elbow drop!


THUD!!!]


GM:  REBEL YELL ELBOW! That'll do it! 1... 2... 3!

[DING! DING! DING!]

MC:  The winner of this match... by pinfall... THE RAGIN' REBEL... RICKY
ROYAL!

[Ricky gets to his feet to big cheers, letting the referee throw his
right hand into the air for the victory as "Mississippi Queen" starts
blaring again.]

GM:  And another victory for Ricky Royal, who's on something of a ro-
and here comes the moment we all knew was coming.

[Boos start raining down to replace the cheers as the music cuts out and
the massive form of Tumaffi walks through the entrance curtain. He stops
there for a moment, glaring at Royal, who stands in the center of the
ring, daring the Samoan to come at him.]

GM:  Well, this clearly wasn't over after the Battle of Dallas.

BW:  And Ricky Royal coming out earlier to interfere in Tumaffi's match
did not sit well with the big man here. 

GM:  Bucky, that wasn't Tumaffi's match! That was a one-on-one bout
between Wes Riverhawk and Icepick Chavez that Tumaffi broke it up when
he attacked both men!

BW:  Well, either way, Royal's about to get what's coming to him, daddy!
At some point, he's gonna learn to stop standing in the middle of the
road when there's a semi barrelin' down on him!

[And, on cue, Tumaffi charges like a bull, shedding his robe as he
rumbles toward the ring.]

BW:  Here we go!

GM:  Royal just rolled Barry Denver out of the ring, out of harm's
way...

BW:  And here comes Tumaffi! Into the ring and charging at Royal!

GM:  ROYAL DUCKS! He ducked a monster clothesline by the Samoan beast!
Royal off the ropes now, comes charging back!

[Royal leaps into the air just as Tumaffi turns around...


THUD!!!]


GM:  LEAPING SHOULDER BLOCK! TUMAFFI GOES DOWN! Royal just took the
biggest guy in the AWA down with one heck of a shoulder block! I hear
that's a new finishing move of his he's calling the Ragin' River Rapids!

BW:  Well, it may not have quite finished Tumaffi, but it definitely
stunned him.

[Tumaffi is on his back, his chest heaving as he takes a few seconds to
shake the cobwebs out, but Royal is quick to roll out of the ring and
get clear of the Samoan's reach. He heads over to the announce desk and
grabs a microphone.]

RR:  A'right, big boy! How many men you put in the hospital these past
few months, huh?  Ten?  More'n 'at, I think. Sendin' one after another
outta that ring and up this aisle right here where I'm standin', all of
'em laid out on a stretcher. And yer just itchin' to do the same to me,
ain't ya? Just fallin' all over yerself tryin' to lay me out, huh?

[Tumaffi, up on his knees rubbing the spot where he was hit, just sneers
at Royal.]

RR:  Well, if ya want so dang bad to send me out on a stretcher, I'll
just have to give ya your chance!

[The crowd pops, excited but unsure where Royal's going with this.]

RR:  Labor Day weekend... you and me... one last time... and this time,
no time limit, no disqualifications, and no count outs!

[BIG POP! Tumaffi's face curls into a sadistic, hairy grin and he starts
nodding at his nemesis.]

RR:  And no pin falls or submissions, neither! Only way one of us is
walkin' out of that match is when the other man's been laid out on a
damn stretcher!

[HUGE POP! Tumaffi is back on both feet. He picks up the mic that a ring
attendant has left on the mat for him and leans over the top rope to
answer the challenge.]

T: TUMAFFI NEEDS NO INVITATION, MAINLANDER!  YOUR MAD CHALLENGE IS
ACCEPTED!  LET IT BE DONE!  AND LET IT BE DONE NOW!  SCHEDULING IS FOR
THE WEAK! 

[One more huge pop from the crowd in the WKIK Studios as Royal sets his
mic back on the announce desk and glares at Tumaffi, while the Samoan
steps back into center ring, waving Royal on... he wants the match now!]


GM:  Oh my, oh my!

BW:  Oh, it's on, Gordo! Stretcher Match! No disqualification? Royal
just signed his own death warrant!

[Ricky Royal is happy to oblige... but for the small army of referees
and suits that are quick to intervene.  The fans let out a
disappointment 'awww' as it is clear this match is for another day.]

GM: Both men are ready to go now!  They don't want to wait for Labor
Day, but they will HAVE to wait for Labor Day.

BW: The only law that's gonna hold between these two is the Law of
Economics.  People gotta pay to see that one, daddy.  But they'll get
their money's worth, believe that! 

GM:  After months of waging war, folks, this rivalry has come to a head
and these two men have agreed to meet in one last match--likely to be
the most brutal match we've ever seen in the American Wrestling
Association!  We'll be right back - don't go away!

