Saturday Night Wrestling

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                           American Wrestling Alliance
                                 Proudly Presents
                         AWA Saturday Night Wrestling

              Live from the parking lot of the Muncipal Auditorium
                             New Orleans, Louisiana
                                    June 20, 2009
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[As we fade in, we hear the closing theme to the Andy Griffith show as
the shot starts to fade.  In it's place, we see footage marked "LAST
TIME ON SNW!" in white text over it.  Outside the ring, Calisto Dufresne
rolls back in, shoving the protesting official aside as he yanks El Lobo
Negro up off the mat, pulling him into a front facelock.  Adrian Freeman
quickly grabs the legs from behind, pulling them up so that the duo is
holding the luchador off the mat...

...and they both drop down, SPIKING the masked man into the canvas!]

GM:  Sweet mercy!

BW:  WHAM BAM THANK YOU MA'AM... with an assist from Freeman to boot!

GM:  Double cover... one!  Two!  Three!

[The referee signals for the bell but an irate Dufresne isn't done,
rolling under the ropes and pulling a dazed Super Tigre off the mat,
shoving him back into the ring where Freeman immediately starts stomping
him into the mat.]

GM:  Enough is enough!  This match is over! 

BW:  Freeman and Dufresne just picked up their second point as well,
Gordo!  That's four teams with two points!  Kentucky's Pride may have
their hands full on the 4th of July!

GM:  What in the world is Dufresne- no!

[The crowd jeers as Dufresne scoops up the ring bell again, rolling
under the ropes into the squared circle.  The referee gets up in
Dufresne's face again...

...and gets CREAMED with the ring bell!]

GM:  OHHHHHHHHH!  DID YOU SEE THAT?!

BW:  Meekly mouthed off to him!  That punk kid said-

GM:  He said nothing!  Nothing!  The young man was just doing his job
and got absolutely leveled with that ring bell!  Dufresne has snapped! 
He's lost it!

BW:  This is all Rogers and Broussard's fault!  They caused this!  They
brought this on!

[With the referee laid out, Dufresne's cold gaze comes to rest on Super
Tigre once more.  He puts the belt down on the mat, grabbing the
luchador's arm and placing his hand on the steel bell.]

GM:  What in the... what is he doing, Bucky?

BW:  I'm not... oh my god.  I know EXACTLY what he's doing!

GM:  He's not!  

BW:  He is!  They are!  Dufresne and Freeman are going to add another
victim to their list!

[With Dufresne holding the arm in place, he barks an order in the
direction of Adrian Freeman who looks down with steely eyes at the
motionless Super Tigre...

...and STOMPS down on the hand, sending a wail of agony from the masked
man!]

GM:  OHHHHHHHH!

[Super Tigre immediately rolls from the ring, clutching his injured hand
underneath him...

...and the stunned arena ERUPTS into cheers as a new tandem makes their
appearance in the aisle!]

GM:  ROGERS AND BROUSSARD!

[The Natural and the San Jose Shark come charging down the aisle, diving
headfirst under the ropes into the ring...

...just as Freeman and Dufresne dive to the floor, making their escape
as the footage fades to 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 a very
unique scene - the parking lot outside the Municipal Coliseum in New
Orleans.  A makeshift "arena" has been built with bleachers surrounding
the ring.  In between the bleachers, we can see groups of "standing room
only" fans who are cheering just as hard as their seated brethren.  The
camera pans over the roaring crowd as the music continues to play.

We dissolve to the ringside area where a small table has been
strategically placed next to the ring.  In front of it, stand our two
announcers.

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.]

GM:  Good evening, fans, and welcome to another edition of AWA Saturday
Night Wrestling featuring all the stars of the American Wrestling
Alliance, _the_ major league of professional wrestling.  And Bucky
Wilde, we are just two weeks away from the 4th of July and the AWA's
next big event Death Or Glory LIVE from Jackson, Mississippi!

BW:  We sure are and with the matches announced for it, you know the
fireworks will be flying in Mississippi, daddy!   Get it?  4th of July? 
Fireworks?

GM:  I got it.  It will definitely be an exciting night in Mississippi
but before that, we've got what's sure to be an exciting night here in
New Orleans as well, Bucky.  Adam Rogers and Marcus Broussard will team
together in the AWA for the very first time as they warm up for their
tag team showdown at Death Or Glory with the suspended duo of Adrian
Freeman and Calisto Dufresne.

BW:  Rogers and Broussard are finally all huggy, goody-two shows, in
love with each other.  It makes me sick.

GM:  We've also got Scott Pain and Colt Patterson teaming up to take on
The Right Proper Thugs with a shot at the National Tag Team Titles
hanging in the balance for Pain and Patterson.

BW:  For weeks, those two old fossils have been talking about wantin' a
shot to wear some gold again.  If they win tonight, they get that shot
at Death Or Glory.

GM:  Plus, don't forget our HUGE Main Event as Sweet Daddy Williams
battles Vladimir Velikov in a Coward Waves The Flag match!  Stevie Scott
and Kolya Sudakov will be in their respective partner's corners and the
only way to win the match is to force your opponent's corner man to
throw in their flag.  That's gonna be intense.  But fans, let's get
things started with- wait a second...

[The camera follows the gaze of Gordon Myers towards the ringside area
near them where a sea of fans are being shoved aside as someone attempts
to make their way towards the railing.]

GM:  Fans, it looks like we've got...

[Finally, the figure reaches the railing, scaling over it as the front
row fans shout insults in his direction.  It is one-half of the
aforementioned suspended duo, "Subzero" Adrian Freeman.]

BW:  Adrian! What a pleasant surprise.

GM:  Speak for yourself, Bucky.  Adrian Freeman, what business do you
have out here?  Don't you know that you're suspended?

[Freeman sneers in Myers' direction.]

AF:  All the more reason to be out here, Gordo. People like me need to
speak out and protest the injustice in this company.

GM:  I see... and Im sure youll tell us all about this injustice.

AF:   Last time out, Calisto and I were suspended and fined for doing
our jobs... beating the daylights out of the schlubs they put in front
of us. So what if we hurt some club fighter from Japan? 

GM:  Super Tigre is from Mexico.

[Freeman waves a hand dismissively.]

AF:  Whatever.  And why are we the only ones to be punished around here?
Look at how many teams Rough N Ready have taken out during their stay
here. Why are they the AWA posterboys and were suspended?

GM:  Surely you cant be comparing your actions with-

AF:  Oh, I am! But you know what? I welcome this punishment. It makes me
focused and angry. Im sure you dont know this Gordo, but anger is a
wrestlers greatest weapon. You like to see honorable competition between
people like Adam Rogers and Marcus Broussard where after the match they
hug and talk about how great each other are... but thats because youve
never been in a fight in your life. If you had youd realize that respect
isnt something to be praised. Its a weakness. The respectful wrestlers
are the ones who go to one-hour draws because they just cant bring
themselves to finish the fight, while people like me just win.

[Gordon Myers shakes his head with disgust at this view.]

AF:  So for this tag match on July 4th? Im going to take all of my anger
from this suspension and put it up against Marcus and Adams respect and
youll see just which one wins.

[Gordon Myers shakes his head again, this time speaking up to
interrupt.]

GM: Okay Adrian. While Im sure these fans would love to hear more of
your personal philosophy, we have a packed show tonight and you werent
scheduled on it. Weve got to get to the people actually SCHEDULED to
appear on tonight's show.

AF: You can shut me up, but you cant stop me.

[And with that Freeman leaves the way he came in, walking through the
crowd and soaking up the jeers.]

GM:  Fans, I apologize for that interruption.  At this time, please
welcome to ringside the man who was victorious over the massive Tumaffi
just two weeks ago in his return to AWA Saturday Night Wrestling.  He is
a former National Champion... Ron Houston!

[The opening chords of Becks Farewell Ride begin to twang over the PA
system as The Madmen everywhere slowly rise from their seat anticipating
the arrival of _one man_...]

GM: Thats the music of The Athens Georgia Madman, Bucky... but I dont
see Ron Houston anywhere.

BW: One can only hope that he realized how much more alluring retirement
was and decided to be the East Coast Terror of the retirement community
instead, Gordo!

GM: Bucky, Ron Houston is _back_ and the sooner you realize it... the
better off youll be.

BW: How in the world would _I_ be better off with Ron Houston here?

[The crowd ERUPTS into cheers!]

GM: There he is!  Houstons coming out here _through_ the New Orleans
crowd!

[Sure enough, slowly working his way through the New Orleans crowd, is
Ron Houston. The Athens Georgia Madman is draped in his normal tan
trench coat and signature black cowboy hat. Across his face? A smile
from ear to ear as he continually stops to shake the hands of The Madmen
that cloak the street.]

BW: Look at these yahoos! Sudakov is going to murder Houston again,
folks! Youre _all_ wasting your time cheering for him. Heck, half the
roster could probably murder that hack.

GM: Bucky, Ron Houston is a former Rumble winner. A former National
Champion. A man who on his first night back in AWA managed to come
within an eyelash of winning the Rumble for the _second_ year in a row.
Heck he joined, just _two weeks ago_, a very elite list of men to have
successfully defeated Tumaffi, regardless of the circumstances.

BW: Luck... luck... luck. This guys been cruising through on luck for
years.

[Houston continues to shake hands with the Bayou Madmen as he sweeps
around towards ringside. He casually climbs over the metal guardrail and
pauses, catching a young boy front row cheering just a bit louder than
the rest. Having caught Rons attention, he turns back to the young boy
and drops his black cowboy hat down upon the childs head.]

GM: Theres a _very_ happy young man, right there, Bucky!

[Houston approaches the announcing duo, and Gordon moves to meet the
former National Champ. Bucky meanwhile skulks nearby.]

GM: Mr. Ron Houston... I know we saw you two weeks ago, but I just
wanted to once again take a moment to say _welcome_ back! And on top of
that... that was _quite_ the entrance, Ron.

[Houston smiles.]

RH: Well, Gordo... ah couldnt help but notice what a nice night it was
out here... and ah can never get me enough of a fine southern city like
New Orleans...

[Big cheer!]

RH:  ... the pearl of the south if mah opinion means anything ta ya.

[Another big cheer!]

RH:  So ah figured ahd enjoy the festivities with some of these good
folks here and take the scenic route out fer mah match thats comin up in
just a few minutes.

[Oh yeah.. in the ring... a petrified young gentleman by the name of
Frankie Pierce stands. Pierce is dressed in plain white wrestling trunks
and a pot belly that stretches the material to the limit. He watches on
as The East Coast Terror continues.]

GM: I know last time, with Tumaffi/Houston consuming your thoughts...
you didnt want to address your intentions now that youve returned to
AWA... would you care to elaborate a bit more now, Ron?

RH:  Plain and simple, Gordon.

[Houstons friendly demeanor quickly drops as his teeth clench. The mere
thought that was driven into his head causing a quick one eighty.]

RH:  Ah want mah title back.

[Biggest cheer so far!]

RH:  Ya see, the way ah figure it. Ah could come out here and complain
bout how ah was robbed. Ambushed... taken advantage of... manipulated...
but when ya break it down... when ya get right down ta the nitty gritty
of it...

... theres only _one_ man ta blame fer what happened ta me.

[A big ol Athens index finger slams into Houstons own chest.]

RH:  It was all _mah_ fault, Gordon.

And while ah sat back, lickin mah wounds fer what felt like forever...
the AWA moved on. Wrestlers rose and fell. New faces arrived. Old ones
stuck it out. And, unfortunately, we lost a few of em along the way as
well. Point bein that while time froze fer me... things here kept right
on movin along here at mah _home_. It felt like the _entire_ landscape o
this here great federation, was completely paved over. Ahm not sayin it
was better... or worse... just that it was a face I didnt recognize.
Like an ol friend that you havent seen in years.

