Saturday Night Wrestling

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American Wrestling Alliance 
Proudly Presents 
AWA Saturday Night Wrestling

Live from the Crockett Coliseum
Dallas, Texas
October 2nd, 2010
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[As we fade in, we hear the closing theme to the Fishing With Orlando
Wilson show as the shot starts to fade.  It is replaced with footage
marked "TWO WEEKS AGO!"  It is from the impromptu Main Event National
TItle Match between "Hotshot" Stevie Scott and The West Memphis Assassin
and starts up just as Stevie Scott hooks a standing headscissors before
reaching down to wrap his arms around the waist of the masked man.]

GM:  He's going for the Piledriver!  Scott's going for the Piledriver!

[And suddenly, the challenger stands up, backdropping the Hotshot down
to the canvas with a thud!]

GM:  BACKDROP!  He backdropped his way out of it!

[The Assassin drops down to a knee from the exertion.  But just as the
Hotshot regains his feet - as does the challenger who grabs the Hotshot
around the neck with one arm and sinks his thumb into the throat on the
other side!]

GM:  SPIKE!!  HE HOOKS IN THE ASSASSIN'S SPIKE!!

[The crowd ROARS to life as the Hotshot frantically starts swinging his
arms back and forth, pumping them in the air, trying to find a way out
of the submission hold!]

GM:  He's got that sunk in deep!  That thumb is jammed right into the
carotid artery applying a tremendous amount of pressure! 

BW:  If the champ doesn't get out of this, he's going to sleep!  That'll
cut off the flow of blood to the brain and-

GM:  Stevie's fading, Bucky!

[There certainly does seem to be a certain lack of gusto in the arms of
the National Champion as he begins to slump down towards the canvas. 
Suddenly, the Assassin pushes him down to the mat, staying over him to
keep the leverage on the thumb, pushing harder and harder on the
throat...]

GM:  The referee's right there to check!  This is a very dangerous hold
and-

[Suddenly, the referee leaps up, waving his arms.]


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


BW:  WHAT?!  WHAT?!

[The referee races over to Melissa to speak.]

GM:  We've got a bell and- here's the decision...

[Melissa speaks.]

MC:  AWA Senior Official Michael Meekly has ruled that Stevie Scott is
UNCONSCIOUS and is therefore unable to continue!  

Your winner of the match...

[Dramatic pause.]

MC:  ...and NEEEEEWWWW AWA NATIONAL CHAMPION...

THE WEST... MEMPHIS... ASSASSINNNNNNN!!!

[The crowd ROARS in reaction as the Assassin releases the hold, allowing
the now-former champion to slump down to the canvas in a heap.  The
masked man slowly gets up, accepting the National Title belt being
presented to him by the referee.  He looks down at the belt in
disbelief...

...and then thrusts it high into the air to the cheers of the crowd!]

GM:  He did it!  He did it!  We've got a new AWA National Champion and
it is the West Memphis Assassin!

BW:  You mean it's Juan Vasquez!

GM:  You don't know that!  The mask stayed on!  And on this night, the
West Memphis Assassin is on top of the wrestling world!  What a night! 
What a Homecoming!

[And with the shot of the Assassin holding the belt high filling the
screen, we freeze...

...and then fade to the sounds of the brand new intro music for AWA
Saturday Night Wrestling, Lynyrd Skynyrd's "Saturday Night Special"

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 brand new Crockett Coliseum where over 4,500 fans have jammed 
into the building to watch their favorite AWA stars.

The ring sits in the middle of the oval-shaped seating area, surrounded
by a metal barricade on all sides.  The ringside seats are your standard
steel chairs while tall wood and metal bleachers are erected all around
the rear of the oval.

A long elevated entrance ramp runs from the entryway to the ring.  On
either side of the ramp stand two elevated platforms to be used for
interviews.

As we cut to the ringside area, atop thin black mats that cover the
concrete floor of the former warehouse, we find two tables - one for the
timekeeper and one for the announce duo.

Speaking of which, the camera cuts from the cheering crowd to the ring
where we find the familiar faces of "No Descriptions Needed" Gordon
Myers alongside "Big Bucks" Bucky Wilde - the best announcers in the
game.]

GM: Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to another edition of AWA Saturday
Night Wrestling where over the next two hours you will see all the stars
of the American Wrestling Alliance, THE Major League of Professional
Wrestling.  I am Gordon Myers and by my side, as always, is the two-time
Announcer Of The Year, Bucky Wilde!

BW:  That's right, daddy!  Don't you ever forget it!

GM:  Bucky, it was a wild night two weeks ago at Homecoming and the
entire world thought we had seen a new National Champion crowned in the
West Memphis Assassin but as we all know now, that is not the case.

BW:  He won the gold, Gordo, but he wouldn't fess up to being Juan
Vasquez!  He wouldn't take the mask off and the Committee stripped it
off of him.  Good decision, if you ask me.

GM:  A controversial decision to say the least to return the title to
Stevie Scott but that wasn't enough for Scott and Ben Waterson, was it?

BW:  Heck no, daddy - they want the mask!

GM:  They certainly do.  Remember, fans, "Big" Jim Watkins has said if
the mask comes off to reveal Juan Vasquez than Vasquez will be BANNED
from the AWA for life!  So, tonight, the Southern Syndicate will look to
do exactly that.  It'll be a non-title matchup between Stevie Scott and
The West Memphis Assassin once again.  But this time, if Scott wins, the
mask comes off!

BW:  When Scott wins, you mean.

GM:  That remains to be seen but if the Assassin wins, he will be handed
an open contract for an AWA National Title match!

BW:  What good does that do him?  He can't win the title with the mask
on!  He can't take the mask off and reveal Juan Vasquez or he's banned! 
The Assassin's in a no-win situation here tonight in Dallas, Texas,
daddy, and I love it!

GM:  Plus, the Longhorn Heritage Title tournament continues when young
lion Wade Kennedy meets Syndicate member Adrian Freeman.

BW:  I STILL can't believe they're not putting Dufresne in this
tournament but you'd better believe that Adrian Freeman is gonna go
through this field like a hot knife through butter.

GM:  "Playboy" Johnny Casanova takes on Scott Mayhem with the ladies
banned from ringside and a spot in the Longhorn Heritage Title
tournament on the line!

BW:  How is it fair that those two have to fight for a spot in the
tourney?  No one else has!  

GM:  The entire tournament field has been announced and we'll talk about
that more later tonight as well plus we've also got the number one
contenders to the National Tag Team Titles, the Blonde Bombers, in
action against Violence Unlimited in what should be an outstanding
matchup.

BW:  The Bombers are on a golden trail heading towards the belts and VU
is just another brick in their path.

GM:  And Bobby Taylor is here tonight to tell the world exactly when and
where he intends to finally settle his feud with Kevin Slater!  We're
going to have all of that plus much, much more but for now, let's head
up to the ring for our opening contest!

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

MC: Ladies and gentlemen, tonight's opening contest is scheduled for one
fall. Introducing first, to my left, from New York City, and weighing
235 pounds... here is JERRY HOROWITZ!

[A slender, dark-haired man with a beard, dressed in blue trunks, smiles
and then pats himself on the back.

The opening riffs of "Seek and Destroy" by Metallica kick in over the PA
system, causing the crowd to stir. As the tempo picks up, the blonde,
crew-cut wrestler known as Supernova comes out from the entranceway.]

MC: Introducing, from Venice Beach, California, and weighing 260
pounds... ladies and gentlemen...

THIS...

IS...

SUPERNOVA!

[Supernova is dressed in black tights with yellow flames running up the
sides and black wrestling boots, each with a small, fiery sun on the
sides. He is also wearing a white vest with a big, fiery yellow sun on
the back and the word "Supernova" beneath it in yellow lettering. And
most notable is his face paint, black and yellow, resembling a flame.]

GM: And here we go with singles action featuring Supernova... this young
man made quite the impression last time on Saturday Night and he's
already been entered into the Longhorn Heritage Title tournament!

BW: Well, I won't argue the guy has some skills, but this whole
pandering to the fans junk is gonna get him in trouble some day!

GM: Bucky, Supernova loves the fans in the AWA, and thus far, they sure
like him!

BW: Yeah, but the AWA isn't a popularity contest, Gordo, and winning
popularity contests doesn't make you somebody in AWA

GM: Kind of like your annoucner of the mid year award, then.

BW: Yeah, that... HEY!

[As Supernova heads down the ramp, he is more than happy to slap the
hands of the fans whose arms are stretched over the barricade, kneeling
down from time to time to reach those hands. Upon reaching the ring, he
stops on the apron to cup his hands to his mouth and howl to the crowd,
before ducking between the ropes and then removing his vest.]

GM: We heard from Supernova that he isn't afraid to back down from a
challenge... let's see what kind of challenge Jerry Horowitz can offer.

BW: What I really want to see is how this painted freak measures up to
the likes of the Southern Syndicate, MAMMOTH Misuzawa and the other
proven greats in the AWA... if he deals with those guys, he may be
thinking twice about not backing down from a challenge.

[Supernova circles Horowitz, but before they can lock up, Horowitz backs
off, as if he believes he's not ready.]

GM: I doubt very much that Supernova will ever think twice about that...
but right now, Horowitz is thinking twice about locking up with
Supernova.

BW: Hey, Horowitz is just biding his time... good ring strategy.

[Horowitz moves in as if ready to lock up, but before it can happen,
Horowitz again backs off, huddling into the corner.]

GM: I call it Horowitz not knowing what to do about the intensity
Supernova brings to the ring.

BW: Sure, he knows how to deal with it... like I said, bide your time
and it will come.

[Supernova motions with his hands for Horowitz to bring it on, advancing
on him in the corner as he does.]

GM: Referee Marty Meekly getting in there... I know he's trying to keep
things under control, but if I were him, I'd be telling Horowitz to get
it on already.

BW: Meekly should let Horowitz stick to his game plan, Gordo.

GM: Horowitz's game plan seems to be avoiding any contact.

[As Horowitz comes back out of the corner and taunts Supernova, the
face-painted wrestler gets past the referee and approaches Horowitz...

...but then gets shoved back in the chest, then slapped across the
face.]

BW: HA! There's the game plan in action!

GM: That's not a smart move on Horowitz's part.

BW: What are you talking about? Supernova doesn't know what to do!

[Not exactly, Bucky... as Horowitz approaches Supernova and taunts him
some more...

...Supernova retaliates with a hard shove that sends Horowitz right to
the mat!]

GM: I'd say he does, Bucky... and from the looks of it, Horowitz now
doesn't know what to do!

[Horowitz is now down on his knees in the corner, now shouting at the
referee about Supernova pulling the hair.]

BW: Oh, really, Gordo? He knows exactly what happened!

GM: There was no hair pull, Bucky... Horowitz is just stalling.

BW: If Horowitz said there was a hair pull, I believe him.

GM: You believe a lot of things, Bucky, but most of them aren't true.

[Horowitz has now turned to the fans, telling them to shut up...

...but that gives Supernova an opening as he spins Horowitz around, then
fires off a hard chop!]

GM: And whether Horowitz likes it or not, this match will get underway!

BW: And look at Supernova stooping to any means necessary!

GM: Horowitz dragged out of the corner... a scoop and a bodyslam!
Horowitz to his feet... but a dropkick sends him back down!

[Horowitz again scurries to the corner, asking for a time out. Supernova
cups his hands and howls to the crowd.]

BW: I wish he'd stop doing that... he's giving me a headache!

GM: Horowitz thrown off guard... Supernova coming in after him... but
there's a thumb to the eye!

BW: Now there's the game plan in action!

GM: Horowitz with an uppercut to stagger Supernova... whips him into the
ropes... doubles him over with a kneelift!

[Or did he? As Horowitz gloats to the fans and pats himself on the
back...

...Supernova suddenly stands straight up, a wild look in his eyes.]

BW: What?! How did that kneelift have no effect?!

GM: Horowitz doesn't even know... he's still bragging to the fans...
turns around... and Supernova has him!

[The blonde wrestler grabs Horowitz and presses him overhead.]

BW: My goodness... look at the strength this guy has!

GM: Horowitz way up in the air... and Supernova just tosses him down to
the canvas!

[Supernova again howls to the crowd.]

GM: Whatever game plan Horowitz had, it's not working, Bucky.

BW: Well, what do you expect with a nutjob like Supernova who won't even
let Horowitz get himself ready for the match.

GM: With Supernova, it's clear when the bell rings, it's time to get it
on... and Supernova is staying on the attack!

[Supernova drags Horowitz off the canvas, then hooks him in a front
facelock.]

GM: Supernova grabbing Horowitz by the tights... lifts him up... nice
vertical suplex takes Horowitz down!

[As Supernova drags Horowitz up, he says to the fans: "Think it's time
for some heat?"

But that gives Horowitz an opening, as he fires a fist to the
midsection.]

BW: See what I'm talking about... Supernova panders to the fans and
Horowitz took advantage!

GM: Horowitz unloading with some hard rights... backs Supernova into the
corner and an Irish whip to the other side.

[Horowitz again pats himself on the back and comes charging in...

...and runs right into a foot to the face, courtesy of Supernova.]

GM: And Horowitz making a mistake!

BW: Well, I'll admit it... that wasn't smart on Horowitz's part to brag
about what he did.

[And this allows Supernova to push Horowitz into the corner and deliver
his own Irish whip.]

GM: Horowitz sent to the corner... and Supernova does not hesitate...
The Heat Wave!

[The fans cheer as Supernova comes crashing in with a flying corner
splash, after which Horowitz tumbles to the canvas.]

BW: We've seen that before... and we know what comes next!

GM: Supernova has Horowitz by the legs... ties him up... and into the
Solar Flare!

[Supernova cinches in the Texas cloverleaf tight...

...and it takes just a few seconds before Horowitz taps out.]

GM: And this one is over... another impressive win for Supernova!

BW: I don't like him, but when he hits you with that corner splash,
you're in trouble... and then when the Solar Flare was applied, it was
all over!

[Meekly raises Supernova's hand in victory, after which the face-painted
wrestler cups his hands and howls to the crowd, drawing their approval.]

GM: And this young man has been entered into the Longhorn Heritage Title
tournament, where he will take on Vladimir Velikov... I look forward to
that match, Bucky!

BW: Well, that's gonna be a much tougher challenge for... hey, why is he
coming over here?

[Indeed, Supernova has opted to join Gordon and Bucky at the
commentators' position.]

GM: Supernova, welcome to the AWA!

S: Gordon, it's truly an honor to be here and truly an honor to meet a
fine gentlemen such as yourself!

[He then turns to Bucky, who doesn't look like he's happy that Supernova
is present.]

S: What's the matter, Bucky... cat got your tongue?

BW: You want me to say something? How about this... how about drawing
Vladimir Velikov in the first round of the Longhorn Heritage Title
tournament? You think you have what it takes to beat the great Russian
wrestler?

S: Bucky, when you talk about a great Russian wrestler, there's only one
name that comes to my mind... and that's the former AWA National
Champion, Koyla Sudakov.

BW: Sudakov? You saw how easily Velikov took care of him!

S: You must have seen something different, Bucky, because what I saw was
Velikov getting together with Sultan Azam Sharif to attack him from
behind and cost him a chance to challenge for that National title again!
And there's one thing I don't like to see... that's people like Velikov
and the Sultan taking a shortcut!

GM: Are you worried about what appears to be a possible alliance between
Velikov and the Sultan?

S: Gordon, the only thing I'm worried about is needing every translator
I can find to figure out what in the world Sultan Azam Sharif says every
time he opens his mouth. [Slight laugh] Well, there is one thing I
understand out of his mouth... he likes to talk about how Iran is number
one... about how he is number one. If he refers to who is the most
annoying personality in AWA, then he's certainly number one in that
department.

And as far as Velikov goes, he's number one on my list for two
reasons... first of all, for what he and the Sultan did to Kolya
Sudakov. And second of all, because he's the first guy between me and
the Longhorn Heritage Title! Honestly, I didn't expect to get this
opportunity, but I appreciate Jim Watkins and the committee for giving
me that opportunity and I don't intend to let them down.

And I know Sudakov wants a piece of his uncle as well, so I'll promise
him that I'll leave enough of Velikov for him to finish off... but I can
still promise you that we'll find out just how well Velikov can take the
heat!

[With that, he cups his hands and howls to the crowd once more, then
departs the announce position.]

GM:  Now THAT'S a man looking to make a bigtime impact here in the AWA. 
Fans, at this time, we're going to head up to the interview platform
where Jason Dane is standing by!  Jason?

[We cut back to the interview area where Dane is indeed waiting.]

JD:  Thanks, Gordon.  As you said earlier, it was a wild night at
Homecoming and my guest at this time had a... interesting night.  First,
he was denied-

[Suddenly, the opening riffs of ZZ Top's "Sharp Dressed Man" kick in
over the Crockett Coliseum PA system and the crowd reaction is swift and
harsh.  From the entrance portal strolls one "Ladykiller" Calisto
Dufresne.  Dufresne is clad in a pair of black slacks and a
tight-fitting purple dress shirt tucked in at the waist, around which
sits the PWR Pacific Championship.  Dufresne runs a hand through his
long blonde hair, soaking up the jeers from the crowd as he poses for
his throngs of adoring fans.  Eventually Dufresne veers off to the right
where Jason Dane awaits him.  The crowd eventually dies down a bit as
Dane begins.]

JD: Calisto Dufresne, you were very busy two Saturdays ago as you met
Jim Watkins in the middle of the ring here at the Crockett Coliseum and
demanded entry to the Longhorn Heritage Title tournament; a demand which
was summarily denied; followed up by a brutal attack on one Shane Taylor
to cash in on the bounty hanging over his head which netted you a
National Title shot, anytime, anywhere.  What about this tournament and
your lack of entry in it pushed you to such measures?

CD: Let's be honest, Dane.  And we all know Calisto Dufresne is nothing
if not honest.  The past month hasn't been a great one for the
Ladykiller.  Between Juan Vasqu-I mean The West Memphis Assassin getting
a faulty disqualification win against me, to me suffering a terrible
blackout against Tin Can Rust mid-match and the travesty in WarGames...
something had to be done.  I figured that running roughshod over this
tournament would be a great way to get back where my fans expect me to
be, but Watkins has it out for me.

[Dufresne's scowl is evident from a mile away.]

CD: So I decided to stop thinking about me and start thinking about my
brothers in arms - the Southern Syndicate - and cashed in the bounty
hanging over the head of that poor sap Shane Taylor.

[Dane looks puzzled.]

JD: I'm sorry, how did getting an anytime, anywhere shot at the National
Title - a title held by your stablemate Stevie Scott - constitute
"taking one for the team"?

[Dufresne sighs, looking at Dane like a parent might look at a child.]

CD: Don't you see, Dane?  Someone was going to cash in that bounty. 
Bobby Taylor was desperate.  He needed someone to get his brother out of
the way.  Anybody could have grabbed that opportunity.  Our old friend
Raphael Rhodes, The West Memphis Assa-I mean Juan Vasquez... anybody. 
So by me stepping in and taking that bounty out of play, we can all rest
easy now that we know Stevie's title is safe and secure around his
waist.

[Dufresne turns to the camera, smiling genuinely.  But behind that smile
is something else not quite as obvious, as his eyes sparkle
dangerously.]

CD: I didn't want to hurt that kid, Jason, you have to know that.  My
adoring fans know that I'm not out to hurt people.  But it had to be
done for the safety of that title and for the continued success of the
greatest assembly of talent in the history of this sport.

[The crowd boos a bit as Dane looks incredulously at Dufresne.]

JD: So then what's next for Calisto Dufresne, who wields this title shot
in his back pocket anytime he wants to use it?

CD: Dane, as a famous philosopher once said... With great power comes
great responsibility...  

JD: You mean Spiderman?

[Dufresne plows right along, ignoring Dane.]

CD: ...And Calisto Dufresne is out to right some of the wrongs that have
been committed over the past few months.  It may not be tonight, but
rest assured that Calisto Dufresne will not sleep until he puts the AWA
back on the right track.  I owe that much to my wonderful fans.  Stay
tuned.

[Following a nod, a wink and a smile, the crowd jeers yet again as
"Sharp Dressed Man" kicks in and Dufresne bows deeply before heading
back through the entrance portal as we fade to black and then to 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 to a black screen.

When we come back up, we find one of the surprise entrants to the
Longhorn Heritage Title tournament looms large.  Robert Donovan, in
plain old street clothes, eyeballs the camera briefly before he speaks.]

RD:  I wasn't really plannin' to say a whole lot prior to my first match
in... oh... five years or thereabouts...but I guess a bout o' nerves bit
me, and runnin' one's mouth at the camera for a few minutes is usually a
pretty good antidote for nervousness.

[Donovan smiles faintly.]

RD:  I know what a few of you are probably thinkin' -- how the hell can
this guy be nervous?  Well, no disrespect intended, but it's got nothin'
to do with Jesse Ewiak.  It has everythin' to do with the fact that I
haven't stepped in the ring or done anything remotely athletic that
wasn't housed in a gym for half a decade, an' just maybe I think that
might be a factor when I finally have to step over that top rope again.

[Donovan pauses.]

RD:  Don't get me wrong, now...just because I'm nervous doesn't mean I
lack confidence.  I've seen the other names in this tournament...an' I'm
still pretty damn sure I'm the man who should be carrying the Longhorn
Heritage title belt into 2011. Sounds a little arrogant for an old man
who's been out of the wrestlin' world for five years, I suppose...

[Donovan chuckles briefly, then shrugs.]

RD:  Then again, an' this is somethin' anyone who plans to say a cross
word or throw a punch in my direction in the near future might wanna
consider...I'm fightin' for that title, no question, but I'm also
fightin' to make sure that this tribute to the Longhorn Wrestlin'
Council isn't some half-assed cash-in at the expense of the blood,
sweat, an' tears of everybody who worked there.  I'm here to make sure,
damn sure, that no matter who wins that title...

[Pause.]

RD:  ....well, they're gonna fight for it.  They're gonna sweat for it,
work for it...an' if it has to happen...

[Donovan grins.]

RD:  Well, they're gon' bleed for it, too.

[We fade from Donovan's grin back inside the Crockett Coliseum's bowl
seating area to the announce team.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans... Robert Donovan is indeed in the Longhorn
Heritage Title tournament where he'll face Jesse Ewiak and that match
will happen this coming week in San Antonio, Texas at a special AWA
non-televised arena event.  That's right, fans - the AWA arena tour is
starting back up again!  And this week in San Antonio, there will be a
batch of first round matches in the tournament that we will be
presenting highlights of during a special AWA Access next weekend!  