[The camera holds on a shot over Ricky Royal's shoulder, staring up the
aisle at a waiting Tumaffi, still struggling to get past the officials
and at his rival as we fade to black...

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

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

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

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

[Now to the Southern Championship Wrestling logo.]

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

[And then the PWR logo.]

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

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

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

[Fade to black...

...and then fade back up on the announce desk where Gordon Myers and
Bucky Wilde are standing.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans - and after a wild show that has been one for
the ages, we're down to just one more match to go.  The National
Championship Match with the San Jose Shark, Marcus Broussard, defending
the title against his most hated rival, Ron Houston.  

BW:  It's time to put the women and children to bed because they're not
gonna wanna see this, daddy!

GM:  From almost the moment the AWA came on the air several months ago,
these two men have had their sights set on one another.  We've seen
Houston suffer a severe shoulder injury at the hands of Broussard. 
We've seen Houston eliminated the Shark from the 30 Man Rumble to win
the first spot in the National Title Tournament.  We've seen Broussard
pin Houston to advance in that tournament.  So many fights, so many
brawls... and it apparently now comes down to this.  One way or another,
Marcus Broussard intends to end this threat to his reign here tonight in
Dallas, Texas.  Earlier tonight, we heard from Marcus Broussard when he
issued this challenge.  Now, let's go backstage to Jason Dane as he gets
final words from the challenger - Ron Houston.

[The shot cuts to the seldom-used "interview spot" right behind the
curtain where Jason Dane is standing.]

JD:  Thanks, Gordon.  Ron Houston is standing here nearby, waiting to go
out to the ring.  We're going to try to- well, let's see...

[Dane gestures with the mic which makes the cameraman pan.  Ron Houston
is standing against the wall.  His arm is on the wall, his head pressed
up against it.  He's drenched with a mixture of water and sweat and does
not even look at Dane as he approaches, the trenchcoat he usually wears
to the ring slung sloppily over his shoulder.]

JD:  Mr. Houston?

[Houston does not respond, breathing sharply into the wall.]

JD:  Errr... Ron?

[Still no response.]

JD:  Mr. Houston, we're live on AWA Saturday Night Wrestling where you
are moments away from a chance - many believe your final chance at the
National Title.

[Silence fills the air.]

JD:  Mr. Houston, with the entire world watching tonight, what kind of
pressure is on you knowing that if Marcus Broussard retains his title -
by hook or by crook - you will have blown what is likely your final
opportunity to become the National Champion?

[Houston's body starts to quiver with intensity.]

JD:  Mr. Houston, please... say something.

[The shaking grows stronger as Houston breathes heavier into the hollow
between his arm and the studio wall.]

JD:  Ron, come on.  The entire world is watching.  This is it, man. 
Your last chance.  Your final opportunity to beat Marcus Broussard to
become the National Champion.  You've gotta be feeling the pressure. 
You've gotta be feeling the urgency, the desperation to do whatever it
takes - anything it takes to win this match and the title.

[No answer.]

JD:  Ron, this is the moment you've been waiting your entire life for.

[Houston's body stops shaking, his head lifting slightly from his arm. 
He turns his head a bit, looking at Jason Dane.]

JD:  Ron?

[But as the sounds of "Moonlight Sonata" start to play inside the WKIK
Studios, Houston simply shoves Dane aside, storming past him through the
curtain where we can hear a huge cheer from the AWA faithful as Dane
simply shakes his head.]

JD:  I hope he understands what's on the line in this one.  Back to you,
Gordon.

[The shot cuts inside the Studios where Houston whips his trenchcoat
down to the canvas, quickly marching to the ring where he rolls under
the ropes.]

GM:  Thanks, Jason.  We appreciate your efforts back there trying to get
some words from Ron Houston but he appears to be nothing but pure focus
right now.

[Houston ignores the referee, the ring announcer, the fans, and just
steps into the corner, putting his head on his arms on the top
turnbuckle... waiting.]

GM:  Ron Houston is-

[The music suddenly changes to "Super Bon Bon" by Soul Coughing to the
jeers of the AWA fans.  After a few moments, the curtain parts to reveal
the dangerous Super Ninja who takes a few steps out, looking back and
forth before the curtain parts again.]

GM:  And here he comes - the National Champion, the San Jose Shark,
Marcus Broussard.

BW:  The best in the world, daddy!

GM:  For the moment, I would have to agree.  When you hold that title,
you are the best wrestler in this industry so for now, Marcus Broussard
holds that tremendous distinction.

[The arrogant champion makes his way down the aisle, the title belt
secured around his waist as he mocks the ringside fans jeering him.  He
takes the belt off, slinging it over his shoulder as he steps up the
wooden ringsteps, standing on the ring apron for a moment and eyeing his
challenger before stepping through the ropes.]

