Saturday Night Wrestling

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                           American Wrestling Alliance
                                 Proudly Presents
                         AWA Saturday Night Wrestling

                      Live from the Maclellan Gymnasium
                              Chattanooga, Tennesee
                                 August 15th, 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.  It is replaced by footage marked "TWO WEEKS
AGO!" with Stevie Scott throwing yanking back in a straddling armbar
from behind the injured Marcus Broussard.]

GM:  The armbar is locked on again!  He's got it in deep!

[Broussard instantly cries out in agony, clawing at the canvas as he
tries to escape the hold or at minimum, fight off the pain.  Scott
screams just as loud, trying to use every drop of energy left in his
body to rip and tear the arm.]

GM:  Broussard's trying to fight it... trying to escape... come on,
Marcus!

[The champion screams "ASK HIM!  ASK HIM!" at the official who
immediately does so, dropping down to his knees.  Broussard weakly
refuses, shaking his head back and forth.]

GM:  The challenger is hanging on!  He refuses to quit!

[Scott keeps his grip, pulling back with all his might as Ben Waterson
shouts encouragement from out on the floor.  Gary Bright slaps the
canvas, rooting on his partner in crime.]

GM:  Broussard is inching closer to the ropes.  He's desperate to get
there and break this hold!  

BW:  He should be!  If he can't get out of this hold, this match is all
over!

GM:  Scott cranking back hard... screaming to ask him again...

[Meekly ducks down again, checking on the challenger.]

GM:  Meekly's asking him... checking on him...

[The San Jose Shark barely moves his head, refusing to give in.]

GM:  The challenger is still in this!

BW:  But for how long?  How much more does Marcus Broussard have left?

GM:  I don't know but he continues to fight - continues to struggle...

[The crowd roars, cheering the challenger with every bit of energy they
have.]

"MAR-CUS!"
"MAR-CUS!"
"MAR-CUS!"

GM:  You can hear the fans chanting for the challenger, trying to cheer
him on to get out of this armbar and continue the fight!  Can he do it? 
Can he get out of this punishing hold?

[Scott arches his back as much as he can, pulling back on the arm as
much as possible, screaming "ASSSSSSK HIM!" to the official who
immediately obliges, dropping down to all fours.]

"MARCUS, DO YOU GIVE UP?"

[The San Jose Shark does not answer, his head slumped over to the mat. 
Michael Meekly tries yet again.]

"MARCUS, DO YOU QUIT?"

[There's still no reply, the San Jose Shark not moving at all as Scott
cranks back on the arm...

...when suddenly Michael Meekly springs to his feet, waving his arm back
and forth.]



"DING!  DING!  DING!"



GM:  What happened?  What just happened?

BW:  He gave up!  Stevie got him to quit!

[With Marcus Broussard motionless on the mat, Gary Bright and Ben
Waterson climb into the ring to congratulate the National Champion as
the referee confers with the timekeeper and the ring announcer.  After a
few moments, Melissa Cannon speaks.]

MC:  Ladies and gentlemen... referee Michael Meekly has determined that
Marcus Broussard has PASSED OUT from the pain and therefore is unable to
defend himself.  As a result, your winner of the match and STILL AWA
National Champion...

"HOTSHOT" STEEEEEEVIE SCOTT!

[Stevie Scott immediately walks across the ring, grabbing the referee by
the shirt and shoving him back to the corner.]

GM:  He didn't give up and the Hotshot is irate!

[The champion shouts at Meekly, screaming "HE GAVE UP!  I HEARD IT!"]

GM:  We need to get some control in there!  Stevie Scott has got the
referee back in the corner and- oh, come on!

[The crowd jeers as Bright and Waterson start stomping and kicking the
left arm of the downed Broussard.  A leaping stomp by Bright to the
shoulder crushes it against the canvas.  The Hotshot shoves the referee
back to the corner, walking over to join his allies in the assault.]

GM:  Look out, fans, but I think Stevie Scott may have just decided to
take Marcus Broussard out for good!  He's out to end him once and for
all!

[Waterson grabs the wrist, holding the arm at full extension on the mat
as Bright and Scott take turns dropping knees on the arm, a motionless
Broussard completely unable to defend himself against the assault on his
injured limb.]

GM:  Come on!  There's no call for this!  None at all!

BW:  Broussard picked the wrong guys to tangle with this time, Gordo!

[Brushing his allies aside, Gary Bright reaches down to haul Broussard
off the mat by the back of the trunks.  He quickly grabs the injured
arm, twisting it into a hammerlock behind the hurting San Jose Shark...

...and then HOISTS him high into the air, still holding the hammerlock! 
The crowd gasps in shock as Bright's power is on full display.]

GM:  FLYING HAMMERLOCK!  MY GOD!

[Waterson and Scott step back, eyes open wide as they too are in shock
at the power of their teammate.  Broussard is absolutely motionless as
Bright holds all of his weight in the air by the arm, wrenching the limb
and shoulder even worse than it already was...

...when suddenly the Atlanta crowd ERUPTS!]

GM:  ADAM ROGERS!  HERE COMES THE NATURAL!

[The Natural comes tearing down the aisle, steel chair in hand.  He
dives under the ropes as both Waterson and the National Champion lunge
to the floor.]

GM:  Out goes Waterson!  Out goes Stevie!

[CUT!  We move ahead a few moments to Adam Rogers out on the floor with
Gordon Myers and Bucky Wilde.]

AR:  Scott, you call yourself a _champion_?  You little chicken crap! 
You weaseled your way out of your first title defense because you were
_scared_!  Scared of what?  Scared that you aren't legit, that you
aren't for real.

That you aren't truly a champion.

Well, pal, let me just go ahead and make sure you hear it first-hand
from someone who's been there and done that on a much larger level than
_you_ ever have.

[Adam shakes his head.]

AR: You aren't a champion.

You are a COWARD!

[Big pop!  Rogers lets it die down a bit before continuing.]

AR: Gordon, I've been saving this for the right time...and I think that
time has come.

You see..."champ"...several months ago I won this battle royal.

[Another pop, at least from those who know where it's going.]

AR: And by winning that battle royal, I earned a shot at the AWA
National Title...whenever I wanted it, wherever I wanted it.

I've decided that it's time to cash that bad boy in... at No Escape!

[There's a big cheer as the shot freezes and then 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 the interior
of the Maclellan Gymnasium in Chattanooga, Tennesee, where over four
thousand fans have jammed into the building for more AWA action.  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.  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.  Bucky Wilde, we
are LIVE in Chattanooga, Tennessee, for another big Saturday Night
Wrestling!  We've got two big Main Events scheduled for tonight...
first, it'll be a tag team rematch when The Right Proper Thugs look for
some payback against Unfinished Business!

BW:  And if Unfinished Business thinks they're gonna get the drop on the
Thugs like they did a couple months ago, they're sadly mistaken, Gordo.

GM:  We'll see about that.  Also, later tonight, we will see Adrian
Freeman, one-half of the duo who will challenge for the National Tag
Team Titles at No Escape will take on one-half of the team that holds
those titles in Tin Can Rust!  Their respective partners will be at
ringside and I know you're looking forward to that.

BW:  That's right, Gordo.  We all gave Stevie Scott and Gary Bright a
lot of credit for putting Marcus Broussard on the shelf permanently but
you can't forget what Adrian Freeman and Calisto Dufresne did to help
make that happen.  And tonight?  Tonight, the Australian is going to
break Tin Can Rust's arm too!

GM:  As Bucky just mentioned and as you saw at the start of tonight's
show, former National Champion, Marcus Broussard, suffered a severe arm
injury during and after our Main Event two weeks ago.  The extent of the
injury has not been revealed but we expect Marcus to miss quite a bit of
ring action.  Hopefully we'll see him back in the ring down the road.

BW:  I wouldn't count on it.

GM:  Don't sound so happy about it.  Fans, let's get things started by
going up to the ring for our opening match!

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

MC:  Our opening contest of the evening is set for one fall with a ten
minute time limit.  Introducing first... already in the ring at this
time... from Memphis, Tennessee... at 255 pounds... Albert Martin!

[A shower of cheers for the home state grappler.]

MC:  And his opponent...

["Chemistry" by UNKLE kicks in to an explosion of boos from the AWA
faithful.]

MC:  Weighing in at 201 pounds... from Wigan, Greater Manchester,
England...

He is the Catch Thug...

RAPHAEL RHOOOOOODES!

[The boos intensify as Rhodes breaks through the curtain, all business
as he strides down the walkway towards the ring.  He's sporting a pair
of leg-length tights in red, rolling under the ropes...

...and breaking into a sprint as he gets to his feet, forcing the ref to
call for the bell as he begins pounding Martin back towards the ropes.]

GM:  Rhodes isn't wasting a single moment in this one!

[Fists balled up, the Catch Thug throws hooking blow after hooking blow
to the ribcage of Albert Martin, doubling him up where a kneeling
uppercut snaps Martin's head back, hooking his arms over the top rope to
stay on his feet.]

GM:  Good grief!  

BW:  Somebody check the third row for his teeth!

[With Martin's upper body exposed, Rhodes winds up and blasts the
Tennessee native with a heavy forearm shot across the sternum.  Sneering
at the nearby referee, Rhodes delivers a second forearm smash to the
same spot before backing away and allowing Albert Martin to slump down
to a knee on the mat.]

GM:  Rhodes gets backed off by the referee... but he's moving right back
in.  Just pushing past the official to grab a handful of hair... ohh! 
Facefirst to the buckles!

[Keeping his hold on the hair, Rhodes tugs him into a side headlock,
moving over to the ropes where he places Martin's face against the top
rope strand and rushes down the length of the ring, rubbing the flesh
against the rope.]

GM:  Ahh!  

BW:  An old fashioned rope burn!  That'll take the skin right off ya!

[Hooking a side waistlock, Rhodes hoists Martin up off the canvas,
dumping him down on the back of his head and neck in a suplex.  Rhodes
quickly rolls into a straddle position, throwing open-handed slaps
across the face of the downed Martin.]

GM:  He's just slapping Martin!  Totally uncalled for!

[The fiery Rhodes pulls Martin's head off the mat by the hair...

...and then SLAMS the back of his skull into the canvas!  He firmly
plants a forearm across the cheekbone as he shouts at the referee to
count.]

GM:  There's a one... a two... oh, come on!

[Rhodes pulls Martin off the mat with a double handful of hair, shaking
his head at the official as he slowly drags Martin up to his feet.  A
front kick connects with the midsection, again doubling up Martin before
Rhodes throws him into the buckles by the arm.]

GM:  Rhodes puts him in the corner again... 

[With Martin facing the buckles, Rhodes throws a barrage of blows to the
ribs and kidneys before hooking his fingers into the mouth of Martin,
yanking at the flesh.]

GM:  Fish hook!  Come on, referee!

[The crowd jeers as Rhodes shouts at the screaming Martin.]

GM:  Rhodes just called him "Vasquez", Bucky.  This guy's nuts.

BW:  He's just visualizing his next victim.  Juan Vasquez  doesn't have
the slightest clue what he's gotten himself into, Gordo... not the
slightest clue.

[Martin raises his own hands, trying to break Rhodes' grip...

...which leads to the British competitor grabbing the hand of Martin,
pushing the fingers backwards against the grain.]

GM:  And now he's going after the hand!  Come on!  DQ him or something!

[Grabbing the hair again, Rhodes pulls him around to a doubled-up
position where a leaping knee smash catches him squarely in the face,
snapping him back against the ropes.  The Catch Thug quickly hoists
Martin up, sitting him down on the top rope where he moves swiftly to
join him, slinging Martin's arm over his shoulders...

...and hoisting him into the air, bringing him crashing down in a heap
with a superplex!]

GM:  Nothing Fancy!  On the money!

BW:  And if he hits that at No Escape inside the cage, Juan Vasquez will
be staring up at the lights just like this rookie is.

GM:  One.  Two.  And there's three.


"DING!  DING!  DING!"  


[The referee raises the Catch Thug's hand in victory before Raphael
Rhodes rolls out of the ring and walks over to the announcer's position,
where Gordon Myers and Bucky Wilde stand up to meet him.]

BW:  A devastating victory for you leading into No Escape, Raphael!

RR:  You know, Bucky, you ain't just half right, you're all right.  I
hope Juan Vasquez watches what I just did and sees what lies ahead of
him in that cage.  I hope Juan Vasquez watches and studies, and I hope
he trains as hard as possible.  I ain't goin' to take any excuses.

GM: But surely, Raphael, you have to be concerned about that cage.

RR: I ain't concerned, and I ain't worried.  You tell your little golden
boy that, when he steps into a cage with me, he better realize that he
ain't got nowhere to hide.  He talked about havin' a conscience... a
cage ain't no place for a conscience.  I'm not goin' in worryin' about
whether or not he can walk once I'm done with him... in fact, I'm
countin' on him not walkin' once that match is over.  I've said it once,
and I'll be perfectly happy to say it again... in the cage, at No
Escape, I'm comin' to end your career, Vasquez.  There ain't nothin' you
can do about it.

[Rhodes walks away from the podium.]

GM:  Raphael Rhodes with some very serious words for Juan Vasquez and
we're hoping to hear some words from Juan as well later tonight.  Fans,
don't go away - we've got much more to come!

[We hold on Gordon and Bucky for a moment before 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 on Gordon and Bucky standing near the ringside
announce table.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans.  As you know, the AWA is never satisfied with
our current roster of superstars - we're always looking for the next big
thing and with the help of our New Blood Drive, we're always adding high
level competition.  Some new, some familiar... and in this case, Texas
wrestling fans will undoubtedly know all about our next competitor. No
doubt, his has been one of the pre-eminent names in the Southwest for
the last twenty years, and now he brings his rugged brand of wrestling
to AWA. I'm talking about none other than Dirty Dog Calloway.

[The eerie opening refrain of legendary Texas rock band Bloodrock's
classic "D.O.A." crank out from the arena loudspeakers. The capacity
crowd on hand immediately begins jeering. The jeers get louder as the
rugged, cantankerous cowboy Dirty Dog Calloway storms into the arena.
With a deep scowl on his wizened, bearded face, the burly Texan--clad
in a heavily worn black cowboy hat, black leather vest, a black
elbowpad on his right elbow, black trunks with a crossed pistols logo
on the rear, black kneepads on both knees, and black boots--blazes
past the fans' outstretched hands towards Myers and Wilde. The music
fades out as Calloway saunters over to Myers.]

GM: As I mentioned before you arrived, undoubtedly, you have been one
of the biggest stars on the Texas wrestling circuit for over two
decades. You certainly have made quite the name for yourself over the
years. However, one cannot help but wonder what finally brings you to
the main stage after all these years? So the obvious question is, why
now?

[The burly Texan frowns a bit as he tips the brim of his cowboy hat.]

DDC: I 'spose ya figure enough's enough, eh, Myers? Why doesn't the
old man just hang up the trunks and put the boots in the back of the
closet, eh?

GM: Well, no, I was just asking-

[He steps alarmingly close to Myers who shirks back a bit, much to
Wilde's amusement.]

DDC: I guess what yer askin' is why not let sleepin' dogs lie? Well, let
me tell ya 'bout sleepin' dogs, Myers. Two things ...

[He holds up two stubby, gnarled fingers.]

DDC: ... happen to sleepin' dogs: They either get fleas or they get put
down. And yer gonna have t' pardon the hell out of me if'n I don't want
either one, son.

GM: Well then just what is it that you do want?

[Calloway shakes his head in disbelief.]