BW:  San Antonio is gonna be red hot, daddy!

GM:  We'll be going over those tournament brackets later tonight but for
now, let's go back up to the ring for more action!

[Crossfade to the ring where Melissa is standing.]

MC: Our next bout is set for one fall, with a ten minute time limit! 
Introducing first, currently in the ring, from Saint Petersburg,
Florida, weighing 182 pounds... JAMIE TRENTON!

[A young light heavyweight dressed in a black singlet and black boots
with a rainbow stripe down the left leg raises his arm to no response
from the crowd.  "Irish Blood, English Heart" by Morrissey then begins
to filter through the public address, as Melissa gets to announcing his
opponent.]

MC: And his opponent, fighting out of Wigan, Greater Manchester,
England, weighing in tonight at 201 pounds... RAPHAEL RHODES!

[The crowd gives a mixed reaction to the surly Brit as he strides
through the entrance, sporting royal blue tights with red kneepads and
red boots.  He has a freshly shaved mohawk, dyed red, and a casual smile
on his face as he walks down to the ring, paying little attention to
fans.  He hops through the ropes and lets himself be checked by the
referee.]

GM: It's not often we see Raphael Rhodes have a weight advantage over an
opponent, but he certainly has one here over Jamie Trenton.

[The bell sounds, as Rhodes offers... a handshake?  The crowd seems
confused.]

BW: Is Rhodes getting soft?  A handshake?

GM: Well, I believe Jamie Trenton comes from the same camp Rhodes came
from, he's wrestled for Rhodes' uncle Jeremy in the past in the
Mid-Atlantic area.

[Trenton warily accepts the handshake, and surprisingly, Rhodes doesn't
strike, lending some credence to Myers' theory.  The crowd lets out a
polite response, still a little surprised at Rhodes' show of
sportsmanship.]

GM: Rhodes now circling Trenton, collar and elbow tieup... whoa!  Rhodes
takes Trenton down with a very quick armdrag!

[Trenton scrambles to his feet, diving at Rhodes for a single-leg
takedown, but Rhodes manages to use a whizzer to take control of Trenton
again, flipping him over to the mat and covering for a quick one-count
before Trenton kicks out.]

GM: Good display of scientific wrestling from Rhodes, we don't normally
see that from this young man.

BW: I told you, he's getting soft.  Yeah, he's got a good wrestling
background, but why should he trade holds when he can knock someone out?

GM: Rhodes allowing Trenton to get to his feet, going for a collar and
elbow again... no!  Rhodes ducks underneath and has him in a rear
waistlock!

[Rhodes cinches Trenton up as if to try for a German suplex, but Trenton
kicks his legs frantically to throw Rhodes off balance, forcing Rhodes
to simply use a takedown and drop him chest-first onto the mat.  Rhodes
advances his position to north-south and applies a front facelock, which
Trenton tries to turn into a hammerlock, but instead Rhodes rolls
through and returns to the standing position.]

GM: Rhodes is showing both good offense and good defense here, Bucky.

BW: Big deal.  I don't get it.  The strikes work!  Why not hit the guy?

GM: Trenton tries a dropkick... and Rhodes brushes it off!  Trenton's
rising up to his feet, Rhodes is waiting for him... Rhodes with a
dropkick of his own!

[Trenton gets back up, but Rhodes connects with another dropkick,
causing Trenton to fly back into the turnbuckles.  Rhodes lifts Trenton
up to the top rope and...

WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!

... slaps the daylights out of him.]

GM: Well, you wanted a slap, Bucky, there you go!

BW: It's about time!

GM: Rhodes has Trenton still up on the buckles, we've seen him use a
superplex in this position to finish off opponents before!

[But not this time... Rhodes grabs Trenton and drapes him over his
shoulder, then runs out of the corner with a powerslam! Rhodes opts not
to retain the cover, though...]

GM: Rhodes not going for the cover, he's sizing this young man up... I'm
not quite sure what he has in mind.

BW: Well, whatever it is, it better work, he just wasted a good
opportunity there.

[Trenton stumbles to his feet, as Rhodes sneaks up behind him and
cinches in a sleeper!  With Trenton flailing, Rhodes steps on the back
of Trenton's left knee, then kneels down on his leg, bending Trenton
back and trapping him!]

GM: Sleeper is applied, and what a unique move by Rhodes!  He's got
Trenton trapped!

[Trenton's flailing soon stops, as the referee checks the arms... and
signals for the bell!]

GM: Rhodes got him!  Trenton went to sleep!

BW: That move is dangerous, though!  He just choked a man unconscious!

GM: I doubt that was a choke, the referee would've stopped him from
using it if it was.

[Rhodes releases the hold, as Trenton falls face-first to the mat.]

MC: The referee has ruled that Jamie Trenton is unable to continue...
your winner, by way of referee stoppage... RAPHAEL RHODES!

[Rhodes has a brief discussion with the referee, then walks over to
Trenton, sits him up, and slaps him on the back.]

GM: Rhodes using that... antidote if you will, to the sleeper.  As I'm
sure you know, Bucky, most wrestling rulebooks state that if you use a
sleeper to beat someone you're responsible for starting up that
bloodflow to the brain again.

[Rhodes sees Trenton stirring and lets the referee raise his arm before
leaving the ring.]

BW: Gordon's going to get a word with Rhodes, but let me just say
this... that move is illegal, and I hope Watkins saw that!

[Rhodes strides over to the interview area, where Myers is waiting for
him.]

GM: Mr. Rhodes, congratulations on your victory, and with a unique form
of the sleeper to boot.

RR: Right, well, you people may not be too familiar with the Wigan style
of wrestling, but that's a Wigan style sleeper right there.  Once I get
that leg trapped, there ain't no gettin' out.

GM: I have to ask, you certainly seemed a lot calmer in the ring today,
I don't think anyone expected that handshake.  Are we seeing a new
Raphael Rhodes?

RR: Not a bit, mate.  I know old Trenton up there... he's a good guy, it
was fun wrestlin' him.  Ain't nothin' changed about me.

GM: Well, Mr. Rhodes, I'm sure you're aware of the most recent
happenings here in the AWA.  There's a lot of talk that Juan Vasquez is
the West Memphis Assassin.  You were the last man in the ring with the
Assassin in that battle royal and you traded shots with the man... do
you think that Juan Vasquez is the Assassin?

[Rhodes hesitates for a moment, smiling as he thinks.]

RR: Look, I ain't friends with Vasquez, and I ain't ever goin' to be. 
He was the one that chose to put his hopes at a title shot on the line,
right?  He's the one that had to live with the consequences.  And just
because I fought with the man in WarGames don't mean I like him.  If he
wants to put on a mask, well, it's almost Halloween, right?  He's got
that right.

GM: But do you think he is the West Memphis Assassin, though?  Only one
other man has been able to trade headbutts with you here in the AWA, and
that's Vasquez.  You even tried to rip the mask off.

RR: Heh... I ain't no detective, mate.  I just don't like poofs in
masks.  I will say this much... whoever that Assassin is, he's more of a
man than Stevie Scott and the whole bloody Southern Syndicate, that's
for sure.  Aside from that, to answer your question about is Juan
Vasquez the West Memphis Assassin...

[Rhodes gives a knowing smile to Myers.]

RR: No comment.

[The crowd pops for Rhodes' response, as Rhodes walks away.]

GM:  I think Raphael Rhodes may know more than he's letting on, Bucky.

BW:  Gee, ya think?  It's as obvious to him as it is to everyone else! 
Juan Vasquez is the West Memphis Assassin!

GM:  We may find that out later tonight but for now, let's go back up to
the interview area where Jason Dane is standing by!

[With that, we cut back to the interview platform where we see Violence
Unlimited standing beside Jason Dane. Jackson Haynes is dressed in a
brown, leather duster over his wrestling gear, a tri-cornered beat-up
looking cowboy hat and red Confederate flag-style wrestling tights.
Danny Morton is dressed in a red boxing robe this week with the hood
shading his eyes. He throws punches in the background as Dane begins to
speak.]

JD: Violence Unlimited, tonight you have an opportunity to shoot right
up to the top of the AWA tag team ranks as you take on the Blonde
Bombers! Your thoughts, gentlemen?

[The usually loud and verbose Jackson Haynes just stands there fuming,
shaking his head.]

JH: I feed mah family, Dane... I put food on the table, I travel all the
way 'cross the world to wrassle in Japan to give'em a decent way of
life...

...I'm a good man, ain't I?

[Does Jason really want to answer that question honestly?]

JD: Uhhh................yeah.

JH: Then why does this happen to me?

[Haynes pulls out a cell phone and roughly punches in a few keys with
his index finger. He holds up the phone to the microphone, where we hear
the recorded voice of a young girl.]

"Daddy, please don't hurt the Blonde Bombers! I don't care what you do
to Doyle, but don't hurt Bobby or Johnny! I loooove them!"

[Haynes snaps the phone shut and shakes his head, clearly unamused. The
crowd murmurs with sympathy.]

JH: Can ya' believe that, Danny? Here we are, tryin' to settle things up
with them damn Samoans like _real men_ would...here we are, tryin' to
get ourselves a shot at Rough n' Ready...and now I gotta' listen to this
crap!

DM: Daughters are nothing but trouble, Jack...nothing but trouble. How
old is she now? Nine?

JH: Ten. First that Justin Beaver kid and now this...

[Dane interrupts him.]

JD: I believe it's "Bieber."

[Haynes turns to Dane with an annoyed look on his face.]

JH: I don't give a good damn if his name was Hamilton Graham! I don't
care!

[Haynes whips off his hat and wrings it in his hands.]

JD: Clearly you're conflicted, but the Blonde Bombers are the current #1
contenders and...

JH: "Conflicted"?

"CONFLICTED"???

[Haynes points to himself.]

JH: Jason Dane, does this look like the face of a man that's ever been
"conflicted" about beatin' another man within an inch of his life?

[Dane quickly shakes his head.]

JH: The only thing I'm "conflicted" about is whether to stomp those
pretty boys' faces in with mah boot or knock their teeth down their
throats with mah fists!

[In the background, Morton claps, yelling "That's right!"]

JH[Turning to the camera]: Cassie, honey...I know you're growin' up and
I know you're at that age where you're startin' to notice boys...but ya'
gotta' realize this...as long as your daddy's still livin' and as long
as he's breathin'...

I'll be _damned_ if I let my daughter idolize a poof like Bobby Baldwin!

[There's a shockingly loud pop from the crowd for that proclamation.
With that, Haynes storms off the stage in a huff. This leaves Dane alone
with Morton, who strokes his beard, deep in thought.]

JD: Uh...Danny Morton...your thoughts?

DM: Jason...there comes a time in every little girls' life when she has
to realize her father is willing to cripple and kill each and every boy
she'll ever love. 

[He turns to Dane with a big grin on his face.]

DM: I'm just glad I got nothing but sons!

[Morton lets loose a loud cackle and slaps Dane on the back, before
walking off the stage.]

JD:  Violence Unlimited may have to break some little girls' hearts here
tonight when they meet the Blonde Bombers in tag team action but I don't
think they'll mind that one bit, fans.  But right now, let's go
backstage where my good friend, Mark Stegglet, is standing by!  Marky?

[We cut to a backstage area in the Crockett Coliseum.  The podgy Playboy
himself, Johnny Casanova, is speaking with Mark Stegglet. Actually, its
probably more accurate to say he's speaking AT Mark Stegglet, who
doesn't seem able to get a word in.]

JC: Scotty Mayhem, ya gotta tell the Playboy something. Who is there in
the AWA that ya got some dirty pictures of, cause that's the only reason
I can think of that ya got yourself a match like this!

Not only do ya get in the ring one more time with Johnny C, but ya got
my sweet lil pumpkin banned from ringside! For the first time in years,
ya got me rasslin without my inspiration, my sweetness, the baby doll
who makes my life worth livin'.

[He narrows his eyes.]

JC:  But that's ok, Scotty. Cause ya see, i've felt the madness, I've
felt the mayhem, and I wasn't that impressed. Compared to how ya were in
Florida, ya just ain't got that killer instinct anymore. So when ya get
this rematch with the Playboy, ya can huff and puff all ya like, but
it's gonna be Johnny C who blows your house down.

And when you've been beaten once again, when ya get tossed aside, then
ya get to sit back and watch as Johnny Casanova marches on to the
Longhorn Title. Cause it's been too long since the Playboy had a belt,
and if you'll pardon the pun, this is a golden opportunity to put that
right!

[And with that, we cut back to the ring where Melissa Cannon is
standing.]

MC: The following contest is scheduled for one fall!  Introducing first,
already in the ring, from Portland, Maine... weighing two-hundred
twenty-one pounds... CHRIS CHOISNET!

[The young man in the ring, wearing white trunks with blue-and-pink
highlights, raises his hands to the crowd.  He has short brown hair, a
very light mustache and goatee, and is in decent shape.  He's shedding a
white ring jacket with a blue collegiate letter M on the front.  His
white boots have "CC" etched on the side in blue.  Light blue kneepads
complete his attire.  Choisnet hops up and down on the balls of his feet
 as he salutes the crowd with a raised index finger.]

BW: Oh, I remember Shwanay.

GM: Young Chris Choisnet has appeared on this program before; he's an 
excellent amateur-style wrestler out of the University Of Maine.

BW: Amateur wrestling?  Good luck with THAT tonight, kid!

[The loud opening vocal segment of "Saz O Avaz Mahdor" by Mohammed Reza
Shajarian sends the fans into a loud rain of boos.  The Arabic musical
style is not well appreciated here in Dallas... nor is the man entering
the arena, waving an enormous Iranian flag.]

MC:  And his opponent... coming down the aisle, accompanied by his
manager, Count Adrian Bathwaite... from Shiraz, Iran... weighing two
hundred and fifty-nine pounds... SULTAN AZAM SHARIF!

[The reddish-brown bisht, white kaffiyeh, and black agal of the Sultan
would cause him to stand out like a sore thumb even if he were entering
through the crowd... up on the elevated ramp, he is a highly visible
figure.  Almost as visible is the Count; Adrian Bathwaite wears a light
violet dress shirt that reflects light as if it were made of chrome...
even before the silvery sequins that spell out his last name on the back
of the shirt.  It makes his plain brown pants and dress shoes look out
of place.

The Eurasian manager with the Hong Kong eyes and the London teeth
waggles his walking stick at the fans, who have started up the chant
already:]

"U! S! A!   U! S! A!   U! S! A!   U! S! A!   U! S! A!   U! S! A!"

BW: Another zerathetic crowd!

GM: You mean 'xenophobic'?

BW: I knew you'd agree with me.

[The Sultan stops about ten feet from the ring, and plugs his ears.  He
turns and begins chastising the fans, trying to placate them into
stopping the chant.  They chant louder.]

GM: These chants of 'USA' really getting under the skin of Sultan Azam
Sharif, who just last week helped Vladimir Velikov perpetrate a vile
Pearl Harbor job on Kolya Sudakov.  Velikov's own flesh-and-blood!  He
locked that Camel Clutch on Kolya, and even the former National Champion
could not escape it!

BW: Kolya should have accepted the Sultan's challenge instead of
treating him like a punk.  He got what he deserved for disrespecting the
man.  That's how they teach humility in Iran, Adrian tells me.  

GM: I don't want to know what Adrian tells you.

BW: They break their backs and f...

GM: SUDAKOV!

BW: ...inish them off... hey!

[The fans stop chanting and start cheering as the burly form of the
"Russian War Machine" dashes down the elevated rampway like a missile! 
Count Bathwaite sees him coming, and implores the Sultan to turn
around... but when the chanting stops and cheering starts, poor Sharif
assumes that the fans have finally come around, so he is nodding at them
and giving a thumbs up of approval.

By the time he realizes that something is horribly wrong, Bathwaite has
bailed out.  Sudakov rushes past Sharif, into the ring ropes, and
rebounds back like a locomotive!]

BW: NOOO!

GM: __THE SICKLE__!  SUDAKOV JUST DESTROYED SHARIF WITH THE RUSSIAN
SICKLE ON THE RAMPWAY!

[With such a head of steam, the Sickle is even more powerful than
normal, sending the Iranian head-over-heels, bouncing off the ramp, and
down onto the concrete walkway to the side of the ramp.  The fans
explode into cheers!  Sudakov immediately falls to a knee, wincing as he
clutches his heavily bandaged shoulder.]

BW: WHAT A SICKLE!  Sudakov might have broken Sharif's neck!

GM: Sharif might have broken Sudakov's neck on our last show, so fair is
fair!  Kolya's looking pretty banged up with that tape on the shoulder
though.  That Sickle took a lot out of him as well.

[Sudakov, still kneeling on the ramp, gestures for the house mic which
is handed over to him.]

KS:  Now... now we're even, Sharif.

[Big cheer from the crowd!]

KS:  But to someone like you... I know "even" is never enough.  You will
come back.  You will attack Kolya again.  You will put that Camel Clutch
on Kolya again and try to hurt Kolya.

[Sudakov nods.]

KS:  And when I get Uncle Vladimir in the ring, you will be there too. 
I know this.

So, I will... how you say... beat you to the punch...

[Sudakov stands up, still grabbing his injured shoulder.]

KS:  We settle this like men.  I challenge you to a match, Sharif.  Two
weeks from now, I challenge you to one-on-one like men.  Kolya is ready.
 Kolya is waiting.

The Sickle comes for you.

[Sudakov spikes the mic down on the ramp, walking back up the elevated
platform to big cheers from the crowd as we fade to black.

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

JD:  You know, Mark... the AWA Access iPhone app has been so popular
over the past year, I hear we're making a sequel!

MS:  Jason, that kind of news is so hot, it should be on the app!

[The two men laugh very awkwardly as a giant iPhone appears.]

JD:  Hello, Mr. iPhone.

[The iPhone speaks.  Yes.  Yes it does.]

iPhone:  Hello, Jason Dane.  Did you know that former AWA National
Champion Kolya Sudakov was a former Mixed Martial Artist?

JD:  Well, actually I did.

iPhone:  Mark Stegglet, did you know that Calisto Dufresne was the first
and only champion in Pro Wrestling Revolution?

MS(in his best Johnny Carson impression):  I did not know that!

[Thankfully, a voiceover starts.]

VO:  Starting today, you can download AWA Access Version 2.0!  This new
app contains a brand new TRIVIA mode where you can get all the details
on your favorite AWA superstars!  Plus, be the first to see our brand
new BEFORE THE AWA section where you can find matches from the best of
the AWA - before they were AWA!

AWA Access Version 2.0 - coming to an iPhone near you!

[Fade back to black...

...and the back up to live action where we see Gordon and Bucky standing
at ringside.]

GM: Fans, we are back, and we just saw the former National Champion,
Kolya Sudakov, get some payback on one of the men who conspired to-

[The diminutive but infuriated form of Count Adrian Bathwaite interrupts
Gordon by jabbing him in the ribs with his cane, and taking his mic
away.]

CAB: Shut your hole, you needle-necked serf!  

[Booooo!]

CAB: What you just saw was an outrage!  An unwarranted attack on an
honorable man!  Sultan Azam Sharif was not conspiring with anyone!  When
Velikov attacked from the crowd two weeks ago, we were as surprised as
the rest... but the Sultan's honor had been sullied, and he could not
just walk away from a man who had, for all intents and purposes, spit in
his face.  Honor is a lost concept here in the West, so I don't expect
you dirt  farmers to understand.  But honor... the honor of an Arab, a
man who still understands the cultural values of honor, tradition, and
the superiority of the betters over the lessers... honor can never be
affronted without a price!

Sudakov, you just made the mistake of your life, you filth-ridden swine!
 The Sultan was appeased; he was willing to let it go, even though in
his country they would not rest until your skin was hanging from the
city gates for disrespecting a Pahlavn-e Keshvar!  But no.  You're a
commoner, Sudakov, and you don't seem to understand that.  No matter how
many athletic accomplishments you have, no matter how big and tough you
think you are... you've risen as high as a man of your low birth can. 
You don't have the imperial bloodline of your uncle!

GM: Imperial bl... ow!

CAB: What did I tell you about interrupting me?!  Sudakov, you managed
to share just enough genes with the Velikov line to be a good fighter,
good enough that even the Sultan paid you respect.  You have no idea how
significant that was, you halfwit turd!  He's such a humble man that he
STILL pays you respect, but I simply refuse to let you run around like
your name carries any weight in this world.

Soak it all in, Kolya Sudakov.  You just ended your own career.  The
Iranian people stop at NOTHING... NOTHING to avenge their honor.  That's
life in the Middle East!  And if you don't believe me, go take a walk in
the-[BLEEEEEEEEEEEP!]

[The loud bleep covers up the words of Count Bathwaite but judging by
the reaction of Gordon Myers and the fans inside the Crockett Coliseum,
we can assume that Bathwaite said something quite offensive.]

GM: HOW DARE YOU-

CAB: What, tell the truth, no matter who doesn't like it?  This
moth-eaten remnant of a nation has no backbone!  Too afraid to OFFEND
someone with the truth!  You needn't worry; the Sultan himself disdains
_that_ kind of violence, Myers.  He is an honorable man, remember, and
his honor demands that he take care of this dirt farmer face-to-face,
with his own two hands.  And he'll do it the old-fashioned way:
viciously.

[Bathwaite walks away, and is showered with trash as he leaves.]

GM: I can't believe he said that!

BW: He didn't say he LIKED it, Gordo.  He said that was how it was.  I
don't LIKE it, but that's how it is.  Sharif and his people are like
that -   Mess with them and they'll end you.  That's all he was getting
at.  

GM: But to reference...

BW: You said 'Pearl Harbor job' when Sharif was comin' out here.  End of
discussion... next match.

GM: That's probably for the best.  Sultan Azam Sharif and Kolya Sudakov
will look to settle this in the ring on the next Saturday Night
Wrestling; that would be a Main Event anywhere in the world!  But for
now, let's go up to the ring for more top flight action!

[We cut up to the ring where two young men are standing...

...but not for long as the Moonshiners mow them down with running
forearms, knocking them down to the mat as Melissa Cannon gets the heck
out of the ring and the bell sounds.]

GM:  Well, there's no time for introductions it appears as the
Moonshiners are taking it right to young Steven Sandberg and Walt
Sawyer.

[A mess of hard boots to the ribs by Jug sends Sandberg rolling out to
the floor as Zeke pulls Sawyer off the mat by the hair.]

GM:  Zeke bullies Sawyer back to the corner...

[A hooking right hand to the ribs leaves Sawyer gasping for air.  Zeke
vacates the premises as Jug races in, driving a knee up into the
midsection as well.  A clubbing forearm to the back of the neck knocks
Sawyer flat as the referee orders one of the men out of the ring.]