[Houston turns to Gordon. His face slacking slightly.]

RH:  But while a whole lot has changed here, old friend.

Ah aint.

[More cheers!]

RH:  Ahm still the same man who ran roughshod over this federation fer
the better part of last year. Ahm still the man who won him the first
ever Rumble. The man who took the Shark and sent him swimmin to calmer
waters. Ahm still the same sunnuvagun who aint afraid of no man. Big or
small. Ahll take on all comers. A _fact_ that ah think ah proved two
weeks ago when ah took on a man that ah dont see _anybody_ steppin up ta
the plate ta take on.

GM: And by that, you _must_ be referring to Tumaffi, Ron.

RH: Ah am, Gordon. And on that matter, lemme get one thing _sparklin_
clear...

[Houston turns towards the camera, giving the Samoan Nightmare the
respect he deserves.]

RH:  Tumaffi.

Ah aint proud of the way ah got the W on ya last time. Ah think we all
saw that ah didnt have a clue that Destiny grabbed yer leg, and ah think
we _both_ know that if ah had seen it, ah wouldve done somethin bout it
right then and there.

So anytime, big man.

Anytime ya want... ya just say the word and ahll give ya the rematch
that ya deserve.

Cause while yer one tough tough amigo... while ya got all the respect in
the world from The Athens Georgia Madman... ah aint afraid ta step back
in there with ya and do it right next time.

GM: So aside from Tumaffi... you mentioned that you want the National
Championship back... how do you plan on accomplishing that?

[Houston smiles.]

RH: Well, fer starters... after were done, ahm gonna turn round and hop
inta that there ring and Fade that poor man out.

Then ahm gonna _be_ there on July 4th, Gordon.

And ahm gonna be watchin me that there Stevie Scott versus Kolya Sudakov
match.

And ahm gonna be watchin it _reealll_ close, Gordon.

[Houston grits his teeth again.]

RH:  Then ahm gonna bide mah time.

Ahm gonna wait.

And when the moment is _just right_...

[Houston holds up a closed right hand.]

RH:  ... ahm takin back whats mine.

[And with that, Ron turns and heads towards the ring, tossing aside his
trench coat along the way.]

GM: Ladies and gentlemen, Ron Houston!

[The crowd roars again as Houston moves towards the ringsteps and
Melissa starts to speak.]

MC: The follow contest is one fall and has a 10 minute time limit... in
the ring to my left... hailing from St. Louis, Missouri...


... FFFRRRAANNNNKKIIIIEEEE PIIIEEERRRCCCEEEE !!!


[Lukewarm response as the petrified Pierce stares across the ring as The
East Coast Terror climbs the steps and steps into the ring. Rocking back
and forth, shifting his weight from left to right and back.]

MC: AND HIS OPPONENT...

[POP!!!]

MC:  ... HAILING FROM ATHENS, GEORGIA... HE IS...

THE ATHENS GEORGIA MADMAN

THE EAST COAST TERROR

... RRRROOONNNNN HHHOOOUUUUSSSTTTOOOONNNN !!!

[The entire audience attempts to fill the heavens with cheers as they
light up the night sky, cheering on Ron wholeheartedly. And as it slowly
subsides we hear the clanging of the bell. Ding Ding Ding!]

GM: And were underway!

BW: Come on Frankie! Houstons been back under a month and Im already
sick of him again!

[Houston charges across the ring and Pierce quickly recoils out of the
way. Houston slamming into the corner hard. He staggers out and turns,
Frankie, realizing this might be his one opportunity charges at The East
Coast Terror.]

GM: Pierce with a cross body bloc---


{{{{{{{TTTTHHHHHWAAAPPPPPPPPPPPP}}}}}}}}}}


__PULSEKILLER__!!!

BW: Houston cocked his fist back and shoved it straight into the chest
of a flying Frankie Pierce when he was parallel to the mat!!! Pierce
dropped like a rock!

GM: Houston pulls Pierce off the mat!!! He lifts him up into a firemans
carry

BW: You gotta be kidding me! Already!

GM: This is the Ron Houston we saw for the better part of last year.
This is the National Champion we all remember. Ladies and Gentlemen...

[Houston paces the ring with Pierce on his shoulders for a few moments
before bringing him out and dumping him face first on the mat.]

GM:  ... Ron Houston is most _definitely_ back!!! Fade to Black!!!

BW: The cover... One! Two! Three!

[POP!]

MC: The winner of this match, in a time of 28 seconds...

THE ATHENS GEORGIA MADMAN

RRRROOONNNN HHHHOOOUUUSSTTTOONNNNN !!!

GM: This crowd is going nuts as Houston exits the way he came... through
the crowd!!! New Orleans is most surely Ron Houston country after
tonight, Bucky!

BW: They can have im.

[Houston high fives the rowdy crowd as he slowly makes his way through
them, and is eventually swallowed out of our view by the small sea of
spectators as 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 to live action to the ringside announce area where
Gordon and Bucky standing in front of their makeshift announce desk.]

GM:  Welcome back to Saturday Night Wrestling, fans... and at this time,
Bucky, we are pleased to welcome in once again, in his final television
appearance before facing off with Kolya Sudakov for the National Title
in roughly two weeks' time at Death Or Glory... the #1 contender to that
title, "Hotshot" Stevie Scott!

[Huge pop!]

BW: You mean _you're_ pleased. I am no such thing. I hope he doesn't
have that big, fat goofball with him too.

[Ah, but he does. The team known as Sweet Heat strides into the camera
with Sweet Daddy Williams even more hyped up than usual.]

GM: We also are _pleased_ to welcome in Sweet Daddy Williams, who has a
big match tonight against Vladimir Velikov, a precursor if you will to
the title match forthcoming on July 4.

[Sweet Daddy Williams looks shockingly focused.  No sign of the usual
shucking and jiving and dancin' and prancin' that we usually get from
the rotund fan favorite.]

SDW:  My good friend, Gordon Myers... I'll have more to say about those
nasty Russians later, baby... but for now, I'm gonna let my brotha from
anotha motha, Stevie Scott speak on this.

[Gordon smiles, turning to the Hotshot.]

GM:  Stevie, in just two weeks, you are looking at what might very well
be the biggest match of your entire career as you face Kolya Sudakov for
the AWA National Title.

HSS: Well, first of all, Gordon...right now, my mind is on the here and
now. I've got a job to do tonight for the Sweet Daddy and I'm not going
to let him down, just like he hasn't let me down since dragging my sorry
carcass out of the gutter last summer.

[SDW nods and pats the Hotshot on the shoulder.]

HSS: But don't think for one minute, Sudakov, that I won't be keeping my
eyes on _you_.

I know you'd love nothing more than to injure me again, just two weeks
away from having to put your precious championship on the line against a
man who's got more on his side than you'll ever know.

I got the _fans_.

[Another rockin' big pop!]

HSS: I've got _destiny_ on my side. I've got the _drive_...I've got the
_determination_...and I've got something else you'll never have, though
it took me years to find it.

I 've got _heart_.

[Stevie nods.]

HSS: It all adds up to a formula you've never had to face. I know it.
You know it. Your uncle knows it. So I fully expect part of your plan
tonight to be to take me out once again.

What do we have to say about that, Sweet Daddy.

[SDW shakes his head and waggles his finger like Dikembe Mutombo.]

SDW: Ain't gonna happen!

[Pop! Stevie grins as SDW pumps a fist in the air.]

HSS: You should have gotten the job done right the _first_ time, boys.
But you didn't. You took me _down_, but you didn't take me _out_.

In two weeks' time, you're going to find out that was the biggest
mistake you've _ever_ made.

You see...you brought something out in me that I never knew was there.
You brought out a fire, a drive, a desire that had been hiding deep in
my soul. Velikov, last time you were out here, you said I was afraid.

I might be.

[Stevie pauses, then a STEVIESMIRK~!]

HSS: But not of what you think.

I don't fear your nephew. He may be big...he may be strong...but he's
not my fear.

What _I_ fear is letting down these people. Letting down good friends
like Sweet Daddy Williams. Letting down my _country_ because of all the
anti-American filth you've been spewing for so long.

And letting down _myself_ if I allow you two to get the best of me and
take away what I've been working for so dang hard.

But like Sweet Daddy just said...ain't gonna happen.

And that, my former comrades, is...how you say...

[STEVIEGRIN~!]

HSS: A _promise_!

[A huge pop from the crowd eventually turns into some jeers as, once
again, "Agent To The Stars" Ben Waterson walks out to the announce table
with his briefcase in hand.]

ATTSBW: A promise, huh, Stevie?

[Waterson chuckles.]

ATTSBW: That's all well and good. It's great that you believe in
yourself and all that self-help mumbo-jumbo. But let's spend some time
in a little place I like to call...reality.

[Sweet Daddy takes a step forward but again, Stevie holds up an arm to
stop him like last time. This time, Waterson turns his attention to the
fan favorite.]

ATTSBW: Hold on, fat man. I'm not out here to talk to you, so you can
take your tired old butt over to that chair and out of our business.

[Big heel pop! SDW pushes past Stevie this time as Waterson backpedals
and raises the briefcase as a weapon.]

ATTSBW: Hold on there, lardo. Lay a hand on me and I'll have my lawyers
take you for so much, you'll be eating Ramen Noodles for the rest of
your life.

[Williams thinks better of it and backs off as Waterson lowers the
briefcase and looks him up and down.]

ATTSBW: Come to think of it, that might be a good thing for you.

[More heel poppage.]

HSS: Alright, Waterson, let's leave Sweet Daddy out of this. What do you
want from me?

[Waterson again chuckles and shakes his head.]

ATTSBW: That is the wrong question to ask, Stevie. The _right_ question
is, what do _you_...

[He points at Stevie for emphasis.]

ATTSBW: _Need_...

[Then at the briefcase.]

ATTSBW: From _me_.

I think you know the answer to that question, don't you, Stevie?

[Stevie pauses...looks at Sweet Daddy...then at Waterson...the
briefcase...then starts nodding as the crowd begins to heat up in
anticipation.]

HSS: Mr. Waterson...I appreciate your generous offer.

But I am not...

[The Hotshot pauses again, surveying the crowd.]

HSS: Correction.

_We_...are not interested.

[Huge pop!]

ATTSBW:  It's cute, you know?

[Waterson pauses.]

ATTSBW:  Your fat friend, these idiot fans.  It's cute that you think
they actually mean something.  Stevie, you and I are realists, I think. 
We both know that there's only ONE thing that means ANY thing in this
business...

Winning.

[Waterson grins.]

ATTSBW:  I'm not a salesman, Stevie.  

[Waterson pats the briefcase.]

ATTSBW:  Besides, this baby sells itself.  You should see the list of
people on the waiting list if you're not smart enough to cough up the
cash.  So, I grow tired of trying to convince you to make the smartest
decision of your life.

I'll make this simple.

At Death Or Glory... you can either be a winner...

[Pats the case.]

ATTSBW:  Or a loser.  The choice is yours.

[Stevie shakes his head, grabbing the mic.]

HSS:  You know, Waterson... it occurs to me that as much as I've got to
gain at Death Or Glory... you've got just as much to lose.

[Waterson looks puzzled.]

HSS:  You've staked a lot on that briefcase.  Your future in this
business, your bank account... 

[Scott nods.]

HSS:  In fact, I'd say that should things go my way on the 4th of July
and I win the National Title... WITHOUT... your help...

[Stevie grins as Waterson starts to catch on.]

HSS:  Then you find yourself with absolutely nothing.

[The crowd cheers as Waterson's eyes go wide.]