DDC: It's amazin' ya managed to hold on to yer job this long, Myers,
seein' as yer 'bout as bright as a sack o' broken lightbulbs. What I
want, Myers, is my damned respect. Ya see, Myers, I been in this
business a long time.

GM: Indeed.

[Calloway raises an eyebrow at Myers, who immediately takes his cue to
remain quiet.]

DDC: A long time. I been down South bustin' my hump for folks just like
these people ...

[The crowd begins jeering in anticipation of the pending insult.]

DDC: ... and I got t' askin' myself, for what? For who? I put my life
on the line day in, day out, just t' see these beady eyed miscreant...

[The jeers grow in intensity.]

DDC: ... give me this? Y'see, Myers, I done went and had one of those
epiphanies. Blood, sweat 'n tears don't mean squat to these fools.
Y'see, these people don't appreciate effort. These people don't
appreciate good, honest work. These people don't appreciate talent.
No. All they appreciate is gold and money. And the way I see it, the
best way to get their respect is t' take their damned money and their
damned gold. And if I can't have their respect ...

[He casts a stern glance at the camera.]

DDC: ... then I'll take their fear.

[The West Texas native storms off in the direction of the ring as the
fans boo loudly.]

GM:  Well, fans... it looks like Dirty Dog Calloway is going to make his
in-ring debut right now too and- 

BW:  LOOK OUT!

[With a loud "CLUNK!" the announcers scatter as Calloway has thrown a
scrawny red-headed kid through the ropes and onto the announce table. 
Calloway steps through the ropes as the referee calls for the bell,
dropping to a knee and grabbing a handful of the bright red hair,
balling up a fist and driving it into the temple of the young man.]

GM:  Young Terry O'Riley may have bitten off more than he can chew here
tonight in Chattanooga.  Calloway is right on top of our table,
battering this kid...

[Still holding the hair, Calloway flips O'Riley to his stomach, SMASHING
his face into the wooden table before dragging him off the table to his
feet on the apron.]

GM:  They're right up here in front of us now.  Calloway, about 6'4 and
302 pounds, is certainly a physically intimidating man... ohhh!  Hard
clothesline takes O'Riley over the ropes and dumps him on the mat!

[A snarling Calloway ignores the protesting official, dropping a big
elbowsmash down on the back of O'Riley's head and neck.  Grabbing the
hair again, Calloway slams his face into the mat before dragging him to
his feet.  He slaps on a front facelock where a high knee lift catches
O'Riley under the chin, keeping his grip as he slams his forearm down on
the back of the Irishman three times.]

GM:  Absolutely clubbing forearms on the back of O'Riley, dumping him
down to the mat again!

[Using the toe of his boot, Calloway flips O'Riley onto his back...

...and then drops down with a knee, smashing the skull of the Irishman
as Calloway reaches back to grab a leg.]

GM:  One!  Two!  O'Riley's out at two!

[Calloway looks surprised at the kickout... then angry.]

GM:  Ohh!

[The crowd gasps as Calloway simply rains down clubbing forearms from
his kneeling spot on the mat, seemingly not caring where the strikes
land at all.  Balling up his fist, Calloway smashes it into the temple
of O'Riley as he applies another lateral press.]

GM:  One!  Two!  Thr- shoulder up again!

[An angry Calloway springs to his feet, holding up three fingers as he
aggressively approaches the referee who is backpedaling as quickly as
possible, ending up pushed back in the corner.  A threatening finger
seems to give Calloway a moment of pause before he turns around,
catching a rising O'Riley with a haymaker blow that knocks O'Riley
backwards and down to a knee.]

GM:  Dirty Dog Calloway has ruled Southwest wrestling for 23 years...
one of the most feared and dangerous competitors in that region.  He's
up there in age but he's up there in toughness as well.

BW:  He may not have much time left in this business, Gordo, but you can
bet he'll try to make the most of every second of it.

GM:  Calloway drags O'Riley off the mat... ohh!  Hard whip to the
corner!

[The impact of the whip smashes O'Riley's head and neck into the top
buckle, knocking him down to a knee.  Calloway backs to the opposite
corner, measuring O'Riley as the Irishman starts to pull himself up.]

GM:  CHARRRRGE!

[Calloway lumbers across the ring as quickly as his old body will
manage...

...and EXPLODES upwards with a European uppercut up under the chin that
nearly knocks O'Riley over the ropes to the floor.  Stringing his
offense together, Calloway tugs him quickly into a fireman's carry,
circling the ring before tossing him up and over and down into a
backbreaker across the knee!]

GM:  OHHH!

BW:  Absolutely EXPLOSIVE offense by Calloway!

GM:  And he's just punishing this kid now.

[With one hand on the thigh of O'Riley and one on the chin, bending
O'Riley over the bent knee.]

GM:  Part of you just has to hope this kid gives it up right here.

BW:  Just like Broussard should have.

GM:  The referee is right there, checking on O'Riley...

[But with no submission, Calloway violently shoves O'Riley off his knee
and down to the mat.  A few well-placed stomps to the ribs has the crowd
booing once again before the brawler from Roundup, Texas, drags O'Riley
off the mat by the red hair, sets him up...

...and snaps off a tornado punch that sends O'Riley sailing through the
air, crashing down to the mat in a heap!]

GM:  OHHH!

BW:  Vacation To Tornado Alley!  He hit all of that!

GM:  And that's gotta be it.  One.  Two.  Three.


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


[Calloway rolls off the downed O'Riley, ordering the referee to raise
his hand in victory.  After a few moments, the Texan gets back to his
feet, mockingly dusting himself off before exiting the ring.]

GM:  A convincing victory for Dirty Dog Calloway here in his AWA debut
and I'd have to imagine after that that there's not too many AWA stars
happy to see him here, Bucky.

BW:  I wouldn't think so.

GM:  I look forward to seeing what Calloway can do against some of the
top flight AWA competition... and take a look at this, Bucky...

[The camera rapidly pans to show Soup Bone Samson approaching the
ringside area, passing Dirty Dog Calloway in the aisle.  The two veteran
glare at one another, seemingly ready for a fight at any moment, as they
pass in the aisle...

...but pass without conflict, leaving Samson to approach the announce
table at ringside.]

GM:  Soup Bone Samson... I know you are scheduled to be in the ring next
but what was that about?

[Samson is shaking his head as he speaks.]

SBS:  Some things never change, Gordon.

GM:  You two have met before?

SBS:  We've crossed paths in plenty of places.  It'd be hard not to as
long as we've both been runnin' 'round the South.  There's only so many
places for a man to fight for a livin' so... yeah, we're... familiar...
with one another.  He's a tough dude, you know?  

GM:  One of the toughest.

[Samson nods.]

BW:  And I don't know if you noticed it, Samson, but Dirty Dog Calloway
knocked his opponent out flat with a punch.

SBS:  Yeah, I saw.  Impressive.  Like I said, he's a tough dude.

BW:  Is his knockout punch better than yours?

[Samson chuckles.]

SBS:  If he sticks 'round these parts long enough, we might just have to
find out, Bucky.  But for now, I've got bigger fish to fry.  Two weeks
ago, I sat back in the locker room and watched Marcus Broussard
challenge for the National Title.  

Now, the Shark and I... we ain't exactly runnin' buddies... but he's a
good kid.  Deep down, he's a good kid no matter what he's done in the
past.  So, I'm rootin' for him a bit 'specially against that dirty snake
Scott.

[Samson shakes his head again.]

SBS:  What I saw... it was a shame, Gordon.  A damn shame.  That kid
didn't deserve that no matter what he's done in his career.  No one
deserves to have their livelihood snatched away from 'em.  Not Sudakov. 
Not Sweet Daddy.  Not the Shark.  No one.

That brings us to now.  At No Escape, the Natural... he's takin' his
shot at the Hotshot.  And I wish him luck, I truly do.  I hope Adam can
take that snake and skin him of that big gold belt.

But if he don't?

[Samson looks at Gordon... and lifts his clenched right hand.]

SBS:  If he don't, then Stevie Scott's gonna find a new challenger
waitin' for him.

[The veteran slaps Gordon on the back before heading towards the
ringsteps.]

GM:  Fans, let's go up to the ring and see Soup Bone Samson in action!

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

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit.  Introducing first... already in the ring at this time...
from Oklahoma City, Oklahoma and weighing in at 280 pounds... 
Randy Tate!

[Tate waves an arm to the jeers of the crowd.]

MC:  And his opponent... weighing in at 310 pounds... from Detroit,
Michigan...

SOUP BOOOOOONE SAMMMMMSON!

[The big man from Detroit steps into the ring, nodding his head as
Melissa steps out of the ring.  The referee steps between the two men
and calls for the bell.]

GM:  And here we go!

[The two beefy competitors meet up in the middle, tying up in a collar
and elbow as they both jockey for position...

...but a rake of the eyes puts Randy Tate in control as a blinded Samson
staggers back to the ropes.]

GM:  Ohh!  Cheap shot by Tate!

[With Samson clutching the ropes, Tate tees off with blows to the ample
midsection of the Detroit native.  Grabbing the arm, he fires Samson
across the ring, dropping him with a back elbowsmash to the chin.  With
a smirk, he leaps up, dropping a heavy elbow down on the chest of Soup
Bone Samson.]

GM:  BIIIIIG elbowdrop!

[Tate rolls over to a knee, pulling Samson up by the head and drilling
him with a right hand to the skull.  Tate pulls up, clutching his own
hand and wincing in pain.]

GM:  Ha ha!  Samson's got a skull as solid as a rock and Randy Tate may
have just discovered that the hard way.

[A barrage of stomps to the head of Samson causes the big brawler to
roll under the ropes to the floor.  Tate steps out on the apron, aiming
for the downed Samson as he climbs to a knee...

...and leaps off, smashing down with a double axehandle across the back
of the neck, knocking the Motor City native down to the barely-padded
floor.]

GM:  Samson is down and he's in big trouble already.  Tate is all over
him on the floor, stomps and kicks to the head.  

BW:  We could be witnessing a major upset, Gordo.  Samson's out here
talking about challenging for the National Title and he can't even beat
Randy Tate!

GM:  Tate drags Samson off the-

[The crowd cheers as the staggered Samson reaches out with both arms,
wrapping Tate up in a bearhug...

...and then powering him up into the air, popping his hips as he DRIVES
Tate's spine into the barely-padded flooring!]

GM:  OHHH!  BELLY TO BELLY ON THE FLOOR!  GOOD GRIEF!

[The referee's count reaches six as a dazed Samson staggers to his feet,
reaching down to drag Tate off the floor, firing him under the ropes
into the ring.]

GM:  Tate's in... and Samson rolls in as well... both men back inside
the ring here in Chattanooga, Tennessee.

[As both men crawl to their feet, Samson lashes out with a boot to the
gut, pulling the doubled up Tate into a standing headscissors.]

GM:  Look out!  A powerbomb perhaps?

[It appears to be exactly what Samson has in mind as he reaches down,
hooking his hands together around Tate's waist...

...and then stops.]

GM:  What's he doing?

[Samson suddenly breaks his grip, straightening up.  He shakes his head
at the buzzing crowd and then steps back, waiting an instant for Randy
Tate to go vertical as well...

...and turns his lights out with a crushing right hand!]

GM:  OHHHHHHH!  That's it!

[The Motor City brawler looks down at the motionless Tate, dropping down
to sit on his heaving chest.]

GM:  One.  Two.  Three!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


[Samson blows on his fist before getting back to his feet, having his
arm raised in triumph.]

GM:  Soup Bone Samson is your winner and will that be enough for the big
man to break the Top 10 rankings?  We'll find out in the days to come
but for now, Samson is victorious and if I'm Stevie Scott, I just might
be looking over my shoulder for that big right hand.  Fans, we'll be
right back - don't you dare go away!

[And we fade out to 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...

The camera opens in the locker room.  Barrett Topps and Marcus Moore are
standing together, while in the background, Lady Victoria
Pembroke-Burton is laying down on the wooden bench, stretching out
languidly and admiring her fingernails.  Topps and Moore haven't changed
into their ring attire yet although that's hard to tell in the case of
Marcus Moore who is wearing what he always seems to wear.... long denim
shorts, doc marten workboots and a faded Sex Pistols t-shirt.  For his
part, Topps is wearing ripped jeans, badly beaten sneakers, and a
"Manchester United" football t-shirt.  For her part, Victoria is wearing
a tight leather skirt and an loose-fitting hoodie with skulls pritined
all over it.]

BT:  "So it's finally come 'round again eh?  The Right Proper Thugs
versus Unfinished Business."

MM:  "Too right.  Because unfinished business is exactly what we have
you two wankers.  You two gits got a lucky stroke the last time we met,
what with the problems we had just gettin' to the bloody arena...."

[Topps holds up his hand, cutting Moore off.  Topps shakes his head
disapprovingly.]

BT:  "Oi, let's not get into that, mate.  Just because we were delayed
on our flight from England and had to rush to the arena, sufferin' the
greatest jet-lag known to bloody mankind, an' just because no one even
told us we were gonna be havin' a bleedin' match before we arrived...
well, we ain't ones to make excuses."

[In the background, Victoria swings herself into a sitting position.]

VP-B:  "Y'know, Unfinished Business is a great name for those two gits. 
I mean, really... they've never actually completed a damn thing they
started out to do.  They had an easy opportunity to defeat a pair of
inbred American hillbillies....

[Topps chuckles in his low, gravelly voice.]

BT:  "Don't that describe all these damn yanks?"

VP-B:  "Yes, true... but honestly, they were fighting Kentucky Pride. 
As if anyone would have any pride in being from Kentucky?  Bad enough
being born American, but to be from Kentucky as well?  It's a wonder
they can even pronounce the word "pride" let alone feel any.  But be
that as it may, the fact is Unfinished Business fell short yet again..
as they've made careers out of doing, right?  I mean even their
individual names.... Scott Pain, because he's bloody painful to watch.
And Colt Patterson?  You know wha you do with a bleedin' colt who's
gettin' on in years and can't perform right?  You shoot it in the bloody
head and put it out of it's misery. 

[Lady Victoria stands up, stripping off her hoodie and tossing it aside,
and if you thought she would be wearing a t-shirt like the other two
you'd be wrong,because she's just wearing a black mesh bra with two X's
over her... um.. inappropriate for family tv areas... made out of
masking tape.]

VP-B:   "Scott Pain and Colt Patterson, you two washed up never-were,
never-ran wankers, you should have just had the good grace to retire
after your epic failure at Death Or Glory.  It took you gits thirteen
years to get a title shot?  Thirteen?  Bloody hell, me 'n' me mates were
barely in our teens.  Take a look in the mirror, boys... you got bloody
old.  And this?  This is a young person's game, love, and you two never
got the brass ring did you?  You're gonna be the old blokes comin' round
the arena after you retire, lookin' for a bloody handout and askin' if
anyone wants to hear your retarded old stories about the good ol' days
ain'tcha.  Utterly pathetic, that's what you are, the both of you."

[Victoria comes closer, slapping her men on the chest.]

VP-B:  "Look at the Right Proper Thugs.  Marcus Moore is six foot six
and near two hundred eight pounds.  Barrett Topps is six foot four and
two hundred sixty pounds.  And they're younger, stronger and hungrier
than you two gits have ever been.  So yeah, you got lucky when you got
your little win over me mates a few weeks back, and maybe that gives you
a little swell of confidence yeah?  Like the little swell you get when
you take your little blue pills and try to satisfy the ugly, bloated
american ring-rats who still try to get by with you two when they can't
get someone higher up on the food chain.  Oh... did I say that out loud?
 I hope neither of you wankers have some barefoot, pregnant, ignorant
yank ladyfriend back home to make explanations to."