GM:  The referee is trying to get control of this but the 'Shiners just
don't care.

BW:  To them, it's like five o'clock after workin' down at the rock
quarry, daddy!  They hit the local bar, throw back a few... dozen... and
then lay into the next pretty boy who hits the joint!  SOOOOOOEY!

[Out on the floor, Mange is laying the boots into Sandberg without
mercy, kicking him over and over in the ribs.  Back in the ring, Zeke
drags Sawyer up by the hair, hoisting him up and viciously slamming him
down to the mat.]

GM:  Thunderous bodyslam by Zeke and-

[The crowd groans as Jug leaps up, dropping a heavy leg across the chest
of Sawyer.  He rolls into a cover as the referee drops down to count.]

GM:  We've got one!  We've got two!  We've got-

[A snarling Jug pulls Sawyer off the mat by the hair, shaking his head
at the jeering crowd.  Getting to his feet with a handful of hair, Jug
HURLS Sawyer over the ropes to the floor!]

GM:  Ohh!  Down to the floor goes Walt Sawyer and-

[Mange promptly picks him up by the hair, slapping him across the face. 
The camera zooms in as Mange berates him.]

"Ya think my boys are skeered of your silly little muscles?"

[He slaps him again before shoving him away as Zeke leaps off the apron,
dropping a forearm into the skull.]

GM:  Ohhh!  Down goes Sawyer again and this is out of control, Bucky.

BW:  Of course it's out of control!  The Moonshiners are involved!

[Sawyer soon gets dragged up by the hair again, grabbed by the arm, and
HURLS into the side of the wooden platform by Zeke!]

GM:  Good grief!

[A cackling Mange shoves a battered Sandberg back under the ropes where
Jug drops an elbow to the back of the neck.  He drags Sandberg up...

...and promptly sinks his teeth into his forehead!]

GM:  He's biting him!  He's biting Steven Sandberg!

[The sharp teeth push Sandberg back to the corner where Jug hurls him to
the opposite corner.  With a howl, he charges across...

...and catches both feet from Sandberg squarely in the jaw!  Big cheer!]

GM:  Oh yeah!  Come on, kid!

[Sandberg hops up on the second rope, hurling himself off in a dropkick
that knocks Jug down to the mat to another big cheer!]

GM:  Sandberg smells upset!  He's going up again!

[Hopping up on the middle rope once more, Sandberg pumps a fist before
leaping off towards a standing but stunned Jug...

...who snatches him out of the sky, holding him across his chest in a
bodyslam position...]

GM:  Oh no... this can't be good news for- OHHHH!

[The crowd groans as Jug drops him down across his knee in a
backbreaker.  Zeke seizes the moment to climb back in, measuring the
trapped Sandberg who is still bent back across the knee...

...and drops a big running leaping elbowdrop across the throat!]

GM:  Good grief!  That'll take a man's head off, Bucky!

[With Sandberg down, Jug applies the lateral press and this time keeps
it on as we count one... two... and three.]


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


[Jug promptly gets up, dragging Sandberg up...

...and HURLS him over the ropes to the floor to the jeers of the crowd!]

GM:  The Moonshiners are your winners, fans, and we'll be right back
with more AWA Saturday Night Wrestling!

[We fade to black...

...and back up to a shot of the original SuperClash logo.  A voiceover
begins.]

"It was a night that few can forget."

[We can hear announcer cries like...

"ROUGH HOUSING!  ONE!!!  TWO!!!  THREEEEEEEE!!!!"

"What a night for the Matsui Corporation!  They stole the spotlight and
now they've beaten the mighty Tumaffi!"

"FIREBALL!  FIREBALL!"]

"Stars were made.  Careers were shortened.  Lives were altered forever."

[We can hear the "moment of truth" for Raphael Rhodes...

"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"]

"But in the end, there was only one conclusion...

SuperClash... IS... wrestling."

[One more soundbite.

"HE DID IT!  HE DID IT!  STEVIE BEAT ALL THE ODDS!"]

"On Thanksgiving night, show the world of wrestling what you're thankful
for."

[And a final graphic comes up...

SuperClash 2.  Thanksgiving Night.

We fade back to live action down to ringside.]

GM:  SuperClash 2 - it is coming in just about six weeks time, Bucky.

BW:  And last time out, we tossed Los Angeles off the list.  This week,
we dumped Greensboro and Atlanta too!

GM:  And then there were two, fans... where will SuperClash 2 take
place?  Will it be right here in Dallas, Texas?!

[BIG CHEER!]

GM:  Or will the AWA enter new territory by heading into St. Louis,
Missouri?

[The crowd, expectedly, jeers.]

GM:  We'll find out next time here on Saturday Night Wrestling but
joining us right now, fans, are the men who you just saw battle their
way to victory inside the ring.  Jug and Zeke, the Moonshiners, along
with their manager Mange... gentlemen, congratulations on your
victory...

[Mange looks at Gordon with disdain.]

Mange:  Victory?  Ain't no victory I never heard of.  It was more like
three o'clock down at the slaughterhouse when they 'rustle up all them
little piggies, shove 'em into the chute, and start bustin' skulls.

Only problem is - we ain't get no... what's that kid's name?

GM:  Steven Sandberg.

[Mange lets loose a wicked grin.]

Mange:  Yeah, lil' Stevie Sandberg.  We din't get no lil' Stevie
Sandberg ground up into sausage to eat tonight.  

[Gordon's face turns green at the suggestion.]

GM:  Gentlemen, you have been at odds with the War Pigs since your
arrival in the AWA and-

[Mange interrupts.]

Mange:  Speaking of pigs... how 'bout those two?  They look like good
eatin', boys?

[Judging by the trail of drool coming from Jug's mouth, I'd imagine they
do.]

Mange:  I ain't so sure myself.  All painted up and muscly.  They just
might be too much to get down our gullets.  But that Lee... that scrawny
lil' twig, Lee?  He might be just the kind of snack my boys have in
mind, ya hear?

[Gordon nods.]

Mange:  They call 'emselves the War Pigs.  

[He snorts - something flies out - ewww.]

Mange:  Them boys don't know the first thing about war.  In war, you
don't get yourselves all painted up with makeup and fancies before you
get into a fight.  In war, you don't go pump yourselves until your
muscles are all big and shiny.  

In my kind of war... in our kind of war... you find the nastiest,
meanest, dirtiest fighter you can find... you stick 'em in a trench...
and you let 'em poke the other guys eyes out, eat 'em, and then stab 'em
in the heart while they can't see nothin'!

That's our kind of war, you prissy lil' Pigs.

[Gordon nods.]

GM:  But what about Richard E. Lee... you seem to have your troubles
with him too...

[Mange nods.]

Mange:  He ain't no trouble to no one.  But he's a bug.  An annoyin'
lil' bug buzzin' 'round our ears and ain't none of us gonna be happy
until we...

[Mange smashes his palms together.]

Mange:  ...squash 'im like one.  So, I don't reckon I know when... I
don't reckon I know where... but at some time and some place, it ain't
gonna be Jug and Zeke alone in there.

I'm gonna be in there with 'em.

And on the other side?  Those prissy lil' Pigs and that scrawny lil'
bug.

[Mange cackles.]

Mange:  And that?  That's gonna be good eatin'.  Come on, boys.

[The Moonshiners make their exit behind their leader as a
disgusted-looking Gordon Myers shakes his head.]

GM:  What is wrong with some of the people around here?  Fans, before we
move on any further, WKIK has asked that we apologize - that we, on
behalf of the AWA and WKIK, apologize for the words of Adrian Bathwaite.
 He does not speak on behalf of either company and we, like all of you,
are most disgusted at what he had to say earlier tonight.

BW:  Speak for yourself.

GM:  Quiet, Bucky.  And now, let's go up to the interview platform where
Mark Stegglet is standing by - Mark?

[We fade back to the interview platform where Mark Stegglet is in the
spotlight.]

MS:  Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome my guest at this time, Wade
Kennedy!

["Country Boy" blasts through the Coliseum as Wade Kennedy trots out
dressed for action in red trunks, red knee pads, red and white ‘cowboy
style’ boots and a red bandana around his left wrist. The young Texan
looks focused as he just a gives a small salute to the cheering crowed
before joining Stegglet on the interview platform. Wade puts his hands
on his hips and lowers head, tilting his head towards the smaller
Stegglet so he can hear what Mark has to say.]

MS: Thanks for joining me at this time, Wade.  And in just a short
while, you have a HUGE roadblock in front of you to make your dream come
true of becoming the first ever Longhorn Heritage Champion.

[Wade looks up and nods his head in agreement. There are no big smiles.
Just a stern focused look on the usual upbeat Texan.]

WK: You know Mark, being in this tournament truly is an honor to me.  My
mind raced through the list of people I may have to face and I would be
lying if I didn’t admit when I saw Adrian Freeman on the other side of
the board, I felt butterflies and a tinge of excitement knotted in my
stomach.

I know Adrian Freeman isn’t a nice man. I know Adrian Freeman has caused
a whole lotta pain for a whole lot of people around here Mark, but the
bottom line is Adrian does it [shrugs] because he can.

[The fans are mixed now. Wade nods in understanding.]

WK: I know that’s not what you wanted to hear, but facts are facts. I
haven’t been in this business very long, Mark.  But I’ve been around
long enough to know that playing stupid can get you hurt pretty fast. If
I didn’t acknowledge Adrian Freeman as a true threat to not only break
my arm, leg or even my neck [pauses] but heck, he could win the whole
tournament and I acknowledge all that.

[Wade dead pans at the camera]

WK: But Adrian Freeman better acknowledge that he is climbing into the
ring with an undefeated wrestler himself. Hopefully Adrian Freeman
[holds up an index finger] for his sake, isn’t looking past the young
Texan, Wade Kennedy [firing up] because I can tell you right now that
Adrian Freeman will be looking up at the lights wondering what in the
heck just happened!

[The crowd cheers as Wade nods his head at the crowd. He pumps a fist,
enjoying their support as he continues on. He glares intensely at the
camera once again, pointing a finger as he does so.]

WK: Just like you Adrian Freeman, I didn’t get into this tournament just
to lose. I didn’t work my you know what off to get to this point, just
to lie down and get pinned because your name is Adrian Freeman and your
part of the Southern Syndicate.

[shakes head]

WK:  I came to this tournament ready to win! I came to show all of my
hometown fans...

[CROWD POP!]

WK:  ...what Wade Kennedy can do and I don’t plan on letting them down. 


[turns to Mark Stegglet]

WK: Is there a chance he could break my arm?

[Wade nods, answering his own question]

WK: Yep. Could he break my neck?

[answers his own question again.]

WK: Absolutely, but that is the risk I’m willing to take. My daddy
always told me, "Son, you never get what you want handed to ya. You have
to go out and get it."  So tonight I’m going to do just that. When I go
out and get a big win over Adrian Freeman on my way to becoming the
first ever Longhorn Heritage Champion.

[smacks Mark on the shoulder]

WK:  And I tell you what else, Mark. If ya bet on Adrian Freeman…

[points at the camera]

WK:  Ya bet wrong!

[Wade Kennedy nods his head at the cheering crowd again and claps
himself as he walks off stage and starts heading down the aisle towards
the ring as Melissa Cannon begins to speak.]

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit and is a first round match in the tournament to crown the
first Longhorn Heritage Champion!

[Big cheer!]

MC:  Introducing first, on his way down the aisle... from Corpus
Christi, Texas... weighing in at 245 pounds...

WAAAAAAADE KENNEDYYYYY!

[Kennedy is slapping hands the whole way down the aisle before reaching
the ring where he steps through the ropes quickly, throwing an arm into
the air to more cheers as his music is replaced by "Try Honesty" and the
AWA faithful begins raining down boos.  "Subzero" Adrian Freeman emerges
from behind the curtains, wearing his wrestling gear and a cocky grin. 
He stops to argue with a young fan in the front row before heading to
the interview zone, where Mark Stegglet awaits him.]

MS: I'm here with Southern Syndicate member "Subzero" Adrian Freeman. 
Adrian, in just a few seconds you're going to be facing off with Wade
Kennedy in the opening round of the Longhorn Heritage Title tournament.

AF: To be honest, this is a bit strange for me... I'm not used to having
to lower myself to rescue nobodies like this Wally guy.

MS: It's Wade.

AF: Whatever.  I mean, it would really make more sense for the AWA head
office to give me a couple byes, but I guess they have to pretend these
other guys have a shot.  Listen up, Mark, and Nate or whatever your name
is.  The Southern Syndicate wins titles.  Getting the gold is what each
one of us was built for, and you can't deny your nature.  It's as easy
as breathing is for a normal person, or lying is for Juan Vasquez, or
disappointing everyone is for Raphael Rhodes.  Quite simply, it's my
function in life to collect as many shiny gold belts as I can, and the
Longhorn Heritage Title is going to be easy prey.  Expect to see Calisto
and I with a belt each over our shoulders again.

[The crowd jeers as Wade Kennedy paces back and forth across the ring.]

AF:  Look, Dave, I feel for you, I really do.  You've spent your whole
life watching wrestling on the tube, starting in your PJs on Saturday
morning before your parents got up, training amateur wrestling, lifting
weights, putting your body through hell... all for this one opportunity.
 And then, when you finally get that chance to show the world what
you're really made of... you run into me, and you realize what a huge
gap there is between you and what you want to be.  And afterwards, if
you can still walk, maybe this will be a lesson to you.  Maybe this
match will inspire you to someday cross that void.  But today?  I'm
simply the superior wrestler, and there's nothing you can do about it.

MS: Right... you talked about being a member of the Southern Syndicate,
but recently there have been some issues within that group... your
thoughts?

AF: Issues?  There are no issues, no divisions, no weak links.  Everyone
wants the Southern Syndicate to fail, so they spend all day staring at
us, looking for any trace of a ghost of a crack.  Right now we're
improving, not splitting apart.  Of course the wrestling equivalent of
tabloid reporters will go on about how we're about to break up at any
moment, but that is simply not going to happen.

MS: So let me get this straight... you're saying that there are no
problems iwhtin the Southern Syndicate?

AF: Congratulations, you can comprehend English.

MS: Well, that's certainly not the impression I've been getting
recently.

AF: Stegglet?  Do us all a favour and leave the thinking to the big
boys.  You're a glorified microphone stand, now start acting like it.

[Mark Stegglet seems taken aback.  Freeman just marches past him, down
to the ring.]

MC:  And his opponent... from Australia... he represents the Southern
Syndicate... weighing in tonight at 190 pounds...

"SUBZERO" AAAAAADRIAN FREEEEEEEMAN!

[Freeman steps through the ropes, an arrogant sneer on his face as he
looks up at his opponent - a man who outweights him by over fifty pounds
and towers a half foot taller.]

GM:  Adrian Freeman may not know Wade Kennedy's name right now, Bucky,
but I'm guessing he will soon enough.

BW:  Why?  Because the kid's bigger?  He's got a few pounds on him, so
what?

GM:  A fifty pound plus weight advantage.  Nearly seven inches in
height.

BW:  Adrian Freeman is outsized in every match he's in, Gordo.  This
one's no different and this kid?  Well, he's in for far more than he's
even bargained for.

GM:  The winner of this match will move on to the second round where
they will face the winner of Brent Maverick and either Johnny Casanova
or Scott Mayhem depending on how things go later tonight for the latter
two.

BW:  Freeman versus Casanova?  That'd be a Main Event anywhere in the
country, daddy!

GM:  You'd like to see that, I'm sure.

[The bell sounds and Kennedy is quickly out of the corner, moving to his
side as Freeman tries to mimic the movement, making sure Kennedy doesn't
get behind him...

...and then shoots forward, grabbing a leg on Kennedy.]

BW:  There you go, Gordo.  Right into a single leg takedown.

GM:  He hasn't taken him down yet.

[And soon, the crowd is elated as Kennedy rains down forearm smashes to
the middle of Freeman's back, causing him to bail out of the takedown
attemtpt, rolling back to the corner.  Kennedy marches back to mid-ring,
fist balled up and ready to go.]

BW:  Look at that - this punk kid is gonna throw a clenched fist, Gordo!

GM:  He may - he just might not have a choice with the way Freeman
cheats in there.

BW:  Freeman's done nothing wrong in this match!

GM:  Yet.

[Freeman slowly edges to his feet in the corner, ordering the ref to
make Kennedy unclench his fists to which the fan favorite obliges with a
nod, waiting for Freeman to come out of the buckles.]

GM:  Freeman's staying close to those ropes - keeping an eye on the
young lion out there...

[Freeman suddenly rushes forward again, this time ducking down, spinning
behind Kennedy into a rear waistlock.  He puts a foot in front of
Kennedy's, pushing forward to take the kid chestfirst down to the mat.]

GM:  Nice tripup there by Freeman...

[With Kennedy down, Freeman pops up and attempts an elbowdrop to the
back of the neck...

...but the Texan rolls aside, causing Freeman to smash into the mat to a
big cheer from the crowd!]

GM:  He missed!  He missed the elbowdrop!

[The crowd cheers as Freeman rolls out to the floor, clutching his arm. 
Kennedy pops up, pointing at Freeman and waving him back into the ring.]

GM:  Kennedy wants Freeman back in the ring!

BW:  Wait a second!  Hold on!  Adrian needs to regroup.

GM:  And conspicuous by his absence out there perhaps is the Agent To
The Stars, Ben Waterson.  Shouldn't he be out there to help his charge
advance to the second round?

BW:  Maybe, maybe.  But Ben's a busy man, Gordo.  He's got a mask to
take and an AWA career to end tonight.

[Freeman walks slowly around the ring, glaring back up in at Kennedy who
is standing in the middle of the ring in a fighter pose.]

GM:  Look at Wade Kennedy - staying in there, just waiting to keep this
fight going...

BW:  Freeman's taking his time.  Catching his breath, gathering his
thoughts.

[The Australian grabs the middle rope, pulling himself up on the apron
before stepping back in...

...where Kennedy charges him, grabbing him by the arm and slinging him
across the ring.]

GM:  Whip by Kennedy...

[A backhand chop attempt is ducked by Freeman who drops into a short
slide to stop his momentum.  As he gets back up, he goes into another
rear waistlock.  Another trip takes Kennedy down to the mat...]

GM:  Another takedown by Freeman and-

[The Australian fakes another elbowdrop attempt, pulling up though and
delivering a hard kick to the ribs of the youngster.]

GM:  Ohh!

BW:  Brilliant!  Absolutely brilliant!  That's why he's the man to beat
in this tournament by my estimation, Gordo.  I think he's got Longhorn
Heritage Champion written all over him.

GM:  It was a sound strategy for sure and now Wade Kennedy is hurting
from that one.

[A second kick to the ribs knocks him over towards the ropes.  Grabbing
the top rope, Freeman steps up on the middle rope, leaping off and
driving a knee down into the ribcage!]

GM:  He drops a knee to the body!

[A pair of hard stomps to the ribs sends Kennedy rolling under the
ropes, dropping down to a knee on the floor.]

GM:  The Texan is out to the floor... and Adrian Freeman's going after
him, Bucky!

BW:  Of course he is.  He's like a shark out there - a REAL shark - not
a tiger shark like Broussard.  He smells blood in the water and he's
moving in for the kill, daddy!

[Out on the floor, Freeman grabs the left wrist of Kennedy, stretching
out the arm to expose the torso...

...and delivers a hard kick to the ribs again, knocking Kennedy down to
the thinly-padded floor.]

GM:  Come on, ref!  Get them back in the ring!

BW:  The ref's doing his job at this point - he's counting which is
exactly what he should be doing, Gordo.

[Freeman drags Kennedy off the floor by the arm...

...and WHIPS him spinefirst into the steel barricade!]

GM:  OHHH!  

BW:  I think he caught his ribs on the steel, Gordo!  It looked like his
back hit the steel but I think his ribs hit it first!  The injured ribs
into the steel railing!

[With Kennedy's arms slung over the railing, Freeman delivers kick after
kick after kick into the exposed midsection before Kennedy slumps down
on all fours on the floor.]

GM:  Goodness - a brutal assault on the body by Freeman right there...

[And the Australian rolls under the ropes before rolling right back out,
an effective way to break the count.]

GM:  Freeman breaks the count there - staying in this thing...

BW:  I'm surprised he didn't stay in and let Kennedy get counted out,
Gordo.  That may be a lapse in mental judgment right there.

GM:  The kind of thing that Ben Waterson being at ringside might have
avoided!

BW:  You could be right on that one.

[Freeman hauls Kennedy up off the floor by the arm again, turning him
sideways...

...and SHOVING him ribsfirst into the ring apron!]

GM:  OHHH!  His injured ribs get DRIVEN into the hardest spot of the
ring!

[Balling up his fist, Freeman hooks a loose side headlock and smashes
the face of Kennedy a few times before letting him fall down in a heap
on the floor.  Freeman smirks as he rolls back in, ordering the ref to
continue the count.]

GM:  There you go, Bucky... he's going for that countout win now...

BW:  In a match like this, it doesn't matter how you win as long as you
win.

GM:  The count was already going so it's up to five... now to six...
Wade Kennedy is on his knees on the floor at ringside...

[The cheering crowd grows louder, trying to inspire him back to his
feet.  At seven, Kennedy uses the bottom rope to pull himself to a
standing base...

...and at eight, he tugs it to sling himself under the ropes to break
the count.]

GM:  Kennedy's in at eight and the match continues!

[Freeman promptly drives a boot into the ribs again, stopping Kennedy
before he can to his feet...

...and then drops down to the mat, wrapping his legs around the torso of
Kennedy in a bodyscissors.]

BW:  And this is the kind of thing that Adrian Freeman does better than
almost anyone else, Gordo.  A painful, grinding hold, putting pressure
on the body of Kennedy and forcing him to struggle against it.  This may
not get a submission but when you talk about a wear-down hold, there are
few better at putting one on than Adrian Freeman, daddy!

GM:  Freeman's got the legs wrapped around the waist, putting on the
pressure.  The ref is asking for a submission but Kennedy shakes him
off.

BW:  Like I said, Gordo, he may not get a submission but it'll be a
tough hold - a wearing hold - to fight out of.

[Kennedy grabs the left leg of Freeman, trying to pull it away from the
right...

...but Freeman simply reaches forward from behind Kennedy and smashes
him with a forearm across the ear, stopping the escape attempt.]

BW:  A forearm to the ear!  I love it!  Do you know how much that hurts,
Gordo?

GM:  A lot?

BW:  A lot!  Let me show you!

GM:  No thanks.

[Kennedy again bears down, trying to force the legs apart...