ATTSBW:  Scott, you just made the biggest mistake of your life.  Until
now, it hadn't really occurred to me what would happen if you actually
WON the match at Death Or Glory without my help by some fluke.

But now that I have?

[Waterson smirks.]

ATTSBW:  You just gave me every reason in the world to make sure that
doesn't happen.  So, again... one last time... at Death Or Glory, you
will either win the National Title with my help... or you'll lose that
match...

...with my help.

The choice is yours, Stevie.  

[Waterson pauses as Stevie looks annoyed.]

ATTSBW:  Consider... yourself... warned.

[There's a bit of a staredown between the two men before Waterson slowly
backs away.]

GM:  Fans, Stevie Scott... Kolya Sudakov... the National Championship on
the line!  Two weeks away at Death Or Glory - what a battle that's gonna
be!  Stevie, Sweet Daddy - the best of luck to you both.

[Sweet Heat makes their collective exit, both men still steaming a bit
as they walk back up the aisle.]

GM:  Fans, the National Tag Team Titles will also be on the line at
Death Or Glory as Kentucky's Pride puts them up against a team that has
yet to be decided.  But tonight, they're looking for a warmup match to
get ready for that big title defense.  Let's go up to Melissa for the
announcements!

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

MC: The following contest is a tag team match scheduled for one fall.
Introducing first, they hail from Washington, DC and weigh in tonight
at... an... unknown weight combined weight. They are Mr. HD and Mr.
FCC... 

TELEVISION THAT'S GOOD TO WATCH! 

[Out first is the man seen a month or so ago, the 6'0", 180-something
pounder Mr. HD, wearing a black mask with a TV set design on it,
static-patterned wrestling tights and a black T-shirt that has "Mr. HD"
in white lettering. Next is a man that some may recall from short stints
in Los Angeles and elsewhere - a large framed emotionless man in a black
suit, with black sunglasses, and black wingtips. This man, also known as
"The Mysterious Suited Guy", is Mr. FCC today as seen by his white arm
band that has "FCC" in bold, black lettering.]

BW: Gordo, you better watch your tongue right now - the FCC's here. No
more cussing out of you tonight, okay?

GM: What? I don't believe I ever done that on air.

BW: We all know it's coming. Just a matter of time, Gordo.

[Mr. HD has a bag with him - full of digital converter boxes - that he
hands out to the fans nearby as he passes by. Meanwhile, Mr. FCC checks
some of the video cameras for proper alignment before getting to the
ring.]

MC: And their opponents...

[Stephen Foster's "My Old Kentucky Home" plays as a huge cheer comes
from the New Orleans crowd!]

MC: From Kentucky, they weigh in tonight at a combined 564 pounds...
They are the AWA National Tag Team Champions...

[The cheers get even louder as City Jack bursts from the entrance, not
able to wait any longer to see the New Orleans fans. Jack goes towards
the nearby fans and shakes their hands, one after another, as his
partner Tin Can Rust makes his way out of the entrance and down towards
the ring.]

MC: City Jack and Tin Can Rust... 

KENTUCKY'S PRIIIIIIIIIDE!

[As Tin Can Rust nears the ring, City Jack is still up towards the
entrance area, shaking hands and greeting the fans. Rust looks back with
a bit of annoyance at the delay, but instead of entering the ring, he
heads up towards Jack and joins him in well wishing.]

GM: This is a special event for City Jack. He spent a good portion of
his career not too far from here on the Grand Isle, who was hit hard by
Katrina and other hurricanes. He's been a supporter of many charities to
get the people of southern Louisiana back on their feet. He even bussed
in a good amount of people from the area for the show tonight.

[City Jack continues to shake the hands of the fans nearby, some of whom
wear a City Jack t-shirt. The ref finally comes over and tells City Jack
and Tin Can Rust to enter the ring, which City Jack does reluctantly.
Upon entering, the two hand over their AWA National Tag Team titles to
the ref. After a small discussion, Rust stays in the ring while Mr. FCC
stays in their for Television That's Good to Watch.]

GM: It'll be Tin Can Rust and Mr. FCC to start this match.

BW: You could call this a tune up for Kentucky's Pride match against
Colt Patterson and Scott Pain, but I think both Mr. HD and FCC were born
before the Eisenhower administration.

[Tin Can Rust shoots a right hand to the jaw of the equal-in-stature Mr.
FCC, which only gets him shaking his head for a moment before shooting a
right hand to the jaw of TCR himself!]

GM: A volley of right hands and neither has the upper-hand! Rust now
with a right! FCC with a right! And a left! And another! He's got Tin
Can Rust on his heels!

[Mr. FCC continues his plodding barrage of fists, landing each haymaker
on the jaw of Rust to back the Kentuckian towards the ropes. FCC goes
for an Irish whip, but Rust is quick to block, reverse, and send Mr. FCC
down with a short-arm clothesline.]

GM: Reversal and clothesline sends Mr. FCC down to the mat and Rust -

[Huge pop from the fans in attendance!]

GM: - tags in City Jack!

BW: Mr. FCC, he's still wearing his sunglasses?

GM: Yes, he's got them still on in there as he starts to rise to his
feet. City Jack over now and he's got him by the neck!

[City Jack locks in and rains down a couple noggin knockin' punches to
Mr. FCC before whipping him to the ropes and hitting him on the return
with a running forearm smash!]

GM: Running Metropill wipes out Mr. FCC and sends those sunglasses
flying!

[City Jack picks up the sunglasses, looks at them for a moment... and
puts them on. While they barely fit on his face, CJ gives a quick smile
to the crowd before doing a little jukin' n' jivin.]

GM: City Jack having fun tonight and the fans here in New Orleans love
it!

BW: I think I'm going to be sick, Gordo. That's just not right. I hope
Mr. FCC doesn't fine us for this indecent behavior.

[City Jack slows down his dancing as Mr. FCC gets back to one knee while
one hand covers his sunglassless face. Seeing the rising opponent, CJ
goes over to drag Mr. FCC by his suit, but instead with a hard shot to
the gut that doubles over the Liberty, KY native.]

GM: Mr. FCC snatches his sunglasses back off of City Jack!

BW: I'd take them back to the shop, Mr. FCC - that fat slob bent your
shades out of place.

[With his sunglasses back on, Mr. FCC's hands are free to shoot an
uppercut to the face of City Jack, sending him stumbling backwards.]

GM: Tag to Mr. HD and now both off... what are they called?

BW: Television That's Good to Watch.

GM: Oh... Well, both of them are now in the ring.

BW: I'd like call Mr. FCC on some false advertising right here, daddy.

[Mr. FCC picks up Mr. HD up over his shoulder and flings the wiry fellow
at the frame of City Jack, sending the Kentuckian and Mr. HD over the
ropes in a thud!]

GM: Mr. FCC used his partner like a lawn dart and sent City Jack down to
the outside!

BW: Jack hit the outside hard, too, daddy! Maybe this won't be such a
joke afterall.

[Tin Can Rust shakes his head in frustration and drops down to the
outside. He drags up the woozy Mr. HD by his mask and sends him flipping
inside out with a stiff clothesline.]

GM: Rust blatantly breaking the rules here as he's on the attack.

BW: He's partner's still down, Gordo. He's got to do something.

[The ref admonishes Rust for his actions, but Rust ignores the official
as he goes back on the apron. Mr. HD's still writhing on the outside as
City Jack gets to one knee, grabbing the back of his head.]

GM: Referee Marty Meekly administering a ten count as both men are on
the outside. City Jack's up, though, as he picks up Mr. HD easily.

[City Jack rolls Mr. HD back into the ring and then climbs in himself,
still a little dazed from the fall, as the ref stops the count. Jack
then gives a couple of stomps to the pained body of Mr. HD before
dropping down with an elbow to the sternum.]

GM: Elbow drop from City Jack... he's up... and down again for another!
Up again... down again!

[The fans count along as City Jack hits elbow drop after elbow drop
until finally - after about eleven - City Jack ends it with a jig as he
backs away to the ropes... and then flings his body down onto Mr. HD!]

BW: He crushed him, Gordo! City Jack's squeezed the innards out of Mr.
HD!

GM: Hardly, but that bellyflop by City Jack did the damage and now the
cover! One, two, th- No! Mr. FCC breaks up the count!

[Tin Can Rust is immediately in the ring and clocks Mr. FCC with a huge
wind-up punch.]

GM: Tin Jaw Rocker puts Mr. FCC out of action!

BW: Dare I say he got canceled?

[Gordon Myers groans at the pun as City Jack drags the lifeless form
previous known as Mr. HD up and locks him in a bearhug as the fans start
to cheer. City Jack turns his belly-to-belly suplex as Tin Can Rust
charges in with a clothesline on the upper portion of Mr. HD.]

GM: DARK AND BLOODY GROUND! Jack now with the cover - One! Two! Three!


DING! DING! DING!


MC: Your winner of the match in a time of six minutes and twenty-five
seconds... The AWA National Tag Team Champions...

KENTUCKY'S PRIDE!

[The crowd cheers again as Tin Can Rust and City Jack get their hands
raised by the ref. The two hold up their title belts for the crowd
before exitting the ring and making their way towards the broadcast
area.]

GM: City Jack, Tin Can Rust, congratulations on the win tonight...

CJ: Mr. Myers, any night -

[Jack, a bit winded, points across to the fans.]

CJ: Any night I can perform in front of these here great-on, great-on
people? Done make my day, I'll tell you what!

[The crowd nearby cheers City Jack as Tin Can Rust simply nods in the
background.]

GM: You must have been pleased when you heard that AWA would hold an
event here in New Orleans?

CJ: Pleased? Why it done brought a wide-eyed smile to this Liberty boy.
See, I done knew some people who suffered back then, through them
storms...

[Jack nods, a bit more somber.]

CJ: You know, some people I knew very well got hit hard by that force o'
nature. You know, some people, they ask me how'd I keep the pressure of
holdin' on to these title belts after all the challenges. And I think -

[Jack shakes his head.]

CJ: Nah, this? This is nothin'. What I think of some people I knew AND
know pretty well went through? What they lost? This here's? This title?
It's all great, but it's all really child's play, Mr. Myers. 

[Tin Can Rust, in the background, looks down at his AWA National Tag
Team Title... and looks back up at his partner.]

CJ: See, it's these people who're re-makin' this city - plank by plank,
brick by ever-lovin' brick! It's these people who are doin' it all,
bringin' this area back to it's greatness!

[City Jack points out to the crowd.]

CJ: These people, they all the real champions, Mr. Myers! They all the
fighters! They all the champs!

[Jack steps away from Myers and goes to the crowd, shaking hands again
and talking it up with them as Tin Can Rust stays behind, grabbing City
Jack's title belt and goes to follow Jack until Gordon Myers
interrupts.]

GM: Tin Can, a moment?

[Rust looks over and nods.]

GM: You finally get to put your titles on the line again come July 4th.
Any thoughts before the match?

TCR: Thoughts? Myers, when we get to the ring on Independence Day, we'll
retain... we'll win. We're not intimidated by Patterson and Pain if
that's who ends up with the shot - they've been tagging for three
matches. Jack and me? Years or experience. It's no contest.

[With that, Tin Can Rust breaks away from the broadcast area and back
out through the entrance, titles in hand, as City Jack continues making
his way through the crowd, greeting & shaking hands.  We cut away to the
backstage area where Jason Dane is standing with the Chairman of the AWA
Championship Committee, Stephen Ross.]

JD:  Thanks, guys.  With me right now is the Chairman of the
Championship Committee, Stephen Ross.  Mr. Ross, I understand you have
some final comments about Death Or Glory.