[Victoria laughs.. a nasty, evil sound if ever there was one.  She drags
one hand along her body and makes a wicked, yet seductive, grin as the
camera.]

VP-B:  "This, you dumb American sots, is what a woman is supposed to
look like.  And me mates?  They're what professional wrestlers are
supposed to look like.  They're what bleedin' champions are supposed to
look like.  And Unfinished Business?  They're what a complete pair of
has-been toe-rags look like.  But after tonight?  Scott bloody Pain and
Colt bloody Patterson are just goin' to be a pair of bloodied sots
staring up at the lights.  Now get this bloody camera out of this bloody
dressing room, you complete wankers."

[And acting as bouncers, Marcus Moore and Barrett Topps move to the
side, getting closer to the camera, and then the camera starts pulling
back as Lady Victoria makes a hand gesture that is immediately digitized
for the home viewer's protection...

...and we fade to another part of the building where Jason Dane is
standing with Colt Patterson and Scott Pain, the team known as
Unfinished Business.]

JD:  Guys, you heard what The Right Proper Thugs had to say right there
just moments before you step into the ring with them.  Your thoughts?

[Colt Patterson looks at Scott Pain who shrugs.]

CP:  Honestly, Jason... I'm not sure what to say.

[Dane looks puzzled.]

JD:  Well, I would think you might want to respond to-

CP:  No, no... I understand what YOU want me to say.  But where the
problem comes in is I have no idea what in the heck they just said.

[Pain chuckles at his partner.]

CP:  Scott, you catch any of that?

SP:  Something about wankers and sots and bloodies... 

CP:  I could've sworn they actually speak English in the UK, don't they?

SP:  Last I checked.

CP:  You would think it would be possible to actually understand what in
the world they were trying to get across to us but for the life of me,
they might as well have been speaking in Latin, Jason.

[It's Dane's turn to chuckle this time.]

CP:  But from what I can gather, they think we're old.

[Colt looks to Scott who shrugs again.]

SP:  Can't argue there.

CP:  Right.  They also apparently think we've never accomplished
anything.

SP:  Our World Title reigns in Los Angeles say "hello!"

CP:  Yep.  They also apparently think we need little blue pills in order
to... well, there was also something in there about ugly, fat women that
we take home.

[Pain looks sheepish.]

SP:  Caught me.

[Patterson chuckles as Dane does the same.]

CP:  But here's the part I really don't get.  They make fun of us for
going thirteen years between opportunities to wear gold around our
waists.  Somehow because they were teenagers when we were World
Champions, that means they're hungrier than us.

[Patterson shakes his head.]

CP:  In what possible world would that make you hungrier than us?  You
don't know what it's like to taste that gold.  You don't know what it's
like to live the high life as a champion.  You don't know what it's like
to ride in fancy cars, stay in pricey hotels, order from room service,
fly in first class, hang with the hottest women... you just don't know.

But what you do know is that if you lose again... if you lose to us
again... then your ladyfriend might leave you both high and dry without
even a fantasy to keep you warm at night.

[Patterson cracks a grin.]

CP:  We beat ya once.  We'll do it again.  Let's go, Scott.

[Pain and Patterson walk off camera together leaving Jason Dane behind.]

JD:  You heard 'em, fans.  Let's go back to the ring for tag team
action!

[Cut 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...

#Gonna be a dirty punk
Gonna rock your neighborhood#

[The crowd boos as the angry lyrics of The Clash stream out of the sound
system and the Right Proper Thugs step into the aisle.  Leading the way
is Lady Victoria Pembroke-Burton, her brunette hair coifed to perfection
and dressed in a leather skirt with leather riding boots, a thick steel
chain wraps around her throat like a necklace, her red riding jacket
hanging open to reveal her black mesh bra. Her "naughty" parts are
covered by X's made from shiny black duct tape.  A true cross between
English upper-crust and hardcore punk.  Her nose-ring gleams in the
light of the arena, as does the brass skull that tops off the black
polished cane she carries with her..  

Behind her are the Right Proper Thugs dressed in their usual ring
attire:  Barrett in dark blue wrestling shorts with the English flag in
the center of the waist.  He wears calf-length dark blue wrestling
boots, along with matching kneepads and elbowpads.  His partner, Marcus
Moore's attire consists of ripped, faded denim shorts that hang down
just a bit past his knees.  He wears well-worn Doc Marten workboots, and
his hands are covered with dirty, faded fingerless gloves.]

MC:  On their way to the ring... from the United Kingdom and weighing in
at 535 pounds... accompanied to the ring by their manager Lady Victoria
Pembroke-Burton... Marcus Moore and Barrett Topps... 

THE RIGHT PROPER THUGS!

[Lady Victoria leads her team down the aisle, sneering at the audience
and slapping away any hands reaching out towards her.  Moore and Topps
look like they're ready and willing to just climb over the security
barricades to brawl with the fans, but content themselves with spitting
into the crowd, hocking huge wads of phlegm. Even Victoria takes a
moment to spit on a fan who tries a bit too enthusiastically to touch
her, although she does come close to taking a swing at him with her cane
first.]

#I could hear your momma scream
Shes gonna waste herself away#

[The Right Proper Thugs climb into the ring, holding the ring ropes open
for Lady Victoria, allowing her to climb into the ring.  She slips
between the bottom and middle ropes, wiggling her leather-clad bottom a
bit, just to tease the fans, and then reaches back to slap her own butt,
although it seems Moore gets a bit of enjoyment from it by the lewd grin
he gets when she does that entrance.]

#When your daddy smashed that tv screen
I understand what he had to say#

[Lady Victoria poses between her two men, holding their arms up as they
just glare out at the audience.  As their music finally cuts off,
Victoria exits the ring, staying in her teams corner as they get ready
to face their opponents]

MC:  And their opponents... 

["Here Comes The Pain" by Slayer kicks in to a big cheer.]

MC:  Weighing in at 590 pounds... the team of Colt Patterson and Scott
Pain...

UNFINISHED BUSINESS!

[The crowd cheers as Colt Patterson and Scott Pain stride through the
entrance curtain.  Pain throws both arms in the air, soaking up the
cheers as Patterson walks along the barricade, slapping hands with the
fans lining the railing.]

GM:  Patterson seemed a bit put off by the comments made by the Right
Proper Thugs, Bucky.

BW:  I suppose I don't blame him.  It's not an easy thing to be called
on the carpet for being an old fossil who hasn't done anything in a
decade.

GM:  Give me a break, Bucky.  This should be a very interesting matchup
- a rematch from several weeks ago when Unfinished Business earned their
shot at the champs with a shockingly quick victory over the Thugs.

BW:  They jumped them before the bell!  Tell it the way it is, Gordo!

[Patterson steps up on the apron, climbing through the ropes as his
partner walks up the ringsteps...

...which leaves Colt Patterson easy prey for a storming Marcus Moore and
Barrett Topps.  The referee frantically rings the bell to start the
match as Patterson absorbs a shower of punches and kicks against the
ropes that knock him through the ropes to the floor.  The incoming Scott
Pain grabs Topps by the shoulder, swinging him around.]

GM:  CHOKE!

[But the chokeslam never comes as Marcus Moore lunges into the fray,
tackling the 6'10 beast back into the buckles.  With a protesting
referee shouting at both men, the Thugs continue their assault, adding
kicks and knees to the body before hurling Pain from corner to corner
with an Irish whip.]

GM:  Pain hits the buckles hard...

[Grabbing the arm of his partner, Moore fires Topps across the ring
towards a stunned Pain.  Topps leaves his feet, throwing a hard forearm
smash that connects solidly with the jaw of the big man.  He leans
against Pain, holding him in place as Moore follows his partner across
the ring, crushing Pain in the buckles with a running clothesline!]

GM:  Ohh!  The Right Proper Thugs have started this one off in a hurry,
Bucky.

BW:  Just like Unfinished Business did to them!

GM:  Pain is staggered... Moore drags him from the corner by the arm...

[And with a mighty yank, he pulls Pain into a short-arm clothesline that
takes the big man down to the mat.  With the referee all over him, a
smirking Barrett Topps exits the ring, stopping to speak with Lady
Victoria as a stunned Colt Patterson climbs up on the apron across the
ring.]

GM:  We've got it down to a one on one inside the ring.  At least
there's that.  But Marcus Moore has Pain down on the mat, stomping and
kicking him... ohhh!  Big leaping kneedrop across the chest!

[The screaming Victoria catches Moore's attention who nods in response,
flipping Pain onto his stomach before leaping up again, bringing his leg
crashing down on the back of Pain's neck.]

GM:  Legdrop!  A 275 pound legdrop on the neck!  

BW:  And at 275, he doesn't quite match the 310 pounds of Scott Pain but
he's in the ballpark for sure.

GM:  That's for sure.  

[With Pain rolling on the mat holding his neck, Moore slaps the hand of
his partner who steps in and immediately drops an elbow on the back of
the neck as well.]

GM:  Well, it looks to be no secret what part of the body they've
decided to go after on Scott Pain, Bucky.

BW:  I don't know if any particular weakness Pain has in that area but
you never know.  I won't question Lady Victoria's strategy, that's for
sure.

GM:  I don't blame you there.

[Topps flips Pain to his back, immediately hooking a leg but Pain is out
at two.  The man from Preston wraps his hands around Pain's throat,
screaming loudly as he strangles the air out of the big man.]

GM:  That's a choke!  Get in there, referee!

[Referee Mickey Meekly does indeed "get in there" to quickly force
Barrett Topps to back away from the downed Pain.  Outside the ring, Lady
Victoria shouts encouragement to her men as Topps ignores the referee's
cries.]

GM:  These two have absolutely no respect for the rules nor for their
opponents.  They will stoop to any and all levels to walk out of a match
with a victory, Bucky.

BW:  Nobody cares how you win when you win, Gordo.

GM:  I do.

BW:  Yep.  Nobody cares.

[Dragging Scott Pain off the canvas, the 6'4 brawler catches him under
the chin with a European uppercut that knocks him back against the
ropes.  He grabs Pain by the wrist, firing him across the ring, and
catching him on the rebound with a boot to the gut, instantly dashing to
the adjacent ropes, rebounding with a king-sized kneelift that snaps
Pain backwards and down to the mat again.]

GM:  Topps... boy, he's an arrogant son of a gun, isn't he?

[The sneering Topps calmly walks across the ring, slapping the hand of
Marcus Moore before peeling back to pull Pain to his feet, hoisting him
up and bringing him down in a backbreaker.  Moore immediately leaps into
the air...

...and brings his leg crashing down across the neck!]

GM:  Ohh!  What a blow right there.  Nice doubleteam work by the Thugs.

[Moore applies a lateral press, ordering the referee to count but only
scoring a two count before Pain powers out of the pin attempt.  The
surly Brit quickly drags Pain to a seated position and drives a knee
into the base of the neck.  With Pain still seated, Moore hits the ropes
behind him, lunging into a shoulder tackle to the back of the head and
neck that snaps Pain forward.]

GM:  Oof!  That'll do some damage!

BW:  Pretty innovative move there by Marcus Moore.

[The camera cuts to Lady Victoria who is smugly applauding her man.]

BW:  She seemed to like it too.

GM:  She certainly does.

[Moore drags Pain off the mat, driving a pair of elbows down on the back
of the neck before swinging Pain around into the Thugs' corner.  He
quickly slaps the hand of Topps who slips through the ropes and buries a
back elbow into the side of the neck.  Moore does the same for a few
blows before stepping out to the apron.]

GM:  And now Barrett Topps is the legal man once again.

[Topps winds up and smashes a forearm down across the neck, knocking
Pain down to a knee.  A double axehandle smashed to the upper shoulders
and neck knocks Pain down to the mat where Topps immediately stomps the
head and neck until Pain rolls under the ropes to the floor.  Topps
leans over the ropes but gets backed away by the referee...

...which allows Marcus Moore to drop to the floor, grabbing Pain by the
back of the trunks and yanking backwards, sending the 6'10 beast
smashing into the steel railing with the back of his neck meeting the
unforgiving metal.]

GM:  OHHHH!

[With Pain seated against the railing, Moore delivers a pair of boots to
the chest before retaking his spot on the apron, leaving Lady Victoria
to approach, screaming at Pain.]

GM:  Boy, that woman has a pair of lungs on her.

BW:  Gordo, you make me proud.  I didn't think you'd even notice.

GM:  Notice her-?  Oh, come on, Bucky!  That's not what I was talking
about!

[An injured Pain slowly pulls himself off the floor, rubbing the back of
his neck as he stumbles towards the apron at the count of five.  At
seven, he steps up on the apron...

...and a running forearm smash sends Pain sailing off the apron, his
upper body smashing into the steel once again!]

GM:  AGAIN TO THE STEEL!

[The camera zooms in on Scott Pain, his body ravaged with pain as he
lies motionless on the barely-padded concrete, his head and neck pushed
against the railing.]

GM:  Can Scott Pain recover and get back into this match?  We've got to
take a quick break!  Don't go away, fans!

[We fade out on Pain...

...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 on live action where Scott Pain is back in the ring,
being stomped and kicked against the turnbuckles by Marcus Moore, the
referee protesting all the while.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans... and as you can see, the Right Proper Thugs
have absolutely dominated this match from the bell thanks to that sneak
attack.  Scott Pain just hasn't been able to get his team back on track
in this one.

[Moore pulls Pain off the mat, blasting him with a forearm smash across
the chest.  He grabs the wrist, firing Pain across the ring, and
sprinting across after him...

...which sends Moore chestfirst into the buckles, falling down to the
mat in a heap as Scott Pain narrowly avoids his charge!]

GM:  HE MOVED!  PAIN MOVED!  And this is his chance, Bucky!  This is
when he needs to make that tag!  This is when he-

[Lady Victoria immediately leaps up on the apron to distract the ref as
Pain inches towards his corner.]

GM:  Get her down from there!  

[With the referee distracted, Barrett Topps runs into the ring, grabbing
Scott Pain by the ankle...

...and gets FLOORED with a running clothesline by Colt Patterson,
freeing his partner to continue his efforts to crawl towards the corner
where Patterson quickly retakes his position, hand outstretched for the
tag.]

GM:  Colt Patterson is waiting... ready for his partner to make the
tag...

[The crowd is roaring, cheering on Pain as he inches closer and closer. 
Marcus Moore pushes off the mat to a knee, clutching his chest in pain
as a forced-back-to-the-floor Lady Victoria screams at him to stop Pain
from making the tag.  Moore stumbles forwards on his hands and knees,
trying to reach the leg of Pain...

...and grabs it!]

GM:  Moore grabs the leg!  He stopped the tag from being made!  He-

[BIG CHEER!]

GM:  PAIN KICKS HIM OFF!  A BOOT RIGHT TO THE CHIN AND-

[BIGGER CHEER!]

GM:  TAG!!

[Former World Champion Colt Patterson charges into the fray, blasting an
incoming Barrett Topps with a right hand.  Marcus Moore regains his feet
and gets caught with a running clothesline that knocks him back down to
the mat.]

GM:  Colt Patterson is on fire!  He's been waiting for that tag, Bucky!

BW:  The Thugs need to pour some water on that fire.  Put him down!

[Topps regains his feet, charging Patterson, and getting flipped down to
the mat with a hiptoss where the former World Champion deadleaps into
the air, crashing down with an elbowsmash across the chest!]

GM:  Ohh!  Big time elbowdrop!

[Patterson regains his feet just as Moore charges him, snatching him off
the mat, pivoting lightning-quick...