...and takes another hooking forearm to the ear!]

GM:  Goodness.  A crossface-like blow to the ear by Freeman again to
keep that bodyscissor on his opponent.


"FIVE MINUTES HAVE GONE BY!  FIVE MINUTES!"


GM:  We've reached the halfway point in the time limit for this one and
by my estimation, Adrian Freeman needs to pick things up a notch, Bucky.

BW:  It looks like he agrees with you, Gordo.

[Breaking the hold on his own, Freeman scampers up to his feet.  He
measures the downed Kennedy before leaping up, driving a stomp down on
the ribcage.  The referee shouts at him but Freeman ignores him, hauling
Kennedy up by the wrist.]

GM:  Both men back to their feet now... whip by Freeman...

[And as Kennedy rebounds back, Freeman slips the knee in, sending
Kennedy flipping over the leg and down hard to the mat.]

GM:  Nice knee to the midsection by Freeman!  Kennedy hit the mat hard
off that one!

[Another boot to the ribs connects before Freeman applies a lateral
press.]

GM:  Cover for one!  For two!  And that's all as Kennedy kicks out at
two.

[Grabbing Kennedy by the hair, Freeman snaps off a pair of right hands
to the temple before shoving him back down to the mat.  He flips him to
his stomach, applying a knee firmly into the back.]

GM:  What's he going for here?

[He hooks a hand under Kennedy's chin, grabbing the leg with his other
arm, and drops back, applying a modified bow and arrow hold.]

GM:  Look at the pressure applied there!

BW:  Lots of pressure points there - obviously the back is being bent
but don't forget the leg, the neck, and even the ribs.  The ribs are
getting pushed out against the body as he bends him backwards against
the grain.  

GM:  Kennedy cries out in pain as Freeman pulls hard...

[Freeman shouts "Ask him, ref!"]

GM:  Kennedy refuses to give in.  

BW:  That's his mistake, Gordo.  He should quit and quit now.

[Freeman pulls harder, screaming "ASK HIM!"]

GM:  He turns up the torque - but still no submission...

[An angry Freeman breaks the hold, kicking Kennedy again and again in
the lower back, an attack that rolls the young man to his chest.]

GM:  Another kick to the ribs... and another...

BW:  A simple method of attack but very effective, Gordo.

GM:  It certainly is.

[Measuring his downed opponent, Freeman snaps off a driving elbow to the
back of the neck before rolling him into a cover.]

GM:  Cover for one!  For two!  But that's all again.  Wade Kennedy
refuses to stay down in this battle to move on to the second round of
this tournament.  This match is so important for both of these men -
Kennedy is just getting started here in the AWA but a win over Adrian
Freeman would go a long way in getting him going.  Adrian Freeman has
always been kind of the guy in the shadows for the Southern Syndicate -
effective but not in the spotlight.  If he wins the title, you know
that'll change quickly.

[Freeman hauls Kennedy off the mat by the hair, grabbing his wrist and
flinging him towards the ropes.]

GM:  Irish whip...

[The hurting Kennedy rebounds off the ropes as Freeman raises his knee
once more...

...but Kennedy LEAPS over the raised leg, hooking it as he goes past,
and pulls him down into a cradle!]

GM:  WHAT A COUNTER!  WHAT A COUNTER!  HE GETS ONE!!  TWO!!  THR- 

[The crowd groans as Freeman fires a shoulder out, kicking out just in
time...

...and then levels a rising Kennedy with a boot to the ribs, knocking
him down to a knee on the mat.]

GM:  And Freeman cuts him off!  Kennedy was fighting back, he got that
cradle, but Freeman kicks out and then makes him pay for it.


"SEVEN MINUTES HAVE EXPIRED!  THREE MINUTES REMAIN!"


GM:  We're down to three minutes to go in this one!  Remember, if it's a
draw, there'll be a second round bye!

BW:  And you know "Playboy" Johnny C is gonna LOVE that!

GM:  He's not even IN the tournament yet!

BW:  Patience, Gordo.

[An angry Freeman bashes Kennedy with an overhead elbow across the back
of the skull.  He grabs the young lion by the hair, pulling his head
back...

...and catching a right hand in the gut!  Big cheer!]

GM:  Kennedy's fighting back!

[Freeman recovers from the blow, rearing back with both arms overhead...

...and catching another haymaker to the midsection!]

GM:  Kennedy gets him again!

[The crowd roars as Kennedy throws another right hand!  And another! 
All blows backing down the Southern Syndicate's "ice man."  The young
lion regains his feet, throwing a big right hand that knocks Freeman
down to the mat to a huge cheer!]

GM:  Kennedy's got a second wind!  Wade Kennedy is trying to make a
comeback here tonight in Dallas, Texas!

[Wincing as he moves, Kennedy pulls Freeman up to his feet by the hair. 
A big right hands knocks Freeman back into the corner where Kennedy
takes the midbuckle, holding up a clenched fist.]

GM:  Right hand!  Right hand!  Right hand!


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


[Kennedy hops down off the ropes, clutching his ribs as Freeman hangs
onto the top rope to avoid slumping down to the mat.  Grabbing the
wrist, Kennedy flings him across the ring.]

GM:  Irish whip to the corner... 

[Freeman hits the corner hard, bouncing out as he staggers across the
ring...

...and gets HURLED up and over with a ring-shaking backdrop!]

GM:  OHHHH!  BIG BACKDROP BY WADE KENNEDY!!


"TWO MINUTES REMAIN!  TWO MINUTES!"


[The crowd begins buzzing with anticipating as Kennedy picks up the
pace, knowing he's got one hundred and twenty seconds to win the match
and move on to the second round.]

GM:  Kennedy's measuring him... waiting... waiting...

[And as Freeman stumbles up, he gets floored with a big dropkick on the
chin from the six foot six Texan!]

GM:  Down goes Freeman off the dropkick - a diving cover by Kennedy!

[The crowd counts along with the official, desperate for the upset.]

"ONE!"


"TWO!"


"THR- OHHHHH!"


GM:  Freeman fires a shoulder up!  So close, Bucky!

BW:  Too close.

[A disappointed Kennedy pushes up off the mat, shaking his head as he
climbs to his feet.  He reaches down, pulling Freeman up by the hair...

...and catching a short right hand in the ribs!]

GM:  Ohh!  Freeman caught him on the way up!

[Grabbing the back of Kennedy's head, Freeman throws two Muay Thai style
knee strikes to the ribcage...

...and then drags him down in a small package!]

GM:  Cradle for one!  For two!  For thr-  

[The crowd roars as Kennedy kicks out of the cradle attempt just in
time.]

GM:  We're just over a minute away from the time limit!

[A desperate Freeman grabs Kennedy by the back of the head, driving in
right hand after right hand after right hand.  The referee steps in,
forcing him back.]

GM:  Come on, ref!

BW:  He broke up the attack!  What more do you want?

GM:  Freeman moving back in though and-

[Kennedy suddenly lunges forward, grabbing Freeman by the back of the
legs.  He pulls hard, yanking them out from under the Australian,
putting him back on the mat.  Still holding the legs, Kennedy kicks into
the air, flipping over him in a double leg cradle.]

GM:  DOUBLE LEG CRADLE FOR ONE!!  FOR TWO!!  FOR THRE- OHHHH!


"ONE MINUTE!  SIXTY SECONDS REMAIN!!"


GM:  Sixty seconds to go!

[Kennedy quickly scrambles back to his feet, pulling a surprised Freeman
up.  Grabbing the arm, Kennedy attempts an Irish whip but Freeman blocks
it with a knee to the ribs.]

GM:  Ohh!  Freeman cuts him off!

[Grabbing the arm of Kennedy, Freeman hurls him across the ring where
the agile young man leaps up to the middle rope, blindly leaping off
with a twist and wiping out Freeman with a cross body!]

GM:  CROSS BODY OFF THE SECOND - NO!

[Freeman uses the momentum to roll through it into his own lateral
press.]

BW:  HE'S GOT HIM, GORDO!!

[The ref drops down to count - one... two... and thre- almost three
before that shoulder fires off the mat again!]

GM:  HE'S OUT AT TWO!!  KENNEDY'S OUT AT TWO!!

BW:  THAT WAS A SLOW COUNT!!


"THIRTY SECONDS!"


GM:  Down to thirty seconds!  What can either of these men do to pull
off the win here?  What is left for them to do?

[Freeman drags Kennedy off the mat, delivering a kick to knock him back
into the ropes.  With Kennedy pinned against the ropes, Freeman throws
two big knees to the body.  He tugs him off the ropes into a half
nelson, barely getting him into the air before dumping him ribsfirst
across a bent knee!]

GM:  OHH!  HALF NELSON BACKBREAKER!!

[Popping back up to his feet with the half nelson still on, Freeman
throws knee - knee - knee - knee - knee into the exposed ribcage.]


"TEN SECONDS!"


[Spinning out of the half nelson, Kennedy throws a boot to the body of
his own, quickly dashing to the ropes...

...and on the rebound, he takes flight, smashing his arm firmly across
the chest of a stunned Adrian Freeman!]

GM:  LARIAT!  LARIAT!  LARIAT!!

[Crawling across the ring, Kennedy HURLS his injured body across
Freeman's chest as the referee dives to the mat.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREE-

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

GM:  -EEEEEEEEEEE!

[Kennedy rolls off, arms held high in the air as the referee immediately
rolls to the floor.]

BW:  I don't think he got him, Gordo.

GM:  He did!  The ref's hand came down three times before the bell
sounded!  He's out there conversing with the timekeeper right now and...
well, we're all about to find out together.

[The conversation with the referee and the timekeeper continues for a
bit before the ref breaks away with a nod to talk to Melissa who listens
and then raises the mic.]

MC:  Ladies and gentlemen... after conversing with the timekeeper, the
referee has made his official decision...

[Dramatic pause.]

MC:  Your winner... moving on in the tournament...

WAAAAAAAAADE KENNNNNNEDYYYYYY!

[The crowd EXPLODES at the announcement of Kennedy as the winner.  The
exhausted and hurting young man falls into the nearest corner, soaking
up the cheers of the crowd as the referee rolls back in, raising his arm
in victory.  An irate Freeman rolls from the ring, staggering back up
the aisle towards the locker room as the young man continues to
celebrate.]

GM:  Adrian Freeman is hot under the collar but Wade Kennedy - this
young man has scored a major upset - and he's moving on in the
tournament!  He's heading to the second round of the tournament!  What a
victory for Wade Kennedy!

BW:  This punk kid better enjoy this while he can, Gordo, because his
ribs are all busted up thanks to Adrian and there's no chance he
survives the second round!

GM:  Time will tell, I suppose, but for this night, Wade Kennedy is
moving on in the Longhorn Heritage Title Tournament!  Fans, we've got to
take a quick break but we'll be right back with our second hour of AWA
Saturday Night Wrestling action so don't you dare go away!

[Our camera shot holds on a celebrating Wade Kennedy with the crowd
cheering as we fade to black.

...and then back up on a shot of the AWA National Title belt.  The
super-excited voice of Mark Stegglet is heard over it.]

"You've seen it on Saturday Night Wrestling!"

[A shot of Marcus Broussard with the belt over his shoulder.]

"You've seen it on AWA supercards like Memorial Day Mayhem and The Last
Stampede!"

[A shot of Ron Houston wearing the belt in a promo picture.]

"You've seen the best the AWA has to offer wearing it!"

[Now a shot of Kolya Sudakov in a fighting pose with the belt hanging
over his shoulder.]

"And now, it can be yours!"

[A shot of Stevie Scott holding the belt high in the air fades into a
shot of a young fan doing the same.]

"Available NOW on AWAShop.com, get the official replica of the AWA
National Title belt that only the best and brightest of the AWA
superstars have held!"

[A closeup of the AWA National Title slowly fades to black...

A whispering voice...]

"Rough and Ready."

[A lone candle, an angular face, pointed nose, seen in shadows.  The
mouth moves with the words.]

"Sounds like fun to me."

[A chuckle.]

"My name is Jonah Keller."

[Light starts dimly to enter the scene, a receding hairline is
noticeable as the camera stays on the face of Jonah "Ice" Keller.]

KELLER:  I like the contact of the ring.  Like to feel the power of
another man.  Like to feel that power shudder and weaken under my own.

[Keller shrugs.]

KELLER:  Mostly, I like the money it makes me.  And AWA tag team
division, you're standing in the way of me and a paycheck.

[The lights go full, but slowly.  Sitting in the background is Nick
Demola, in his wrestling gear.]

DEMOLA:  The honorable tag team champions came out last week and said
that all they saw were a bunch of young punks out there.

[A chuckle.]

DEMOLA:  Funny thing is, that's exactly what I was seeing speaking into
the camera.

[Keller is sitting upright on a barstool as Demola walks up to him
slowly while he speaks.]

DEMOLA:  I haven't been young in quite some time, haven't been a punk in
less time than that.

[Demola glares into the camera.]

DEMOLA:  But what I have been is winning titles, winning tournaments,
winning everything I've had put in front of me.  After all that glory,
He has sent me into the spoiled nation... the AWA.

[He slaps Keller on the back.]

DEMOLA:  And this is the new chapter.  Jonah "Ice" Keller, my prize
student, and I are here to achieve our God-given right to glory and
splendor on the biggest stage in the game.

[A smirk.]

DEMOLA:  A stage where I've always belonged.

[Keller interrupts.]

KELLER:  Just watch your backs.  Because we're coming.  And as the Holy
Book says, you know not the day nor the time...

[Keller smirks.]

KELLER:  ... but we do.

[The two men walk off screen as we fade back to live action where the
announcers are standing at ringside.]

GM:  Welcome back to the second hour of action here at AWA Saturday
Night Wrestling and... well, the Outcasts are coming, Bucky.

BW:  More newcomers talking big.  These guys are calling out the
National Tag Team Champions already?  I'm not the biggest fan of Cooper
and Somers but I think we can all agree, they're two of the toughest
SOBs walkin' the planet.  Keller and Demola better tread carefully when
they step into the Crockett Coliseum, Gordo.

GM:  You'd better believe it.  The AWA's tag team division remains the
hottest in wrestling with the champs, the Blonde Bombers, the Samoans,
the Rockstars, Violence Unlimited, the War Pigs, the 'Shiners plus now,
the Outcasts?

BW:  And you just never know who else will show up from week to week,
daddy.

GM:  Amen to that.  Now, we're going to be featuring tag team action
featuring the Blonde Bombers and Violence Unlimited a little later
tonight but I'm being told, right now, we've got the Bombers standing by
with comments.  But I'm not sure where.  Mark?  Jason?  Anyone?

[An uncomfortable moment of confusion.]

GM:  Uhh, well... maybe we'll come back to-

#REACH OUT AND TOUCH FAITH!#

["Personal Jesus" by Depeche Mode forces its way over the PA as the
entire.. damn.. arena turn their attention towards the entrance and
immediately erupt into a chorus of boos.

The curtains part and out steps Da Bombahs, baby! "Hollywood" Larry
Doyle standing in front of his three charges.. pudgy hands on his wide
hips. Adorn in a red tuxedo with a white shirt and bowtie protruding out
from underneath. His feet are in matching gold boots.. except one is
very clearly his trademark loaded cowboy boot. 

Baldwin and the newly minted "Love Machine" Nova stand behind in
matching red sequin robes reading "Bombers" across the back in silver
cursive lettering.. the silver beaming like diamonds about to explode
off the back of their matching attire. Both men ruffle their blonde
locks like the absolute adonis' they are. Glenn stands next to the duo. 

As if on cue (probably because it was), all four men raise their arms in
unison and hold their index fingers high above for the entire arena to
see as they march down to the interview area where they run into Jason
Dane. Doyle bullies his way in and yanks the mic out of Dane's hand
before he can even open his mouth.]

LD: Get outta heeerreee! 

[Dane stares on in shock as the Bombers step forward as if they're going
to swing.. sending Dane scurrying off.  The crowd jeers wildly at Dane's
forced evac.]

LD: Shadduuuppp! "Boo boo.. wah wah.. poor us.. our lives are the
absolute most atrocious and Larry and his boys are absolutely
Bombahstastic! It's just.. not.. fair!".. 

I _literally_ do not have enough middle fingers for you all. 

[More boos reign down upon our perhaps overly confident foursome. Smile
all around from them.]

LD:  We're the number _one_ ranked tag team in the AWA. Numero uno with
a _bullet_, bay-bee. 

[More boos.. to which Doyle's response is to simple flick the back of
his fingers off his chin in a "sod off" gesture.]

LD:  Nobody cares. You people mean so little to us. So so very little.
You couldn't mean less to us even if we put you six feet under with your
two favorite wonderkids, Storm and Morgan. 

[Rockstar pop! To which this foursome pays no attention.]

LD:  We've heard a lot of talk lately. A llooottttttt of talk! And if
there's one thing _we_ hate it's to hear some loudmouths in the back
running their flaps without any rhyme or reason. Some idiot "big shot"
who thinks he knows a thing or two about this business.. jawing his gums
like an _idiot_. I mean, AMIRIGHT, boys?!

[Baldwin and Love Machine Nova confidently nod as Crusher remains there
with his arms folded neatly over his sleeveless leather vest.]

LD:  These imbeciles in the back.. these Bombah _wannabes_ and
_posers_.. keep whispering about how the Bombers seem to have had a lot
of help lately. Blabbering on and on about how Da Bombahs wouldn't have
left the Bayou with the W if it weren't for the Masked Menace. 

[Doyle blankly stares out at the arena.]

LD:  Har-de-flippin'-_HAR_!

Da Bombahs need noooooo man, woman, or child to save their behinds.
We're the cream of the crop, bay-bee.. and that's the _reason_ we're the
number one contenders to those belts. 

That's the reason they'll be over these..

[Doyle turns and pats the shoulders of Nova and Baldwin.]

LD:  .. shoulders in a lickety split. 

Cause nobody can stop us, bay-bee!

[More boos!]

LD:  As for the Menace.. listen.. we appreciate The Masked Menace
proving beyond a shadow of a doubt that he's a bastion of integrity and
perhaps the only man around here we'd consider up to snuff with the
Bombers. I'd even go so far as to declare him an honorary member of
Bomberville.. should the day ever arrive where we'll be honoring the
"friends of Bombers" instead of the Bombers themselves.

But let's call a spade a spade.. we were winning that one no matter
_what_ happened. 

[Yeah right, boos!]

LD:  _Nobody_ can beat us. 

We are llittterralllyyy _unbeatable_. 

Come to think of it.. nobody _has_ beaten us. 

And that trend continues later on tonight. 

[Doyle turns towards the camera.. pointing his sausage index finger into
it.]

LD:  Hammer.. Sabre.. Richard E. Lee.. later tonight.. you're going to
find out _exactly_ why my boys are the next AWA National Tag Team
Champions!

[The Love Machine interjects.]

LMV: Larry.. we aren't fighting the War Pigs.. we're fighting Violence
Unlimited.

[A fake lightning bolt strikes as Doyle mockingly slaps his hand off his
head.]

LD: Thank _you_, Mr. Nova. I do believe I'm mistaken! I always get those
talentless hacks mixed up. My apologies to the War Pigs for excitin' and
delightin' them simply by shoving some relevancy in their careerless
direction.. having me speak the names is probably the highlight of their
_month_.

[Doyle frowns mockingly.]

LD:  Unfortunately it's for naught. 

WELL THEN.. 

[Aside.]

LD:  What's their names again?

[This time Baldwin chimes in.]

BB: Haynes and Morton.. Violence Unlimited.

LD: Thank you, "Beautiful". 

*AHEM*

WELL THEN.. Haynes and Morton.. _you_ are about to find out why _my
boys_ are the number one team in the world..

[Doyle smirks.]

LD:  .. and why we can't even pick you two nobodies out of a lineup. 

Come on, boys! Bombers business time!

#REACH OUT AND TOUCH FAITH#

[Doyle and Da Bombahs head back to the entrance ramp and start walking
down towards the ring.]

GM:  Wait a second - it looks like... yes, they're coming to the ring! 
Are we going to have this tag team match right NOW?!  While the Blonde
Bombers make their way to the ring, let's go backstage where Mark
Stegglet has caught up with Louis Matsui and his giant!

[Cut to Mark Stegglet standing by with a dark-suited Louis Matsui and
MAMMOTH Mizusawa, dressed to compete in a black singlet, knee pads and
boots. The bespectacled Matsui is smirking characteristically.]

MS: Louis Matsui, as far as I know, MAMMOTH Mizusawa has not been
scheduled for a match tonight.

LM: Markus Steggosaurus, I said it last week, I'll say it again. A giant
still roams the hallways of the Crockett Coliseum and he'll go anywhere
he damn well pleases. But if you must know, Ham-and-Stegger, I've got a
couple of things to get off my chest. See, I pride myself for being a
fairly bright young man, but I have to admit, man, I have no idea what
the hell is going on with the National title chase.

[Louis Matsui looks to Stegglet as if waiting for answers, but he knows
Stegglet probably knows about as much as he does, if not less.]

LM: First, we've got Juan Vasquez and Marcus Broussard declaring a race
to the National title, when last I checked Broussard was nowhere near
title contention and Vasquez has no business challenging for the title,
not while Stevie Scott's the champ. Then, we have the West Memphis
Assassin's antics; is he Juan Vasquez? Is he someone else? I don't care
either way; and if Ben Waterson and the Hotshot can't deal with him, my
client will be glad to rip the Assassin's head clean off his
shoulders...

[Matsui smirks at the idea of that.]

LM: Not because I owe Ben one, but simply because the West Memphis
Assassin is another name standing in my client's path to National Title
contendership. And, finally, we have Raphael Rhodes looking for revenge
on the Southern Syndicate and calling my client a Syndicate goon. Well,
Rhodes, you want payback? At seven feet tall, three hundred pounds,
MAMMOTH Mizusawa is not hard to find. Anytime, anywhere, Rhodes; I know
you're not a man to shrink back from a fight.  And, maybe, to show you
that my client is more than just a hired gun for the Southern Syndicate,
how about we take the fight to you instead?

[Stegglet nods, intrigued by that idea.]

LM: What I am saying, gentlemen, is that it doesn't matter whether
you're first, second, or third in line for the National title,
eliminating any of you guys brings my client closer to the prize. My
question is, which one of you will be next to join the list of men that
have fallen victim to MAMMOTH Mizusawa?

[With that question hanging in the air, Louis Matsui leads his client
off camera as we fade back to the ring where the Bombers have arrived
and Melissa Cannon is ready to go.]

MC:  The following tag team contest is scheduled for one fall with a
fifteen minute time limit.  Introducing first... already in the ring at
this time... they are accompanied to the ring by their bodyguard Crusher
Glenn and their manager Larry Doyle...