SR:  That's right, Jason.  We on the Championship Committee are very
excited about Death Or Glory coming up in just two weeks' time.  The big
National Title match with Stevie Scott challenging Kolya Sudakov for the
gold.  The tag titles on the line with Kentucky's Pride taking on Colt
Patterson and Scott Pain.  Tag team action with Adam Rogers and Marcus
Broussard taking on Adrian Freeman and Calisto Dufresne.  Pure X trying
to work his way through the Top 10 by taking on "Gold Bomber" Gary
Bright.

JD:  It's an awesome lineup.

SR:  It is, it is.  There also has, of course, been a lot of rumors
about matches that the Committee might add to the show - the most
talked-about being a rematch from Memorial Day Mayhem with Raphael
Rhodes taking on Juan Vasquez.

But I'm here to say that will NOT be happening at Death Or Glory.

[Dane looks disappointed.]

JD:  And may I ask why?

SR:  It's simple, Jason.  AWA doctors have examined both men this week
and remain unconvinced that both men would be ready for such a match in
two weeks' time without the risk of serious injury.  Until our medical
team believes that match can go down without great risk, that match will
not take place.

JD:  Thanks for that, Mr. Ross.  And now, we go back to ringsi-

[As Stephen Ross is about to leave, having finished his interview with
Jason Dane, the two are approached by Sarah Sharpe, the manager of Rough
N Ready. She is dressed in her leather jacket, white shirt and jeans.
Her left arm is in a sling and in her right arm is a piece of paper.]

JD: Sarah Sharpe, what brings you here?

SS: I have something to address with Mr. Ross, and I wish to do so now.

SR: Well, Sarah, you do understand that we need to discuss business
privately.

SS: Mr. Ross, this regards something that has already been discussed
publicly... and that is your decision to not book a rematch between
Rough N Ready and The Bishop Boys.

SR: I am sure you understand the reason for my decision.

SS: [nodding] And you need to understand that Dave and Eric are not
happy about that... but I have talked to the tag team that I represent
and I have come forward with what I will believe is a suitable
compromise.

SR: Well... all right, let's hear it.

SS: What I have here is a contract that would put Dave Cooper into a
singles match against either one of the Bishop Boys... the choice is
Cousin Bo's... and schedule that singles match for the July 4th show in
Jackson, Mississippi. 

And to address your concern about the tensions between the two teams and
what could result from further altercations between the two, I have
suggested the stipulation that the partners of the wrestlers involved in
the match are to be barred from ringside, and if either partner shows up
at ringside during the match, then that tag team is suspended.

[She then hands over the contract to Ross.]

SS: I do appreciate an answer as soon as possible, and thank you.

[Sarah then turns to leave.]

JD:  Mr. Ross?

SR:  I... well, we'll have a comment on this as soon as possible.

JD:  There you have it, fans.  We'll be right back!

[We fade away from the parking lot.

After a moment, we fade back up on a shot of Jason Dane and Mark
Stegglet in an apparently moving car.]

JD:  Hey, AWA fans - so much of our lives are now spent on-the-go,
wouldn't you love to be able to keep track of your favorite AWA
superstars when you're away from home?

MS:  I know I would, Jason!  And I'd also love to have a place to put
out all those rumors we hear during the week that never make AWA
Saturday Night Wrestling.

JD:  You've got that right.  Wouldn't it be great if we could combine
both of those ideas into one?

[Suddenly, a giant graphic of an iPhone appears between them!]

JD & MS:  NOW WE CAN!

[A voiceover takes over - thank God.]

VO:  Starting today, you can download AWA Access - a great new
application for your iPhone where you can get all the AWA news, rumors,
and happenings before the rest of the world.  And don't forget to check
out the "exclusive" section for matches that never aired!  AWA Access -
coming to an iPhone near you!

[Fade back to black...

...and then back up on... well, a parking lot.  But this is not the
makeshift "arena" that the AWA staff has put together.  This is actually
a parking lot where Jason Dane is standing.]

JD:  Fans, welcome back.  We have just received word that Juan Vasquez
has just arrived here at Saturday Night Wrestling and I'm going to try
to get his comments on the news that there will NOT be a Vasquez/Rhodes
match added to Death Or Glory due to injury concerns.  

[Dane is walking now, the camera man following along with him.  We can
see Juan Vasquez standing behind a car, digging through the trunk as
Dane approaches.]

JD:  Juan?  Juan, can we get some comments from you?

[Vasquez turns around, looking at Dane.]

JV:  In the parking lot during the show, Dane?  Isn't that more your
sister's style?

[Vasquez chuckles to himself.]

JV:  Alright, alright... whatcha got?

JD:  Well, uh... I really just wanted to get your comments on what we
just heard from Stephen Ross.

JV:  Well, obviously, I just got here so I didn't hear what Ross had to
say so...?

[Dane clears his throat, suddenly a bit nervous.]

JD:  Erm... he says that the lineup for Death Or Glory is final and
there won't be a Vasquez/Rhodes match added to it.

[Suddenly, Vasquez' gaze goes cold.]

JV:  He said what?

JD:  There... apparently, there's some concerns that the injuries the
two of you suffered at Memorial Day Mayhem won't be healed in time for
the 4th of July so he-

JV:  I'm standing, aren't I?

JD:  He said-

JV:  Am I standing, Dane?

JD:  Well, yes.

JV:  Then I can fight.

[Vasquez slams the trunk shut, spinning to walk towards the makeshift
arena.]

JD:  Juan... come on!

[The order in the direction of the cameraman is followed as the camera
races to keep pace with a swiftly-walking Vasquez.]

JD:  Juan, where are you going?

JV:  I'm going to talk to Stephen Ross.

JD:  But, the card is fin-

JV:  I heard you the first time.  I'll let Ross tell me to my face that
the card is- aaaaghh!

[The voice of Juan Vasquez is cut off as Raphael Rhodes HURLS himself
out of the back of a production semi-truck, bowling over Vasquez.  Dane
and the cameraman back off as Rhodes crawls over to the downed Los
Angeles native.

Straddling the flat-on-his-back Vasquez, Rhodes grabs him by the hair
and drives a clenched fist into the skull.  With a sneer, he repeats the
process.]

RR:  Are ya still standing now?

[Another shot.]

RR:  Are ya?  

[Another right hand.]

RR:  Answer me, boy!

[Another right hand.  Rhodes climbs to his feet, delivering a hard kick
to the ribcage of Vasquez.  He reaches down, grabbing Vasquez by the
hair to drag him off the pavement, and delivers a scorching backhand
chop that knocks Vasquez back into a nearby pickup truck.]

RR:  You lookin' for a fight with me?

[Grabbing Vasquez by the head, Rhodes SLAMS the back of his head into
the metal door of the truck, knocking Vasquez down to a knee.  Pulling
Vasquez out of the way, Rhodes opens up the truck door.]

RR:  I'll give ya a fight.

[Shoving Vasquez' head against the steel, Rhodes pulls the door as far
open as it'll go...

...and then SLAMS the door shut on the head!  The door recoils back from
the impact, allowing Vasquez to slump down to the asphalt in a heap. 
Rhodes glares down at the motionless Vasquez for a moment before turning
to walk away.  A stunned Jason Dane doesn't move as Rhodes glares in his
direction as he walks by and we fade to black...

...and then back up on a white screen.  The voice of Gordon Myers is
heard.]

"The AWA took 2008 by storm - breaking the mold of a modern wrestling
promotion.  And now, in 2009, we look to be hotter than ever.

But what if... you missed the beginning?"

[Red text appears on the screen.]

"AWA: YEAR ONE!"

[The text spins out of view to be replaced by a series of still photos
showing action from the first year of AWA action.]

"Witness highlights from the first AWA Saturday Night Wrestling.

See the very first AWA Rumble.

Highlights from Memorial Day Mayhem, The Last Stampede, Thanksgiving
weekend, and much, much more.

Plus, full matches including the 2008 Match of the Year - WarGames!

All of this fantastic AWA action will be available exclusively on DVD
and iTunes!  Check your local stores for details!"

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

...and then back up inside the makeshift "arena" where our announcers
are standing, a stunned look on their faces.]

GM:  Welcome back to Saturday Night Wrestling and I must admit, we are
still in disbelief over the absolutely brutal, violent, and vicious
actions of Raphael Rhodes just before our commercial break.  He... he
assaulted Juan Vasquez in the parking lot, beat him down, and then
SLAMMED a car door on his head!  

BW:  Well, if you thought Vasquez was mad he wasn't getting a match with
Rhodes at Death Or Glory - I'd say Rhodes was just a little bit more
upset judging by what we just saw.

GM:  That was... I don't even know how to describe it.  What a vile act
by Raphael Rhodes!  The Championship Committee will seriously need to
look into suspending this man for that.  Maybe worse.

BW:  If Dufresne and Freeman got suspended for stomping some luchador's
arm, I'm guessing Rhodes might have a problem with closing the door on
Juan Vasquez' career.

GM:  Oh, you're a real riot, Bucky!  Alright, fans, on his way out here
right now, we have with us here... where are you going, Bucky?

BM: Safety.

[Bucky clears out, as he always does when the four-hundred pound Samoan
behemoth Tumaffi comes to the booth.  Tumaffi is clad in a dark red silk
robe, with floral designs criss-crossing in many places.  His wild black
hair juts out in all directions, and his beard is no less voluminous. 
The pugnosed Samoan appears to be glowering... though it is hard to tell
with all that hair in the way.]

GM: In any event; Tumaffi, two weeks ago, we all saw what happened at
the end of your matchup with Ron Houst-

[Tumaffi apparently is not taking questions today.  He interrupts Gordon
with a fierce roar that visibly startles the veteran announcer.]

Tumaffi: DESTINY!  HEAR THE WORDS OF TUMAFFI!

What hope you to accomplish, Destiny?!  Have you lost so much of your
will that you now seek death?  You speak of yesterday as if it were of
relevance.  Yet today, here in the AWA, the only time you came into
conflict with Tumaffi, you were vanquished without effort!  Or do you
not remember the futility of your efforts at the Memorial Day Rumble? 
Perhaps you need a reminder.

[Tumaffi holds up a nice, shiny, 2009 calendar.]

T: You have done nothing of relevance!  Nothing of importance!  Your
victories over the ghosts of the past do nothing but make you one of the
same!  And your course of action is driving you towrds becoming a very
literal ghost indeed!  Or do you not understand that yesterday is
useless?  Yesterday is gone forever, never will it return!  The
relevance of your conquests are limited to DVD royalties and your own
personal satisfaction.  Your actions would indicate that one of these
things is lacking.  Have you squandered the fortune you made so long
ago?  Or do you find yourself lacking in comparison with the champions
of old, in whose company you seem to think you belong?

Tumaffi challenged you.  You fled, leaving naught but a cloud of
cowardice and shame in your wake.  Your legacy is tarnished for all
time, because you would not rise to the challenge of the day.  Who will
now count you as great, when you would not dare to set foot against the
very man you yourself challenged just weeks before?  I tell you the
truth, though he did not defeat me by any legitimate definition of the
word, Ron Houston proved himself many times greater than you.  He has no
world championships, no pay-per-view conquests, no best selling
T-Shirts.  No, Ron Houston has only one thing you do not have, Shane
Destiny.

Respect.

[Tumaffi pauses to let that sink in.]

T: In less than one minute, Shane Destiny, you destroyed the very legacy
you described in great detail.  No one can respect you now.  No one can
consider you great, or legendary, or even worth notice.  You fled from
your own challenge, and then proceeded to steal from Tumaffi a victory
in an effort to deny me my legacy.  You failed utterly.  Tumaffi's name
is still spoken of when the mightest wrestlers of this day...