GM:  The champion is in the ring - and these fans don't like him at all.
 

BW:  That's an understatement, Gordo, but luckily in this business, you
don't have to be liked by the fans to be the best in the sport.  It's
not a popularity contest - it's a wrestling match.

GM:  You are certainly correct there.

[Broussard kisses the golden title belt before handing it over to the
official who holds it high in the air as Melissa Cannon begins to
speak.]

MC:  Ladies and gentlemen, this is your MAIN EVENT of the evening!

[The crowd roars!]

MC:  It is scheduled for one fall with a sixty minute time limit - and
is for the AWA NATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP!

[Another big roar!]

MC:  Introducing first, in the corner to my right... fighting out of
Athens, Georgia... he stands 6'7 and weighs in at 286 pounds... 

He is the Athens, Georgia Madman...

He is the East Coast Terror...

And tonight, he is the man who will challenge for the AWA National
Title...

RONNNNNNN HOUUUUUUUSTONNNN!!!

[The crowd explodes into cheers for one of their favorites as he remains
in the corner, head bowed.]

MC:  And his opponent, in the corner to my left... fighting out of San
Jose, California... standing 6'3 and weighing in at 253 pounds...

He is the San Jose Shark...

And on this night, he is your AWA NATIONAL CHAMPION...

Ladies and gentlemen...

MARRRRRRRCUS BROUUUUUUSSARRRRRRRD!!!

[The cheers for Houston turn to just-as-loud jeers for the stylish and
arrogant National Champion who watches as Michael Meekly gives the title
belt to the ringside timekeeper.]

GM:  This is it, Bucky.  The match we've been waiting all night for.

BW:  I can't believe we're seeing this tonight  For the AWA fans, it's
like Christmas in July, daddy.

GM:  The AWA is home to the finest wrestling action in the world - and
always on free TV, fans!  Buckle your seatbelts, throw the remote out
the window, and cut the phone lines because you do not want to miss a
single second of this match.

[Broussard gives a few last words to the Super Ninja before the masked
bodyguard drops down off the apron, leaving the San Jose Shark to
cockily walk from the corner to the center of the ring, sneering at the
back of his challenger.]

GM:  The champion is in the center of the ring - the challenger has not
moved from that position in the corner since he got to the ring.  You
can feel the tension, the electricity in the air for this one.  This is
for all the marbles.

[Meekly takes one last look at both men...

...and signals for the bell!]


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


[The crowd erupts as Ron Houston, hearing the bell, spins around from
the corner, sprinting to the center of the ring, and hurls his 6'7 frame
into the air, barreling over Broussard and knocking him to the canvas.]

GM:  HERE WE GO!  HERE WE GO!

[The fired-up challenger throws massive right haymakers down onto the
prone champion, connecting at will with the head and face of the San
Jose Shark who frantically throws his arms over his face, trying to
cover up.]

GM:  Houston's takin' it to the champion already... big right hands,
down over and over and over across the head of the San Jose Shark!

[The referee lunges in, forcing Houston to get back to his feet.  Meekly
immediately starts in on Houston, warning him for the illegal closed
fists to the head...

...but the East Coast Terror hears none of it, shoving Meekly aside to a
surprised buzz from the crowd.]

GM:  Uh oh.  Houston needs to watch himself.  I know he's feeling a
higher level of intensity for this match - that much is obvious - but he
doesn't want to get himself disqualified.

BW:  That's right, Gordo.  A DQ is as good as a pinfall for the champ. 
As long as he leaves with the gold, he won the match, in my opinion. 
So, a loose cannon like Houston works to the champion's advantage.

[The champion pulls himself to his feet in the corner, lifting his arms
in protest as the big man marches towards him, rearing back with his big
right hand...

...and connecting with a huge haymaker that finds the mark, nearly
knocking Broussard over the ropes to the floor!]

GM:  Good grief!  What a shot by the challenger!

BW:  Illegal!  Get in there, Meekly!

[With the champion dazed in the corner, Houston grabs his wrist, firing
him from one corner to the other...

...and storming in behind him!]

GM:  HERE COMES HOUSTON!

[The big man from Georgia catches Broussard squarely in the upper body
with a running avalanche in the corner!]

GM:  OHHHH!  WHAT IMPACT!

[Houston quickly hooks a side headlock on the San Jose Shark, racing out
of the buckles, leaping into the air...

...and smashing Broussard's face into the canvas with a bulldog
headlock!]

GM:  Bulldog!  Bulldog headlock by the challenger!

[But the East Coast Terror makes no effort to go for a pin attempt.]