"BEAUTIFUL" BOBBY BALDWIN!

"LOVE MACHINE" NOVA!

THE BLONNNNNNDE BOMMMMBERRRRS!

[The Bombers happily exchange a high five to the jeers of the crowd. 
The sounds of Motley Crue's "Shout At The Devil" starts up to a HUGE
cheer from the AWA faithful!]

MC:  And their opponents... heading down the aisle...

[And yes, they are... rather rapidly at that.]

MC:  "THE HAMMER" JACKSON HAYNES!

DANNY MORTON!

VIOLENCE UNNNNNLIMITED!

[The crowd roars as Morton and Haynes hit the ring with a flurry, going
right after Baldwin and Nova as Glenn and Doyle get the heck out of
town.  The referee frantically calls for the bell to start the match as
both Bombers end up in opposite corners, getting hammered by the
Violence Unlimited members.]

GM:  Haynes is working over Nova - look at those right hands!

[Across the ring, Morton's doing the same thing to Baldwin.]

GM:  And Morton's teeing off on Bobby Baldwin!

[Switching his stance, Morton lights up the chest of Baldwin with a
knife edge chop.  He grabs the wrist as Haynes does the same across the
ring, hurling the two Bombers to the middle where they collide and fall
flat to the mat.]

GM:  Oh yeah!  Down goes the Bombers!

[A frantic "Hollywood" Larry Doyle is screaming at his men from out on
the floor.  Morton pulls a dazed Baldwin off the mat by the hair,
promptly hoisting him up...

...and pressing him high overhead!]

GM:  Look at the power!  Sheer strength on display by Danny Morton!

[The crowd roars as Morton lowers him down so Baldwin's stomach touches
the top of Morton's head...

...and presses him back up.]

GM:  Unbelievable power being shown here by Morton... and he just flings
him down to the mat!

[Haynes drags Nova up by the hair, uncorking a right hand that sends
Nova falling back to the ropes.  He grabs Nova by the arm, whipping him
across the ring...]

GM:  Love Machine Nova off the ropes and-

[Haynes simply sidesteps, grabbing Nova by the back of the head and
HURLING him over the ropes out onto the entrance ramp!]

GM:  OHHH!  Over the ropes and down onto that wooden ramp!

[Not wasting a moment, Haynes steps out on the ramp, pursuing Nova who
is backpedaling away, begging for mercy.]

GM:  The Hammer's in hot pursuit of Nova out on the ramp... but it looks
like Love Machine Nova's got a case of the limber tail, Bucky.  He wants
no part of Jackson Haynes.

BW:  Can you blame him?  Haynes admits he's gonna break his kid's heart
and beat up the Bombers!  What kind of father does that?

GM:  Would you stop?

[Out on the ramp, Nova lunges forward to stick a thumb in the eye of
Haynes, momentarily blinding the big brawler.  With Haynes staggered,
Nova hooks him around the waist, powering him up...

...and DROPPING him down on the back of the head and neck on the ramp!]

GM:  OHHHHHHHHH!

BW:  That'll take that big animal out of the match for a while!  And
now's the chance for the Bombers to take control of this thing!

[Nova steps back through the ropes, approaching the blind side of Danny
Morton who is jamming shoulders into the midsection of a cornered Bobby
Baldwin...

...and buries a knee up into the kidneys of Morton, cutting off his
attack.]

GM:  Ohh - he breaks up the assault on Morton and-

[Grabbing the hair of Morton, Nova pulls his head back until the back of
the neck rests against the Love Machine's shoulder...

...and then DROPS down to his rear, snapping Morton's neck against the
shoulder!]

GM:  Ohh - reverse neckbreaker by Love Machine Nova!

[Outside the ring, we catch a shot of a grinning Larry Doyle, gesturing
to the ring as he yells at a fan.]


"Look at my boys!  They're the next champs, jack!"


[We cut back inside the ring where a dazed Baldwin hops up to the middle
rope.  Nova holds the official back, giving Baldwin room to leap off his
perch with a picture perfect elbowdrop to the chest!]

GM:  Ohh!  Big elbow off the middle rope - nicely done by Bobby Baldwin,
the high flyer of this squad.  Baldwin applies a cover here and... look
at this, the referee won't count!

BW:  Why not?

GM:  He's telling Nova to get out of there - he's getting this down to
one on one inside the ring before he starts this thing.

[An angry Nova steps out to the apron, gesturing at the pin attempt but
Morton's out before the pin count even starts.  Baldwin pulls Morton up
by the arm, burying a boot into the midsection as he hauls him across
the ring and slaps the hand of his partner.]

GM:  Both of the Bombers are in now - you gotta get one of 'em out, ref.

BW:  They've got a five count, Gordo.

GM:  Double whip now - ohh... two boots to the midsection there on
Morton.

[Baldwin kneels down on the mat as Nova steps in behind him.  He hooks
Baldwin around the waist, hoisting him up for a belly to back, a move
that causes Baldwin's knee to smack the doubled up Morton in the jaw,
snapping him back to the mat...

...and then Nova swings Baldwin back down into a sitout inverted
powerbomb, crashing Baldwin down across the chest of Morton!]

GM:  Good grief!

BW:  How do you even describe that?!

GM:  I pity someone who has to even try.

[Baldwin rolls off the downed Morton, allowing his partner to apply a
lateral press as he steps back out on the apron.  The referee drops
down, making a two count before Morton powers out.]

GM:  Big kickout at two by Morton.  He just threw Nova right off of him.

[Love Machine Nova gets to his feet, kicking Morton in the side of the
face as the big Oklahoman gets up, sending him falling back to the
ropes.  Nova promptly hooks a side headlock, turning away from the
official, and burying a right hand into the face of Morton!]

GM:  Larry Doyle liked that one.  They're breaking the rules - just the
way you and him both like it, Bucky.

BW:  Hey, I'm not pro-rulebreaking... unless you have to do it to win.

[Nova drags Morton up by the arm again, firing him off across the ring. 
On the rebound, he catches Morton in the gut with a boot.  Reaching
down, he grabs the doubled up Morton around the head and neck, and SNAPS
him back, driving the back of the skull into the canvas.]

GM:  OHHHH!

BW:  Love Machine Nova is showing Rough N Ready that they're totally
ready for a shot at the gold, Gordo.

GM:  And look at Nova strut around the ring.

[The crowd jeers as Nova does a little twist and shout in the direction
of the female fans in the front row.  There's a bit of a squeal from
them but boos from everyone else.  In the Violence Unlimited corner,
Jackson Haynes smacks his arm into the top turnbuckle shouting, "COME
ON, DANNY!" to his partner.]

GM:  The Hammer wants back in there, Bucky.

BW:  And if the Bombers are smart, they'll keep him out there.  They've
got Morton down and hurting.  Now they have to go for the killshot.

[Almost on cue, Nova slaps the hand of Bobby Baldwin, turning back to
pull Morton up, hooking him around the waist.]

GM:  He gets him up and-

[With Morton up for a belly to back, Baldwin hooks him around the neck,
and both Bombers crash down to the canvas, driving him down with a
neckbreaker in addition to the suplex.]

GM:  Ohh my!  What a double team move right there and- we've got a cover
for one!  For two!  For-

[But again, Morton powers out of the pin attempt to the cheers of the
crowd and his partner in the corner.]

GM:  Morton's out at two and- oh, come on, ref!

[The crowd jeers as Baldwin hooks his hands around the throat of Morton,
strangling the air out of him.  At the count of four, he breaks, slowly
getting up...

...and spits square in the face of Jackson Haynes!]

GM:  THAT DOES IT!!  HERE COMES THE HAMMER!!

[Haynes bolts through the ropes, charging Baldwin...

...but getting cut off by the referee.  The fans jeer as Baldwin
gestures to Nova.  The Blonde Bombers work in tandem once more as they
fire Morton across the ring, each hoisting him into the air by a leg,
and DRIVING him facefirst to the mat with a flapjack!]

GM:  Flapjack!  Facefirst to the canvas and-

[Haynes tosses the official aside, diving at the legs of Baldwin.  The
crowd roars as Love Machine Nova is quickly into the fray, stomping and
kicking the tangled-up Haynes.]

GM:  Come on, referee!  Get some control in there!

BW:  He HAD control until that maniac Haynes came in there!  Who could
control a nutball like that?  He belongs in Happy Valley where Monosso
came from!

[A well-placed kick to the ribs of Haynes by Nova causes Haynes to fall
to the side, rolled out of the ring by the official to the ramp as the
Bombers pull Morton up again.]

GM:  And here comes another doubleteam!

[Nova hooks a front facelock on Morton, hoisting him up for a suplex and
hanging him out to dry over the top rope!]

GM:  Goodness!

[We quickly cut to the floor where Doyle is shouting at a red-faced
vocal fan.]

"LOOK AT MY BOYS!!  THEY'RE SMOOTHER THAN THE SILK SHEETS YO' MAMA
BOUGHT FOR US LAST-"

[The fan is screaming loudly at Doyle, interrupting his distasteful
comment as Crusher Glenn steps in, pointing a menacing finger in the
fan's direction.  Inside the ring, Bobby Baldwin has hopped up on the
middle rope as Nova hooks a front facelock, hauling Morton back over the
ropes so that his feet are draped over the top rope...

...when suddenly Jackson Haynes bursts back into the ring, charging
across!]

GM:  HAYNES!  HAYNES!!

[A HUUUUUGE right hand on the middle rope-standing Baldwin sends him
tumbling over the ropes and down to the floor.  A second haymaker
catches Nova on the jaw, knocking him flat to as Haynes quickly gets to
his corner, shouting to his partner.]

GM:  Haynes needs the tag!  He's shouting to Morton to get over there
and make the tag and-

BW:  Look at this idiot at ringside!

[The red-faced fan continues to let Doyle have it...

...and then HURLS a beer right in the face of Crusher Glenn!  The crowd
"OOOOOHs" in response as Glenn stands stoic, beer dripping down his
face.]

GM:  Did that guy just-

BW:  Sign his own death warrant?  Yep!

[Suddenly, Glenn goes after him, stepping over the railing and pursuing
the now-fleeing fan up the aisle...

...when suddenly a big cheer goes up!]

GM:  HAYNES MAKES THE TAG!!

[Haynes dashes in, drilling the rising Nova with a right hand.  Spinning
around, he grabs the top rope, slingshotting a recovering Baldwin back
into the ring as well!]

GM:  Haynes has got both of the Bombers in the ring!

[Haynes circles back to the middle of the ring, going wild as he batters
his fists into his own chest.  He hauls Nova up to his feet, flinging
him into the ropes.  As Nova rebounds back, Haynes grabs him around the
waist, hoisting him up over his shoulder...

...and VIOLENTLY whips him back down to the canvas for a thunderous
standing spinebuster!]

GM:  OHHHH MY STARS!

[Haynes throws his arms apart with a roar as he spins around, grabbing a
recovering Baldwin by the arm and hauling him back to his feet.  An
overhead elbowsmash knocks Baldwin back into the corner.  A snapping
right jab to the jaw causes Baldwin to fall back, arms slung over the
top rope.  A few more jabs follow before a measured left hand knocks
Baldwin down to a seated position in the corner...

...and then begins hammering him over and over with standing clubbing
forearms to the head and neck!]

GM:  He's all over him, Bucky!

BW:  Why aren't you screaming for the ref to get control now?!

GM:  The ref's shouting - trying to get them under... what's that?

[The crowd begins buzzing and from our camera shot, we can see several
fans craning their necks looking towards the entryway.]

GM:  Look... can we get a camera over there?

[Haynes drags Baldwin back to his feet, hurling him across the ring with
a whip and barreling across, connecting with a big running clothesline!]

GM:  Ohh!  Big clothesline in the corner... but what in the world is
going on back by the entryway?

[Haynes grabs the arm again, executing another whip, and connecting with
another big running clothesline!]

GM:  Two big clotheslines by-

[The camera cuts to the entryway area where Crusher Glenn is down on his
knees, being pummeling by a large man, knocking him into the side of the
entrance stage.

That man is Eric Matthew Somers.

And joining him by grabbing Glenn by the back of the head, SMASHING his
face into the side of the ramp is his co-champion partner, Dave Cooper!]

GM:  Rough N Ready, the National Tag Team Champions, have attacked
Crusher Glenn!  

BW:  Uh oh - Larry's not gonna like this.

GM:  Larry's got no clue!

[He certainly doesn't.  Focused on his team getting beaten around and
round by Jackson Haynes, Larry Doyle has no idea that his bodyguard is
getting destroyed by the National Tag Team Champions.  A quick cut back
to the ring shows Bobby Baldwin being slung over the shoulder of Haynes
who stampedes out of the corner, DRIVING Baldwin into the mat with a
thunderous powerslam!]

GM:  Running powerslam by the Hammer and-

[Haynes applies a lateral press, the referee dropping down to count.]

GM:  He's got one!  He's got two!  He's got th- ohhh!  Nova breaks up
the pin!

[And a rampaging Danny Morton charges in, connecting with a running
clothesline that takes both Morton and Nova over the ropes and down to
the barely-padded concrete floor!]

GM:  MORTON'S OUT!  NOVA'S OUT!

[An angry Haynes gets up, dragging a taped thumb across his throat as he
reaches down to haul Baldwin up to his feet...

...and the crowd buzzing grows louder.  A camera cut shows Cooper and
Somers beating the hell out of Crusher Glenn up on the ramp now.  Cooper
hooks a front facelock on a kneeling Glenn and DRIVES his skull into the
wooden ramp with a DDT!]

GM:  Good grief!  Crusher Glenn is taking a pounding back there and-

[Haynes pulls Baldwin into a standing headscissors, setting up for a
powerbomb...

...when Larry Doyle leaps up on the apron, screaming at Haynes.]

GM:  Doyle's on the apron!  Get him down from there, ref!

[The referee moves to do exactly that, shouting at the manager to get
down.  Haynes shoves Baldwin aside, moving to do the same..]

GM:  Haynes is coming after Doyle too!

[Suddenly, Haynes reaches over the ropes, grabbing Doyle around the
throat!  HUGE CHEER!]

GM:  HE'S GOT HIM!  HE'S GOT HIM!!

[The referee tangled up between the two men is trying to force them
apart...

...and completely misses Doyle kicking his cowboy boot which was
conveniently off his foot and sitting on the apron under the ropes to a
kneeling Bobby Baldwin.]

GM:  The boot!  Baldwin's got the boot and-

[The Bomber rears waaaaaaaaaay back with it and CREAMS Jackson Haynes in
the back of the head, knocking him flat.  Baldwin hurls the boot to the
floor, applying a press as Doyle wildly points it out to the official as
he drops down to the floor.]

GM:  No!  No!  Not like this!  That's one!  That's two!  And can you
believe it, there's the three!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


MC:  Here are your winners... THE BLONNNNNDE BOMMMMBERS!

[Larry Doyle jumps up and down on the floor, celebrating the win before
rolling into the ring to embrace his staggered charge.  After a moment
or two, a dazed Love Machine Nova joins them, joining the group hug. 
Doyle raises both men's hands, slowly turning...

...and casting their gaze up the aisle where Rough N Ready are standing
over a motionless Crusher Glenn.  A shocked Doyle points an accusing
finger down the ramp.]

GM:  The Bombers have beaten Violence Unlimited here in Dallas but...
look at their bodyguard, Bucky!  Crusher Glenn's been laid out by the
National Tag Team Champions!

[Cooper and Somers stare down the aisle, Somers with a twisted grin on
his face.  Cooper nods at Doyle and as the camera zooms in, we hear his
comments.]

"You want a shot at SuperClash?"

[Cooper glares and then points to the downed Glenn.]

"There's our answer."

[And he slowly turns around, walking away.  His partner does the same
but not before delivering one more kick to the ribs of the downed
Crusher Glenn.]

GM:  The champs... I think they've accepted the challenge!

BW:  The Blonde Bombers and Rough N Ready for the National Tag Team
Titles in just over six weeks?!  Somebody call my mama!

GM:  Fans, we've still got more action to come but we've gotta take a
break!  Don't you dare go away!

[Fade to black.

And then fade back up to a "star field" looking background.  Some crazy
techno music is playing in the background as the AWA logo appears on the
screen.  The voice of Jason Dane is heard.]

"The AWA heads back out on tour for the Road To SuperClash!"

[The graphic changes to one reading:

WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 6
SAN ANTONIO, TEXAS
SAN ANTONIO ROSE PALACE]

"Come out to San Antonio for a very special arena event featuring first
round matchups for the Longhorn Heritage Title tournament!  Vernon Riley
will be there!  Tin Can Rust!  Robert Donovan!"

[The graphic changes again - 

FRIDAY, OCTOBER 8
AUSTIN, TEXAS
LUEDECKE ARENA]

"Friday night in Austin will see the AWA's biggest stars take the stage
with Calisto Dufresne, Stevie Scott, and the rest of the Southern
Syndicate in the house!  Plus, Juan Vasquez will light up Austin as
well!"

[The graphic changes once more - 

SUNDAY, OCTOBER 10
BEAUMONT, TEXAS
FORD ARENA]

"The Ford Arena will be on FIRE on Sunday afternoon for a special AWA
matinee event featuring Marcus Broussard, Eric Preston, and the War
Pigs!"

[The graphic changes back to the AWA logo.]

"Don't miss the AWA - the MAJOR league of professional wrestling - when
it comes to your town!"

[And the music cuts out as we fade to black.

We fade back to the locker room area, where Jason Dane is standing
accompanied by a newcomer to the AWA, "Gentleman" Jack Holland. Holland
is decked out in his black leather jacket and shades, but underneath
that jacket he is bare chested, and he wears his black wrestling tights.
He's smirking slightly, hands planted on his hips.]

JD: Welcome back to AWA Saturday Night Wrestling, fans, and I'm standing
backstage here with one Jack Holland. Jack, you had quite an impressive
debut last time, any thoughts for us?

[Holland's eyebrow lifts and he takes a bit to think before laughing at
an internal joke and touching his jacket.]

JH: Do you know how much this leather jacket cost, Dane-o?

[Dane is caught off guard by the question, blinking rapidly.]

JD: I dunno, uh... $300?

JH: A cool eighty bucks. Bought it two years ago in a little shop in
West Texas. Eighty dollars American. And you know, Dane-o...

[Holland turns, addressing Dane and not the camera.]

JH: It was hangin' up on the wall in that little shop for about a
hundred dollars more.

[Holland chuckles good-naturedly.]

JH: And I walked into that store with two fifty in my pocket. But my
daddy always told me... don't give 'em an inch more than you have to.
And that's how I am, in the ring and out.

[Holland turns his full focus to the camera once again, leaning low so
he can speak into the microphone properly.]

JH: Now you might assume because I opened the door for ya, or 'cause I'm
not roughin' up Dane-o over here, or 'cause I didn't attack ya before
the bell, that I'm some kinda pushover...

[Holland's face darkens suddenly, a thunderstorm out of clear summer
skies.]

JH: But you'd be mistaken.

[The shades come off now and the camera zooms in on his bold green
eyes.]

JH: Look into these eyes, AWA. Do I look like a man to be trifled with?
Do I look like a man who says things he does not mean? A lot of you have
reputations around here, respect you've earned, legacies you've
etched... but as far as I'm concerned, that's all snake oil.

[The camera begins to pull back, showing Jack Holland pointing his thumb
at his own chest.]

JH: Now, Tin Can Rust, I've got you in the first round of the Longhorn
Heritage Tournament. I respect the hell out of what you did for your
friend City Jack. They tell me you're a tough hombre. And I've seen that
you're willing to do whatever it takes to get what you want.

[A good-natured half-smile graces Holland's face.]

JH: You know, at the end of the day, I believe you're a man like me,
Rust. Cut from the same cloth. Willing to do whatever it takes to get
what you want. Brother, we may be a lot alike... but you're lackin' one
thing that I got.

[Holland taps his temple.]

JH: The brains. The calculation. You wanna meet things head-on, Rust,
but I'm gonna come at ya from the side. I'm gonna hit ya from behind.
I'm gonna tie ya up. I'm gonna do anything and everything... but what
you expect me to do. And I ain't gonna be cautious or take it easy just
'cause you got a reputation around these parts. If you're as tough as I
hear tell you are, if you're worth that tough-guy reputation, I'll
gladly shake your hand AFTER I make you sing the Razorwire Blues. But if
I find out you're not... if you're a cheap imitation, a Made in China
knock-off...

[Holland slips the shades back over his eyes and smiles confidently.]

JH: I'll treat ya like I treat everybody else and send ya right back to
the bargain bin.

[Holland slaps Dane hard on the back and exits stage right. Dane blinks,
coughs, clears his throat.]

JD: Uh, that was "Gentleman" Jack Holland, back to you, Gordon!

[And with that, we fade back to ringside where our announce duo is
standing.]

GM:  Thanks for that, Jason.  Jack Holland, who we'll see in action
later tonight, is very focused on that Longhorn Heritage Title and who
can blame him?  It's one of the hottest prizes out there for
professional wrestlers right now.  We've got competitors coming in from
all over the place to go for it, Bucky.

BW:  Guys like Robert Donovan coming out of retirement for a shot at it!

GM:  That's right.  Now, we said earlier tonight that we were going to
take a look at the brackets for that tournament so let's do that right
now.  

[The screen changes to show the aforementioned brackets.]

GM:  Okay... so, as you can see... from top to bottom... The Masked
Menace is at the top of the bracket thanks to his victory over Pugnacio
Supremo two weeks ago.  He's already in the second round where he will
meet the winner of a Violence Unlimited EXPLOSION when Jackson Haynes
and Danny Morton collide.

BW:  And if you want further evidence of just how important this title
is, look no further.  Two tag team partners are going to beat each other
up to take the gold home.

GM:  Right below that, we see Brent Maverick set to take on either
Johnny Casanova or Scott Mayhem - whoever wins tonight.  And the winner
of that one will meet Wade Kennedy who advances with an upset win over
Adrian Freeman earlier tonight.

BW:  I still can't believe that.

GM:  How about this one?  We just heard Jack Holland talk about it. 
He'll meet Tin Can Rust, a former National Tag Team Champion.  And the
winner of that match will take on either Jesse Ewiak or Robert Donovan!

BW:  That's a real dark horse bracket, daddy.  I could see any of those
four doing some damage in this tournament.

GM:  And then look at this one... Vernon Riley, the Working Man, will
meet a member of the Unholy Alliance that will be announced here
tonight.  

BW:  And if he survives that, he's gotta meet either Supernova or
Vladimir Velikov!