[Tumaffi shakes his 2009 calendar.]

T: ...are discussed.  Tumaffi has many world championships in his
future.  Many pay-per-view battles.  Many great and glorious things are
in front of me that you see only distantly in your rear-view mirror. 
That is why Tumaffi battles in the AWA, because this is the place where
mettle is tested and glory is earned!  This is where the strongest
warriors meet for prizes far richer than gold!  This is not the home of
fame... this is not the home of fortune... this is not the home of
pay-per-view... this is not the home of international acclaim.  Tumaffi
gets those things elsewhere.

THIS IS THE AWA!  THIS IS THE HOME OF RESPECT!

[The fans cheer this declaration.]

T: You think you are a legend, Shane Destiny?  Lowly worm... this is the
home of respect, and you do not even possess the key to the front door.

[And with that, Tumaffi exits as we cut up to the ring where Melissa
Cannon is standing.]

MC:  The following contest is a tag team match scheduled for one fall
with a twenty minute time limit.  Introducing first... already in the
ring at this time...

Barrett Topps and Marcus Moore...

The Right Proper Thugs!

[Jeers from the crowd.]

MC:  And their opponents...

[Not waiting for music.  Not waiting for introductions.  Scott Pain and
Colt Patterson come barreling down the aisle towards the ring, diving
headfirst into the ring.  Patterson is the first to his feet, meeting
the charging Thugs with a barrage of right hands.  A big shot on Topps
sends him falling back into the ropes where a running big boot by a
rising Scott Pain sends him over the top to the floor!]

GM:  Good grief!  These two aren't wasting any time at all!

[Patterson leaves his feet, scoring with a leaping shoulder block on
Moore that knocks him back into the corner.  A big knee to the gut
doubles him up which allows Patterson to throw Moore towards a waiting
Pain who easily hoists him into the air...

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

GM:  OHHHHHHHH!

BW:  Man oh man!  That guy's not a light heavyweight either, Gordo!

GM:  He certainly isn't!

[Patterson rolls out to the floor, shoving Topps back under the ropes
before climbing up on the apron.  Pain pulls Topps off the mat, ducking
under him in an electric chair lift as Patterson scales the ropes to the
top turnbuckle...]

GM:  What in the world?!

BW:  They've got the tag titles in their sights, daddy!

GM:  Pain's got Topps up... Patterson's up top...

[The former three-time World Champion uncoils off the top rope,
connecting with a crushing forearm smash that flips Topps through the
air, dumping him down in a pile on the canvas!  The crowd explodes as
Patterson dives across the downed Topps, ordering the referee to make
the count.]

GM:  One!  Two!  Three!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


MC:  Your winners of the match, earning their third point and the shot
at the National Tag Team Titles at Death Or Glory...

Colt Patterson and Scott Pain!

[The crowd cheers for the two powerhouse veterans as they rise to their
feet, all business as they exchange a high five over their downed
opponents.]

GM:  Fans, we'll be right back with comments from those two men - the
challengers for the National Tag Team Titles in just two weeks!  Don't
you dare go away!

[We fade away from the victorious Pain and Patterson to black...

...and then back up.  It's a shot of a few kids standing outside of a
classroom.  A fourth kid walks up to them, carrying his backpack over
his shoulder.]

4th Kid:  Hey guys... wait til you see what I got from AWAShop.com!

[He whips open the backpack and produces...

...a JUAN VASQUEZ BOBBLEHEAD!]

"Whoa!"

"Wow!"

"That rocks!"

"I want one... now!"

[The 4th kid looks pleased with himself...

...until a fifth kid walks up.]

5th Kid:  Juan Vasquez, huh?  That's not bad... but check this out!

[The 5th kid opens his backpack and reveals...

...a CITY JACK BOBBLEHEAD!]

"WHOA!"

"WOWER!"

"THAT ROCKS MORE!"

"I WANT ONE... NOW!"

[The fifth kid looks proud as the fourth kid looks sad at his Vasquez
bobblehead and we fade to black.

And then back up on live action where Colt Patterson and Scott Pain have
joined the announce team at ringside.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans - and we are LIVE here in New Orleans at
ringside with these two men who have just earned their third point and
as a result, will now face Kentucky's Pride for the National Tag Team
Titles at Death Or Glory!  Gentlemen, congratulations.

[A beaming Colt Patterson takes the mic.]

CP:  Thanks, Gordon.  It's a great night for us without a doubt.  We
haven't made any secret of our motivations here in the AWA.  Since Day
One when I came back, I told everyone I wanted a shot at gold.  I wanted
an opportunity to wear championship gold again.  

And now I've... WE'VE... got it, Gordon!

[Big cheer from the fans!]

GM:  Scott Pain, you've been very quiet during this run at the title
shot.  Your thoughts tonight?

SP:  1996.

[Pain doesn't say another word.]

GM:  1996?  I don't-

SP:  It's been 13 years since I've worn a piece of championship gold
around my waist.  13 years since I was at the top of this business.

[Pain grins.]

SP:  I think it's about time to change that, don't you?

GM:  Well, it would certainly be a big moment for you, I'm sure.  Colt
Patterson, Kentucky's Pride are a fantastic tag team.

CP:  They sure are.  They wouldn't be wearing those title belts if they
weren't.  And hey... like I said two weeks ago, Scott and I have all the
respect in the world for City Jack and Tin Can Rust.

But this isn't personal.  It's just unfinished business.

[Patterson nods.]

CP:  See you on the 4th, boys.

[The challengers exit the ringside area.]

GM:  Colt Patterson and Scott Pain - the two men who will challenge for
the National Tag Team Titles on the 4th of July in just two weeks' time.
 And just moments ago, we received word about one final match made for
Death Or Glory... sort of.

BW:  What the heck does that mean?

GM:  The Championship Committee announced that there WILL be a singles
match between one member of Rough N Ready and one member of The Bishop
Boys at Death Or Glory... but they didn't say who would be in the match.
 Let's go backstage to Jason Dane who is standing by with the Bishop
Boys!

[Cut to Jason Dane, who stands with Cousin Bo and The Bishop Boys, Bo
looking a little confused, Duane Henry looking a little jumpy, and
Cletus Lee looking, um, like Cletus Lee.]

JD: Well, there you have it. Two singles matches made between Rough N
Ready and the men I'm joined by right now, The Bishop Boys. Mr. Allan,
how about it?

CB: [still confused] Singles matches? Exactly how in the world will
singles matches solv....

[Bo stops and thinks for a second. He rubs his chin and nods.]

CB: Alright. Okay. You know what, Dane? I'm fine with this.

[Jason looks surprised.]

JD: Really? No argument?

CB: No, Dane, no argument. As a matter of fact, this is perfect. Because
when The Bishop Boys sweep Rough N Ready and finally send them packing
from the AWA for good, Stephen Ross and whoever else makes the decisions
around here will have _NO CHOICE_ but to immediately give my cousins
that third point they so richly deserve. And then...

[Bo chuckles.]

CB: Those titles are as good as ours.

JD: The titles? When you first arrived, you claimed you didn't really
care about the titles.

[Bo nods.]

CB: Very observant, Dane. You may make for a semi-competent interviewer
after all.

[Jason looks away, wondering if that was an insult. It was.]

CB: When we first arrived on the scene, all I wanted was for some strong
competition to step up and provide an honest to goodness challenge for
my cousins. I wanted them to get a chance to show the world what they
learned from me. Instead, what we've gotten so far is...

[Bo yawns.]

CB: ...Rough N Ready. The only team dumb enough to get in our way.

[Bo covers his mouth.]

CB: Oh, man, excuse me, I feel so sleepy all of a sudden. Hm, wonder why
that could be.

[Bo casts a sharp glance at the camera. Yeah, he knows why he's tired.]

CB: Anyway, the way I see it, we still haven't gotten that strong
competition I wanted. So we really have no other option at this point
than to take those titles.

[Silence. Bo rolls his eyes and looks off-camera for a second.]

CB: This is where you're supposed to ask me why, Sherlock!

JD. Oh, um, OK. Why is that, Mr. Allan?

CB: Because, you ignoramus, when those titles are firmly strapped around
the waists of The Bishop Boys, then all of the other teams in the AWA
will be FORCED to face us. Nobody will be able to duck us anymore. No
more ignoring us. When Melissa Cannon makes that announcement, it will
be the sweetest moment for us. Because, it is at that exact moment that
we will take our place as the cornerstone of the AWA's tag team
division. Forget Everest, we'll be the toughest mountain to climb.

JD: That's all well and good, Mr. Allan, but you seem to be forgetting
something.

CB: What?

JD: You still have to resolve your issues with Rough N Ready.

[Bo chuckles again.]

CB: Oh no, I haven't, Dane. Right now, they are first and foremost on
our minds. All that glory I talked about will have to wait until I get
that festering parasite known as Sarah Sharpe off my back.

[Bo spits to the side, Jason narrowly avoiding the projectile.]

CB: You want singles matches? Fine. Whatever it takes to end you for
good. You already got a slight taste of us last time. If you need a
reminder of what happened, then I suggest you take a look at your
shoulder, and ask yourself if it's really worth exacerbating your
injuries. And then Dave Cooper needs to ask himself how that gourdbuster
felt. Because I guarantee you, you step into the ring with The Bishop
Boys again, minor injuries will be the least of your worries. And
then...

[Bo grits his teeth in anger.]

CB: And then there's you, Somers. Yes, yes, we heard you the first dozen
times, you enjoy hurting people. Find some new schtick, please. Better
yet, don't bother. You made one very big mistake last timewe met. You
actually dared to put your clammy mitts on me, you threatened to punch
me out. Cripes, man, I actually had to burn that suit. Do you have any
idea how much that cost me, you idiot?!

[Bo straightens out his new suit.]

CB: Your cardinal mistake? Not finishing the job. Now you've got two big
Arkansas-bred wildmen ready to break you in half. Now comes the fun
part. Figuring out who's gonna get a piece of wh...

[Bo is cut off by Duane Henry.]

DHB: EMF!

[A confused Bo and Jason look at Duane Henry.]

CB: What?

DHB: EMF! Ah want that EMF guy! You said it, cuz, he put his dirty ol'
hands on ya, an' ah wanna pay him back! He's a dang ol' dead man!

[Duane Henry gets right into the camera, spitting all over the place.]

DHB: Ya hear me, EMF? Ah'm comin' for ya! Ah's gonna kill ya, ya freak!

[Bo has to hold the agitated Duane Henry back, just in case he decides
the cameraman looks like a nice target.]

CB: Alright, alright. Calm down. His name's EMS, not EMF.

DHB: Ah don't care what his stinkin' name is. All ah need ta know is
that he threatened ya. Nobody touches m' family.He's dead, cuz. DEAD!

CB: Good, that's good. Get angry.

[Duane Henry wildly nods his head with a wicked smile.]

CB: Take all that aggression out on Somers. Make him pay.

[Duane Henry nods again, and mimics breaking EMS. Bo smiles and turns
back to the camera.]

CB: Did you hear that, Somers? Duane Henry here has done what nobody
else has been able to do. He's holding you accountable. See, what you
need to understand is that this is no longer about competition. This is
about family. Blood. More specififcally, the spilling of your blood.

[Bo then looks at the silent Cletus Lee, who just stares hypnotically at
the camera. Bo smiles andnods in approval.]

CB: And as for you, Cooper, here's your shot. Here's your crack at the
man who cannot be toppled. The man who reinjured your wife's shoulder.
Whether you choose to believe it was an accident or not, I really don't
care. Here's your chance to show the world just how much fire you've got
left in you. So, please, I'm begging you, bring everything you've got.
All that knowledge from all of these years you've wrestled. Because in
the end, when Cletus Lee runs through you like a buzzsaw, I don't want
you to have any excuses. I don't want you to say you held back. I want
the world to see us for what we truly are.