GM:  No cover by Ron Houston apparently feeling he hasn't done enough to
get a pinfall just yet.

BW:  He's right.  A bulldog headlock isn't going to make you the
National Champion, daddy!

[Houston drops right back down into a mount position, raining down
rights and lefts on the National Champion who again throws his arms over
his head, trying to cover up...

...and again, the referee dives in, forcing Houston back to his feet. 
The challenger eyes Meekly angrily but does not physically act against
him...

...this time.]

GM:  Houston back up, the referee warning him against the clinched
fists...

BW:  Come on, Marcus.  Snap out of it, daddy!

GM:  The champion staggering to his feet, hanging onto the ropes to stay
stand-

[The Athens, Georgia Madman leaps into action, charging towards
Broussard...

...and connecting with a big running clothesline that takes the champion
over the ropes and dumps him on the concrete floor below!]

GM:  OHHHHHH!

BW:  Over the top rope!  Isn't that a DQ?!

GM:  Not at all.  The Championship Committee went with the fans' wishes
and kept that rule out of the official AWA rulebook.  A throw over the
top rope to the floor is not illegal in the AWA.

[Houston steps through the ropes, standing on the ring apron as a
stunned Marcus Broussard rolls to his stomach, trying to get back to his
feet.]

GM:  Both men are out on the floor now - and it's anyone's ballgame out
here.  You would think Ron Houston might have an advantage on the floor
with his brawling skills.

BW:  You might think that but you'd be wrong cause Marcus is the
sneakiest, dirtiest wrestler in the business at the moment.

GM:  Houston dragging the champion to his feet out on the floor...

[With a big lift, the challenger throws Broussard over his shoulder into
powerslam position...

...and points menacingly at the steel ringpost.]

BW:  You've gotta be kidding me!

GM:  I don't think so!  He's gonna put the champion into the steel!

[Houston barrels towards the steel ringpost, intent on driving the
champion's skull into it...

...but Broussard wriggles free at the last moment, landing on his feet
behind Houston and giving him a powerful shove, trying to send that
injured shoulder to the steel again.]

GM:  BLOCKED!

[The crowd roars as Houston raises his arms at the last moment, using
his power to avoid his shoulder meeting the unforgiving steel...

...and pivoting around to floor Broussard with another big right hand!]

GM:  Broussard tried to send him to the post - shades of months ago when
he first injured that shoulder but on this night, Ron Houston was having
none of it!

BW:  For now.  He'll eat that steel before the night's over, I promise
you that.

GM:  You could be right.

[Out on the floor, Houston pulls Broussard off the concrete by the hair,
hurling him under the ropes into the ring.]

GM:  Back in goes the champion - and the challenger rolls back in right
behind him.

[Without wasting a moment, Houston is immediately back to his feet,
grabbing Broussard, who was attempting to get away, by the back of the
trunks, tugging him into a side waistlock...

...and dumping him down to the canvas with a belly-to-back suplex!]

GM:  Big suplex by the challenger!

[This time, Houston applies the lateral press, reaching back to hook a
leg.]

GM:  One!  Two!  

[Broussard slips a shoulder out at two, breaking the pin attempt.]

BW:  He thought he would win the National Title on that?  What a joke!

[Grabbing a handful of the champion's hair, Houston drives a few more
clenched fists into the head, much to the delight of the capacity
crowd.]

GM:  The challenger is back to his feet, dragging the champion back up
as well... ohh!  Broussard snuck a knee in to the gut!

BW:  Hah hah!  Now this is where it all turns around!

[Broussard quickly hooks a front facelock...

...and just as quickly gets backdropped up and over to the canvas!]

GM:  Whoa!

BW:  What just happened there?

[The San Jose Shark's face goes pale as he rolls to his back, looking
incredibly nervous as Houston stomps towards him, shaking his head.]

GM:  Houston just told him, "Not this time.  Not tonight." 

BW:  I don't like this, Gordo.

GM:  Ron Houston is on a completely different level here tonight.  He's
more focused than we've ever seen him.  He's using all those brawling
and power moves we usually see from him but tonight there's just a
little more mustard on them, Bucky.

BW:  I don't like this at all, Gordo!

[Houston reaches Broussard, yanking him physically off the mat and
shoving him back into the turnbuckles where he promptly steps up to the
second rope.]

"ONE!"

"TWO!"

"THREE!"

"FOUR!"

"FIVE!"

"SIX!"

"SEVEN!"

"EIGHT!"

"NINE!"

"TEN!"

[Houston drops down off the ropes, the crowd roaring for the beatdown
he's applying as he grabs a handful of Broussard's hair, charging across
the ring...

...and HURLING the champion clear over the top rope, sending him
crashing down to the concrete floor below yet again!]