GM:  It's an incredible bracket, an incredible tournament, and the
Longhorn Heritage Title is certainly off to a fast start here in the
American Wrestling Alliance, fans.  Let's head up to the ring for more
action!

[Crossfade to the ring where Melissa is standing.]

MC: The next match is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute time
limit. Introducing first, hailing from Ballwin, Missouri and weighing in
two hundred and forty-nine pounds... 

COLVIN MCCOURT!

[McCourt, dressed in an unzipped grey hoodie, black weighted gloves and
black MMA shorts, raises his hands to a smattering of applause. He has
short brown hair and a young looking face. His build is very athletic.]

GM: What can you tell us about this man, Bucky?

BW: From what I know, Gordo, is that McCourt's bounced around from a
mixed martial arts background to boxing and now has now focused on
wrestling. But he never dug his roots anywhere, so I can't say if he's
going to be long for the wrestling ring.

[McCourt puts his in mouthpiece and shadow boxes as Melissa takes to the
center of the ring again for the next introduction.]

MC: And his opponent, weighing in at two hundred and seventeen pounds
and hailing from Los Angeles, California...

JOHNNY SONE!

[The electronic beats of Capsule's "Jumper" fills the Crocket Collusiem
as Johnny Sone steps through the entrance to a decent applause.]

GM: Johnny Sone back in an AWA tonight after impressing many folks with
his performance against Mark Langseth in Atlanta two months ago.

BW: He sure did, Gordo. He lost the match, but he was going up against a
former World Champion. We'll see tonight if he can impress AND walk away
with the win against the tough guy McCourt.

[Sone, looking every bit his young age, has short black hair and a
neatly trimmed chin beard. He's very toned, but not too muscular. He's
dressed in a pair of silver wrestling shorts with green trim and
hiragana form of his family name on the sides.]

GM: I talked with Sone before tonight and you could sense how eager he
is to get going here in AWA. You can tell that a history of wrestling
flows through his veins.

BW: Well, Gordo, history or not, he's got to prove it tonight if he
wants to stay. 

[After slapping some of the fans hands as he passes down the aisle, Sone
steps through the ropes of the ring. He circles the ring for a moment,
passing his competitor, and then stands in the center. He bows his head
for a moment and then looks up, lifting his hands in the air.]

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

GM: Brute force versus a legacy of wrestling is the name of this match!

[McCourt and Sone meet in the center of the ring with Sone stretching
out his hand for a shake. McCourt quickly pats his hand to Sone's and
then put his fists up in a boxer stance. Sone takes a step back and the
two then circle each other, looking for the right angle to attack. Sone
then lunges forward for a lockup, but McCourt sidesteps the rush and
lets his right hand ram into the midsection of the younger wrestler.]

GM: Oh! Right cut to the stomach of Sone doubles over the third
generation wrestler!

BW: You could tell McCourt was waiting for that. Former boxer, those
hands he throws got to hurt, daddy!

[Sone bends over to grab his midsection as McCourt walks over and lays a
hard elbow to the back of Sone's neck. McCourt lays another and another
and another elbow on Sone. With Sone still doubled over, McCourt swiftly
raises his knee up, clocking the Los Angeleno in the face and forcing
him up... right into a another strong elbow drop that crash Sone to the
mat!]

GM: What a brutal combination by McCourt! He covers - one, two, thr- NO!
Sone kicks out right before the third count.

BW: That knee shot to the face probably did all the damage, Gordo. The
elbow to the back of the head down to the mat was just some pained
icing.

[McCourt grabs Sone by the hair - to the admonishment of the ref - and
whips Sone into the turnbuckle hard. The Missourian then plods over to
the corner and starts laying into Sone with lefts and right. Again, the
ref warns McCourt and starts a five count, which is enough for McCourt
to back off and lift his hands.]

GM: Blistering punches by McCourt into the body of Johnny Sone! Like you
said, Bucky - McCourt's a former professional boxer. He knows how to hit
hard and how to be precise with his shots.

BW: Can't ever go static against a guy who can throw a punch, Gordo.
Best thing you can do to a block a haymaker is duck, turn, and attack.

[McCourt drags the pained Sone up and whips him into the far turnbuckle.
McCourt then charges Sone for a shoulder tackle, but the youngster has
enough in him to lift both his legs up and thrust them into the face of
McCourt.]

GM: Sone blocked the charge with that modified dropkick, just in time!

BW: That just shows how new to the ring McCourt is, Gordo - his game's
not throwin' his opponent to the other side and rushing 'em. It's
keeping the fight to the corner. Can't let a guy like Sone have any open
space.

[Sone, still in pain from the punches, takes a moment to bend over and
clutch his midsection as McCourt shakes his head from the kicks. As Sone
approaches McCourt, the former boxer and mixed martial artist tries to
take a swing at the head of the youngster, but Sone ducks and strikes
his palm up into the chin of McCourt.]

BW: Phew, that just hurt looking at that, Gordo. That knocked whatever
brain matter McCourt's still got around his skull.

GM: Indeed, McCourt got tagged in that exchange and he's still
staggering about the ring.

[Sone follows up on the woozy McCourt, leveling another palm strike into
the sternum that causes McCourt to audibly groan in pain. But Sone
doesn't let up, quickly striking with his feet as the fans start to get
behind the youngster: a swift kick to the thigh of McCourt with his
right and then snapping off a kick to the kidney area with his left.]

GM: A series of strikes as McCourt on the ropes!

BW: This guy's kick with those hands and feet, Gordo.

GM: And now Sone's measuring up McCourt -

[Sone rapidly spins, sending out his leg so that heel off his boot
catches the side of McCourt's skull, crashing him to the mat with a
thud.]

GM: OH MY! That spinning hook kick absolutely LEVELED Colvin McCourt! 

BW: That was impressive, Gordo! I think McCourt's knocked out! 

[As Sone tries to follow, the ref moves in first and checks up on
McCourt. He lifts his arm and asks for him to respond, but McCourt's
silent as his arm flops down to the mat. The reft waves his arms and
calls for the bell as he backs up Sone.]

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

MC: Ladies and gentlemen, here is your winner... JOHNNY SONE!

[Sone pumps his arm in the air in elation at the announcement and then
climbs up the turnbuckle. The fans cheer for the win of the youngster as
he continues to celebrate.]

GM: He certainly did knock him out! Johnny Sone with an impressive
knockout here in his return to the AWA ring!

BW: Now that's one way of rebounding from a loss! Let's take a look at
that kick one again...

[Shot cuts to a slow motion replay of the spinning hook kick hitting the
head of Colvin McCourt.]

BW: That spinning still looks fast, even in this replay. I'm tellin'
you, this kid's got some burners to him.

GM: It's obvious that the training he's had from his family shows
through in the ring. He's young, but he's got a great skill set with
him. Let's go over to Mark Stegglet, who's standing by with the
victorious Johnny Sone.

[The replay cuts to the interview platform where Sone stands by with
Stegglet.]

MS: Johnny Sone, that was an impressive first win for you here in the
AWA. How does it feel to be victorious here tonight?

[Sone, sweat dripping from his forehead, smiles.]

JS: Mark, it feels great... Feels... AWESOME! Awesome To be here,
awesome to perform in front of all these fans -

[The fans cheer Sone's mention.]

JS: Mark, there's not much better than you can do as a wrestler than get
that first win!

[Sone pumps his fist again in excitement.]

JS: And I'll give credit to my opponent, Colvin McCourt - he really
brought his game up tonight. But for me, to get my second shot here in
the AWA and to be able to carry on the heritage handed to me by my
grandfather and father, I had to win tonight. I HAD to win it!

MS: You mentioned your past - your legendary grandfather Takashi Sone
and your father, a man many here watching knew as Goku Waru. Did you
have them in your mind as you fought tonight?

[Sone nods, closing his eyes for a moment.]

JS: Gordon, I didn't have them in my mind - I had them right here -

[Sone taps at his chest.]

JS: Their history, their teachings, and everything they passed down to
me will always be in my thoughts... but their spirit will ALWAYS reside
in my heart!

[The fans let out a cheer as Sone nods and taps his chest again.]

JS: And I know that they're up there in heaven, looking down on me
pleased that I'm carrying on the family trade! I know they're pleased
that I'm laying a foundation for a Sone championship in the twenty-first
century!

MS: Well, we'll definitely look forward to seeing more of you in the
future, thank you!

[Stegglet shakes Sone's hand. Sone then walks off, his hands raised in
triumph before making his way to the back, slapping the fans hands on
the way up.] 

MS:  Now THAT'S a feel good story.  Fans, coming up next, my good friend
Jason Dane is on the other side of this ramp for a very special...
well... surprise, I suppose.  Jason?

[Cut to the interview area on the left side of the raised entrance ramp.
There's a big present, about six feet in height and pretty wide. It's
wrapped up in wrapping paper with a big red and white ribbon at the top.

To the left of the present is Jason Dane. He's wearing his usual attire.
To the right of the present is Brian Von Braun. BVB is decked out in a
pair of black jeans, black t-shirt which reads, "Jesus is coming! Look
busy!" on the front. He has his cane with him and a pair of sunglasses
are hanging from the collar of his t-shirt.]

JD: You said two weeks ago you would have a surprise for Ron Houston. 
This is a big present, Brian.

BVB: I told Ron I'd have a present for him. The Rocket City Badboy keeps
his word, Dane.

[BVB tapes the side of the present with his cane.]

BVB: I figured I owed Ron Houston a present. Call it an apology for what
I'm about to do to him.

JD: What is the present, Brian?

BVB: I can't tell you that, Dane. See? Ron Houston needs to put on a
t-shirt and cover up that yellow streak on his back for about five
minutes, so he can come out here and open it up hisself.

[A deep southern drawl leaks in from off camera.]

"This how far ya've fallin', Brian?"

[POP! Stepping into the scene is none other than "The Athens Georgia
Madman" himself. Former National Champion, Ron Houston. Houston's tights
are clenched tight.. his biceps bulging through the plain white t-shirt
that is clenched tightly to his skin. The rest of his attire consists of
a simple pair of jeans and boots. He eyes the massive box up and down
before turning to Von Braun.]

RH: Ah Fade ya too hard in that cage, boy?

[A wry smile from the former champ.]

RH:  Knock somethin' loose?

Cause ah was standin' back there, watchin' ya open yer big mouth 'bout
this here little "present" that yer givin' me fer something that yer
gonna do ta me in the _future_..?

Ya forget what ah did to ya last time I saw ya?

[Houston looks Von Braun straight in the eye.]

RH:  Ah've made a _career_ Fadin' out folks like you. Folks who've come
'round here talkin' a big game without the spine ta back it up.  Talkin'
'bout how they are _gonna_ takin' me out. Talkin' 'bout how they're
_gonna_ be the one ta finish me. But ah'm.. still.. _here_.

[POP!]

RH:  And _you_ ain't gonna be the one ta change that. Hell, when ah'm
done
with ya.. yer only concern is gonna be closin' up yer wounds.

[Houston laughs uncharacteristically.]

RH:  Ya know the funny thing, Brian.. last I checked?

[Houston shrugs.]

RH:  All ya've ever done is slap me cross the face a few tim-

[BVB grabs Dane's hand and pulls the mic away from Houston and towards
himself.]

BVB:  I'm not interested in measurin' up, Ron.  Gloat all ya want.

[Smirk.]

BVB:  I'm glad ya came down here, Ron.  I'm glad ya found some gumshin
to actually come down here and accept my apology for what I'm gonna do
to you.

[He pauses.]

BVB:  I'm sorry, Ron.  By the way, me and the wife caught the remake
of Clash of the Titans.  Did you see it by chance?

[BVB waits for Houston to answer.  Houston seems perplexed by the
question.]

BVB:  My favorite line in the movie, Ron, was...

[The box falls apart as a big man attacks Houston.]

BVB:  RELEASE THE KRAKEN!

[The crowd boos as the giant beast known in professional wrestling
circles simply as Kraken rocks Houston with right hands, staggering the
East Coast Terror towards the edge of the interview stage.  Jason Dane
quickly ducks out of harm's way, making an exit as Von Braun screams
instructions.]

GM: Kraken has returned in the AWA and he's returned in a big way!

BW: What a present, Gordo!

GM:  We haven't seen Kraken in the AWA since he came to try and cash in
the Southern Syndicate's bounty on Juan Vasquez many months ago!

[Houston lunges forward after momentarily being caught off guard,
driving a fist into the face of Kraken who absorbs the punch and
responds with a stiff knee to the gut doubling over the former champ. 
He clasps his hands together and brings them back over his head..
driving a massive double axe handle into the back of Houston's neck..
sending him crashing to the floor. Von Braun watches on in delight as
his "present" puts the boots to Houston.]

GM: Kraken is just laying into Houston with a series of vicious boots. 
What a sick, sick man Von Braun is.. and this man too for that matter!

BW: Don't blame Von Braun for getting one over on Houston.. he can't
help it if he's the brains of this little war.

GM: If he's the brains, what's that make Houston?

BW: The dead meat.

[BVB barks orders for Kraken to pick up Houston. Motioning quickly to
the cane in his left hand. A cane he winds up like a baseball bat as
Kraken slowly yanks the big man from Athens up and locks him in a full
nelson.]

GM: He's gonna hit Houston with that cane!

[BVB swings away..]

BW: An--

"CCCRRRAAAAACCKKKK!"

GM: HOUSTON MOVED!! VON BRAUN HIT KRAKEN WITH THE CANE!

BW: Noooooo!

[Houston swivels around as Kraken stumbles forward and he drives his
fist into his chest quickly to a huge pop.]

GM: PULSEKILLER!

BW: No! No! No! No! No! Get him, Bee Vee Bee!

GM: Look out!

[Von Braun cocks back the cane behind Houston as the Pulsekiller sends
Kraken staggering back. He didn't catch the whole thing though.. so it
doesn't even knock the Kraken to the ground.]

GM: Did Kraken just absorb a Pulsekiller, Bucky?!

BW: We'll get to that later! Houston doesn't see BVB creeping up, I
wanna see this, Gordo!

[Houston, maybe out of instinct, turns and cocks his fist.. stopping Von
Braun dead in his tracks. Having lost his momentum Von Braun slowly
backs away. Kraken following his lead.]

GM:  Ron Houston turned around at the right time, Bucky.

BW:  His guardian angel was looking out for him, daddy.

[BVB points the skull of his cane at Houston, threatening the Athens
Georgia Madman.  Krakan starts to lumber forward again, but BVB puts his
arm out to stop him.  Houston responds with his own threats and gives
the universal "come on" motion.]

GM:  Houston wants a fight, Bucky.

BW:  Not with those two, he don't, Gordon.

GM:  Von Braun and Krakan are headed to the back.  Von Braun's plan
didn't go over all that well tonight, Bucky.  Ron Houston fought off Von
Braun and Krakan.

BW:  I guarantee you that wasn't the plan, Gordon.  Bee Vee Bee was
letting Ron Houston know he's a marked man and that he can get to
Houston anytime he wants.

[We fade from inside the arena where a fuming Ron Houston is standing,
waiting for the fight to come once more to the backstage area where Mark
Stegglet is standing alongside Vladimir Velikov.]

MS:  Fans, this man, as we know, has been entered into the Longhorn
Heritage Title tournament.  Mr. Velikov, that's a big step for you as
you try to regain the favor of the Championship Committee.

[Velikov snorts.]

VV:  I don't care about your Committee, Stegglet.  I care about myself. 
My dignity.  My self-respect.  Your opinion of me matters none.

MS:  Fair enough.  But someone whose opinion you do seem to care a lot
about is Ivan Kostovich, the legendary Russian pro wrestler - really the
first Russian pro wrestler to succeed here in the States.  We have not
seen Mr. Kostovich lately.  Care to comment on that?

VV:  Your interest in Russian business amuses me, Stegglet.  But it is
not of your concern.  Yes, I do care to impress Comrade Kostovich - he
is a hero to any Russian young boy - to any Russian who has ever dreamed
of being a professional wrestler.

Yes, I would like him in my corner when I compete in tournament.

[Stegglet arches an eyebrow.]

MS:  Do you expect that to happen?

VV:  I do not.  Comrade Kostovich has made it clear what he expects of
me and I have failed him... until now.

I will become the Longhorn Heritage Champion.

I will destroy my nephew Kolya.

I will show whole world what TRUE... RUSSIAN... POWER means.

[Stegglet interjects.]

MS:  You mention your nephew, Kolya Sudakov... you helped Sultan Azam
Sharif violently attack the former National Champion two weeks ago...
and now tonight, we have learned that Sudakov and Sharif will meet in
two weeks' time on Saturday Night Wrestling!  Your thoughts on that?

VV:  Comrade Sharif is a fine competitor.  I respect his skill.  Comrade
Bathwaite is a man of... how you say... like mind thoughts.  I welcome
the chance to work with them.

MS:  Will you be at ringside for that match in two weeks?

[Velikov snorts.]

VV:  I will not.  In fact, I wish my nephew good luck against Sharif.

[Stegglet looks shocked.]

MS:  Really?

VV:  Yes.  Because I want him to have NO excuses when I finish him
myself.

[And with that, Velikov strides out of the scene, leaving Stegglet
alone.]

MS:  A family feud is developing here in the AWA but before we can see
Velikov vs Sudakov, we've gotta see if Sudakov can get past the Sultan! 
And now, I've got a second guest joining me right now... the Chairman of
the Championship Committee, "Big" Jim Watkins!

[Watkins steps in, a big grin on his face.]

MS:  Mr. Watkins, you look pretty happy here tonight.

JW:  I am pretty happy, Mark.  I'm startin' to see the SuperClash 2
lineup come together and I have to admit that I like what I'm seein' so
far.

MS:  And I hear you have a special announcement to make about that
lineup as well.

JW:  I do, Mark, I do.  And I think it's a pretty big one.

[Watkins pauses.]

JW:  Last year at SuperClash, the AWA had a match called the Steal The
Spotlight showcase.  It was a five on five elimination tag team match
with the survivors getting the right to pick any non-title match they
wanted.

Last year, Shane Taylor and MAMMOTH Mizusawa were the winners and while
Taylor may have wasted his shot - Mizusawa cashed his in in a big way
and it really shot him to the top of the promotion in the eyes of a lot
of people, Mark.

[Stegglet nods.]

JW:  So, this year, I'm aimin' to bring it back to SuperClash 2... I'm
also fixin' to up the ante a bit!  Now there's some rumors that have
been goin' 'round the Internet about this and I think it's high time we
confirm 'em, Mark.

MS:  You mean?

[Watkins nods.]

JW:  This year's Steal The Spotlight will allow the survivors to pick
any match they want - just like last year.  If they want to settle a
grudge, they got it.  If they want to bust up a legend, that's their
call. 

AND... in a new twist for this year...

If they want a shot at ANY AWA Championship... they got it!

[Stegglet looks excited!]

MS:  Any title match of their choosing?!

JW:  That's right.  It's kinda like a blank check, Mark.  They pick the
time and place, we schedule a championship match for 'em.  It's going to
be an opportunity for someone to FLY up the ladder of title contention
and snatch a title shot for themselves.  We're in the American Wrestling
Alliance, Mark - and here in the AWA, we believe in competition.  And
this match is going to be a huge benefit to the competitor who wins it.
It's going to take a whole lot more than guts, Gordo, but we're gonna
hook 'em up at SuperClash and find out who gets themselves a shot at the
gold.

MS: Only in the AWA, fans, another huge match added-

[Mark barely finishes his hype as he's interrupted by a black suit
wearing Marcus Broussard, who pats Mark on the back and then offers his
hand to Jim Watkins, who shakes it.]

MS: Marcus Broussard, do you-

MB: I accept.

MS: Excuse me?

MB: I accept, Mark. I accept Mr. Watkins' challenge. The Steal the
Spotlight match is right up my alley, fellas, because it's all about
controlling your own destiny. I made a pact with Juan that one of us
would take that title off of Stevie Scott, and this is my ticket to do
it. You're right Jim, this is one big blank check to whoever wins it.

That's going to be me who wins it, and it's going to be me who uses it
to make sure that title is taken from Stevie for good, so that the final
shovels of dirt are thrown on that quivering mass of filth called the
Syndicate.

[Stegglet shakes his head.]

MS:  Another big announcement here on Saturday Night Wrestling!  Marcus
Broussard has put himself in the Steal The Spotlight showcase to be held
at SuperClash in just over six weeks' time!  He wants the National Title
and he's comin' hard for it!  Gentlemen, thank you for your time and now
let's go back down to ringside for more AWA action!

[We fade back to the ring where Melissa is standing.]

MC: This next match is scheduled for one fall with a ten-minute time
limit. Introducing first, currently in the ring, from Lee's Summit,
Missouri, weighing in at 243 pounds... Tommy Bullock!

[The athletically-built black man with short-cropped hair and dressed in
an amateur-style singlet lifts his fist, turning so the crowd can get a
look at his face.]

MC: Ant his opponent! From Elizabeth, Colorado! Weighing in at 264
pounds...

'GENTLEMAN' JACK HOLLAND!

['Dead Flowers' by Townes Van Zandt strums lazily onto the speakers and
Jack Holland strolls out from the back, lifting his fists into the air
briefly. After that display, he heads down to the ring purposefully,
leaning down and slapping a few hands but not going out of his way to do
so. He marches briskly up the steps and wipes his feet on the apron
before stepping between the ropes. He shrugs off his jacket and takes
off his sunglasses, handing them to the official.]

GM: Here we've got Jack Holland once again after an impressive win over
Ed Waite at our Homecoming show, and he's obviously eager to keep his
roll going.

BW: This Bullock kid is not about to lay down, though, he wants that
winner's check just as bad!

[Holland cracks his neck and both men head to the center of the ring,
circling around each other as they wait for the bell.]

"DING! DING! DING!"

GM: Here's the tie-up, and Holland with the early advantage!

BW: He's just twistin' the heck out of that arm, daddy!

GM: Bullock trying to spin out, but here's Holland with a- I don't know
what that is!

BW:  Let me educate ya.  It's a judo-style hip throw and he's got the
headlock cinched in on the mat so Bullock ain't goin' nowhere! All of
Holland's bodyweight's down on the boy from Missourah!

[Bullock shakes his head frantically when the ref asks him if he wants
to quit. Holland leans back, wrenching in the hold tighter. Bullock
kicks his legs up, eventually snaring Holland's head, but Holland pulls
free and tugs back harder on that headlock!]

GM: Okay, here we go, Bullock finally manages to turn himself over and
he's getting up to his feet, shifts his weight and he's got Holland in a
cradle!

BW: Out at two! Not gonna catch Holland that easy!