...and DRIVES Moore into the mat with a powerslam!]

GM:  POWERSLAM!!  ONE!!  TWO!!  TH- OHHH!  Topps with a diving save!

[Barrett Topps ignores the referee, dragging Patterson off the mat and
firing him to the ropes.  Topps attempts a clothesline but Patterson
ducks under it, hitting the far ropes, and taking flight with a flying
shoulderblock that sends Topps sailing across the ring and under the
ropes to the floor!  The crowd roars as Patterson springs to his feet,
pumping a fist as he waits for Moore to get up.]

GM:  Patterson hops up to the middle rope... waiting for Marcus Moore...


[And as a slightly-dazed Moore gets to his feet, Patterson leaps from
the middle rope like a missile, smashing his forearm into the jaw of
Marcus Moore!]

GM:  FOREARM!!  DOWN GOES MOORE!!

[Patterson pops up off the mat, looking to make a cover when suddenly
Scott Pain reaches in, demanding a tag which a seemingly-reluctant Colt
Patterson supplies.]

GM:  Scott Pain is in... he's pulling Moore up off the mat...

[The crowd roars as Pain tugs Moore into a standing headscissors,
calling for a powerbomb.]

GM:  He's going for the powerbomb!  That'll-

[Lady Victoria hops up on the ring apron again, whipping off her
necklace as Scott Pain breaks his grip, pointing out the valet to the
referee.]

GM:  Look at that necklace, Bucky!  It's all steel!  It's a weapon!

BW:  It's just a fine piece of jewelry, Gordo.

GM:  The heck it is!

[The wild-eyed valet rears back with her right hand, attempting to throw
the chain into the ring.  She lets it fly through the air...

...and gets it snatched out of the air by an incoming Colt Patterson!]

GM:  INTERCEPTION!  Run it back, Colt!

[Lady Victoria throws a huge temper tantrum out on the apron as Colt
Patterson approaches, sandwiching the official between himself and
Victoria as they shout at each other...

...which sets the stage for Barrett Topps who rolls under the ropes,
Victoria's cane in hand as Scott Pain leans over to hook Moore around
the waist once more.]

GM:  POWERBOMMMM- OHHHHHHHHHH!

[The crowd erupts in jeers as Topps uncorks a full power swing with the
cane, smashing it down onto the back of Pain's neck.  The big man slumps
to the canvas, easily allowing Marcus Moore to flip over him in a double
leg cradle as Topps throws the cane to the floor.  Topps immediately
charges across the ring, drilling Patterson from behind with a forearm
and hooking him around the waist, dragging him down to the mat as the
referee spins around, spots the pinning attempt on Scott Pain, and drops
to count.]

GM:  ONE!!!  TWO!!!  THREEEEEEE!!!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  What a miscarriage of justice that is, Bucky!

BW:  What in the world are you talking about, daddy?!  They won that one
fair and square!  Marcus Moore wrapped him up tighter than your wife's
pursestrings!

GM:  Victoria distracted the ref!  Topps used the cane!  What's fair and
square about that?  This was totally a stolen victory.  Scott Pain was
set for the powerbomb and- now what in the world is going on?

[Marcus Moore joins his partner in an ordered attack on Colt Patterson,
leaving a motionless Pain behind as the Right Proper Thugs work over the
former World Champion.]

GM:  Come on!  Somebody put a stop to this!

[Moore and Topps are stomping and kicking Patterson who is wildly
throwing punches, trying to battle back, but a kick to the gut by Moore
stops him cold.  Moore waves Topps towards the corner while he continues
to kick at Patterson's midsection.]

GM:  What's going on now?  Lady Victoria is on the apron directing
traffic!  There's no call for this!  They won the match!  What more do
they want, Bucky?

BW:  The sting of that loss a while back still hurts... now they're
going to put that same sting right on Unfinished Business.

[Moore reaches around the doubled-up Patterson, hooking him for a
powerbomb as Barrett Topps scales the buckles...

...and then the crowd ERUPTS as a new figure comes dashing down the
aisle!]

GM:  Topps is on the top rope and- LOOK OUT!

[The cheers grow louder as Jackson Ross dives headfirst under the ropes,
catching a suddenly-charging Marcus Moore with a leaping leg lariat that
knocks him flat.  Ross is quickly back to his feet just as Topps leaps
off the buckles...

...and eats a dropkick squarely on the jaw that knocks the Brit out of
the sky!]

GM:  OHHHH!

[Jackson Ross springs back to his feet, cocking back his fist as Lady
Victoria leaps off the apron to the floor, reaching under the ropes to
help drag her men from the squared circle.]

GM:  And there go the Thugs!  Unfinished Business was in desperate need
of some help and there he was... "Thunderbolt" Jackson Ross to save the
day in the nick of time.  I don't know what the Thugs had in mind right
there but Jackson Ross just saved Colt Patterson's skin, that's for
sure.

[With the Thugs in retreat, Jackson Ross turns his attention towards the
men he saved, first reaching down to help Colt Patterson off the mat...

...who immediately falls into an embrace with the young rookie.  Ross
grins as he slaps Patterson on the back before they both turn to a
slowly-rising Scott Pain.  Pain looks less happy than his partner at the
sight of Ross but begrudgingly shakes his hand as well as we fade 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 fade up on the ringside area where Gordon Myers and Bucky Wilde
are standing.]

GM:  Welcome back to Saturday Night Wrestling, fans, where all the top
stars of the American Wrestling Alliance are on display.  We've already
an exciting night here in Chattanooga but we've got a lot more still to
come including our big Main Event with Adrian Freeman taking on one-half
of the National Tag Team Champions, Tin Can Rust.  

BW:  And "Subzero" is gonna put on a little preview of just how badly he
and Calisto Dufresne are going to put a beating on Kentucky's Pride.

GM:  Perhaps.  But coming up right now, we've got a match featuring the
man who will challenge "Hotshot" Stevie Scott for the National Title at
No Escape on Labor Day weekend - "The Natural" Adam Rogers!  Let's go up
to Melissa for the introductions!

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

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit.  Introducing first, already in the ring... weighing in at
260 pounds from Lincoln, Nebraska... James Wells!

[Hardly any response for the bearded Wells.]

MC:  And his opponent... 

["Smoke On The Water" by Deep Purple starts up to a big reaction from
the crowd.]

MC:  Weighing in at 243 pounds... he hails from Naples, Florida... he is
"The Natural"...

AAAAAAAADAM ROOOOOOOGERS!

[The blond-haired Floridian with an impressive physique steps into the
arena, all business as he walks to the ring.]

GM:  One of the top contenders to the National Title and as we saw at
the start of the show, Adam Rogers has decided to cash in the title shot
he won in a battle royal way back in July of 2008 at The Battle Of
Dallas.

BW:  He waited over a year to cash in that shot, Gordo.  That oughta
tell you that even HE knows he doesn't stand a chance to win the title. 
Stevie's going to eat his lunch, daddy!

GM:  We'll see about that.

[Rogers quickly climbs up on the apron, stepping through the ropes as
the cheers intensify.]

GM:  Adam Rogers looking to gain a little more momentum before Labor Day
in the Carolinas.  It'll be the AWA's first trip to the Carolinas and
you can bet that crowd will at a fever pitch for the Natural as he
attempts to win the National Championship.

[As the bell rings, the two men circle out of their respective corners
before lunging into a collar and elbow tieup.]

GM:  Here we go... right to the tieup...

[Rogers uses his height advantage to push James Wells backwards...

...and then snaps him down to the mat in an armdrag.  Rogers immediately
pops back up, fists at the ready in case he needs them.  An upset Wells
slowly climbs to his feet off the mat, complaining to the referee about
a hairpull.]

GM:  I didn't see a hairpull, did you, Bucky?

BW:  Absolutely.

GM:  You did not!

BW:  Maybe not but it's not like I'd put it past Rogers.

[The two men tie up once more, Rogers again using his leverage to power
him back before sidestepping and taking Wells down to the mat with a
hiptoss throw.  Rogers claps his hands together as the crowd cheers,
beaming at the downed Wells.  Wells quickly gets back to his feet,
looking to protest...

...but gets quickly scooped up and slammed down to the mat.]

GM:  Big bodysla- ohh!  And he snaps off an elbowdrop as well!

[Rogers rolls into a lateral press, scoring a two count before being
forced off.  The Natural quickly retakes his feet, dragging Wells up
with him and snapping him over in a suplex before floating into another
pin attempt.]

GM:  One!  Two!  Wells gets the shoulder up...

[Rogers pops up, leaping into the air for a crushing kneedrop before
reapplying the cover for another two count.]

GM:  A series of two counts for the Natural - he's all business in there
as he tries to- waistlock!

[The crowd roars as Rogers hoists Wells up and over, dumping him on the
back of his head and neck with a German suplex!]

GM:  Ohhh my!  Big time suplex by Rogers!  And he's hanging onto the
waistlock, rolling back to his feet...

[Still in the waistlock, Rogers charges to the ropes, forcing Wells'
chest into the top rope and causing both men to fall back in a rolling
reverse cradle that Rogers snaps over into a bridge.]

GM:  And there's the Natural Bridge for a one... a two... and there's
the three!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


MC:  Your winner of the match... "The Natural"... 
AAAAAADAM ROOOOOOGERRRRRS!

[Rogers slowly gets up, raising a triumphant arm before walking away
from his opponent.  He steps from the ring, dropping down off the apron
to meet Myers at the table.  The Natural places his hands on his hips
and looks out to nowhere in particular as Myers begins to do what he
do.]

GM: Adam Rogers, a nice tune-up win for your upcoming title match with
Stevie Scott.

[Adam shakes his head; Myers seems taken aback.]

AR: Nothing's nice around here any more, Gordon.  Just look around at
who's running this joint.  You got Stevie Scott, a muscle-bound idiot,
and a pencil-necked geek with a large yellow streak down his back
running around, acting like they've done something no one else in
wrestling history has done before.

You got Calisto Dufresne and Adrian Freeman...yeah, I haven't forgotten
you two, boys...strutting their stuff, running their mouths about how
they've done this and done that.

WELL, LET ME TELL YOU A FEW THINGS, BOYS!

[Gordon and Bucky both jump back a bit, startled at this sudden and
uncharacteristic outburst from Rogers.]

AR: I've been around the block a time or two, and all the tricks you're
pulling?  Seen 'em before.  Done 'em before.  And plenty of people did
it before I did...which means plenty _more_ have done it before _you_.
So if you want to think it gives you an edge, an advantage?  Go right
ahead.  Just remember I have a few tricks left up my sleeve, too.

You know, Gordon, I'm not blind.  I'm not dumb.  I'm not going to ignore
the facts...and the facts are, I haven't done a whole lot here in the
AWA when it's mattered.  Not since winning that battle royal that has
gotten me my shot at the National Title.

I know what people are thinking, what people are saying.  Has The
Natural lost it?  Is Adam Rogers done?

The answer?

[Adam pauses for dramatic effect.  Yay.]

AR: Let me phrase it in the form of a question.  And direct it straight
at Stevie Scott.

Hotshot...Bright...Waterson...

Are you really willing to risk that I _am_?  Are you ready to step into
battle with the idea that I'm not who I used to be?  Are you ready to
put that gold belt that you already hold so dear on the line on the
hopes that I _am_ a shell of my former self...the former self who wore
the most prestigious championship in wrestling?

If you are...

[Another pause.]

AR: ..then you and everyone else will get your answer soon enough.

[And with that, Rogers strides out of the camera's view, leaving our
announce duo behind.]

GM:  Well, I know I wouldn't want to be in Stevie Scott's shoes at No
Escape.  And speaking of which, let's go to the Control Center!

[We quickly fade back on the funky graphic that can only mean the No
Escape Control Center.  Jason Dane is seated behind the desk, a big grin
on his face.]

JD:  Welcome, fans, to the No Escape Control Center where we've got all
your breaking news and information about the big upcoming event known as
No Escape!

Let's talk about what we know...

[The shot changes to the No Escape poster.]

JD:  September 7th, Greensboro, North Carolina at the Greensboro
Coliseum.  We've got five matches currently announced.  First, let's
talk about the two big title matches.  The National Title will be on the
line as "Hotshot" Stevie Scott defends the gold against "The Natural"
Adam Rogers!

The National Tag Team Titles will be at stake as Kentucky's Pride
defends against the dastardly duo of Calisto Dufresne and Adrian
Freeman!

The Top 10 challenge continues as Pure X takes on Ron Houston in his
effort to continue his climb up the Top 10 rankings.

The $50,000 Challenge match will be going on as Shane Destiny meets the
massive Tumaffi!

And in the first-ever AWA singles cage match, Juan Vasquez and Raphael
Rhodes settle their issues once and for all!

[The shot comes back to Dane.]

JD:  I'll be back later this evening with another update and at that
time, I'm hopeful to announce another match that the Championship
Committee is working on putting together.  Fans, we're going to a quick
break so don't you dare go away!

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

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

"Have you ever dreamed of fame?"

[Cut a little closer.]

"Of glory?"

[A little closer.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Two young students are grappling on the canvas.]

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

You want to wrestle!"

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

...and then back on the locker room where Louis Matsui is standing by
with his charge, MAMMOTH Mizusawa. Matsui is dressed in a black T-shirt,
a pair of jeans and a dark blue corduroy jacket. Mizusawa is dressed to
compete, wearing his black singlet.]

LM: For those of you who did not get it the last time, my name is Louis
Matsui, chairman of the Matsui Corporation, and last week, I introduced
the AWA to the Matsui Corporation's first prospect, and hopefully not
the only one we'll have the pleasure of presenting to the world, the
seven-foot giant, MAMMOTH Mizusawa. 

Since that time, and way before we made our way to the AWA, I did my
homework and surveyed the landscape of this company... And, boy, there
are quite a few other outfits out there... Quite a few other managers
leading their charges, though only a few who are probably as smart and
as good-looking as myself... Well, except maybe Lady Victoria, because
she is stunning... Or, as they say where she comes from, she's well fit!

Let me ASSURE all of you, the Matsui Corporation is not here to muscle
in on your respective territories... Although, admit it, when you have
[Points to MAMMOTH Mizusawa with his thumb.] four hundred and twenty
pounds of muscle behind you, it isn't too hard. I am here to make sure
the Matsui Corporation's investment pays off and that the interest of my
client is met... And, smart man that I am, I am not opposed to working
together with others if it will further my client's interest... In
short, everyone wins.

And what is my client's interest, I hear you ask? Well, my client is
here for one thing and one thing only... MAMMOTH Mizusawa is here to
wrestle, and wrestle in the spirit of TRUE COMPETITION, that is all.  He
is a simple man, as am I, and while the title, Louis Matsui, Manager of
Champions, sounds really good and looks really good on paper, THIS MAN
[Indicating Mizusawa.] serves a higher purpose.

Tonight, the lucky fans here in Mississauga, Mississippi, get to watch
as the MAMMOTH's charge continues.

[Fade out on a smiling Louis Matsui, while behind him, standing with
arms folded, MAMMOTH Mizusawa simply glares into the camera...

...and then back to the ring where Melissa Cannon has the mic.]

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit.  Already in the ring at this time... weighing in at 230
pounds from Marietta, Georgia... Kid Dalton!

[Kid Dalton raises his right hand to acknowledge the crowd.]

MC:  And his opponent...

[Tomoyasu Hotei's 'Battle Without Honor or Humanity' starts to play over
the arena speakers.  Louis Matsui emerges with a smirk from the
entranceway.]