[Bogives the camera a cheshire cat-like grinand rubs his hands
together.]

CB: Unstoppable.

[Bo walks off, as confident as can be. Duane Henry follows close by,
sneering at Jason as he leaves. Which leaves him alone with Cletus Lee.
Jason visibly goes pale as Cletus Lee stares him down. Jason gets out
before anything can happen. Cletus Lee turns to the camera, and for the
first time, actually cracks a bit of a smile. He gives the
throat-cutting gesture, and then wildly lunges toward the cameraman, who
drops the camera and runs as fast as he can. Miraculously, the camera
stays on Cletus Lee's size 18 boots. The camera picks up a deep laugh,
presumably from Cletus Lee, who then leaves to follow his cousin and
brother. Cut back to where Melissa Cannon is standing.]

MC: The following contest is a tag team match set for one fall.
Introducing first, already in the ring, at a total combined weight of587
pounds...the Cuban Assassins!

[Mild mixed pop.]

MC: And their opponents...

[Cue Deep Purple's "Smoke On The Water" please, and the crowd pops for
the recently reunited duo.]

MC: From Naples, Florida, and San Jose, California, respectively...here
are...

ADAM ROOOOOGERS AND MARCUUUUS BROUUUUSAAAAARRD!

[Rogers and Broussard appear to another big pop, and proceed down toward
the ring.]

GM: And here they are, Bucky Wilde. It's been a long time coming, but
Rogers and Broussard have finally been able to put their differences
aside, and that could be a bad thing for Calisto Dufresne and Adrian
Freeman.

BW: Aside for now, Gordo. Let's see how long that lasts.

[The tandem climbs into the ring and ascends adjacent turnbuckles,
raising their hands in the air to salute the crowd.]

GM: Well, they are here together for now, and much to the delight of
this crowd in the Bayou.

BW: What do they know?

GM: There's the bell...it will be Broussard starting things off for his
team, and the Cuban Assassin #6 in first for his team. Broussard and the
Assassin into a collar-and-elbow, and the San Jose Shark comes out of it
with a side headlock.

[The crowd shows its approval for the early edge, but CA6 quickly backs
Marcus into the ropes and shoves him off to the opposite side. Broussard
ducks a clothesline attempt and, as he hits the ropes, makes a quick tag
to Rogers unbeknownst to CA6, who didn't get turned around quickly
enough.]

GM: Tag to Rogers, here comes Broussard...ducks a second clothesline and
pulls up short...

[And drills the CA6 with a short-arm clothesline of his own, sending him
stumbling backward...

...into the waiting arms of Adam Rogers, who _drills_ him with his
patented release German suplex! Pop!]

GM: What a suplex by Rogers! No bridge...all impact! Great teamwork
exhibited there by Broussard and Rogers, Bucky.

BW: No argument there from me, Myers. That was nice, but doing it
against two stiffs is quite different than doing it against two savvy
competitors like Dufresne and Freeman.

GM: Rogers quickly lifts #6 up and slings him toward his own
corner...and he will now tag in the Cuban Assassin #8, making his first
appearance in the AWA.

BW: What happened to #7?

GW: I'm not sure. Cuban Assassin #8, a much smaller individual than his
partner...let's see how he fares against the former World Champion.
Collar-and-elbow, and #8 sneaks around into a rear waistlock...reversed
by Rogers...#8 throwing elbows behind him trying to escape, and finally
connects to break the hold.

BW: Not a bad debut so far, is it?

GM: #8 to the far side off the ropes, trying to use his speed to his
advantage...

[And as CA8 leaps into the air with a flying crossbody, he probably
realizes he needed a bigger pre-match meal or something because he
doesn't carry enough weight to send Rogers to the mat.]

GM: Rogers catches him! The Natural toting #8 over to his corner, and
there's the tag to Broussard. Rogers now walking away from
Marcus...they're setting up for something here, Bucky.

[Indeed, as Marcus crouches down a bit like a linebacker. Adam slams CA8
down to the mat and quickly lifts him back up in a spinebuster-like hold
to start...

...catapulting him backward into Broussard, who _plants_ him with his
belly-to-belly suplex!]

GM: ASSISTED BELLY-TO-BELLY!

[CA6 tries to come into the ring, but Rogers quickly sends him flying
off the apron as Broussard grapevines the leg for the pin and the
predictably easy win. Big pop!]

MC: Your winners of the match...the team of ADAM ROGERS AND MARCUS
BROUSSARD!

[The crowd cheers for the announcement as Rogers and Broussard share a
handshake before starting to make their way out of the ring.]

GM: Rogers and Broussard having no problem in their first match together
here in the AWA, and now we will be joined by the tandem.

[Indeed they are.]

GM: Adam, after all this time, it must be a relief to finally be united
again with your former partner here.

[Adam nods emphatically.]

AR: It sure is, Gordon.  It took me a while to realize that Marcus was
for real, and in the process I probably took some more lumps than I
needed to...and so did he.  But now, that's all a thing of the past. 
We're only worrying about the present and the future, and that puts
Adrian Freeman and Calisto Dufresne squarely in our sights.

And that, boys, is _not_ a pleasant place to be.

MB:   That's right, Adam.  Since Day One here in the AWA, those two have
been causing trouble.  They've taken people out, they've put people on
the shelf.  They've lied, cheated, and stolen victory after victory.

They remind me of...

[Marcus rubs his chin.]

MB:  Who do they remind me of, Adam?

[Rogers smirks as Broussard snaps his fingers.]

MB:  They remind me of me!  Well... us, actually.  Not us now though. 
Us like... years ago.

The point is... everything you can do boys...

[Marcus grins.]

MB:  We can... and HAVE... done better.  So, bring your best on the 4th
of July...

AR:  Because you can rest assured you're getting our best.  Which is
something you haven't seen yet, by the way.

But you will.  And you'll soon be wishing you'd never crossed our paths.

[Another high-five between the two fan favorites to the cheers of the
crowd as they make their exit from the ringside area.  We hold on a shot
of Gordon and Bucky for a bit before fading to black.

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

"Have you ever dreamed of fame?"

[Cut a little closer.]

"Of glory?"

[A little closer.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Two young students are grappling on the canvas.]

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

You want to wrestle!"

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

...and then fade back to live action - more specifically to Jason Dane
who is standing by behind the bleachers of the makeshift "arena" in an
even more makeshift "interview area."]

JD:  Welcome back to AWA Saturday Night Wrestling, fans.  Two weeks ago,
Pure X challenged the Championship Committee to match him up with EVERY
member of the Top Ten rankings in his efforts to earn a shot at the
National Title.  The Committee accepted the challenge and as a result,
he will face the #9 contender to the National Title at Death Or Glory -
this man, "Gold Bomber" Gary Bright!

[Bright steps into the frame, his massive muscles rippling with every
movement.]

GB:  Pure X?

[Gary looks from side to side and then refocuses in on the camera.]

GB: July 4th is a celebration of the independence of a great country....
the country which produced the greatest livingathlete to ever grace the
land. And on this July 4th, an individual by the name of Pure X has a
plan to start taking out each and everyone of the men in the top 10 that
are above him, in order to receive a shot at the National Title. He
plans to use them as stepping stones towards a moment of personal
gratification and to hope to challenge for the championship. Question?

[The Gold Bomber steps back and strikes a double bicep pose.]

GB: Are these cannons attached to a stepping stone? This physique may
have been hand crafted by the big gold bomber in the sky out of solid
marble..... but the Gold Bomber is not a stepping stone. The Gold Bomber
isn't going to be a notch on someone's belt. No, you see Pure X, this
little journey that you have conjured up for yourself. It begins and
ends at the feet of The Gold Bomber. You might have gotten off to a
great start. You may have thought it would be an easy road.

[Bright chuckles]

GB: When a man encounters a mountain, he doesn't try to move it, he
tries to go over it...

[Bright strikes a side bicep pose]

GB: The Gold Bomber wonders how you intend on going over him, Pure X? He
wonders how you intend on trying to go through him? You come prancing
into the AWA and decide that it's a great idea to mess around with the
greatest athlete in all professional sports? You might even have the
audacity to question the Gold Bomber's place in history.... question his
place amongst the legends. You think you're going to run through the
Gold Bomber like a freight train on your way to greatness. There's just
one big catch....

[Bright rips off his tye dye shirt to reveal a perfectly chiseled, tan
body... muscles rippling like the Niagara!]

GB: The Gold Bomber isn't just an obstacle. The Gold Bomber isn't just a
roadblock or a dead end. The Gold Bomber is the supreme being that
resides here in the AWA. And you will learn that Pure X.... one way...
or another.

[And with that, Bright strides out of the camera's view.]

JD:  Gordon, Bucky... back to you!

[We cut back to the ringside area of the makeshift "arena" where Gordon
and Bucky are standing.]

GM:  Thanks, Jason.  Gary Bright vs Pure X is just one of the big
matches we'll see in two weeks' time at Death Or Glory as Pure X looks
to battle his way through the entire Top 10 rankings and earn a shot at
the National Title.  

[There's an audible cheer off-camera that causes Gordon to look in that
direction.]

GM:  Fans, at this time, we're about to be joined by "The Outlaw" Bobby
Taylor.

[Taylor does indeed walk onto the scene, clad in a business suit,
unusual attire for the Outlaw of Professional Wrestling.  He looks a
little agitated as he shakes the hands of the two announcers.]

GM:  Mr. Taylor, it's been about a month since your former friend Kevin
Slater returned to the AWA at Memorial Day Mayhem and revealed to the
world that he had been The Man With The Money all along.  He was the one
who put out... as odd as it sounds... a bounty on himself!  

[Taylor chuckles, nodding his head.]

GM:  And he had quite some harsh words for yourself as well.  Your
thoughts?

[Taylor stares at Gordon silently for a moment.]

BT:  I'm... I'm not sure how to answer that, Gordon.

GM:  Uhhh...

BT:  I mean, I guess I could do what's expected of me.  I can rant and
rave about my traitorous friend.  I can spit venom about how he beat me
down last year and I finally get a shot at payback.  I can talk about
how I won't rest until his blood is all over my hands.

That's what everyone wants to hear, right?

[Taylor pauses.]

BT:  But none of that feels real for me right now, Gordon.  I don't know
what to say.  Should I say that Kevin Slater has been one of my very
best friends for 13 years?  Should I say that my family has spent
vacations with his family?  Holidays?  Should I say that he's like a
brother to me?

[Taylor shakes his head.]

BT:  Chris and I had our problems.  Luke and I never clicked.  But Kev? 
Kev was different.  Kev and I were different.  And yeah, he had his
problems... they're well-documented.  We don't need to go over them to
know what demons he's fought.

But no matter what he tells you... no matter what he even believes...
you should know that I loved him like a brother through it all.

But now?

[Taylor grows quiet.]

BT:  Now there's this.  What do you even call "this"?  A betrayal?  I
guess.  But somehow, I just can't bring myself to have that fire in my
belly towards Kev.  I want to hurt him for what he did to me... what he
did to Shane.  But I don't want to end him.  Not like I did with Hardin,
Casey, or so many others over the years.

The streets of this business are littered with friends and family
members that this business has taken away from us... and I just can't
add Kevin Slater to that list.

[The crowd is almost silent at this point.]

BT:  So, Kev... you talk your trash, you run your mouth, you use the
Cattle Buster... do what you need to do to make you feel better about
whatever it is you think I did wrong to you.

And at some point, I expect we'll tangle.  And at that point, I expect
that I'll hurt you... I'll make you bleed... and I may even put you on
the shelf for a while.