GM: This Tommy Bullock is an experienced amateur wrestler and he's
bringing those skills to the professional ranks.

[Bullock gets to his feet first, grabbing Holland by the head and
twisting him into a side headlock. Holland tries to lift Bullock for a
back suplex, but Bullock blocked the attempt!]

BW: There ya go, Jack! Claw his face off!

GM: The ref's calling for Jack to quit that, and he does... but now he
stomps Bullock's toes!

BW: Classic maneuver, daddy!

[Holland quickly snap mares Bullock into a seated position, measures him
up, and leaps forward with a splash directed to the back of Bullock's
neck!]

GM: Neck splash! That's a deadly move, and Holland's going right for the
pin! One, two, and Bullock's barely out!

BW: He's gonna feel that one in the morning!

GM: That's right, and Bullock does not want to sustain too much damage
to the neck area. Holland's two favorite weapons seem to be the Shotgun
Suplex and the Razorwire Blues submission hold, both of which focus on
the neck.

BW: And Holland's right back on it with this hold right here! I said it
before, but tenacious is the word for this man!

[Holland is on one knee in front of Bullock, wrenching away with a
cravate hold. Bullock fires some elbows into Holland's back, so Holland
quickly switches positions, hooking Bullock up and swinging him high
into the air before dropping back with a big vertical suplex!]

GM: And here's another cover... two count only!

BW: That was close, daddy. Bullock has got to mount some kinda comeback
'cause right now, every move is just gettin' Holland a millisecond
closer to finishing this thing.

[Holland stares with quiet frustration at the referee as he gets to his
feet again, adjusting his tights. He gestures with one hand for Bullock
to get up, dropping to his haunches and lying in wait. Bullock climbs up
to one knee and then springs forward, trying to catch Holland with a
wild left and right, but Holland isn't there! Holland comes up from
behind and sneaks in the half nelson!]

GM: Shotgun Suplex! No, Bullock with the go behind and the side
belly-to-back suplex plants Holland on his face!

BW: Real quick thinking from Bullock there and it might just've saved
him this match!

[Bullock quickly spun over Holland's back and locked in a front
facelock, using his bodyweight to keep Holland on the mat. Holland
reaches out to the ropes, but he's just a little bit too far. Holland
pushes up onto a knee and then executes a quick barrel roll, ending up
on his knee again while Bullock dazed flat on his back!]

BW: Droppin' the knee right into Bullock's teeth!

GM: Holland's not wasting any time here, pulling Bullock to his feet, a
boot to the stomach and a beautiful swinging neckbreaker to bring
Bullock right back down to the mat!

[Holland doesn't take any time off after this, pulling Bullock up as he
gets to his feet. He takes the back of Bullock's head along with him as
he rushes across the ring and smashes Bullock's face into the top
turnbuckle!]

BW: Whoa-ho, and here we go!

GM: Shotgun Suplex! Perfectly executed! We've got a pin attempt!

BW: It's over, Gordon!

GM: There's the one, the two, and the three, and you're absolutely
right, Bucky!

"DING! DING! DING!"

GM: Count another win in the books for Jack Holland!

BW: And another winner's purse!

MC: Here is your winner... 'GENTLEMAN' JACK HOLLAND!

[Holland raises both hands in the air, pointing to the sky. He walks
over and retrieves his jacket and sunglasses from a timekeeper, watching
Bullock regain his composure as he shrugs his jacket back on. When he
sees Bullock sitting up, Holland strolls over and shakes his opponent's
hand before slipping his sunglasses on and making his way out of the
ring.]

BW: And Holland's all class!

GM: I guess if you don't count clawing the face, stomping toes, or
smashing faces into the turnbuckle!

BW: You gotta do what you gotta do! What the hell do you know, you ain't
never been in that ring, daddy!

GM:  I know that this man is NO gentleman, Bucky.  And that's all I need
to know about him.  But he's in the Longhorn Heritage Title tournament
and he's going to be a very tough challenge for Tin Can Rust.  I can't
wait to see that one this Wednesday night in San Antonio, Texas!  Fans,
we've got to take another break but we'll be right back with more
Saturday Night Wrestling!

[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 up to the back, where Jason Dane stands by Tin Can Rust,
who's dressed in a plaid button-up and jeans.]

JD:  Welcome back, fans, and I'm here with a man who came up short last
time out on Saturday Night Wrestling to get a shot at the National
Championship...

[Rust shakes his head.]

JD: But HAS entered himself into the Longhorn Heritage Title Tournament,
to the surprise of some here in the AWA. You stated before that you
weren't seeking his title -

TCR: Dane, I stated that my match with Dufresne in the Bayou wasn't
about a title - it was about justice. For me to go out there that night
a seek ANY personal glory - any at all - would've been wrong. And last I
checked, Dane? This Longhorn Heritage title doesn't have the stain of
that coward's yellow streak.

[Rust nods.]

TCR: But I'll tell you another reason why I'm this tournament. You see,
before that great Longhorn Wrestlin' Council closed up for the final
time, City Jack held a bit of history with them - the Rio Grande title.
So I'm sure if he was here and able, he'd want to compete for this title
honoring that great wrestling organization. So it's my HONOR, Dane, to
throw my name in the lot to go for the title.

JD: Speaking of Dufresne, what are your thoughts on his cashing in on
Bobby Taylor's offer at the bounty? And his guaranteed National Title
shot?

[Rust sort of shrugs his shoulders.]

TCR: Takes a man of filth to deal in dirt, right Dane? The way I look at
it, though... Dufresne's putting his fingers in too many pots, right?
Sooner or later, thing's backfire on the boy. In fact...

[Rust smiles.]

TCR: If things work out the way I'd like it? I'd be the one holdin' up
some gold after fighting my way through the field... While all that
Dufresne's left with is his toy belt after all the shots that he's
schemed his way to just all go runnin' through his fingers. Now that
Dane? That would be some FINE justice!

[Rust nods to Dane and to the camera before walking off the shot.]

JD:  Yet another man who has his eyes locked on that Longhorn Heritage
Title!  And if I were a betting man, I wouldn't put money on anyone else
without taking a long, hard look at Tin Can Rust!  Gordon, Bucky, back
down to you!

[We cut back out to the ringside where Gordon and Bucky are standing.]

GM:  Thanks, Jason.  And fans, at this time, we welcome in the current
AWA National Champion, who may be counting his blessings to still have
that title, "Hotshot" Stevie Scott.

[Scott is decked out in a suit as usual, but doesn't have Ben Waterson
as his side as he usually does.  Removing the sunglasses from his face
and shoving them into his coat pocket, he wastes no time in getting
started.]

HSS: Everyone's been wondering...is the Hotshot on the ropes?  Is the
Hotshot's grip on the AWA National Title slipping?  Are the Hotshot's
days numbered as the top dog in the American Wrestling Association?

[Stevie pauses, casting a hard glance at Myers.]

HSS: What do you think, Myers?

[Taken aback, the veteran broadcaster hesitates before giving his
answer.]

GM: Well, things haven't been going too well for you lately, you have to
admit.

[Stevie keeps his glare on Myers, but eventually nods.]

HSS: You're right, Gordo.  I do admit it.

I'll admit that the last several weeks haven't been the best for Stevie
Scott and the Southern Syndicate.

But adversity, as they say, introduces a man to himself.  So I've taken
a long, hard look at myself over the last two weeks as a result.  And I
don't like what I see.

I see a man that's become soft.  That's become complacent, content to
just get by.

Myers, that ends _tonight_.

[Stevie slams his fist down into his open palm as he says "tonight."]

HSS: Tonight, when I face the West Memphis Vasquez, you're going to see
the re-emergence of the OLD Stevie Scott.  The one who will do whatever
it takes to win.  The one who doesn't rely on anything but his own
ability, his own wit, his own skill, and his own craft to be the best in
the game today.

I'm done playing around, Myers.  It seems that my enemies here in the
AWA have forgotten who I am, and I can't blame them.  Because _I_ have
forgotten who I am.

Well, no more.

Tonight, you're ALL going to remember who "Hotshot" Stevie Scott is.

[Steviesmirk!]

HSS: And you ain't gonna like it.

One little bit.

[The Hotshot pats Gordon on the shoulder before walking out of view.]

GM:  The National Champion seems ready, Bucky.

BW:  Well, he'd better be.  Because this is his chance to rid the
American Wrestling Alliance of Juan Vasquez - his biggest rival - once
and for all.  

GM:  That's our Main Event later tonight but for now, let's go back up
to the ring for- I'm sorry, fans, apparently we're not going to the ring
right now.  Instead, we're going up to the interview area where Jason
Dane has a special guest, Mr. Percy Childes.  Jason?

[Just as described, Dane stands microphone in hand next to the rotund
bald manager.  Carrying a crystal-tipped cane and wearing a black dress
shirt and pants, Childes has a disgusted expression on his face.  He is
starting to grow facial hair... a nefarious-looking mustache and
goatee.]

JD: With me at this time, the "Collector Of Oddities" himself, Percy
Childes.  Mr. Childes, in a few moments, we're scheduled to see the
enigmatic Nenshou in action.  But last week, when you and Anton Layton
set a trap for Eric Preston, Nenshou was nowhere to be seen!  Where was
your prize client.

PC: The short answer is "none of your business".  But it won't hurt to
reveal the truth, I suppose.  Nenshou was then where he is now... in
Japan.  Training.  Re-focusing himself.  It took a fluke, an incompetent
referee, and a poisonous substance to cost him a match... but that match
never should have been close enough for any of that to make a
difference.  Nenshou is a young man; he needs to make mistakes so that
he can learn.  And he is learning from his mistake as we speak, in his
homeland.  In the dojos, under the hand of the cruelest, most
unforgiving taskmasters the world knows.  He will learn.  He is the most
talented wrestler the world has ever seen; his growth must be carefully
cultiv-

JD: Wait.  You said he's in Japan... NOW?  He has a match coming up in
two min...*urk*

[Percy casually tips his cane over so that he can grab the end, and
brings the crystal hilt of it up to Dane's throat.]

PC: Don't ever.  EVER.  Interrupt me again.

JD: Sorry...

PC: As for Nenshou's match, I have canceled it.  And as I came here
tonight to the Crock Colosseum, as I drove down Temple Lane and across
Hardin Drive, I came to a realization of why people have so quickly
forgotten that Nenshou is the future of wrestling.  It is the same
reason why I have decided to aid Anton in annihilating Vernon Riley.  Do
you know why that is, Jason?

[Jason is unsure about whether he should answer this, and 'interrupt'
Percy again.]

PC: It is because Vernon Riley represents each and every one of these
people.  He is the everyman.  And because of that, he represents what
all of these people represent:

Ignorance.

[The fans boo, as one would expect.]

PC: Ignorance.  Nenshou is the new breed of athlete.  He can do
everything.  He can do things that have never been done. His every
movement is crisp, like a machine.  He is more precise than a computer,
more intelligent than a philosopher, and more athletic than an Olympian.
 He is the future.  He is the present.  But wrestling has no present or
future.  And my drive here proved that... ah, yes, thank you, James.

[James Monosso walks in to the boos of the crowd.  Clad in his "PROPERTY
OF STATE MENTAL INSTITUTION" pale green T-Shirt and black jeans, the
stringy-haired broad-shouldered madman has both arms full of... signs.

Street signs, mangled and bent from the way they were ripped down.]

JD: Those... YOU TORE THOSE SIGNS DOWN?!

[James holds up... the Hardin Drive street sign.  The Temple Lane sign
is under his other arm, as are several of the Crockett Coliseum signs...
well, those that he could carry.]

PC: This is why wrestling has no present or future!  Because these
ignorant, IGNORANT fools are living in the past!  They want it to be
1998 forever!  They don't want to see progress; they don't want the
future!  That is why they boo Nenshou; he is living proof of the
obsolescence of their idols!  

WAKE UP, PEOPLE!

[Percy takes the mic and addresses the fans directly, waddling to the
edge of the interview platform.]

PC: WAKE UP!  James, dispose of this garbage.

[Monosso starts crumpling up the street signs and depositing them in a
trash can over to the edge of the interview platform as Percy continues
his address.]

PC: It is your ignorance that prevents progress!  You cling to your
beliefs, your memories, and your icons... WAKE UP!  It is almost 2011,
and it is time that you wake up and see the light!  It is time that you
came to realize that Nenshou _is_ the light! And that is why I have two
statements to make at this time!

One, that I hearby declare that the new AWA Longhorn Heritage Title...
yet another sad ignorant effort to live in the past... belongs to
Nenshou!  He is entering the tournament as of this moment!  I have
already negotiated this with Watkins; all that remains is the formality
of disposing of every obstacle in his way - starting with Vernon Riley,
the everyman!

And two, as for Nenshou's now-cancelled match tonight... I found
something very amusing.  An amusing coincidence.  Jason Dane... what is
the name of that young man standing in the ring?  That young man who
came to wrestle Nenshou?

JD: Uhm... lemme check my schedule.  According to this, his name is
James Reed.

[We cut up to the ring, where a tall, fairly burly young wrestler with
full length forest-green tights under black trunks, with black kneepads
and boots, is stretching his arms out saying "what?".  He has dark brown
feather-cut hair and blue eyes.  Childes points at him and addresses him
directly.]

PC: I don't like your names, son.  James...

[Childes turns to Monosso.]

PC: ...go escort this young fool out of the arena.

[Uh oh.  Monosso's expression stretches into an evil grin as the
broad-shouldered maniac begins to stalk down the aisle. Melissa Cannon,
who had entered the ring to do introductions, exits stage right as the
mad Monosso approaches.  The buzz in the arena gets rather loud.]

GM: Now wait just a minute!  This was Nenshou's opponent!

BW: Then he's on the wrong continent, daddy.  And right about now, he's
probably wishin' he WAS over in Japan.  They got some fine ladies over
there, Gordo.

GM: I suppose James Reed wins by forfeit...

BW: No, no, the match was _cancelled_.  You gonna tell Percy otherwise? 
Monosso might come escort YOU out of the arena.

[Monosso reaches the ring, and Reed attacks first, kneeing him in the
ribs as the veteran steps through the ropes. Considering that the kid
probably goes 6'5", and maybe two-seventy, that's a strong kneesmash.]

GM: James Reed, whose only crimes were showing up and having a name that
sounds like some legendary names of the past... I'm more than sure he's
not related to anyone surnamed James or Reed that we've heard of... has
struck first!  He is hammering away at Monosso!

BW: Well, Percy did say how much he hated ignorance.  He's gonna love it
when this IDIOT who obviously doesn't watch our show gets annihilated.

[Indeed, the flurry of blows is effective only in drawing Monosso's
ire... the tall, wide-eyed wildman counters by fishhooking both sides of
Reed's mouth, lifting him, and spiking him straight onto his back...
like a double-choke chokeslam, but by the MOUTH.]

GM: ...ow.

BW: What Monosso lacks in sanity, he makes up for in creativity.  

GM: He is imaginative, yes.  KING KONG KNEEDROP BY MONOSSO!  Jumping as
high as he can and bringing that knee up over six feet off the ground
before driving it down!

BW: That's how you take a simple, basic move... and turn it into a
weapon.  

GM: Monosso scooping up Reed, draping him over his shoulders... running
start... AND RAMS HIM INTO THE TURNBUCKLE!  AND PIVOTING TO PLANT HIM
INTO THE CANVAS!

BW: That's the Happy Valley Driver, Gordo.  If this WAS a match, it'd be
over.

GM: Monosso now picking up his man... and pressing him overhead!  This
young man, James Reed, is two-hundred seventy-one pounds!  That is a
feat of str... OH MY WORD!


"GET OUT OF HERE!"


[Monosso screams the trademark phrase as he hurls poor Reed over the top
rope to the rampway!  Reed skips off the ramp like a thrown stone, and
falls sidelong into the narrow space between the ramp and the crowd. 
The fans shower Monosso with boos and chants of "PRES-TON! PRES-TON!
PRES-TON!"]

BW: Ladies and gentlemen, James Reed has left the building.

GM: ENOUGH OF THIS!  What was the point of that?  What was the purpose
of having Nenshou miss his match?!  What was the purpose of destroying
those street signs, meant to honor the legends of the past?!  And what
was the purpose of sending Monosso to annihilate another young rookie?! 
Percy Childes is laughing... I don't see what's so funny!

BW: The purpose?  He wants everybody to stop living in 1998 or whenever,
and see that his man is the best there is in 2010! And while I dunno
about that, he'll have a chance to prove it in the tournament! 
Nenshou's hat is in the ring for the Longhorn Heritage title, and from
what Childes did with those signs, you can bet he's got his focus on the
Longhorn Heritage championship an' what it means, Gordo.  Nenshou comin'
out here an' destroyin' this kid wouldn't have helped him.  Training in
Japan, now THAT will help him!  He'll be sharper than ever when he comes
back to the States, daddy!

GM: That answers two of those questions... but why have Monosso do that
to this kid?

BW: You can't give a forfeit win to a guy who can't get back to th'
ring, now can ya?  Gotta be in the ring to accept a forfeit. Also...
they did it because they just plain WANTED to.  How's that?

GM:  Absolutely disgusting.  Fans, let's get out of here.  Let's go back
to- I don't care.  Whoever is available.  

[Myers pauses.]

GM:  Fine.  Let's go back to Jason Dane, who is standing by with the War
Pigs!

[And cut backstage we do, with Dane dwarfed in between Hammer to his
left and Sabre to his right.  Richard E. Lee standing smiling in the
background, his rolled-up magazine in hand.]

JD: Thanks, Gordon, I am indeed here with Hammer, Sabre and Richard E.
Lee, and two weeks ago, gentlemen, you had quite the battle alongside
Violence Unlimited against the Samoan Hit Squad and your nemeses, the
Moonshiners.

S: WEEEELLLLLL, Jason Dane...we got right smack in the middle of what we
love...a big, nasty, stinkin' _brawl_!  That match was a double-DQ
waitin' to happen, and you know what?

We LOVED it!

[Pop!  Probably.]

S: And all it did was whet our appetites for more destruction, which
means that the Buttshiners are about to have their fat, out-of-shape,
alcohol-filled guts left scattered all over Dallas, Texas!  Tell 'em,
Hammer!

H: Bustin' heads...causin' pain...drawin' blood...it's all in a day's
work for the War Pigs.  You see, Myers, the Buttshiners are now startin'
to figure out that they've bitten off more than they can chew.  And
there's only so much that liquid courage is gonna do for 'em, because
before too long...they're gonna have to face me and Sabre, men to men,
inside that ring.

[Sabre rubs his hands together in the background while nodding.]

H: And we just can't wait for that day to come, ain't that right,
Richard?

[A smiling Lee steps forward beside Hammer.]

REL: The time is drawing near, Moonshiners.  The day of your reckoning
will soon be at hand.  You came here wanting to be a ghost from my past,
but as it turns out, _we're_ the ones who you see in your nightmares.

Enjoy your last 15 minutes of fame while they last, boys.  Because when
the clock's done ticking?

Your return to obscurity is going to be more painful that you could ever
imagine.

[The Pigs storm out of sight alongside their manager as we cut back out
into the arena to the interview area where Mark Stegglet is standing
alongside a familiar man cloaked in a black velvetly robe with a
crescent moon stitched on the back.]

MS:  Fans, I am here alongside the Prince of Darkness, Anton Layton. 
Sir, how can you justify what your colleagues just did out here?

[Layton doesn't reply.]

MS:  I'm asking a question!  Did you see what James Monosso did to that
poor young-

[Layton's voice interrupts from under his hood.]

AL:  I bore witness to James' actions, yes.

[Stegglet nods.]

MS:  And?

AL:  His is a tortured soul but he truly is a man of mercy.

MS:  MERCY?!

AL:  You've seen what he is capable of.  Can you truly argue he didn't
let this young man off with a warning?

[Stegglet looks puzzled.]

AL:  It could have been much, much worse.  Ehehehehehe.

[Stegglet shakes his head with disgust.]

AL:  Vernon Riiiiiley... the time draws near... shhhhh...

[He whispers.]

AL:  Can you hear it?  

[Stegglet tilts his head like he's listening.]

MS:  Can I hear what?

AL:  It's coming for Vernon Riley.  You see, Vernon Riley believes he
has the edge in our war.  He believes that... right... makes... might...
ehehehehehe.

MS:  Well, he's got the shot at you to use whenever he wants!

AL:  The ace in the hole so to speak.  He can call me into battle on a
whim while I can do nothing but wait... 

[Layton lifts a finger.]

AL:  But in just a few short days, Stegglet, one of my Master's foot
solidiers - the mysterious man from the Orient - Nenshou will climb into
war with Vernon Riley.

He has his orders.  He knows what to do.  

MS:  But what about YOU?  When are YOU going to face Riley?

AL:  Silly child.  I would think that would be obvious.

MS:  Obvious?  Riley's got the right to challenge you whenever-

[Layton lifts a hand.]

AL:  Of course he does.  But the answer to your question should be
obvious.  Vernon Riley is the everyman, right?  He is the hero to these
maggots in the arena.

[Big explosion of jeers.]

AL:  Which also means he shares their greatest weakness as well - ego. 
His ego will allow for nothing but a beating on the grandest stage. 
Vernon Riley... I know when you come for me... I know when you come
forth to tangle with my Master...

SuperClash.

[Big cheer!]

AL:  The biggest stage... the brightest spotlight... you will settle for
nothing less.

You want the entire world to watch while you send me back to the
shadows.

[Layton grows quiet.]

AL:  But that... that won't be happening, Working Man.

Because it's in the air... 

[He lifts his head back, breathing in deeply.]

AL:  Can you feel it, Working Man?  The chill in the air?  The coldness
reaching from the shadow, wrapping its fingers around your throat,
choking the very life's air out of your lungs...

Ehehehehehe...

Eheheheheheheheh.

EHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHHEHE!

[Layton continues to cackle out of control as Mark shakes his head.]

MS:  Well, this is going nowhere.  Fans, let's go backstage where my
partner, Jason Dane has caught up with Brian Von Braun!

[We cut backstage where Jason Dane is standing with Brian Von Braun. 
BVB is still wearing his attire from earlier, but absent is his surprise
for Ron Houston, Kraken.  BVB's sunglasses are up on his head, pushing
his hair back.  His eyes are wide, nostrils are flaring.]

JD:  You asked for some more time, Brian.  We all saw your failed
attempt to take out Ron Houston earlier tonight.

[BVB shoots at glare at Jason Dane.]

BVB:  Watch your words, Dane.  Watch them _very_ carefully.  I'm not in
the mood to listen to some glorified microphone jockey criticize a
well-laid plan.