MC:  Hailing from Tokyo, Japan; weighing in at 420 pounds and being
accompanied to the ring by LOUIS MATSUI,

He is MAMMOTH... MIZUSAWA!

[The curtain parts to reveal the scowling seven-footer, MAMMOTH
Mizusawa, dressed in a black singlet, black knee pads and a pair of
black boots. Matsui points with his thumb over his shoulders at
Mizusawa, who raises both his arms in the air. Both men start to make
their way down the aisle.]

BW:  Is this where Georgia sends its best and brightest to die? The last
time it was Savannah's George Steen.. This time we have this kid from
Marietta.

GM:  Maybe the kid wants a challenge, make a name for himself-

BW:  Inscribed on his tombstone. Kid's dead.

[As Matsui walks to the ring, he pays little attention to the fans
sitting on either side of the aisle, although he is still smirking.  The
towering Mizusawa, on the other hand, walks slowly behind his manager,
glaring at the crowd.

Reaching the ringside area, MAMMOTH Mizusawa grabs the top rope and
pulls himself onto the ring apron, then steps over the ropes and into
the ring. He heads to his corner, where he is joined by Matsui, who has
climbed onto the ring apron but staying on the outside. As the music
starts to fade, he is giving some instructions to Mizusawa, before
climbing back down to the ringside area and leaving his charge in the
ring to await the start of the match.]

BW:  Louis Matsui looking sharp, not many people carry off corduroy as
well as he does... But what did he mean by MAMMOTH Mizusawa seving a
higher purpose?

GM:  At seven feet, you don't often get very much higher than that.

[The bell rings and Kid Dalton comes out firing. He throws lefts and
rights, a couple of chops and the occasional kick to the side of the
giant's leg.]

BW:  Kid Dalton might have gotten himself confused with Billy the kid
here, coming at the big man with guns blazing.

[Mizusawa manages to swat Dalton away but a dropkick sends the
seven-footer reeling into the corner. Louis Matsui does not look happy.]

GM:  Kid Dalton is staying on top of the big guy.

[Indeed, Dalton is hitting MAMMOTH Mizusawa with elbows and chops.
Whether they have any effect on him is another matter altogether, as the
giant smacks his opponent's arm away mid-swing, grabs him with both
hands around the throat and lifts him onto the top turnbuckle.]

BW:  Okay, I stand corrected. _NOW_ the kid's dead.

GM:  MAMMOTH's mad now-

BW:  Now?

GM:  Well, it's his turn to lay on the chops.

[MAMMOTH Misuzawa slaps Kid Dalton across the chest. Dalton grabs his
chest in pain.]

GM:  One's really all it takes.

BW:  Yeah, but is the giant satisfied?

[Misuzawa brings his hand down hard onto the top of Kid Dalton's head.]

BW:  That would be a 'no'.

GM:  Look at Kid Dalton slumped over on the top turnbuckle... Referee's
admonishing Mizusawa to take it out of the corner.

[MAMMOTH Mizusawa backs off, but once the referee turns his attention
back to Dalton, he comes right back with a running big boot, which
topples the youngster right to the floor on the outside.]

BW:  Did you hear that?

GM:  That was quite a fall. The MAMMOTH wants to follow his opponent and
the referee has a hard time holding him back-

BW:  You try telling a 420-pound MAMMOTH to stay.

GM:  On the outside, look out for Matsui!

[The camera catches Louis Matsui laying in a few kicks to Dalton's guts
while yelling, "YOU THINK YOU'RE BRAVE, HUH?" He eases off when he sees
the referee turning his attention back to the lifeless body of Kid
Dalton.]

GM:  That is disgusting! The referee starts to count-

BW:  Stay down, kid.

[Some signs of life returns as Kid Dalton slides one knee under him,
then the other. Louis Matsui is yelling "YOU AREN'T WORTH IT, YOU PIECE
OF TRASH!" over and over.]

GM:  Kid Dalton showing some life, still. He's on his knees-

BW:  It's the effect Louis Matsui has on people.

GM:  Dalton has one hand on the apron.

[The referee's count is at five as Dalton tries to use the ring apron to
pull himself up to his feet. He manages to get one foot planted.]

GM:  The referee's at seven-

BW:  He's not going to make it.


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  Ten! Kid Dalton's been counted out.

MC:  Here is your winner by count-out... MAMMOTH MIZUUUUSAAAWAAA!

[The crowd jeers the announcement as Louis Matsui climbs into the ring,
joining his seven foot client inside the ring and raising his arm in
victory.]

BW:  That's 2-0 for the giant. Just like Matsui said, the charge
continues.

GM:  In fact, I don't think Matsui is done.

[Matsui raises a finger as if to tell Mizusawa just one moment or just
one more thing, and points to Kid Dalton, who is still on the outside.
He is on his feet, supporting himself with the ring apron, recovering.
He has his head hanging in disappointment and does not see MAMMOTH
Mizusawa coming at him and grabbing him by the neck.]

GM:  Oh, come on! The match is over!

BW:  The destruction, though, is about to begin.

[Mizusawa has dragged Kid Dalton onto the apron and into the ring. He
tries to struggle, but a clubbing forearm to the back sends him limp. A
glance at Matsui shows him motioning for the MAMMOTH Slam. Mizusawa
hoists the 230-pound youngster in a military press. With a nod from his
manager, he releases Kid Dalton, adjusting both himself and his opponent
so that he can catch him around the waist and drops him with a
spinebuster slam!]

BW:  MAMMOTH Slam! Now, he's dead-

GM: I don't know about dead, Bucky, but MAMMOTH Mizusawa, at the behest
of his manager, Louis Matsui, has just destroyed the kid!

[The referee immediately starts shouting at Mizusawa, ordering him to
back away from the downed Dalton.  A smirking Louis Matsui nods his
head, barking instructions of his own to the giant as he gets to his
feet, exiting the ring.]

GM:  Another impressive victory for MAMMOTH Mizusawa and you have to
imagine that in the very near future, the Championship Committee may
give this giant a shot against some tougher competition.

BW:  I can't imagine even WANTING a shot at this guy.

GM:  I'm sure they're lining up for the opportunity to prove themselves
to him, Bucky.  Fans, coming up next, we've got Dave Cooper of Rough N
Ready in singles action.  We know that Cooper has pledged to take a
singles match every show to try and get himself ready for his
yet-to-be-scheduled matchup with Cletus Lee Bishop.  The Championship
Committee pledged to not schedule another tag team match between those
two duos after what happened at Memorial Day Mayhem but they did grant
them these two singles matches to settle their issues.  At Death Or
Glory, Eric Matthew Somers was victorious over Duane Henry but we've
still got Dave Cooper vs Cletus Lee to come in the near future.  Fans,
let's go up to the ring!

[Cut to the ring where Melissa is standing.]

MC: This is a singles contest set for one fall... introducing first,
from London, England, and weighing 220 pounds... Nigel St. Hubbins!

[A lanky guy with long blonde hair, dressed in a rocker's outfit, holds
his hands above his head.]

BW: Where do we get these slackers, Gordon?

GM: He's just a young man looking to make a name for himself, Bucky.

["Knocking at Your Back Door" by Deep Purple plays next. Out walks one
half of the tag team of Rough N Ready, Dave Cooper, who is by himself
tonight. Dave is dressed in his usual ring attire.]

MC: His opponent hails from Albuquerque, New Mexico, and weighs 265
pounds... he is one half of Rough N Ready, Dave Cooper!

BW: Well, I guess it doesn't matter where we get our slackers,
considering we've got a relic on our way to the ring.

GM: Bucky, Dave may be up there in years, but there is no denying his
toughness.

BW: Of course... constipation will do that to you.

GM: Bucky, stop that!

[Dave enters the ring and looks across at his opponent as the bell
rings.]

GM: This one is underway... both men circling and a lockup... Dave does
have a size advantage over Nigel.

BW: Yeah, I hear the beer gut really starts to form when you approach
middle age.

GM: Dave is in great shape and has terrific conditioning whether you
admit it or not, Bucky.

BW: I guess he must be into sweatin' to the oldies... and I do mean
oldies!

GM: Fans, I think it's just best to ignore Bucky from this point on.

[St. Hubbins has managed a side headlock on Cooper, but Cooper shoves
his smaller opponent into the ropes.]

GM: Nigel St. Hubbins off the ropes... and there's a nice shoulderblock.

BW: He got the momentum there... now he's running the ropes again.

GM: Cooper back to his feet... nice hiptoss sends the youngster to the
mat.

BW: Why bother using that term... everyone is a youngster when compared
to Cooper.

GM: St. Hubbins gets to his feet... but is picked up and bodyslammed by
the veteran.

BW: He says he wants this match to get himself ready for Cletus Lee...
what makes him think a slacker like St. Hubbins is going to accomplish
that?

GM: Well, as they say, you have to start somehwere, Bucky.

[Cooper tries a kneedrop, but St. Hubbins moves out of the way. The
smaller wrestler runs toward the ropes.]

GM: St. Hubbins springboards off the middle rope...  nice flying forearm
takes Cooper down!

BW: He's got a cover... one... no, a kickout.

GM: St. Hubbins presses the advantage... into the ropes again... another
springboard... but he missed!

BW: Well, he tried that cross body block, but Cooper ducked it... either
that or he just bent over on a whim.

GM: What are you talking about?

BW: Back pain... at his age, Cooper needs all the Doan's he can get.

GM: Bucky, that's enough out of you. Dave Cooper on the attack as he
drags St. Hubbins up... has him by the leg... there's a kneebreaker!

[Cooper then keeps a hold of St. Hubbins' leg, taking his other leg,
tying them up and turning him over.]

GM: And the scorpion deathlock applied... Cooper has the hold cinched in
pretty well.

BW: St. Hubbins better find some leverage or get to the ropes.

GM: And Nigel St. Hubbins crawling over toward the ropes... but Cooper
senses it and releases the hold.

BW: Now what would he do that for?

GM: Obviously, Cooper believes St. Hubbins wasn't weakened enough to put
him away... he pulls him back up again...

BW: St. Hubbins caught him upside the head! Big mistake by Cooper!

GM: That looked like a closed fist... referee Marty Meekly warning St.
Hubbins, but the youngster is pressing forward... now a pair of chops
staggers Cooper.

BW: Either that or he's walking with a limp.

GM: St. Hubbins sends Cooper into the ropes... back body drop takes the
veteran down!

BW: And now to the top rope! This could be it!

GM: St. Hubbins getting his balance... but Cooper is up and shakes the
ropes!

[St. Hubbins loses his balance and is crotched across the top rope.]

BW: Well, looks like somebody won't be getting any action after the show
is over.

GM: I suppose that's how you could put it... Cooper now going to second
rope... he hooks St. Hubbins... superplex!

BW: But that appeared to take a lot out of Cooper as well.

GM: The veteran slow to get to his feet... St. Hubbins trying to get up
as well... he goes for a kick...

BW: Cooper caught his foot!

GM: He did indeed... Cooper sweeps the leg out from under St. Hubbins...
a pair of kicks to the knee... and now what's this?

[Cooper ties up St. Hubbins' legs agian, but this time in a different
manner, before turning him over.]

GM: Texas cloverleaf applied! He has it in the middle of the ring!

BW: I don't know if St. Hubbins has enough strength in his legs to
escape... he'll need to reach those ropes!

GM: St. Hubbins reaching out... but it's too much for him! There's the
tapout!

[Meekly calls for the bell, and after a moment, Cooper releases the
hold.]

MC: The winner of the match... Dave Cooper!

GM: And it's Cooper picking up the singles victory and... hold on,
what's this?

BW: Oh, boy, business just picked up!

[The crowd boos as Cletus Lee Bishop and Cousin Bo come walking out to
ringside, capturing Cooper's attention.]

GM: Now wait just a second here. The man's just had a match, we don't
need any shenanigans here.

BW: Yeah, we do, Gordo. Don't you remember what Bo said two weeks ago?

GM: Unfortunately, I do. Can we get someone out here to stop this?

BW: Stop what, Gordo? They're not doing anything!

[Bucky's right, as Cletus Lee has stopped just short of entering the
ring. Cooper stands in the center of the ring, fists at the ready, just
waiting for the giant to make his move.]

GM: What's this all about? If he wants some so bad, why isn't he getting
in the ring?

[Bo points at Dave, telling him to back off. Cooper throws his hands in
the air, signalling that he's not looking for a fight right now.]

GM: So what's the point of coming out here then? If Cletus Lee is so
unstoppable, like Mr. Allan always claims, why is he just standing
there?

BW: It's mind games, daddy. He could thrash that geriatric fool any time
he wants. Just because he can doesn't mean he's gonna.

GM: This is ridiculous. All he's doing is wa- HEY! What the heck is
this?! Where'd he come from?!

[Out of nowhere, Duane Henry Bishop comes charging into the ring from
behind. The crowd screams at Cooper to warn him, but it's too late, as
Duane Henry hits him with a double axehandle from behind. The crowd boos
loudly as Duane Henry hits him with a few wild shots to the back.]

GM: A sneak attack! This is uncalled for!

BW: Oh, you're wrong, Gordo. This is fantastic! Bo warned Dave Cooper,
he told him he better have eyes in the back of his head, and now he's
paying the price for not heeding Bo's warning.

[Not so fast, Bucky. Dave is more stunned than hurt, and he quickly
turns to take the fight right to Duane Henry. The crowd pops as Duane
Henry is rocked by a series of stiff punches.]

GM: Alright! How about that? You want a fight, Duane Henry? You've got
one! Let's see how tough you are man-to-man!

[The fans are going crazy as Duane Henry's sneak attack has backfired,
and Cooper is getting the best of him with several strikes to the body.]

GM: A left to the stomach! A right! Another left! Another right! And a
chop to the chest! Dave Cooper is fired up!

BW: Oh boy! Don't you get too cocky now! HERE COMES CLETUS LEE!

[While Dave Cooper has been handling his business, Cletus Lee has made
his way into the ring and scores with a forearm to the back of Cooper's
head, dropping him to the mat. An angry Duane Henry, holding his chest
in pain, steps back into the fray, stomping Cooper in the back of his
head repeatedly. The referee tries to get involved, but Cletus Lee just
piefaces him down.]

GM: I don't believe it, this was a setup the whole time! The Bishop Boys
are ganging up on a defenseless man!

BW: He didn't look too defenseless when he was fighting Duane Henry,
Gordo!

GM: That wasn't a two on one mugging, Bucky!  Eric Matthew Somers isn't
even HERE tonight!

BW: Stop yelling at me! I'm not the one beating what's left of Dave
Cooper's brains in!

[Cousin Bo yells instructions to his cousins. Cletus Lee hauls Cooper's
body back up, and Duane Henry climbs to the top turnbuckle.]

GM: What now? What are these two psychopaths doing?

BW: Giving Dave Cooper a taste of things to come, that's what.

[Cletus Lee effortlessly lifts Cooper into position for a powerbomb, and
takes a few steps backwards, towards the corner.]

GM: Oh no, not that tossing powerbomb!

[But it's not. Instead, Duane Henry leaps, hitting a dropkick, followed
by Cletus Lee dropping Cooper in a regular old powerbomb.]

BW: Ha! Now this is tag team continuity at its finest. The Bishop Boys
are gonna put an end to this feud right here and now.

GM: Where is security? Somebody stop this now!

[An incensed Duane Henry, still holding his chest, drops a fist on
Cooper with the other hand. He takes several more shots with his fist,
before Cletus Lee pulls him back, and signals to end this mauling.]

GM: Why won't somebody stop this? Bucky, you seem to get along with
Cousin Bo, tell him enough's enough, for crying out loud.