But you're my brother, Kev.  Always will be.  That'll never change.

[One more pause.]

BT:  No matter what.

[And with that, Taylor makes his exit from ringside as we fade to black.

After a moment, we fade back up on a shot of Jason Dane and Mark
Stegglet in an apparently moving car.]

JD:  Hey, AWA fans - so much of our lives are now spent on-the-go,
wouldn't you love to be able to keep track of your favorite AWA
superstars when you're away from home?

MS:  I know I would, Jason!  And I'd also love to have a place to put
out all those rumors we hear during the week that never make AWA
Saturday Night Wrestling.

JD:  You've got that right.  Wouldn't it be great if we could combine
both of those ideas into one?

[Suddenly, a giant graphic of an iPhone appears between them!]

JD & MS:  NOW WE CAN!

[A voiceover takes over - thank God.]

VO:  Starting today, you can download AWA Access - a great new
application for your iPhone where you can get all the AWA news, rumors,
and happenings before the rest of the world.  And don't forget to check
out the "exclusive" section for matches that never aired!  AWA Access -
coming to an iPhone near you!

[Fade back to black...

...and then back up on the backstage area where Jason Dane is standing
with Sweet Daddy Williams - who surprisingly is all alone at this
point.]

JD:  Welcome back, fans - and Sweet Daddy Williams, we are just moments
away from perhaps the biggest singles match you've had in the AWA.  Your
thoughts?

[Sweet Daddy Williams seems almost solemn at this point.  No sign of the
usual fun-loving Sweet Daddy who the crowd screams for.]

SDW:  This is weird for me, Jase.

JD:  How so?

SDW:  I'm used to comin' out here and talkin' up a good game, shakin'
what my mama gave me back and forth and gettin' a squeal from the girls
in the house... tellin' y'all what I'm gonna do to some so-and-so and
how I'm gonna party like it's 1999 afterwards.

JD:  And?

SDW:  Tonight's not that night.  Tonight, things are a little more
serious, Jason.  

[And predictably, he gets serious.]

SDW:  I know what the people think of me.  I know exactly what everyone
thinks of me.  The wrestlers think I'm a joke... some silly jackanape
that dances around and has a good time but doesn't take anything
seriously.  Bucky Wilde... that no-good scum-suckin' pig tells people
that I've never given a damn about what happens in the ring as long as
the fans cheer...

You know what I say, Jason?

[Dane shakes his head.]

SDW:  I say, what's wrong with that?

I say that this world we live in isn't the happiest place on Earth most
days, Jason.  I say that the economy's in the toilet... people are
broke, unemployed, worried how they'll manage to pay the rent, the
mortage, put foot on the table.  I say we're going through hard times
and heartbreaks.  

I say that people are sending their friends and family overseas to die
in a pair of wars that we can't get out of.  I say we've got people
dying to serve their country with honor and dignity and... and there's
just not that many people who seem to appreciate that.

I say that the world we live in is a hard, hard place with some bad, bad
stuff going on...

So, what in the hell is wrong with me trying to put some smiles on their
faces?

[Williams pauses.]

SDW:  Not a thing in my book, Jason Dane - even though my book may have
lots and lots of pictures.

[Dane chuckles.]

SDW:  But this is different.  This is serious business and requires a
serious Sweet Daddy.  For over a year now, these two big, nasty Russians
have been walkin' 'round like they own the entire AWA.  And heck, maybe
they do.

I mean... who's been able to stop them so far?  Who's been able to stand
up to them and put them down?  With the exception of WarGames last year,
has anyone even been able to slow them down?

[Sweet Daddy looks like he's thinking... and then snaps his fingers.]

SDW:  Oh, that's right.  My brother... Stevie Scott... he stopped
Sudakov, didn't he?  He popped him in the jaw with the Heatseeker and
pinned his shoulders one-two-three just like he's gonna do on the 4th of
July.

[He grins.]

SDW:  I like the sound of that, baby.

[He gets serious again.]

SDW:  But that leaves ol' Vlad.  That grumpy old bear who keeps hittin'
where it hurts and jumpin' from behind.  He's been responsible for that
flagpole hittin' a lot of throats.  Rick Marley, Stevie... too many
people have gone down to the Russians.

But not me.

Vlad, you done jumped on the wrong dog this time, baby.

[Williams glares at the camera.]

SDW:  So, Kolya, you get that flag ready because by the end of the
night, I'm gonna hurt your Uncle so, so very badly... you just won't
have a choice but to be wavin' it like a madman.  Wooo!

[And with that, Sweet Daddy Williams starts marching towards the
entryway to the ring...

...and we cut out to the makeshift "arena" where the Russian National
Anthem is blaring as Vladimir Velikov and the National Champion, Kolya
Sudakov, are walking around the ring, waving a Russian flag high
overhead.]

MC:   The following contest is your MAIN EVENT of the evening!  It is
scheduled for one fall with TV Time Remaining and is a COWARD WAVES THE
FLAG match!  The only way to be declared the winner is to force your
opponent's cornerman to wave or throw in their flag for mercy.  There
will be no pinfalls, no countouts, no disqualifications, and no
submissions!

[Big cheer from the crowd!]

MC:  Introducing first, already in the ring at this time... he is
accompanied to the ring by his cornerman, the AWA National Champion,
Kolya Sudakov...

[Boos!]

MC:  Weighing in tonight at 310 pounds... from Russia...

VLADIMIR VELLLLLIKOOOOV!

[The boos intensify for the big, burly Russian as he sneers at the
Louisiana fans.]

MC:  And his opponent...



"WHO WAN' SIT ON SWEET DADDY'S LAP TAAAANIGHT?!"


[The crowd EXPLODES into cheers as the self-written, self-performed opus
known as "I'm Gonna Be Your Sweet Daddy" starts up over the PA system. 
After a moment, "Hotshot" Stevie Scott bursts into view, the Stars And
Stripes of the United States being waved high in the air to even louder
cheers.]

MC:  He is accompanied to the ring by his cornerman, "Hotshot" Stevie
Scott.

[Big cheer!]

MC:  From HOTLANTA, Georgia... weighing in tonight at 302 pounds...

[The curtain flies apart and a fired-up Sweet Daddy Williams is on the
scene, head wigglin' as he jaws up towards the ring spewing some
well-chosen words in the direction of the Russians...

...and then breaks into a sprint, diving headfirst under the bottom rope
where Vladimir Velikov races towards him, catching him on the way up to
his feet with a forearm smash across the back of the neck that knocks
him back down to a knee where a well-placed boot puts him down on the
mat.]

GM:  Ohh!  Velikov caught him coming in and- hey!  That's not fair!

[The crowd bursts into boos as Kolya Sudakov joins in on the attack, the
National Champion throwing soccer kicks to the ribs of the chubby
Williams as Velikov continues to stomp the head...

...which is short-lived as Stevie Scott joins his Sweet Heat partner
inside the ring.]

GM:  STEVIE'S IN!

[The cheers grow louder as the Hotshot knocks Velikov on his over-sized
butt with a haymaker.  Sudakov rears back a right hand to greet his
challenger...

...but a picture perfect dropkick catches the National Champion on the
chin, knocking him back into the ropes.  Sweet Daddy Williams is back on
his feet on the other side of the ring, shoving Velikov into the
opposite corner.  With a point towards one another, the Sweet Heat
members scale the opposite corners.]

BW:  Wait a second!  This isn't a tag match!

GM:  You didn't seem to mind when the Russians were doubleteaming Sweet
Daddy Williams!

BW:  That was different!

GM:  How?

BW:  I don't like him!

[With the fans roaring, the Sweet Heat members ball up their fists and
go to town as the count starts.]

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

[The parking lot is rockin' as they leap down off the buckles, each
grabbing a Russian arm and hurling the two relatives towards one
another.  A big collision follows in the center of the ring, both men
hitting the mat with an impact as a fired-up Sweet Daddy Williams pumps
a fist in the air.]

GM:  Sweet Heat has got the Russians' numbers here tonight in New
Orleans, Bucky!

BW:  That remains to be seen, Gordo.  They're workin' 'em over right now
but...

[Sudakov staggers to his feet...

...and the sight of Stevie Scott ready to unleash the Heatseeker causes
Sudakov to hurl himself backwards, crashing down to the mat where he
rolls under the ropes to the floor.]

GM:  Ohhh!  We almost got a sneak preview of the 4th of July, Bucky!

BW:  Very funny, Gordo.  What we almost got was- LOOK OUT!

[The crowd EXPLODES yet again as Stevie Scott, disappointed that his
superkick didn't find a home, charges across the ring, and scores with a
baseball slide dropkick that knocks Sudakov across the ringside area,
sending him crashing into the ringside announce table where Gordon and
Bucky are forced to scatter.  The Hotshot slides to the floor, a grin on
his face as the National Champion attempts to recover outside the ring.]

GM:  Good grief!  You okay, Bucky?

BW:  I just got 270 pounds of angry-as-heck Russian kicked towards me. 
Whaddya think, Gordo?

GM:  Point taken.

[Inside the ring, a grinning Sweet Daddy Williams has Velikov on his
feet where a pair of overhead elbow smashes knocks him back against the
ropes...

...and a running clothesline takes the burly Russian over the ropes,
sending him down to the floor in a heap!]

GM:  OHHHHHH!

BW:  What in the world has gotten into Sweet Daddy Williams?!

[The rotund fan favorite doesn't waste a second, stepping out on the
ring apron before dropping down to the thinly-padded asphalt.  Ignoring
the shouts from a now-flagbearing Kolya Sudakov, Williams pulls Velikov
off the floor by his beard, grabbing him by the wrist...

...and whipping him at top speed into the metal barricade set up around
the ringside area!]

GM:  Ohhh!  Velikov gets sent to the steel!

[Moving in on the Russian, Williams hooks a side headlock while balling
up his fist...

...and driving it up into the skull of Velikov with a whoop.]

GM:  He's pummeling that big, bald head of Velikov in that headlock.

BW:  Those are closed fists too, Gordo.

GM:  Everything's legal in this one, Bucky.  No countouts, no DQs.

BW:  I'll remember you said that.

[A few more hard punches connect with the bulbous skull of Velikov
before Williams releases the side headlock, shoving Velikov so that his
upper body rests on the barricade.  Williams positions the Russian so
that his throat is over the railing, pushing down on the back of the
neck to strangle him.]

GM:  He's choking him!  He's choking Velikov on the barricade!

BW:  Get some control out there, referee!

GM:  Where IS the referee?  Do we even have one?

[The camera cuts to show referee Mickey Meekly pleading his case to
Gordon Myers - "I can't do anything!  It's out of my hands!"]

GM:  You can hear the referee right there.  His hands certainly are tied
in this one, Bucky.

BW:  I suppose so but this is getting out of hand.

[Pulling Velikov off the railing, Williams hooks him in a side
waistlock, hoisting him up into the air...

...and dropping him groinfirst on the railing!]

GM:  Ohhhh!

BW:  Egads.  'Ol Vlad'll be singing the Anthem in soprano for a while.

[The crowd laughs as Sweet Daddy Williams mocks Velikov, walking around
the ringside area with his legs clinched together...

...and then connects with a haymaker of a right hand that knocks the
Russian off the railing and into the crowd.]

GM:  Uh oh! 

BW:  They're going into the crowd?  In New Orleans?  You can kill
someone in the middle of Mardi Gras and no one would notice!

GM:  Luckily, it's June.

BW:  Point.

[Getting his large body over the railing doesn't prove to be easy but
soon, Sweet Daddy Williams has accomplished exactly that, the ringside
fans going nuts for being so close to the action.  With no ringside
chairs, Velikov easily flees his attacker, shoving aside the fans in his
way.  But they part like the Red Sea for Sweet Daddy stepping aside as
he stalks towards the running Russian.]