GM:  OHHH MY!  Did you see that, Bucky?!

BW:  What do you think, Gordo?  Of course I saw it!

GM:  Houston just tossed the champion over the ropes to the floor like
he was nothing - like a sack of garbage!

BW:  Shut up, Gordo!  Don't call the Shark garbage!

[The challenger steps out on the apron, dropping down to the floor and
approaching Broussard who is now crawling towards the entryway.]

GM:  I think the champion's had enough, Bucky.  I think he's looking to
get out of here with the title belt as quickly as he can.

BW:  That's right, Gordo!  Take the countout, Marcus!  You keep the
title and it's a win for you!

GM:  It most certainly is not a win for him if he gets counted out and I
can not believe you would implore a champion to act in that fashion,
Bucky.

BW:  It's not how you play the game - it's whether you win or lose... or
in this case, whether you take the gold home with you.

[Houston easily catches up with the fleeing Broussard, yanking him off
the floor by the hair.]

BW:  No!  No!  No!

GM:  The challenger is dragging the National Champion back towards the
ring, whipping him under the ropes into the squared circle.

[Houston quickly rolls back in as well...

...and eats a leaping kneedrop to the chest from the San Jose Shark who
managed to scamper quickly to his feet after being tossed inside the
ring.]

GM:  Broussard is the first to his feet, stomping the challenger now.

BW:  Yeah!  That's what I want to see, daddy!

GM:  And now it's the champion who drags his challenger off the mat...
oooh!  Big European uppercut knocks Houston back into the ropes, hanging
onto the ropes...

[Grabbing the wrist of his challenger, Broussard fires him in...

...or attempts to as the powerful Houston reverses it.]

GM:  The whip is reversed.  Broussard off the far side...

[Houston catches the rebounding champion, spinning quickly around, and
planting him into the canvas with a snapping powerslam!]

GM:  POWERSLAM!  POWERSLAM!!  ONE!!!  TWO!!!  THR-


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[The crowd goes nuts at the near fall as Houston pushes up, holding up
three fingers at the official who shakes his head.  Meanwhile, Broussard
is rolling for his life, getting close enough to the ropes that the
Super Ninja pulls him out, dragging him towards the exit.]

GM:  They're trying to escape!  Broussard and the Ninja have seen enough
tonight!  Houston's just overwhelmed Marcus at every turn so far tonight
and he's seen enough of it.

[Boos pour down on Broussard and his bodyguard as they attempt to flee
the ring.  Houston turns away from his argument with the official,
racing towards the ropes to try to stop the escape...

...but his attempt is unnecessary.]

GM:  ROGERS!  ADAM ROGERS IS IN THE ENTRYWAY!

[The crowd explodes as "The Natural" steps into view, a steel chair in
hand as he menaces both Broussard and the Super Ninja, preventing them
from getting out of the WKIK Studios.]

GM:  Adam Rogers just blocked their path!  Adam Rogers may have just
saved Ron Houston from losing his final opportunity at the National
Title!

BW:  He did, Gordo!  He did!  They were out of here!  Houston wasn't
going to catch 'em and that turncoat - that scum, Adam Rogers, just cut
them off!

[The Super Ninja strikes a defensive position, ready to battle Rogers...

...and completely unaware that an approaching Ron Houston just grabbed
his client by the hair and is dragging him back towards the ring.]

GM:  And now Houston's got the champion again!

[The screams from the National Champion get the Super Ninja's attention
but it's too late as Houston fires Broussard back into the ring.  The
Ninja races to ringside where Rogers follows, unfolding the chair and
taking a seat at ringside.]

BW:  What the-?!  Adam Rogers has no business staying out here!

GM:  He's here to even the odds - even the playing field.  Broussard's
got the Super Ninja and now Ron Houston's got Adam Rogers!

[Houston eyes Rogers warily but quickly snaps his focus back to
Broussard who is kneeling in the corner, begging for mercy as Houston
approaches him.]

GM:  You want mercy?  You want mercy after everything you've done?  I
don't think so, Marcus Broussard!

[But as the challenger gets closer, Broussard lunges into action,
sweeping both legs into a double leg takedown and applying a jacknife
cradle...

...while putting both feet on the middle rope for leverage.]

GM:  NO!  NOT LIKE THIS!

[The referee's hand slaps the canvas once...

It slaps the canvas twice...

...but before it comes down for a third time, Adam Rogers charges
alongside the ring, knocking the champion's feet off the rope and
breaking the pin attempt.]

GM:  Yes!  Yes!  Thank God for Adam Rogers!  Rogers just saved this
chance for Ron Houston again!  After what happened to Mark Shaw at The
Battle of Dallas, Adam Rogers is looking to redeem himself here tonight
on Saturday Night Wrestling in the biggest match of Ron Houston's life!