BW: No way, Gordo, this is great! Just end Rough N Ready right here and
now! Haha!

[Gordon grumbles in disgust as Duane Henry lifts the dead-weight Cooper
up once more, and places him in an Argentine Backbreaker.]

BW: Oh, yes, I know what this is! It's been far too long since I've
gotten to call this one!

GM: Oh no, just stop! Have you no decency? You're going to end the man's
career!

BW: That's the point, Gordo!

[Cletus rushes the ropes behind Duane Henry, bouncing off and hitting
the Charging Big Boot to Cooper's head from behind. Duane Henry hangs on
and swivels him forward, hitting a seated powerbomb. The crowd is
silenced as Dave Cooper is no longer moving.]

BW: DOC ALLAN'S MIRACLE HEADACHE ELIXIR! Yes! My favorite move in the
whole world! And the beautiful part of this whole thing? That idiot EMS
isn't here to save his old buddy! I tip my cap to you, Cousin Bo Allan.

GM: You make me sick. Just absolutely sick. And the same goes for you,
Mr. Allan. You're disgusting.

[The Bishop Boys admire their work for a second before leaving the ring,
joining a jubilant Bo, who pats his cousins on the back. A medical team
hurries to the ring.]

GM: Finally, some help. But I fear it might be too late.

BW: Might? Oh no, Gordo, it's definitely all over now. Call the old
folks' home, Cooper's gonna need to eat his food with a straw, daddy.

[The crowd is beyond angry now, throwing trash at The Bishop Boys as we
fade to black.

And we fade back up to 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 to backstage where Adrian Freeman is standing with
Jason Dane. Freeman is wearing a polo shirt and jeans.]

JD:  Welcome back, folks, and I'm here with one half of the number one
contenders to the National Tag Team titles, ÒSubzeroÓ Adrian Freeman.
Adrian, tonight you go up against Tin Can Rust in a preview of your
title match at No Escape. Your thoughts on that match?

AF: I'm going to win. What more thought is required?

[Dane looks up at him, obviously expecting more.]

AF: Okay, fine. Now, this guy's been here for over a year now, and all
this time there's been one question I can't get off my mind. What
exactly does ÒTin Can RustÓ mean? I mean, is it a statement, reminding
us that tin can, in fact, rust over time? Or is it a noun describing the
rust that occurs as a result? Why would you want to name yourself after
that? Is this a folksy American thing I don't get?

JD: Probably.

AF: It was a rhetorical question, dimwit. Or maybe it's just an ironic
name, like City Jack, who probably was born, raised, and will die in a
barn. I don't know. The point is that the name ÒTin Can RustÓ has caused
me, and presumably any other intelligent mind that's thought about it,
great pain and I am going to repay that pain in spades tonight and at No
Escape.

JD: This all seems a little flippant, like your mocking of Kentucky's
Pride last show. But Tin Can Rust is a dangerous striker, City Jack has
been a champion in multiple promotions, and the last time you two teams
faced off they won.

AF: You got a point?

JD: I'm just saying, aren't you taking Kentucky's Pride a little
lightly?

[Jason Dane winces, fearing the result of the scowl on Adrian's face,
but instead Freeman steps over and throws a friendly arm around Jason's
shoulders.]

AF: Let me tell you something, Jason. When us real wrestlers focus on
the match, all we're focusing is on what's in front of us. Not the past,
not the shiny trophies they may have won in the past... just the
challenge in front of us. And from my perspective, that challenge isn't
much to right home about. Of course, I don't expect a lot of people in
this promotion to get it, stuck in the past like they are.

JD: Well, we've got to get right to the next match. I'm here with the
always confident and always controversial Adrian Freeman.  Melissa,
she's all yours!

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

MC: Hailing from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania by way of Los Angeles,
California and weighing in tonight at 227 pounds...

[The static noise of the intro to "The Thing I Hate" by Stabbing
Westward plays as the fans give out a jeering-leaning mixed pop.]

MC: PUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURE X!

[The young technician's dressed in his normal wrestling gear of dark
baggy green pants with two swords crossed on each leg in the form of an
X, black T-shirt, and black boots. Ignoring the fans nearby, X walks his
way over to the broadcast area to meet with an already standing Gordon
Myers.]

GM: Pure X, before you go out there tonight for your match, do you have
any thoughts on your match with Ron Houston at No Escape?

[Pure X nods as he leans near the mic.]

PX: Myers, the time for the talking's done as far as I'm concerned. We
both had our say and we both made it clear what we want out of our match
at No Escape. Houston?

[Pure X shrugs.]

PX: He's looking to make himself relevant in AWA again. He talks big
about his Rumble win, but he doesn't let on that it's a crapshoot and
all one needs is luck more than skill to win. He also talks big about
his big time matches, but it always seems that there's someone coming in
and handing him the matches in the end... And -

[The crowd gets on X a little bit at his trashing of Houston.]

PX: And as much as he scolded me about my talk of stepping stones?
Houston's only goal at No Escape is to use me as his stepping stone to
being a player in the title scene again. But see, Myers, that's the
difference between Houston and myself.

[X pauses as the crowd murmurs a little as X talks into the camera.]

PX: I'm honest about my intentions - I WILL use Houston to further my
goal of getting a shot at the AWA National Title. I never hid that fact
- I said it right to Houston's face, right in front of everyone to see
and hear. Just like I did with Gary Bright, I'm going to take Ron
Houston's place in the rankings as I climb up the ladder here in the
AWA.

[X nods as he continues.]

PX: And as much as he might not like the sound of it, as much as he
might think it's not right to say? Houston WILL be my stepping stone
come No Escape.

[The some of the crowd boos at the confident proclamation by the young
technician, but X waves it off as he turns to Myers.]

PX: See Myers, whether the people here like it or not, whether my peers
in the back like to hear it or not... I'm not interested in playing the
"game". Having the people cheer or boo me? It doesn't phase me when I
get in that ring.

[The crowd ratchets up the booing, hoping to unnerve X, but the young
technician keeps his cool.]

PX: And Houston's rant won't get to me. I'm not going to fall for his
psychology lesson in trying to bait me into some sort of slugfest cause
he tried to insult my manhood. Cause when that bell ring, Myers?

[Pure X turns towards Myers for a moment before looking back into the
camera.]

PX: When that match starts, it'll be Ron Houston who will have to
realize that he's in the ring with a man who CAN dismantle him with
ease.

[X nods.]

PX: And when that bell rings at the end of the match? Houston will be
thankful that he will have lost me - to a real professional who knows he
can break a man's bones, but knows that he doesn't have to go that far
to win.

[With that, Pure X nods to both Wilde and Myers before making his way to
the ring for his match.]

MC: And his opponent, already in the ring, hailing from Allentown,
Pennsylvania and weighing in at 163 pounds, Jordy Stebbins!

[A small pop from the crowd as the young, baby-faced 5'9" man in the
ring raises his hand to the crowd. Stebbins wears blue trunks, yellow
knee & elbow pads, and black boots; his hair is mid-length and sandy
blond. His build is nondescript - normal for a normal man of his size,
but neither toned nor defined.]

BW: Ok, what high school did this kid come from?

GM: You're right in that he's young, Bucky. This is, in fact, the son of
wrestler former Great Lakes wrestler Keith Stebbins and he's actually
younger than Pure X - only eightteen years old. Plus this is his
professional debut.

BW: Debuting against Pure X? This should be quick, Gordo. His old man
had nothing to begin with, so can't say he taught his kid much. What a
hack he was.

[As Pure X walks up the ring steps, he sees Jordy Stebbins and laughs to
himself a bit. Stebbins, though, simply holds his fists out, ready to
fight and not showing any intimidation.]

GM: I do have to say that for your first match ever, Pure X probably
isn't the card you hope you're dealt for an opponent. If Jordy Stebbins
is anything like his father, a plodding bruiser, X definitely has the
advantage.

BW: Well, considering this kid's about the size of a paperweight, I
doubt he'll be bruising anyone soon.

[The ref signals for the bell and the match starts as the two wrestlers
circle each other. Jordy still has his hands up in a boxing stance while
Pure X is in his customary grappling stance. As the two circle, X is the
first to extend a hand out.]

GM: Pure X showing his respect to the ring with an offer to a handshake.

BW: Bet Ron Houston wouldn't do that. He'd probably spit on you first.

[Jordy wearily accepts the handshake and the two quickly break and
circle each other again, neither wanting to make the first move. The
crowd starts to get a little antsy before Stebbins breaks the stalemate
with a charge that Pure X sidesteps and turns it into a waistlock and
flips him over into a German suplex.]

GM: Waistlock suplex with the bridge! One, two, th- No! Stebbins kicks
out just in time.

BW: That was almost too easy, Gordo.

[Pure X gets up and drags Jordy Stebbins up with him. X peppers him with
a couple with some forearm shots before applying an arm wringer.]

GM: Arm wringer applied here as young Jordy Stebbins is still on dream
street after that suplex.

[X keeps the arm wringer applied before he Irish whips Stebbins into the
near turnbuckle, shoulder first. Upon impact, Stebbins immediately
clutches his shoulder in agony.]

BW: And it looks like Pure X is after the kid's shoulder, Gordo. If X
gets you in a hold, kid, do your future a favor and submit cause you're
not winning this one, daddy!

GM: Never say never.

BW: I didn't say never. I said this Stebbins kids has NO CHANCE at
winning tonight.

[Pure X kicks Stebbins in the gut and then picks up the younger Jordy
over his shoulder before walking towards the center. X, with a grin on
his face, then kneels as he drops Stebbins shoulder first across his
outstretched knee.]

GM: Shoulder breaker by Pure X and he's certainly taking advantage of
the size difference tonight.

BW: Plus he's showing that he can utilize different styles, Gordo, but
it's always towards one focus.

[Pure X stomps away at the shoulder of Jordy Stebbins, who grimaces
through the pain after each stomp.]

GM: Pure X with a series of stomps to the shoulder of Jordy Stebbins.
Normally, X's fortay is softening up the ankle and knee joints to setup
his finisher, the X, but tonight we've seen Pure X target the arm and
shoulder of his opponent. Do you think this is a message to Ron Houston?

BW: Oh, absolutely Gordo. Ron Houston suffered an arm and rotator-cuff
injury last year at the hands of the Russians. Pure X knows this and
he's definitely trying to show Ron Houston that he's aware and can do
damage to that right arm.

[With the heel of his boot to Stebbins' shoulder, Pure X yanks back at
the arm and yells at the ref to ask Stebbins if he wants to submit. The
younger Stebbins, though, grits out a "No!" before trying to crawl
towards the near ropes.]

GM: Stebbins showing determination tonight in his debut as he refuses to
submit!

BW: Stupid, stupid decision. Save your fight for another day, kid.

[Stebbins inches near to the ropes before X lets go of the hold and
slams Stebbins' arm back down, causing a shot of pain to ripple through
the young wrestler's body. Stebbins rolls around the mat before X drags
him to the center. After a couple stomps to the shoulder of Houston, X
drops down and locks in a reverse keylock before swivling around to the
other side of the downed Stebbins.]

GM: Kimura lock applied by Pure X in the center of the ring! He's really
cranking back at the shoulder and I don't know if Jordy Stebbins can -

[Before Myers can even finish, Stebbins taps away in the center as the
ref instructs Pure X to let go of the hold.]

DING DING DING

[Pure X immediately lets go of the hold and gets to his feet as Stabbing
Westward's "The Thing I Hate" plays again.]

MC: Your winner, by submission...

PUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURE X!

[Pure X holds his arm up high as the crowd gives him a mixed reaction -
some cheering for his performance, but still boos for his previous
words.]

GM: Impressive showing tonight by Pure X if for nothing else than his
ability.

BW: I think X is just trying to send a message to Ron Houston - while X
does have the his ankle lock submission finisher, that don't mean he
can't target any other joint on an opponent. And he certainly can attack
that healed arm of Houston come No Escape.

GM: True, but Ron Houston is about double the size of Jordy Stebbins and
whole lot more seasoned. He should think twice if Pure X thinks he can
easily maneuver Houston around ring.

[Pure X looks down at Jordy Stebbins and bends over over the
still-in-pain young man, but immediately shoots back up as Beck's
"Farewell Ride" starts up and the large imposing figure of Ron Houston
comes down to the ring. Pure X shakes his head as Houston enters the
ring, yelling at X to back off from Stebbins.]

GM: Ron Houston has hit the ring and I guess he thought Pure X was going
to further attack Jordy Stebbins!

BW: Don't think that was X's intention, but we'll never know now that
Mr. Fragile's here.

[Houston continues barking at Pure X, who stands back chuckling to
himself. Instead of backing down, X goes up to Houston and stands
face-to-face, with Houston looking down on X from five feet above. X
barks back at Houston before the two stare each other down, neither
wanting to back down and show weakness.]

GM: These two are in for a war come No Escape - size and strength
against technique and finesse!

[Pure X stabs a finger into Houston's right shoulder as he talks back to
the "Georgia Madman". Houston, though, will have none of this as he
pushes away at Pure X - with enough force to send Pure X into the ropes
as the crowd cheers. Pure X, thinking better of the situation, goes
through the ropes and drops to the outside as he continues to yell back
at the ring. Houston, meanwhile, holds a hand up to Jordy Stebbins and
helps the young man up all the while keeping an eye on the departing
Pure X as 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...

We fade back in from black to a shot at ringside, where Gordon Myers is
joined by Juan Vasquez. Vasquez is dressed in a tailored, three-piece
suit with a solid, silver-colored necktie, looking far too classy to be
anywhere near a wrestling ring. There's a rather large bandage taped
across the left side of his forehead, perhaps as a result of his parking
lot skirmish with Raphael Rhodes a few weeks before.] 

GM: I would like to introduce a man that's gearing up for a much
anticipated showdown inside a steel cage with Raphael Rhodes at "No
Escape". Ladies and gentlemen...Juan Vasquez!

[As he's introduced to the crowd, Juan looks away and scratches the back
of his neck as they cheer him, looking a bit mortified by their
reaction.]

GM: The last time we saw you on television, Juan, you and Raphael Rhodes
engaged in one of the wildest brawls in AWA's short history. However, we
haven't heard a word from you since.

[Juan looks around the studio, almost nervously.]

JV: So, people have been wondering where I've been ever since they saw
me and Raphael Rhodes go flyin' through the roof of someone's car.

[He laughs a bit, out of embarassment.]

JV: Well, I ain't gonna lie to you folks...I was at home. 

GM: Home?

[Juan shakes his head immediately after making that revelation.]

JV: No, I wasn't hiding there lickin' my wounds. And I sure as heck
wasn't running scared from that limey punk, Rhodes.

[A sigh.]

JV: The fact is, the last place I should've been for the last couple of
weeks was inside a wrestling ring. 

[A slight look of shame appears on Juan's face. He lowers his head
briefly, before looking back up.]

JV: Ya' see, when they pulled me outta the wreckage, when I regained
consciousness, the first thing I asked, the first thing I said, was...

"Where's Rhodes?"

It wasn't outta' concern for the man. It wasn't because I wanted to
apologize for what I'd done. It was because I was ready to bust outta'
that hospital room, hunt him down and finish the job!

[With that, the crowd reacts with a loud roar. However, Juan puts up his
hands and motions for them to quiet down.]

JV: No...don't cheer about that. You see, I'd gotten so focused on
hurting Raphael Rhodes, that I didn't care that I'd put all the fans in
harm's way. I didn't care that other people were getting hurt because of
my actions. Innocent bystanders be damned...I was gonna get my two
pounds o' flesh from Raphael Rhodes. 