GM:  Get back here and fight, you coward!

BW:  Sudakov's gotta wave the flag before you can call him that, Gordo.

GM:  That'll be any minute now if Sweet Daddy Williams can get his hands
on Velikov again.  He's been all over him from minute one in this one,
Bucky.

[Velikov reaches the steel and wooden bleachers before he gets caught. 
Williams promptly grabs him by the arm, spinning him all the way in a
360 once before...

...HURLING him bodily into the steel framing that supports the
bleachers!]

GM:  Good grief!

[The chubby fan favorite nods his head at the roar of the crowd before
planting a few well-placed stomps to the body of the downed Velikov...

...and then spotting a nearby trash can.]

GM:  Velikov's night just got a whole lot worse, Bucky.

[Sweet Daddy Williams picks up the metal trash can, dumping some of the
contents as he raises it over his head...]


"CLAAAAAAAAAAANG!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[The trash can bounces off the mammoth skull of Velikov, knocking him
right back down to a knee...

...where the rest of contents of the trash can shower down onto him as
Williams stuffs the can over the head of the Russian.]

GM:  He trashcanned Vladimir Velikov!  Oh yeah!

BW:  Reminds me of freshman year all over again.

GM:  I bet it does.

BW:  That's not what I meant!

[With Velikov kneeling on the asphalt and a trash can over his head,
Sweet Daddy Williams backs away and then suddenly charges forward,
running at top speed...

...and slams his hindquarters into the trash can, sandwiching Velikov
between his rear end and the metal bleacher framing!]

GM:  OHHHHH!

BW:  Imagine the echo of that one!  I mean, look at the size of his-

GM:  Bucky!

[Williams grins at the crowd's reaction as Velikov lies flat on the
ground, bent-up trash can over his torso...

...and then LEAPS in the air, dropping 302 pounds down on the trash can,
flattening it beyond recognition!]

GM:  OHHHHHHHHHHH!

BW:  Stop doing that, Gordo!

GM:  I can't help it!  This is amazing!  Listen to these fans!

[The roaring crowd is off-the-hook insane with Sweet Daddy Williams
working over the hated Russian.  Peeling the can off of Velikov, the fan
favorite drags the trash-covered Russian off the asphalt...

...and promptly catches a nacho cheese covered thumb to the eye!]

GM:  Oh!  Cheap shot by Velikov!

BW:  Are you serious?  This whole thing is cheap shots!

GM:  He caught him in the eye and Sweet Daddy is temporarily blinded out
here in the crowd.  Stay with him, guys.  I know it's tough with all
these fans but try to stay with them out there.

[The cameramen seem to be having some trouble doing that, fans jostling
for a better view.  Suddenly, the shot cuts to a slightly overhead view
apparently from somewhere in the bleachers.]

GM:  There!  That'll work!  Stay with that one!

[Grabbing the flattened trash can off the ground, Velikov winds up and
uncorks a picture-perfect baseball swing, DRILLING Williams right across
the cheek and knocking him down to the ground in a heap.]

GM:  Goodness!  What a shot that was!

[Velikov takes a second to recover, shaking the cobwebs off as he
stumbles towards the downed Williams...

...and drops a three hundred pound legdrop across the back of the neck,
driving the fan favorite's face into the asphalt!]

GM:  Ohhhh!

[With the crowd jeering wildly, Velikov kneels on the ground, grabbing
two hands full of Williams' hair and rubs his face back and forth across
the asphalt.]

GM:  Ahhh!  Come on, referee!

BW:  Oh, it's all legal, Gordo.  Remember?  If Velikov wants to take out
a hammer and sickle and go to town?  Legal as a headlock!

[Velikov rises, looking down as Williams rolls onto his back, his face
rapidly turning red from being rubbed raw on the pavement.  The Russian
grins at the damage he caused before delivering a pair of stomps to the
ribcage.]

GM:  Velikov's shouting in Stevie Scott's direction - telling him to put
his partner out of his misery.

BW:  Not a bad idea.

GM:  I'm not sure I agree.  Sweet Daddy Williams is a very proud man.  I
can't imagine what it'd do to him if Stevie Scott waved that flag -
threw it in for him.

[Velikov shakes his head, dragging Williams up off the concrete as he
drags him through the crowd.]

GM:  It looks like we're heading back towards the ring now.  Thankfully.

BW:  Look again, Gordo!  We're headin' for higher ground!

[Approaching the bleachers, Velikov promptly SLAMS Williams' face into
the wooden bench seating!]

GM:  Hard!  Facefirst to the bench!

[Grabbing Williams by the wrist, Velikov physically drags him a few rows
into the bleachers, fans scurrying out of the way of the mad Russian.]

GM:  Where is he going?

BW:  Straight to the top, daddy!

GM:  Oh, that's real clever!

[Velikov grabs a handful of hair again, driving Williams facefirst into
the bench!]

GM:  Facefirst to the seats again!

[The Russian stands over the downed Williams, grabbing a beer from a
nearby fan and pouring it out over the fan favorite.  The fan gets into
Velikov's face for the act, giving Williams a moment or two to crawl
away, trying to recover while the Russian barks insults towards the
fan.]

GM:  Velikov had better be careful up there.  He's in hostile territory
up there in the crowd.

BW:  That kid had better be careful too.  Velikov's not above showing
him why Mother Russia is #1 in the form of a backhand.

GM:  He wouldn't dare.  The AWA fans are the best in the world!

[Velikov shoves past the angry fan, moving towards Sweet Daddy Williams
who is about halfway down the row towards the aisle at this point. 
Velikov stomps towards him, getting delayed by the protesting fans.]

GM:  Now THIS is a home court advantage!

[Velikov finally gets within range as Sweet Daddy pulls himself off the
bench into the aisleway.  The Russian leaps off the bench with a forearm
smash that staggers Williams, knocking him to a knee...

...where a big boot to the chest sends him sailing off the bleachers,
crashing down on the pavement!]

GM:  OHHHH!  He flew several feet through the air to land on the
concrete!

BW:  Wave the flag, Stevie!  This fat goof's night is over!

GM:  You might be right, Bucky.  A fall like that could break ribs,
puncture a lung - who knows?  He could've suffered severe injuries right
there.

[Velikov moves quickly down the few stairs, grabbing Williams by the leg
and dragging him across the pavement towards the ring.  The cries of the
protesting fans are deafening as the Russian shoves people aside.]

GM:  Velikov's pulling him off the floor...

[Grabbing him by the head, Velikov simply shoves him over the railing
into the ringside area before following him back over the barricade.]

GM:  Well, at least they're both back inside the railing now.  It's a
little safer, I think, for everyone.  Velikov rolls him under the
ropes... yeah, yeah, you're a real tough guy...

[Gordon is talking back to Velikov who is barking words in his direction
as he walks towards the ring steps...

...and then turns back, walking towards the announce table.]

BW:  Now you've done it, Gordo!  Had to run your fat mouth, did ya?

GM:  Now, hold on a second!  I didn't mean- 

BW:  HEY!

[Bucky Wilde exclaims as Velikov yanks him to his feet by the jacket
lapels...

...and then reaches for his belt.]

BW:  Vlad, buddy... I like you and all but...

[With a hard pull, Velikov yanks Wilde's leather belt clear, smirking as
he turns away.]

BW:  Oh... right.  I knew that's what he wanted.

GM:  He's got your belt!  What's he gonna do with that?

BW:  I'm guessing he didn't think it looks better with his pants, Gordo.

[Velikov walks up the ringsteps, the leather belt with gaudy diamond
belt buckle with the initials "B.B.", hanging from his hand.  He steps
through the ropes as the fans jeer.]

GM:  Velikov has taken the belt off my broadcast partner here and... oh
no... look out!


"CRAAAAAAAAAACK!"


[The crowd jeers as the leather belt lashes down across the wide back of
Sweet Daddy Williams, sending a cry of pain into the darkened New
Orleans night sky from the fan favorite.  Grinning, Velikov lifts the
belt into the air again...

...and brings it down just as hard again across the back.  The camera
quickly cuts to ringside where Stevie Scott has lifted the American flag
up, looking concerned towards the ring.]

GM:  Uh oh!  Stevie might be about to do it!  He looks like-

BW:  Wave it!  Wave it before the ring is full with Williams' fat hide. 


GM:  Knock it off, Bucky!

BW:  What?  Velikov's taking the hide off him and I don't know if we
have enough room for Williams' hide inside the ring, Gordo.

GM:  Give me a break.  OHHHH!  Again!  Again he hits him with that
leather belt and I'm blaming you for this one, Bucky!

BW:  WHAT?!  What did you want me to do, Gordo?!

GM:  You could have put up a fight!

BW:  And get creamed?  Or worse... and not get to see this?!

GM:  You're out of control... and so is Vladimir Velikov!

[Another lash finds the mark, this one across the chest of Williams in a
blow that forces him to roll to his bulky gut to try to protect himself.
 Velikov settles down in a straddle, reaching around to loop the belt
around the throat of Sweet Daddy Williams, pulling back on it!]

GM:  He's choking him with the belt!  Attempting to strangle the life
out of Sweet Daddy Williams with Bucky Wilde's own belt!

BW:  I like the sound of that.

GM:  You would!

[Velikov quickly pushes his knee down on the back of Williams, pulling
back while his knee pushes down.  He barks in the direction of Stevie
Scott, screaming at the Hotshot to wave the flag.]

GM:  Stevie... Stevie's thinking about it!  He's gotta be thinking about
it!

[With the crowd screaming for him not to do it - well, most of them
anyways - Stevie Scott shakes his head at Velikov, slapping the mat to
cheer his partner on...

...and then watches helplessly as Velikov stands up, pressing his foot
down on the back of Williams' head as he pulls up with all his
strength.]

GM:  Look at that!  

BW:  Impressive.

GM:  The power of Velikov or the fact that your belt is that long?

BW:  HEY!

GM:  The crowd is screaming for Sweet Daddy to power out of this! 
Begging for him to fight out of this!  Come on, Sweet Daddy!  Come on! 

BW:  You're actually cheering for that putz!

GM:  Come on, Stevie!  Get him out of there!  Get him out of that hold!

[Velikov screams a triumphant whoop as he pulls up with all his
strength, his nephew proudly beaming from the corner as his uncle does
serious damage to one of their rivals.]

GM:  Stevie Scott's begging his partner to get out of this - absolutely
pleading with him to-

[Suddenly, Williams' once struggling arms go limp...

...and Stevie Scott immediately picks up the flagpole, waving it back
and forth to a huge disappointed reaction from the crowd as the referee
calls for the bell.]


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  It's over!

[Scott turns around to put the flagpole down, then turns back to move to
the ring to help his partner...

...but gets MOWED OVER with a Russian Sickle courtesy of the National
Champion!]

GM:  OHHHH!

[Inside the ring, Velikov allows Williams to slump helplessly to the mat
as he cackles with delight, clapping his hands together as he approaches
the ropes, looking down to the floor where Stevie Scott is absolutely
motionless on the floor...

...with Kolya Sudakov, the Russian War Machine, standing over him,
staring down with an icy gaze.]

GM:  Williams is down!  Stevie is down!  Is this a preview of Death Or
Glory?!  

BW:  The Heatseeker or the Sickle!  One man is going down for the count
on the 4th of July, daddy!

GM:  Fans, we're out of time!  We've gotta go!  We'll see you on
Independence Day!

[The camera holds on the death gaze from Kolya Sudakov, then cuts to the
still-unmoving Stevie Scott...

...as we slowly fade to black.]