[An irate Broussard gets to his feet quickly, shouting at Rogers...

...which gives Houston the chance to pull the San Jose Shark down in a
schoolboy rollup.]

GM:  ONE!!!  TWO!!  THRE-


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  So close!  Ron Houston was a half a count away from becoming the
National Champion!

[Broussard is the first to his feet again...

...and promptly takes a wild swing at the referee who somehow manages to
avoid it just barely.]

GM:  Whoa!  He took a swing at Meekly!

BW:  Rightfully so.  That guy's as crooked as my mama's spine.

GM:  He's trying to get himself DQd now!  This guy will stop at nothing
to keep the National Title!

BW:  Would you?

GM:  Where's his honor?  His dignity?  His pride?

BW:  In his bank account that gets those big checks for being the
champion!

[Meekly bails out as Broussard approaches him again.  A frustrated
champion turns around...

...and promptly gets hoisted up onto the shoulders of a waiting Ron
Houston.]

GM:  FADE TO BLACK!  FADE TO BLACK!

BW:  NOOOOOO!

[But the San Jose Shark slips out of the grip, dropping to his knees,
and promptly driving his arm up into the nether regions of the
challenger!]

GM:  OHHHHHH!  LOW BLOW BY THE CHAMPION!

BW:  Hah hah!  Ring the bell!  That's a DQ - even in Texas!

[Bucky's right.

However, the referee can only call for the bell if he sees the low blow,
something he happened to miss thanks to Meekly having to dive from the
ring to avoid Broussard's punches.]

GM:  The referee didn't see it!  The low blow doesn't get Broussard out
of the match this time!

BW:  NO!  NO!  NO!

[An irate Broussard glares at the official who just now is getting back
into the ring...

...and then dives onto Houston, reaching back to hook a leg.]

GM:  A cover off the low blow - the ref down to count.  ONE!

[The crowd erupts as Houston powers out, throwing Broussard off of him!]

BW:  WHAT?!

GM:  Houston's out at one!  He kicked out at one!

[The camera catches a closeup of Broussard, his eyes wide in disbelief
at the quick kickout.]

GM:  Marcus Broussard can't believe it!  He can't believe it!

[The champion quickly pulls Houston into a front facelock...

...and drops down to the mat, spiking the challenger's head into the
canvas with a DDT before applying another lateral press with a leg
hook.]

GM:  DDT by the champion!  Another cover!  ONE!  TWO!

[The crowd explodes yet again as Houston powers out, throwing the
champion aside.  He quickly gets to a knee, shaking his head at the
National Champion.]

GM:  Unbelievable!

BW:  A low blow and a DDT have no effect?!  I always knew Houston had no
brain and no... well, I knew a low blow wouldn't hurt him much either...
but this is too much!

GM:  Ron Houston is on his feet!  Ron Houston is moving in on the San
Jose Shark who is in total shock at what is going on inside that ring. 
Broussard got cocky - he made the challenge for tonight - and it may be
the biggest mistake of his life, Bucky!

BW:  SHADDUP, GORDO!  He can pull it off still!

[Broussard backpedals as far as he can towards the ropes, dropping to a
knee as Houston approaches...

...and then grabs a handful of the front of Houston's tights, falling
back and using the leverage to hurl Houston through the ropes and down
to the concrete floor!]

GM:  Ohhhh!  

BW:  Hah hah!  What a leverage move by the champion!  What a beautiful
move by the champion!

GM:  Leverage move, my tail.  That was a blatant pull of the tights and
the referee is letting Broussard have it right now for the illegal move.

BW:  And this'll buy some time for the champion.

GM:  It's gonna buy him more than that!

[With Houston on the floor, the Super Ninja yanks him up by the hair...

...and promptly slams his shoulder into the steel ringpost!]

GM:  Ohhhh!

BW:  I told you, Gordo!  I told you he'd eat the steel before the night
was over!

GM:  That Super Ninja got involved - that Super Ninja got involved like
he always does!  Adam Rogers tried to get over there to prevent it but
his injured ankle prevented him from getting there in time.

[The camera zooms in on Rogers, kneeling next to Houston on the floor,
trying to help him to his feet.]

GM:  Rogers is trying to help him up... the referee is starting his ten
count...

[The count reaches three fairly quickly as Broussard implores the
official to count faster.]

BW:  Marcus is right!  That's a slow count.

GM:  A slow cou- give me a break, Bucky!

BW:  It is!  This referee is trying to cheat!

GM:  Oh, and speaking of cheating...

[With the referee distracted by making his count, Marcus Broussard is
"conversing" with the Super Ninja near the ropes.  After their
conversation is complete, the camera catches Marcus Broussard stuffing
something into his hand.]