And I didn't realize how wrong that was.

[Juan loosens his tie a bit and paces around the floor a bit before
continuing on.]

JV: It wasn't until the boys in the front office sat me down.Ê They told
me about a dozen fans that got injured when me and Rhodes brawled
through the crowd at "Memorial Day Mayhem". They told me about a little
girl that got hurt in that parking lot brawl. They told me about the
lawsuits that were comin', the property damage that was done, and that
this feud was getting too big, too dangerous, and too out of control.
And then...

...they asked me to go home. 

[Predictably, the crowd begins to jeer. Once again, Juan motions for
them to quiet down.]

JV: And I agreed with them. I needed to step away for awhile. I'd lost
perspective, people. I needed to stay away from a ring until I was able
to control myself again. I needed to clear my head and remember what I
was fighting against. What I was fighting for. Because as it was going,
it wasn't just me versus Rhodes anymore. It was me versus Rhodes...

...versus _YOU._

[He shakes his head sadly at his own behavior.]

JV: As much as I appreciate your cheers, as much as I appreciate your
support, this ain't the sorta' battle that I need to bring you guys
into. Heck, there were times I wasn't even sure if this was a battle
that I should've been apart of.

GM: What do you mean by that?

JV: You guys might not understand it, but when I was younger and dumber,
I was a different person. A _really_ different person. An uncarin',
heartless, ruthless son of gun that'd punch out his own mother if it'd
give him an advantage. The exact same type of classless, two-bit
roughneck that Rhodes is today. And *that's* the Juan Vasquez that
Raphael Rhodes wants to fight. 

[He chuckles.]

JV: And I'll admit it. That Juan was tough. That Juan was cruel. That
Juan was a vicious, violent, violent man who would've broken every rule,
ignored every warning and hunted you down to the ends of the Earth,
Raphael Rhodes. *That* Juan Vasquez would've harassed your family,
smashed your bones and done everything in his power to make every moment
of your life a bloody, miserable existence.

[Juan puts up a finger, as if to say, "Not so fast!"]

JV: *But*...that Juan Vasquez would never have defeated you. 

[The crowd murmurs with confusion.]

JV: Sure, that Juan Vasquez might be able to defeat Raphael Rhodes
inside a wrestling ring, but he would've lost his soul in the process.
That Juan Vasquez might've hurt you, humiliated you, sacrificed
everything to put you out of wrestling for a long, long time, Rhodes...

...but that would've just proven that your way is the right way. 

[A deep sigh. Juan brings the microphone back up to his lips, the
seriousness in his voice evident.]

JV: And that's just not acceptable.

[A short pause.]

JV: The Juan Vasquez that you want to fight, Raph? The one that brought
the world nothing but misery and pain and embraced that darkness in his
heart? 

[Juan chuckles at this next revelation...]

JV: He never won a cage match. He would fight hard. He would unleash
violence beyond all reason. Inside a cage, he was a walkin', talkin'
path of destruction...but he never won. 

[Juan points his thumb to his chest proudly.]

JV: This Juan Vasquez?

[A big smile forms on Juan's face as the next words leave his mouth.]

JV: He won his first world title in a cage match! 

[A roar of approval from the crowd. The smile grows.]

JV: He successfully made his first title defense in a cage match!

[Another cheer. He takes a deep breath and puffs out his chest as his
self-esteem continues to grow.]

JV: *He* knows more about winnin', survivin', fightin' and wrestlin'
inside a cage than a century's worth of Rhodes family tradition or a
couple of schoolyard scrapes could ever teach you!!!

[The crowd continues to cheer, riled up by the excitement in Juan's
voice.]

JV: I told you I was gonna' show you more about professional wrestling
than you could ever hope to imagine. I told you I was gonna' teach you a
better way, Raph. And even if it's been a heck of a chore to get
anything through that thick head of yours, I'm gonna' show you how to
win a cage match the only way I know how. 

The *right* way.

[A pause as he makes the biggest, smuggest grin possible.]

JV: _My way._

[And with that, Juan raises his arms into the air to the roar of the
crowd. He pats Gordon Myers on the shoulder and turns to the crowd,
further riling them up as we fade up to inside the ring where Melissa
Cannon is standing with "Superstar" Kevin Slater standing a few feet
away carriying a small metal cage with a chicken inside of it.  

Melissa looks around, then over to Slater.  She shakes her head at him
and we can hear a "Do I really have to do this?"  Slater points an angry
finger, forcing her to speak.]

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

[Cannon looks over at Slater with disdain.]

MC:  From Boston, Massachusetts... weighing in at 255 pounds...

"Superstar" Kevin Slater.

[There is no enthusiasm in the voice of the lovely Ms. Cannon as Slater
hops up on the middle rope, soaking up the boos of the capacity crowd. 
He jumps back down, grinning as he gestures at the small cage.]

MC [sighing]:  And his opponent...

[Cannon glares at Slater who waves her on.]

MC:  Hailing from... 

[Slater snatches the mic away.]

KS:  Obviously if you want anything done right around here, you've got
to do it yourself.  Ladies and gentlemen... my opponent tonight... from
deep in the heart of Texas...

"THE OUTLAW" BOBBY TAYLOR!

[The crowd cheers...

...but quickly boos as Slater lifts up the small metal cage.]

KS [with a weird chicken voice]:  Baaaawk... ain't life... bawwwwk...
grand?

[Slater chuckles to himself as the crowd jeers.]

KS:  I told you all that I was facing Taylor tonight one way or another.
 Mr. High And Mighty Morals apparently wants no part of facing me. 
Somehow, someway he's decided that we're still friends and that I give
one bit of care about him.  He thinks it'll hurt him too much to have to
hurt me.

[Slater grins.]

KS:  If you think that's true, Bobby... you don't know the slightest
thing about pain.  But you're gonna find out.  Just like Grant Stone
did, I'm gonna draw you out.  I'm gonna get you inside this ring with me
and I'm going to take out all those years of pain and suffering that I
went through all alone on you.

[The "Superstar" shakes his head.]

KS:  I was there in that locker room when you got your skull caved in by
a bunch of legends... when they wheeled you out of the Skydome and into
a hospital.  I was with your wife and kid when Casey James lit your
damned head on fire.  I was there, Taylor.  

You've bled buckets in countless rings and in countless ways.

But none of that... NONE of that... will compare to what I'm going to do
you when I get my chance.

Whether it's tonight or No Escape or in the days, weeks, months to come
down the road... I'll get my chance, Taylor, and you'll-

[Suddenly, a figure in a leather jacket and jeans hops over the
barricade, diving under the bottom rope...

...and tackling Kevin Slater clear off his feet, immediately throwing
left hands as quickly as he can manage at the "Superstar."]

GM:  Wait a second!  Isn't that-

[The flurry of blows has Slater covering up, trying to get a chance to
recover.  The still-unidentified man gets up off of Slater, yanking off
his leather jacket and throwing it down to the mat as Slater rolls as
quickly as he can, rolling clear under the ropes to the floor...

...where he catches a baseball slide kick right on the chin!]

GM:  Ohh!

[The blow causes Slater to fall backwards, dropping on his rear on the
barely-padded aisleway floor.  Slater scoots backwards as quickly as he
can, retaking his feet and backpedaling towards the entryway while the
young man who attacked him glares into the distance after him.  After a
moment, he spins and marches back to ringside.]

GM:  Fans, this is Shane Taylor!  The younger brother of-

[The young man known as "Scorchin'" Shane Taylor snatches the mic away
from Gordon Myers.]

ST:  Slater!  You want a Taylor at No Escape?  

[Big cheer in anticipation of what's next.]

ST:  You want a Taylor, big man?  Buddy, my brother may have issues with
putting you through a tailkickin' the likes of which you haven't seen in
a decade but _this_ Taylor sure don't!  

GM:  Now, wait a second... are you even under AWA contract?

ST:  Not a chance, Gordo.  Not a chance.  But the last time I checked,
the AWA has an Open Door policy, don't it?

GM:  It does.

[Shane Taylor nods his head and then takes a step forward.]

ST:  Shane Taylor just walked through that door.  Slater, I'll see you
in Greensboro, you son of a-

[Gordon jerks the mic away.]

GM:  Whoa!  Shane Taylor with a surprising appearance and now he has
challenged Kevin Slater for a match at No Escape!  Can you believe this,
Bucky?

BW:  I knew I didn't like this whole Open Door thing!

GM:  Taylor's made the challenge... but will the match be signed?  Fans,
don't go away, we'll be right back with more AWA Saturday Night
Wrestling!

[We fade from an agitated-looking Gordon Myers 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 on the ringside area where the trio of Gary Bright,
"Agent To The Stars" Ben Waterson, and the National Champion Stevie
Scott approach Myers and Wilde at the broadcast table.]

GM:  Gentlemen, welcome out here to ringside in Chattanooga.  I wasn't
expecting to be joined by the three of you.  I know that Mr. Bright has
a match scheduled here in a few moments.

[Waterson shakes his head at Gordon Myers.]

ATTSBW:  Gordon Myers, I know you're an educated man but sometimes, you
can be quite the fool.  Has it not been made perfectly clear to you yet?
 This collection of talent... of money... of prestige... of power...
will do whatever they want, whenever they want.

[Scott grins as he slaps the title belt on his shoulder.]

ATTSBW:  If we want to come out here six times during the show and
update you on the lovely ladies that Stevie's got down the street at the
penthouse of the Hyatt, that's exactly what we'll do.  If we want to
come out here and talk about the latest measurement of the Gold Bomber's
massive biceps, that's exactly what we'll do.  And if we want to come
out here and talk about our expansion plans... than that's exactly what
we'll do as well, Gordon.

GM:  I see.  Well, could I get some words from the Gold Bomber about his
match in just a few moments?

[Gary Bright sneers at Gordon Myers and then leans over to whisper to
Ben Waterson.  Waterson nods his head and then speaks for his charge.]

ATTSBW:  Mr. Bright has elected _not_ to compete tonight.

GM:  Excuse me?

ATTSBW:  Mr. Bright feels that the AWA Championship Committee is lacking
a certain degree of respect for his talent and skills by putting him in
the ring with this man who looks like he bags groceries down the street
on the weekends.  We desire true competion... REAL competition... and
unless we get it given to us soon, than we will _take_ it.

Take a look at this man, AWA.  The Gold Bomber.  The man's got the
looks, he's got the physique, he's got the power.  You see, Gordon
Myers, _this_ is the type of man that I am looking for to add to my
organization of superstars.

[Scott grins and slaps the Gold Bomber on his massive deltoids.]

GM: It's pretty clear that you have your eyes on another powerhouse here
in the AWA as well.

[This time, Waterson grins.]

ATTSBW: Ah yes.  Ron Houston.  Indeed, two weeks ago I did make myself a
ringside seat to watch the Athens, Georgia Madman in action.  And he is
indeed someone who intrigues me.

But with that in mind, Myers, adding to our organization is not
something we take lightly.  Houston is just one of several on whom we
have our eyes.  Perhaps it'll be someone completely different than Mr.
Houston.  Maybe I don't see the need in a big brawler for our unit. 
Maybe I desire someone with true technicial skills inside the ring.

GM:  What are you-

ATTSBW:  Perhaps I should mention that I was quite impressed with what
we saw a few moments ago from Pure X - the man who is making the long
climb up the Top 10 and managed to defeat our own Gary Bright not long
ago.

[Bright's expression grows a little more fierce at that comment.]

ATTSBW:  Easy, Bomber.  We all know it'd never happen again in a hundred
tries.  But the fact is, Pure X is a fine talent as well... perhaps he's
the kind of man we're looking for.

GM:  Are you saying that-

ATTSBW:  Gordon, Gordon, Gordon!  Can I not make it any clearer to you? 
I am saying that we are keeping our options open.  We have our eyes on a
lot of talent here in the AWA and some outside it as well.  And I am
saying that when we do make our next selection, believe me...it will be
the right person at the right time.

Now, I believe the champ has something to say...

[Stevie steps forward, still grinning, and holds four fingers into the
air before speaking.]

HSS: Four weeks...four casualties.

Another one bit the dust two weeks ago, Myers.  I told you that I had no
reason to fear the challenge of Marcus Broussard, did I not?  I told you
that the Hotshot would keep his National Title, did I not?  Myers, you
and all these people out there watching us week after week after
week...you need to learn that when I say something, it's _gospel_.  Take
it to the bank, because Stevie Scott don't speak lightly.  When I say
it, I _mean_ it.

Sweet Daddy Williams...Vladimir Velikov...Kolya Sudakov...Marcus
Broussard...

[As Stevie rattles off the names, he raises his hand again and holds up
a finger with each name.]

HSS: Adam Rogers.

[Annnd the thumb.]

HSS: You see the pattern developing here, Myers?  The first four all
stepped up and wanted to take the Hotshot down.  Wanted to impede our
progress.  And where are they now?  Gone.  They either ran away
embarrassed...

[The champ grabs his arm in mock pain.]

HSS: ...or were carted off injured.

[Heel pop!]

HSS: So, Rogers, you beach-bum lookin' has-been...what makes you think
your situation is going to end up any different?

Former World Champion, I know.  That's the problem with guys like you
and Broussard...you keep dwelling on the word "champion" and forgetting
the more important word.

Former.

[Steviegrin~!  Scott pats the AWA National Title before placing it onto
the table, then removes his sunglasses and puts them on top of the
belt.]

HSS: Like I told your good buddy Broussard, and it rings just as true
for you, big man.  The difference between us is that I'm _making_
history, while you?

You ARE history.

You see, I figured it out, Rogers.  I figured out how to come back from
the dead, to resurrect my career from the grave.  You, on the other
hand...look at you, man.  You lost to Mark Shaw...you lost to Adrian
Freeman...heck, when's the last time you even _won_ a match?

So what makes you think...you have ANY chance going up against _me_?

[Stevie shakes his head and laughs, as do Waterson and Bright.]

HSS: And something else, Myers...apparently, according to one of the
suits a few days ago, there are a lot of people who think that the
Hotshot...

[Scott stops mid-sentence and turns to Waterson.]

HSS: How did he say it, Ben?

ATTSBW: "The champ many think never should have won the gold."

[Hearing it, said champ smiles and nods.]

HSS: Many _think_ never should have won the gold.  That's exactly it,
Gordo.  While those people are _thinking_?  I'm out there _doing_.  They
can think all they want that I don't deserve to be toting this baby
around.

[Stevie slaps the large front plate of the National Title.]

HSS: But here I am still, the man everyone's now gunning for...the man
everyone wants to be.  Well, Adam Rogers...Ron Houston...and anyone else
who thinks they are gonna be the one to derail the Hotshot Express...

To _be_ the man?

[Wait for it...]

HSS: You've gotta be Stevie Scott!

And baby?  Hahaha...I'm one of a kind.  A rare find.  I drive the finest
_cars_...fly in the biggest jet _airplanes_...spend night after night
after...WHOO...night with the hottest _women_...

[Yep, another grin.]

HSS: And I carry around _this_...

[He picks the AWA National Title belt back up off the table and holds it
toward the camera.]

HSS: Because I'm the only one who _can_.

And there's NOTHING anyone can do about it.

[The trio walks off the screen leaving Gordon Myers behind shaking his
head.]

GM:  Fans, let's go to the Control Center.

[Cut to the wonky looking logo that can only mean the No Escape Control
Center.  It fades out to Jason Dane sitting behind a desk with a big
grin on his face.]

JD:  The clock is ticking closer and closer.  September 7th, the
Greensboro Coliseum, one of the biggest nights in AWA history.  You know
the lineup so far but now we've got two more matches to add!