GM:  What's he got, Bucky?  What's he got in his hand?

BW:  Huh?  I don't know what you're talking about.

GM:  Yeah, right.  I bet you don't.

[Houston rolls under the ropes with the help of Adam Rogers, slowly
getting to his feet as Broussard cocks back his now apparently-loaded
right hand.]

GM:  He's got the hand loaded up with something.  I couldn't tell what
it was but he's gonna- NO!

[The champion uncorks the big right hand...

...but it's ducked by the challenger who hooks Broussard in a side
waistlock, hoisting him up.]

GM:  What's- Broussard flips over the top!

[A hard shove to the back sends Houston to the ropes where he rebounds
back...

...and CONNECTS with a bone-rattling Lariat that knocks Broussard flat,
sending the object sailing from his hand outside the ring where it lands
at the feet of Adam Rogers!]

GM:  LARIAT!  LARIAT!  THAT MIGHT DO IT!!

[Houston throws his arm over the chest of Broussard as the referee drops
down to count.]

GM:  ONE!!!  TWO!!!  THRE-



"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  FOOT ON THE ROPES!  Broussard got his foot on the ropes somehow -
and shockingly, he did it without any help that time!  Broussard just
saved his title for the time being right there!

[For the first time, Houston shows signs of frustration as he balls up
his fists and slams them repeatedly into the canvas before climbing back
to his feet.]

GM:  Don't get off track now, Ron.  Keep your head straight.

BW:  What happened to being unbiased?

GM:  Since when did you ever care about that?

[Reaching down, Houston drags Broussard off the canvas by the hair,
ducking down to hoist him up into a fireman's carry...

...but a thumb to the eye causes him to not get the carry applied.]

GM:  Oh!  Cheap shot!

[And with Houston blinded, Broussard goes for the kill, wrapping his
arms around the big man in a bearhug, popping his hips...

...and DRIVING Houston down to the canvas with a belly-to-belly suplex!]

GM:  BELLY TO BELLY!  BELLY TO BELLY!  ONE!!!  TWO!!!  THRE-

[The crowd EXPLODES as Houston kicks out once again, barely beating the
three count on Broussard's favorite suplex.]

GM:  He couldn't get him, Bucky!  He couldn't-

BW:  I saw it!  I saw it!

[A furious Broussard springs to his feet, stomping the downed Houston
before he can rise...

...and then waves for the Super Ninja to get up on the apron.]

GM:  Uh oh.

BW:  Finish him!

[Broussard yanks Houston up, holding his arms behind him as he walks
towards the apron where the Super Ninja is now standing.]

GM:  Somebody's got to stop this!  This is going to get Broussard out of
this match!  This is a DQ waiting to happen!  This isn't right - not
after how hard Houston has worked in this match - how close he's come to
winning it all.

BW:  Cry me a river, Gordo!

[The Ninja rears back with his right hand...

...but can't throw it thanks to Adam Rogers is now up on the apron as
well.]

GM:  ROGERS STOPS IT!  ROGERS STOPS IT!

[The crowd roars as Rogers and the Ninja struggle, each trying to
neutralize the other.  A stunned Broussard looks on, trying to restrain
a wriggling Ron Houston...

...who suddenly breaks free, throwing a hard back elbow into the face of
the San Jose Shark!]

GM:  YES!  YES!

[Houston suddenly runs forward, lifting his massive leg...

...and hitting a big boot kick squarely in the side of the Super Ninja's
head, sending him sailing off the apron and crashing down to the
concrete floor!  THE CROWD ERUPTS!]

GM:  DOWN GOES THE NINJA!

[Rogers drops down off the apron gingerly, slapping his hands on the
canvas to rally the fans as Houston peppers Broussard with big jabs,
knocking him backwards.]


"HOU-STON!"

"HOU-STON!"

"HOU-STON!"

GM:  Listen to these fans!  They're going nuts for the challenger - for
the Athens, Georgia Madman!

[The battering of punches knocks Broussard into the ropes where Houston
whips him across...

...and hits the same running big boot he just used on the Super Ninja,
levelling the National Champion!]

GM:  BOOT!  

[Houston drops down on top of Broussard, reaching back to hook the leg.]

GM:  ONE!!!  TWO!!!  THRE- 


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  So close!  Again, so very close for the East Coast Terror!

[The man from Athens, Georgia pushes up to his knees, shaking his head
in disbelief for a moment before climbing up to his feet...

...and lifting his big right fist, clenched tightly to the roar of the
WKIK Studio audience.]

GM:  He's calling for that heart punch!  He's calling for the Pulse
Killer!

[Houston drags a barely-standing Broussard off the canvas, tucking the
champion's left arm behind his own head...

...and buries his big right fist squarely into the heart of the San Jose
Shark, knocking him flat.]

GM:  He nailed it!  Down goes the champion!

[Broussard crumples to the canvas as Houston falls down on top of him.]

GM:  ONE!!!  TWO!!!  THRE-

[The crowd boos wildly as a barely moving Super Ninja somehow managed to
lift Broussard's foot onto the bottom rope...

...and gets cracked upside the head by Adam Rogers for his efforts,
coins spilling everywhere after the punch connects!]

GM:  ROGERS HITS THE NINJA WITH A ROLL OF COINS!

BW:  Where did he get that?  

GM:  Oh, gee, I wonder!  Your boy tried to use it earlier and now
payback is a- well, payback's hell for the Super Ninja right now!  He's
out flat!

[With the crowd still cheering like crazy, an inspired Ron Houston
climbs to his feet, pulling Broussard away from the ropes and getting
him up off the mat as well.]

GM:  Both men up... in the center of the ring... the Super Ninja is laid
out - he's out of play!

[With a big nod of his head, Houston ducks down to hoist Broussard up
onto his shoulders.]

GM:  He's got him up!  He's got the champion up for the Fade To Black! 
If he hits this, it's over!

[Houston slowly starts to spin - once, twice, three times...]

GM:  HERE IT IS!!

[But right before he swings Broussard out, Houston topples off-balance,
tumbling back into a crucifix cradle from the National Champion.]

BW:  Just like at Memorial Day Mayhem!

GM:  ONE!!!  TWO!!!  THRE-

[Just before three count comes down, Houston somehow gets his 286 pounds
working for him, rolling into the force that Broussard was using to keep
his shoulders down, flipping through the cradle onto his knees, where he
promptly stands up...

...with the National Champion still clinging to his arms and shoulders.]

GM:  HE ROLLS THROUGH THE CRUCIFIX!

BW:  How in the-

GM:  HE'S GOT HIM UP!!

[A quick spin follows and Houston lets Broussard fly, sailing out and
down to the canvas with crushing impact.  The challenger drops to his
knees, throwing the National Champion onto his back and diving across
him, reaching back to tightly cradle the leg.]

GM:  ONE!!!  TWO!!!   THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  HE DID IT!  HE DID IT!  WE'VE GOT A NEW NATIONAL CHAMPION!

BW:  No.  There's no way.  It can't be!

[Melissa Cannon hands the title belt to the referee as she makes the
announcement.]

MC:  Your winner of the match in a time of fifteen minutes and 43
seconds...

AND NEW AWA NATIONAL CHAMPION...

RONNNNNN HOUUUUUUUUUSTONNNNNN!

[The WKIK Studio audience ERUPTS at the official announcement, somehow
growing louder as the sparkling championship belt is handed to Houston
who immediately drops to his knees, clutching the title belt against his
chest.]

GM:  Listen to these fans!  Look at the expression on the new champion's
face!  Now _this_ is a classic moment in AWA history, Bucky.

BW:  I can't- this can't be happening.

GM:  It's happening, Bucky!  The AWA has a new top dog - a new king of
the hill - a new man standing atop the heap and that man is Ron Houston!
 Ron Houston is the new AWA National Champion!  I can't believe it!  Ron
Houston defied all the odds - embraced the pressure and embraced his
destiny!  Ron Houston is the new AWA National Champion!

[As Houston climbs to his feet, the title belt held high overhead, the
locker room empties of all the fan favorites as a parade to the ring to
congratulate the new champion emerges.  Kevin Slater, Luke Steele, Rick
Marley, Werewolf Gregorson, Kentucky's Pride, Sweet Daddy Williams,
Ricky Royal among others flood the ring all offering handshakes and
embraces to the new National Champion.]

GM:  The ring is filled with well-wishers.  What a moment this is - and
take a look at this...

[Adam Rogers joins the celebration in the ring and after a moment of
consideration...

...Ron Houston extends his hand to the Natural who happily accepts,
lifting Houston's hand high in the air and pointing to the new
champion.]

GM:  Yeah!  Alright!  What a moment, fans!  We're out of time - we're
actually over time!  Our thanks to WKIK for giving us these extra few
minutes to bring you the conclusion of this match.  Fans, we've gotta
go!  We'll have more for you on the AWA website in the coming days.  I'm
Gordon Myers for Bucky Wilde saying so long from Dallas, Texas, where we
have a new National Champion in Ron Houston... until next time when
we'll see _you_... at the matches!

BW:  I can't believe it.

[And with the celebration still raging inside the ring, the camera
closes on Ron Houston as a group of fan favorites hoist the triumphant
champion on their shoulders...

...and we fade to black.]