After what we saw earlier tonight, it has become clear to the AWA
Championship Committee that there can be no more attempts to hold these
men apart so at No Escape we will see a big singles match with DAVE
COOPER taking on CLETUS LEE BISHOP!

[Dane pauses for cheers.  Ninny.]

JD:  Don't forget - it was Cletus Lee who started this whole thing by
knocking Sarah Sharpe off the apron, injuring her shoulder... and you
can bet that Sarah's husband, Dave Cooper, will be looking for some big
time payback in Charlotte!

[Dane grins big!  He's quite the shill!]

JD:  And in what I've been told will be the final match added to the No
Escape lineup, giving us seven matches for the event... we heard the
challenge made earlier tonight and just moments ago, Stephen Ross stuck
his head into this room and yelled six words in my direction.

"Slater.  Taylor.  Let's hook 'em up!"

Shane Taylor and Kevin Slater will collide at No Escape as well!

[PAUSE!]

JD:  It's going to be one of the biggest nights that I can remember here
in the AWA.  Seven huge matches!  One big night!  No Escape on September
7th.  Whether you're there live in the Greensboro Coliseum or home
watching LIVE on WKIK, it's going to be something very special to see! 
Now, let's go out to the ring for our Main Event!

[Cut to the ring where "The Fighting Side of Me" by Merle Haggard plays
as the ultra-serious looking Tin Can Rust steps out of the entrance to a
loud cheer from the crowd. The cheers grow louder, though, as Rust's tag
team partner - City Jack - steps out of the entrance and gives a short
wave to the crowd. Rust, dressed in his normal wrestling attire of black
wrestling tights and black boots, walks right over to the announcer's
desk as Jack - dressed in a black "Give Me Liberty or Give Me Death"
T-shirt and jeans - follows.]

GM: Kentucky's Pride joining us here before the match with Adrian
Freeman. Now Jack -

[Rust puts up a hand before Myers could naturally shoot the microphone
to the talkative City Jack.]

TCR: Myers, Jack said his piece last time out, but let me just get this
off my chest.

[Rust holds Myers' hands up to get the microphone closer as Rust talks
into the camera.]

TCR: Dufresne, Freeman? You all made all those cracks about Jack and me.
Callin' us old, fat, dumb, past our prime...

[The crowd boos as Rust paraphrases what Freeman & Dufrense have said.]

TCR: And you know, that stuff just rolls right off our shoulders. Simple
thing I know that us two, why we're not the youngest here and we're not
in top physical shape.

[Jack leans in, with a grin on his face.]

CJ: Naw, Rust, I done been doin' some of that there cardio recently!

[Jack slaps his bulbous belly, shaking it around a bit.]

CJ: See?

[The crowd nearby laughs/cheers as CJ continuous to goof off. Rust,
still in a serious mood, simply nods. Before turning back to Myers.]

TCR: Myers, the one thing that really got my attention - one thing that
really pissed me off?

[Rust turns back to the camera.]

TCR: Was you two trying to say we were duckin' you! Are you serious,
boys?

[Rust shakes his head.]

TCR: Well let me just make this clear for you two chicken-hearted boys -
I never hid from ya. Jack never hid from ya. You two cowards could have
had a match with us, anytime and anyplace. If it was really about
proving who was the best, you shouldn't have had to wait until you
cheated your way to the title shot. You should've been satisfied with
just facing us two, on any terms. But I guess it ain't about that, right
boys? It ain't about us and it ain't about proving who's the better men.
It's really all about tryin' to continue your cheating way to get at
this -

[Rust holds up his half of the tag team gold.]

TCR: At No Escape? Neither of ya will even get a chance to touch these
belts cause there's no way, no how that we're going to let you two run
out of town with these titles to make a mockery of what us two built
over the all this time. Now I doubt the two of you'll be men about the
match and face us as an upright fight should go, so we'll be prepared
for the two of you and your underhanded ways...

[Rust pauses as he turns his attention to Myers.]

TCR: And we'll still beat 'em to a bloody mess at No Escape.

[And with that, the duo makes their way towards the ring with Jack
taking his place in the corner as TCR climbs the steps before getting
into the ring as "Try Honesty" kicks in to a big negative reaction from
the crowd.]

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with TV Time
Remaining.  Introducing first... already in the ring at this time...
fighting out of Central City, Kentucky and weighing in at 259 pounds. 
He is one-half of the AWA National Tag Team Champions...

TIN!  CAN!  RUSSSSSST!

[The music continues as Rust salutes the crowd.]

MC:  And his opponent... from Sydney, Australian... weighing in at 190
pounds...

"SUBZERO" ADRIAN FREEEEEEEEEMAN!

[The jeers intensify as Freeman enters the arena, his tag team partner
Calisto Dufresne by his side.]

GM:  Dufresne's coming out here with him?

BW:  Of course he is!  Rust brought City Jack out, didn't he?

GM:  Yeah, but City Jack isn't about to interfere in the match.

BW:  Are you kidding me?  These guys are the dirtiest, most likely to
cheat sons of guns I've seen!

GM:  Give me a break.

[The rulebreaking duo hits ringside, Freeman climbing the steps to get
into the ring as Calisto Dufresne takes his spot at ringside.  The
Ladykiller points a threatening finger at City Jack who barks some harsh
words in response.]

GM:  And this should be a little bit of a sneak preview of that big
National Title match coming up at No Escape but honestly, it feels like
these two teams have been at odds since early 2008, Bucky

BW:  All four men were involved in WarGames last summer - the 2008 Match
of the Year - and have been after one another long before and ever
since.  Finally, at No Escape, they get a chance to settle it.

GM:  AWA Senior Official Michael Meekly with some words for both men -
and there's the bell!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  Tin Can Rust is comin' for him!

[The veteran brawler stomps across the ring, heading straight for Adrian
Freeman who quickly backpedals to his corner, hands raised up to try to
stop TCR's charge.  Rust reaches the corner, shoving Freeman back in the
buckles as he rears back his big right hand...

...which gives "Subzero" a chance to duck down, sticking his head
between the top and middle ropes.  The crowd jeers as Meekly steps in,
ordering Tin Can Rust to "stand down."]

GM:  Look at Freeman... that coward... that... that...

BW:  Easy there, Gordo.  He's just doing the smart thing.  Adrian
Freeman is a wrestler, Gordo... not a brawler.  He knows he can't afford
to get into a fistfight with Old Man Dust.

GM:  Rust backing away... he doesn't look happy about it though.

[Meekly backs him to the middle of the ring, enough room for a smirking
Adrian Freeman to bring himself out of the ropes.  He nods his head
confidently, pointing to his brain as he edges out of the corner towards
the middle of the ring...

...and spits squarely in the face of Tin Can Rust which causes the vet
to go nuts again, barreling across the ring.]

GM:  Ahh!  He spit on him!  Freeman spit on him!

BW:  Did he?  I must have missed that.

GM:  How do you miss that?

[Freeman backpedals again...

...and again ducks between the ropes, forcing Michael Meekly to step in,
shaking his head at the fired-up Tin Can Rust who has his fists balled
up, ready to fly.]

BW:  Haha!  I love it, Gordo.

GM:  You would.  To me, it's disgusting.  This man, Freeman, is a second
generation wrestler who should be carrying on his family name with
pride, dignity, and honor.  Instead, what must his father think of his
actions?

BW:  Michael Freeman should be damn proud of his son, Gordo.  He's in a
position to become one-half of the National Tag Team Champions in just a
few weeks' time.  He should be damn proud.

[TCR is forced to back away again, eyes wide with rage and frustration
as he tries to get past the official.  Freeman ducks his head back
out...

...and gets caught by Rust who shoves the referee aside before reaching
the buckles, throwing Freeman back into them, and rearing back his right
hand.]

GM:  Big right han- what the-?!

[The crowd jeers as Michael Meekly grabs the arm of Rust, preventing him
from throwing the punch.  The momentary distraction is all Freeman needs
as he hops up to the middle rope, leaping off with his knee, and crashes
onto the trapped arm of Rust, knocking him down to his knees where he
immediately grabs at his arm!]

GM:  Ohh!  

BW:  Beautiful move by Freeman!

GM:  Beautiful move?!  What was Meekly doing?

BW:  He was trying to keep that cheater Rust from breaking the rules and
Freeman took advantage of it.  You can't blame the man for taking
advantage of the situation, Gordo.

GM:  Whatever you want to call it, he's got Rust down on the mat and
he's got him hurt pretty badly.

[Freeman immediately gets to his feet, unleashing a kick to the bicep of
Rust, causing him to fall forward onto all fours.  A second kick sweeps
the right arm out from under Rust, knocking him down to his chest.  With
his partner screaming encouragement, Freeman starts stomping the arm and
shoulder of the downed Rust.]

GM:  And this looks awfully familiar, Bucky.  This looks like a replay
of what this jackal did to Marcus Broussard back at Death Or Glory! 

BW:  That's right, it does.  And we all know how that one turned out. 
If you've forgotten, I'd say we could call Broussard and ask him but I
don't know if he could pick up the phone!  Ahahaha!

GM:  Very funny, Bucky.

[With Rust down on the mat, Freeman yanks the right arm back into a
straddling armbar.  He plants his feet wide, yanking at both the elbow
and shoulder as he applies pressure to the injured arm.]

GM:  I said it looked familiar and this armbar definitely looks that
way.  He and Dufresne used this armbar to great effectiveness against
the San Jose Shark, Bucky.

BW:  The great thing about this, Gordo, is that No Escape is just a few
weeks away.  We called this a sneak preview but what it has just become
is an opportunity.  This is an opportunity for Adrian Freeman to soften
up Tin Can Rust for that National Tag Team Title match.  What we thought
was just a battle for momentum just became so much more important,
daddy.

GM:  You can see Adrian Freeman showing just how much of a maestro of
the mat that he is, turning his back and his opponent away from the
ropes so that it's a longer crawl to get to the ropes to break the hold.
 Freeman is screaming, "TAP!" at his opponent but I don't think that's
gonna happen.

BW:  It SHOULD happen, Gordo.  If Tin Can Rust wasn't a prideful moron,
he'd quit right now and let that arm get healthy for No Escape but since
he's a bigger idiot than all these Chattanooga dunderheads, you can bet
he'll stick it out and he just might have that arm ripped right off his
body.

[Freeman steps out of the straddle, still holding the armbar...

...and promptly eats a hastily thrown left hand to the jaw, causing him
to break his grip and fall into the buckles where Rust wastes no time in
coming right for him.]

GM:  He's got him, Bucky!  He's got him!

[Rust plants a left hand on the chest, holding Freeman in place to keep
him from fleeing as TCR uncorks a right hand that promptly knocks
Freeman off his feet and down to a knee on the mat.]

GM:  Good grief!  What a shot!

[TCR turns sideways, snapping off a knife-edge chop that knocks Freeman
down to the mat where he promptly rolls under the ropes to the floor
drawing more boos from the fans.]

GM:  Freeman escapes... and Rust is going after him!

[Rust steps through the ropes to the apron and steps down to the floor
where a rising Freeman lifts his hands, begging for mercy from the
riled-up Rust who grabs Freeman by the arm...

...and HURLS him into the steel barricade with an Irish whip!]

GM:  OHHH!  Hard to the railing!  Freeman just got launched into that
railing and he slips down to the floor, sitting on the floor now.

[The veteran lets loose a bellow before pointing a warning finger at
Calisto Dufresne who is slinking a little too close for Rust's tastes. 
City Jack shouts out, "Watch that little imp!" in the direction of the
referee who makes sure that Dufresne stays back as Rust leans down,
dragging Freeman off the barely-covered floors...

...and POPS him with an uppercut to the chin, knocking Freeman over the
railing and into the front row!  Big cheer!]

GM:  This is breaking down already!  Rust has got Freeman over the
railing in the crowd... and he's going in there after him!  Tin Can Rust
is going after him!

[The Central City native climbs over the railing, grabbing Freeman as he
tries to get up.  He connects with a barrage of rights and lefts that
knocks Freeman deeper into the crowd.  The referee stands at the
railing, screaming for both men to return to the ring.]

GM:  Michael Meekly is trying to get them back here... trying to-
HEEEEY!

[The crowd EXPLODES in jeers as just a few feet away from the announce
table, City Jack, who was watching his partner brawl in the crowd is
suddenly AMBUSHED by Calisto Dufresne, an attack that knocks Jack down
to a knee near the ringpost.]

GM:  Dufresne's attacked City Jack!  Freeman's got Rust out on the crowd
and Dufresne just jumped City Jack!

BW:  There's absolutely no love lost between those two, Gordo.

[Smirking, the Ladykiller grabs City Jack by the back of the head,
nodding his head confidently...

...and SLAMS Jack's face into the steel ringpost!]

GM:  OHHHH!

[City Jack crumples backwards from the blow into the ringpost, his hands
immediately shooting up to his face to cover up.  Calisto Dufresne
ignores the jeering crowd, dropping to his knees, and yanking Jack's
hands away from his face.]

GM:  What in the world is he doing?

[Grabbing Jack by the head, Dufresne balls up his fist and slams it into
the corner of Jack's eye.]

GM:  Ohh!

BW:  He's going for the eye!  

GM:  City Jack talked about that eye injury earlier tonight and this
sick... this psychopath is going after that eye!

[Dufresne delivers a few more blows before pulling Jack up, throwing him
under the ropes into the ring.  The Ladykiller stops at the ringside
timekeeper's table...

...and snatches the steel ringbell off the table before rolling under
the ropes himself!]

GM:  He's got the bell!

BW:  We've seen this before too, Gordo!

GM:  Calisto Dufresne's got the steel ringbell and who knows what he's
gonna do with that!  Where is Tin Can Rust?  Where is he?!

[The camera cuts to a shot over the railing, revealing Rust and Freeman
brawling in the crowd still.]

GM:  He doesn't have a clue what's going on inside the ring!  He doesn't
know what Dufresne is- oh my god... 

[A steely-gazed Dufresne drags Jack off the mat, pushing him to his
knees before grabbing the ringbell off the mat.  He stands over Jack,
looking down at his kneeling rival...

...and takes a big swing with the bell, SMASHING it right down on the
injured eye!]

GM:  OHHHH!  COME ON!  SOMEBODY GET IN THERE!

[Dufresne raises the ringbell with one hand, standing over the
motionless City Jack as the crowd jeers wildly...

...boos that quickly turn to cheers as Tin Can Rust floors Freeman with
a standing clothesline and then spots the action inside the ring!]

GM:  Here comes Rust!  Rust is on his way to the ring!

[The roar intensifies as TCR hurdles the barricade, rolling into the
ring with his fists at the ready...

...but just a bit short as Dufresne bails out from the ring, racing
towards the exit as a concerned-looking Tin Can Rust drops to a knee
next to his partner.]

GM:  Tin Can Rust clears the ring... but what about City Jack?  City
Jack is down.  City Jack is hurt.  And the master plan becomes clear to
one and all.  Adrian Freeman led Rust away from the ring which allowed
Dufresne to assault City Jack and go after that eye!  

[Rust is still checking on his partner as a trio of medical team members
hit the ring.]

GM:  Rust is obviously concerned... this crowd has gone silent... and
what in the world does this mean for the National Tag Team Title Match
at No Escape?  Fans, we're out of time.  For Bucky Wilde and Jason Dane,
I'm Gordon Myers and we'll see you next time... at the matches!

[The camera holds on the ring where Rust is still kneeling next to his
partner, speaking words of encouragement to him as the medics work on
the fan favorite...

...and we fade to black.]