[BVB looks back at the camera.]

BVB:  He makes a point, Ron.  I thought Kraken would be more than you
could handle, and I bought into the false bill of goods the Robfathah
sold me.

[He shakes his head.]

BVB:  No more.

JD:  No more what?

BVB:  No more alliances.  No more relying on other people, Dane.

JD:  What about the Southern Syndicate?

BVB:  I didn't even bother to ask for their help because I know better. 
I can't count on them.  I can't count on the Robfathah.  I can't count
on anywhere in the AWA but _me_.  Ya know what, Dane?  As of right now,
old Bee Vee Bee is out of the Southern Syndicate.

JD:  What?!

BVB:  I stand alone, Dane.  I don't need some two bit group led by a guy
who couldn't cut it in the ring so he resold himself as an...

[BVB chortles.]

BVB:  ... get this...

[BVB scoffs and makes the finger quote gesture.]

BVB:  ... "Agent to the Stars."

[BVB pauses and cackles manically.  He stops his hyena-esque laugh and
looks at Dane.]

BVB:  I don't stand with the rest of the AWA, Dane.

[He hooks a thumb at himself.]

BVB:  _I'm_ the outcast, Dane.

[He hooks his thumb at himself again.]

BVB:  _I'm_ the guy on the outside looking in.

[A third thumb hook.]

BVB:  _I'm_ the _invader_ in the AWA, Dane.  I don't _stand_ with
_anyone_ on this roster.  I don't _need_ _anyone_ on this roster, Dane. 
The Rocket City Badboy?  The Invader?  He doesn't play by anyone's rules
by his own.

[Pointer finger goes up as his thumb lays across his folded middle
finger.]

BVB:  Not the rules of the Southern Syndicate.

[Middle finger goes up as his thumb holds his ring finger down.]

BVB:  Not the rules of the AWA.

[Ringer finger goes up as his thumb holds his pinky finger down.]

BVB:  Not the rules of the sheep some of these rasslers pander to.

[Thumb hook to himself.]

BVB:  _My rules_.

[BVB looks at the camera.]

BVB:  And when I play by my rules, East Coast Terror?  The game has
changed completely.  Next week, Ron...

[He pauses and shakes his head, a smile creeping onto his face.]

BVB:  Next week, you'll learn rule number one.

[BVB walks off camera as Dane watches him leave.]

JD:  Brian Von Braun has QUIT the Southern Syndicate and I can NOT
imagine that will sit well with Ben Waterson!  Back to you, Gordon and
Bucky!

[We cut back down to ringside where Gordon and Bucky are standing.]

GM:  Did you hear that, Bucky?  Von Braun has QUIT the Southern
Syndicate!

BW:  I can't-  I don't - can he do that?!

GM:  He just did it!  And what in the world does that do to that group
just moments before Stevie Scott tries to rid the entire AWA of Juan
Vasquez once and for all?  You've got Freeman losing in the tournament. 
Dufresne's cashing in bounties to win shots at his teammate.  What in
the world is happening to the Southern Syndicate?

[The sounds of AC/DC's "Back In Black" fills the air as the crowd
cheers!]

GM:  And here comes the Outlaw, Bobby Taylor!

BW:  Oh, he's not the Outlaw yet, Gordo.  He said he wouldn't be the
Outlaw again until he puts Kevin Slater out.  That hasn't happened yet
by my watch, daddy!

GM:  That's why he's out here!  He's going to tell the entire world when
and where he plans to get that match with Kevin Slater.

[Taylor, dressed in a black sportscoat, blue jeans, and a black Stetson
steps through the ropes, taking an offered mic from Melissa Cannon.]

BT:  Thanks everyone.

[Some more cheers.]

BT:  By this point, I think everyone knows why I'm here so I'm not gonna
waste any time.

Someone hit Slater's music and get him out here.

[Cypress Hill's "Rock Superstar" starts up to a big shower of jeers from
the crowd.  After a moment, an angry-looking Kevin Slater marches out on
the stage, mic in hand.]

KS:  Cut the damn music.

[It cuts.]

KS:  Look, Taylor... I know you're the big boss around here and
everything but as long as you've known me, you know I don't exactly take
well to being ordered around.  But I'm here so you want to talk to me? 
Talk.

[Taylor nods.]

BT:  It's simple, Kev.  Real simple.

You.  Me.  SuperClash.

[BIG CHEER!  Slater actually smiles at the news.]

KS:  Of course, of course.  Just like that nutcase Layton out here
talking about Vernon Riley's ego, did anyone really expect the great and
powerful Outlaw of professional wrestling to settle for anything else
than a big ol' spotlight shining on his decrepit ass?

[Big jeers!]

KS:  But that's fine, Taylor.  You earned your shot at the top dog here
- the two time former World Champion.  You took out your own blood.  You
played my game.

So, you want me at SuperClash?  

[Dramatic pause.]

KS:  You got me!

[BIG CHEER!]

KS:  And it'll be my pleasure to beat you all over the ring, put you
down, and pin those shoulders to the man for a one, two, three and send
you back to the corner office you crawled out of.

[Taylor grins.]

BT:  That all sounds great, Kev.  Except for one thing.  If you manage
to pin my shoulders at SuperClash for a three count...

...you ain't done a damn thing, son.

[The crowd buzzes with confusion.]

KS:  What are you goin' on about now?

[Taylor takes off his Stetson hat, resting it over the ropes as he leans
to look at his former best friend.]

BT:  Well... when I stopped to think about everything it took for us to
get to this point.  The Man With The Money... getting Luke mixed up in
this... Megan... Jack... Shane... 

It's over two years, Kev.  Two years you've been torturing me and these
people.

[Slater grins.]

BT:  All leading up to one night.

And when I thought about it, I just KNEW it wasn't gonna be good enough
to beat you for a three count.

[The buzz grows stronger.]

BT:  A while ago, I told the world that I wasn't the Outlaw anymore. 
That I didn't DESERVE to be the Outlaw anymore until I got you in that
ring and I put you down once and for all.

And at SuperClash, that's exactly what I intend to do...

...like only an Outlaw can.

[That buzz is near deafening now.  These people know EXACTLY what's
coming.]

BT:  So, at SuperClash 2... the match over two years in the making...
there will be no pins, no submissions, no countouts, no
disqualifications... hell, there ain't even gonna be a referee, Kev...

[Big cheer!]

BT:  Because when you and I hook 'em up at SuperClash, we're doin' it
the way it SHOULD go down.

I'm gonna beat you until you can't stand up.

If I have to hit you with a chair, I'm going to do it.

If I have to hit you with a trash can, I'm going to do it.

[The crowd is roaring now.]

BT:  If I have to set up a table like we did in Los Angeles and put you
through it, I'm going to do it.

If I have to wrap my own damn hand in barbed wire and shove it down your
throat, I'm going to do it.

And it's all gonna be legal, Superstar.

[Taylor pauses, a big grin crossing his face.]

BT:  'Cause at SuperClash?  It's Outlaw Rules!

[HUGE CHEER!  Slater's eyes go wide, his face turning pale in surprise
as he glares at his former best friend down the aisle.  Taylor drops the
mic, pointing a finger of warning at the former Wild Thing who
backpedals back up the ramp, shaking his head in disbelief as Taylor
grins at the crowd's reaction.]

GM:  OH MY STARS!!  SLATER VERSUS TAYLOR AT SUPERCLASH!!  OUTLAW RULES!!

BW:  Outlaw Rules?!  Anything goes!  Like he said, there's not even a
referee!  You don't win the thing until you can walk away and your
opponent can't!  And that's going down at SuperClash?!

GM:  Fans, that's huge news here on Saturday Night Wrestling and we're
not even done yet!  I can't believe it!  Let's go backstage where Scott
Mayhem is standing by just moments before his big showdown with
"Playboy" Johnny Casanova!

[Cut to Jason Dane standing by with Miss Amanda, in a pink cap-sleeved
T-shirt and blue jeans, and Scott Mayhem, wearing a silver sequinned
robe. With his back to us, we also see that there is a large red saltire
across the back of the robe.]

JD: Scott Mayhem, we are moments away from your match with Johnny
Casanova - and if you win, you're in the Longhorn Heritage Title
tournament!

SM: Longhorn Heritage title, that's right!

JD:  And it's a rematch of sorts from Battle on the Bayou. Your
thoughts?

SM: Jay-Dee, Johnny Casanova thought he was done with the Mayhem? I
showed him it ain't over, oh no, it ain't over until Scott Mayhem says
it's over. This time, Playboy, it's just going to be you and me in that
ring, oh yes. No ladies at ringside. No excuses. You pin me in the ring
tonight, Casanova, you make me surrender, you prove you're the better
man, and you go on and try to get that title, oh yes.

But, Jay-Dee, the Playboy's going to have his work cut out for him,
especially without Big Mama getting her girls involved, if you know what
I mean, because I like a bit of gold myself and the Longhorn Heritage
title's going to be a good one for me to start with here in the American
Wrestling Alliance, oh yes. As for the lovely Amanda, babe, I want you
to march yourself to the back and wait for me, maybe get the party
started because when I'm done with Casanova tonight, and when I'm well
on my way to bringing the Longhorn Heritage title home, we're going to
celebrate like it's nineteen fifty-eight!

[Mayhem pulls Amanda towards him and plants a kiss on her lips.]

SM: Believe that!

[Scott Mayhem directs Miss Amanda to the back before heading to the
ring.]

JD:  Let's go back down to ringside for this big, big matchup!

[Franz Von Suppe's "Light Cavalry Overture" starts to play over the
arena speakers and the crowd is abuzz as a wild-haired man in a
sequinned silver robe and shades emerges from the entranceway and makes
a beeline for the ring where "Playboy" Johnny Casanova is already
standing.]

GM:  Thanks, Jason.  And as you can see, Scott Mayhem is on his way down
the aisle to the ring where Johnny Casanova has already come out here
during that backstage interview.  These two men, both vying for the
final slot in the Longhorn Heritage Title tournament - and if they win
the spot, they will face the man who will be joining us here on
commentary tonight, Brent Maverick.

BM: Pleasure.

BW: Fer you, maybe.  I didn't invite you ta sit at my broadcast table!

BM: I invited myself.  Came down ta get a good look at the man I'm gonna
fight.  These two is havin' a bit of an issue lately, so ths match is
big in many ways for 'em.  When ya can beat a rival, it's good.  But
when ya beat a rival for stakes... it's as sweet as it gets.  Likewise,
whoever loses is gonna be madder'n hell for a long time.  Should be
good.

[As the prematch commentary is going on, Mayhem is twirling his right
hand with outstretched finger to get the fans riled... and accusatorily
pointing his left right at Casanova.  The overweight veteran shakes his
head at whatever accusation that Mayhem is making.  Mayhem, a lean,
well-built man with wild hair has purple trunks and white boots under
the robe he yanks off, tossing it to ringside.  He carries himself with
an intensity which suggests that he's ready to go at an instant's
notice.  Casanova also wears a robe; his is red and sequinned.  The
blonde-haired grappler is in, frankly, poor physical condition:
overweight and not exactly muscular.  He wears simple black trunks with
his name monogrammed on it in cursive white lettering, along with white
boots.

Melissa Cannon gives the intros.]

MC:  The following contest is set for one fall with a fifteen minute
time limit and is a qualifying match for the Longhorn Heritage Title
Tournament.  And by special ruling from the Championship Committee, BOTH
managers are banned from ringside!

Introducing first... to my left... from Portland, Oregon... weighing
three hundr-mmmph!

[Oh, no, we can't have that!  Casanova quickly runs over and cups a hand
over Melissa's mouth before she can announce his weight.  He then gives
her the 'shame on you' finger waggle, takes her announce card, rips it
up, and furnishes her with a new announce card from the pocket of his
robe.  The crowd boos this act of shameless denial.  Melissa sighs, and
takes it all in stride.]

MC: I stand corrected. 

[Melissa clears her throat.]

MC:  From Hollywood, California... weighing in at a slam, trim, cut,
ripped, stacked two hundred and ten pounds...

[The crowd immediately starts in on the Playboy.]

"FAAAAAAT-SO!"  "FAAAAAAT-SO!"   "FAAAAAAT-SO!"

[Casanova plugs his ears and starts stomping about the ring petulantly. 
He turns and glares at Mayhem, who is leading the chant.]

MC:  He is...

"PLAYBOY" JOHNNY CASANOVA!

[The fans continue to chant.  Mayhem circles the ring, encouraging the
fans on each side.  Casanova exits onto the ramp and starts to walk
out.]

BW: Now look what they done!  His feelin's are hurt!

BM: If he thinks he's two-ten, his eyes are hurt too.  His bathroom
scale prob'ly don't feel great either.

BW:  Oh, very funny.

[Melissa continues.]

MC:  His opponent to my right... from Jacksonville, Florida... weighing
two hundred and thirty-seven pounds... he is the Jacksonville Terror...

SCOOOOOOTT MAAAAAYHEM!

[The chant stops, replaced by cheers for Mayhem.  Casanova kicks the
bottom rope in anger as Mayhem ascends to the second turnbuckle and
points out to the crowd.  Mayhem steps down and removes his robe and
shades as the opening bell rings.]


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM: The bell rings, and the match is underway.  Or it would be, if
Johnny Casanova would get back in the ring.

BM: They might hafta grease th' ropes for that ta happen.

BW: You're a real riot, Maverick.  Let's see you run your mouth when
you're actually in the ring with Johnny C!

BM: I don't talk while I fight.  Gets yer jaw jacked, doin' that.

GM: Mayhem is egging the fans on... they're chanting again!

"FAAAAAAT-SO!"  "FAAAAAAT-SO!"   "FAAAAAAT-SO!"

[This time, an irate Casanova flings off his robe and steps back into
the ring so he can go point a finger at those fans and give them a piece
of his mind.  "Shut your mealy mouths!", he yells.  When he turns
around, Mayhem is there, pointing at Casanova's trunks.  Referee Marty
Meekly listens, and insists on checking Casanova for weapons. 
Horrified, Casanova backs away with his arms outstretched.]

BW: Aw, come on!  This is Johnny Casanova, ref, not a known cheater like
Juan Vasquez or Brent Maverick!

BM: Wilde, did you take out life insurance this week?  An' did ya read
where it says that ya cain't collect on yer own life insurance? 

BW: ...what do you mean you can't col... uh, ha ha?  

GM: Johnny Casanova objecting to the search by the referee.  Scott
Mayhem is a wildman when the match begins, but he's much craftier than
people realize.  He is using the crowd and the referee to turn the
tables on Casanova, whose mind games allowed him to prevail in the first
meeting between these two men.

BW: Cleanly!

GM: ...technically, yes.  But minus Big Mama, Casanova doesn't seem so
confident... and LOOK AT THAT!  THE REFEREE FOUND A ROLL OF NICKELS!

[Uh, oh.  Meekly is furious, as Casanova feigns innocence.  Meekly
starts towards the timekeepers' table to call for a DQ, but Johnny gets
on his nees and BEGS!  The fans are screaming for a disqualification!]

BW: How did that get in there?!  I bet Meekly planted it!

GM: Why on Earth would referee Marty Meekly plant a roll of nickels in
his trunks?!

BW: Why on Earth would Johnny Casanova have a roll of nickels?  Who the
heck rolls nickels these days?!

BM: Because it does as much damage as a roll o' quarters, it's easier ta
hide, an' cheaper.  I used 'em myself not many years ago.

[Scott Mayhem taps Meekly on the shoulder, and declares that he wants to
fight.  Meekly holds off the DQ, and waves the two men on to fight. 
Casanova backs to the ropes as the Jacksonville Terror advances with a
dangerous gleam in his eyes.  Johnny points at Mayhem... he wants Meekly
to search him, too.]

BW: That's right, it's only fair!

GM: I can't argue with that.  If you check one, you have to check the
oth- CHEAP SHOT BY CASANOVA!

[Casanova thumbs Mayhem in the eye... the Floridian grasps the gouged
eye, and catches a meaty forearm right to the puss by the bulky
Casanova.  That staggers him, and Johnny follows in with a quick
hipswivel, "winding up" for a big haymaker!  Mayhem is floored by the
blow, and the crowd boos while Casanova gloats.]

BM: Ya cain't leave openin's like that.  This is what happens.  Casanova
will jump on anything ya give him.  His style is like a hyena: he
scavenges.  He will never beat a man that don't make mistakes; he'll rob
a man that makes many mistakes blind.

GM: He is an opportunist to say the least.  Johnny Casanova lifting up
Scott Mayhem, and a forearm to the lower lumbar area.   Now locking on
the abdominal stretch... yes, he has it cinched in.

[Casanova looks around, pulls way back on Mayhem, and lets out a big
"YYYEEEEEEAAAAAHHH, BABY!".  Cue the hiptoss.]

GM: HIPTOSS COUNTER BY SCOTT MAYHEM!

BM: An' there goes the confidence he'd built up.

BW: Not so fast!  Johnny isn't exactly on the defensive just yet.

[The rotund Oregonian gets up to his feet, but catches two snap right
jabs from Mayhem followed by a big left elbow smash.  Johnny falls,
rises, and is armdragged back down.  Mayhem gets up quickly, moves over
to Casanova, and leaps high into the air to bury a kneedrop into his
chest!]

BW: ...well, maybe a little.

GM: Scott Mayhem is working very quickly!  He knows that Casanova cannot
match his pace, and is going with all out offense!  He scoops up
Casanova... that's three hundred pounds!  And slams him brutally to the
canvas!

BW: Three hundred pounds?!  Gordo, are you deaf?  Melissa said two
hundred and ten pounds!

BM: That's on account of she was scared he was gonna eat her.

GM: Mayhem rushing a slow-rising Johnny Casanova... and a running
axehandle blow sends the blonde-haired alleged-Hollywood resident
tumbling through the ropes to the floor!  And now he is in even more
danger, because we all know what Scott Mayhem can and will do in THIS
situation!

BM: He's goin' up top!

[The fans are on their feet at Scott Mayhem is perched all the way up on
the top rope, waaay up high.  Casanova rises, turns... and eats
axehandle as Mayhem brings it all crashing down on top of him!  WIld
cheers ensue for the spectacular move!]

GM: OFF THE TOP ROPE ALL THE WAY TO THE FLOOR!  MAYHEM IS LOCKED IN!  

BW: He's nuts!  Don't he know how easy he could break an ankle or pop a
tendon doin' that?!

BM: He's hungry, Wilde.  Real hungry.  Hungry men do dangerous things. 

BW: Yeah?  Well, don't count out Johnny C so easy!  He's hungry too!

BM: That's what they said at th' buffet line.

GM: Mayhem rolling Casanova back in the ring and following him in. 
Johnny C begging for mercy, but Mayhem is intense and is not pausing! 
Kick to the face by Mayhem, and Johnny is down!

[Casanova crawls for the ropes, and gets there... but Mayhem grabs him
by the foot and drags him back into center ring.  The Jacksonville
Terror gets two big handfuls of hair, jerks the Playboy up off of his
rear, and spikes the back of his head into the canvas with a loud BLAM!]

GM: NO technique there!  That was just raw intent!

BW: I gotta say it: it is all Scott Mayhem right now, an' I don't see
any way out of this for the Playboy, daddy!  Without Big Mama inspirin'
him to greatness, he's missing somethin'!  An' without that albatross
Miss Amanda, Mayhem is a butt-kickin' machine on overdrive!

BM: He is that.  Intense, all focus forward.  It's the best way.  He'll
be real tough in the tournament... assumin' he don't slip up.  Casanova
only needs one slip up.

[Mayhem Irish-whips the Playboy to the turnbuckles... Johnny hits hard,
bounces out, and staggers back into them.  Mayhem rushes in wildly...
and connects with a ring-rocking corner clothesline that drops Casanova
to a seated positon in the corner!  The crowd is clearly loving this.]

BW: I thought when Scott Mayhem rushed the corner, that would be his
mistake.  A lot of guys miss that charge, but he hit him... that shows
me that Johnny C is done.  That was an Idiot Charge, and Mayhem HIT with
it.  Aw, man!  I had money on Johnny.

GM: Indeed, Casanova has taken a massive beating, with very little
resistance.  Mayhem pressing his knee against Casanova's head... very
agressive tactics here!  Pressing Casanova's head into the second
turnbuckle, and Marty Meekly putting on the count!  Now the referee
having to physically push Scott Mayhem back!  I don't know if I'd do
that... the "Jacksonville Terror" has an extremely short fuse!

BM: Referees cain't be puttin' hands on a wrestler.  Either DQ him or
shut up.  I've belted a ref many times thinkin' it was a wrestler,
because he grabbed me.

BW: Oh, SURE.  Likely story.

[As the referee pushes Mayhem back, Casanova pulls himself up with the
ring ropes.  He is breathing hard, and shaking... looking totally spent.
 But when Mayhem advances on him, he fires back an elbow, and then
presses Mayhem's eyes against the top rope... running down the rope to
rub Mayhem's eyes into the coarse plastic coating of the rough steel
cables!  Boos pierce the air as somehow, Casanova has bought himself
some time.]

GM: OH!  A barbaric move by Johnny Casanova out of sheer desperation!

BW: Whatever works, Gordo!  He's takin' a whippin' in there; he's gotta
fight back however he can!

[Mayhem staggers out and swings wildly... very nearly connecting with
the referee!  Meekly chastises Mayhem for the wild swing; and that is
Casanova's chance!  He reaches down into his trunks!]

GM: Johnny Casanova is looking for a weapon!

[...but then he remembers that he doesn't have it anymore, and pitches a
fit!  Weaponless, Casanova heads back towards Mayhem.]

GM: The referee had confiscated his weapon, thank goodness!  Mayhem's
forward thinking saved him some trouble there!  Johnny C with the
advantage now, though... INVERTED ATOMIC DROP!  And a big uppercut
follows up immediately!  Scott Mayhem is down, and Casanova has a chance
yet!

BW: I knew it!  I had faith in ya, Johnny C!  DON'T STOP BELIEVIN',
DADDY!

BM: Ain't you got no shame?

GM: Johnny C off the ropes... a spring back in his step... swiveling his
hips... and down with the big elbow!  Going for the cover...

BM: Didn't even get a one count.

BW: Slow count, ref!  He had him!

BM: Had him what?

BW: Er... you just watch!

[Casanova gets up, and stuffs Mayhem's head between his legs.  He hooks
one arm... but before he can hook a second arm, Mayhem back bodydrops
him!]

GM: Casanova tried to set up the Playboy Plunge, but Scott Mayhem far
too strong yet!  The Playboy getting to his feet... Mayhem grabs the
back of his head... AND LOOK OUT BELOW!

[Mayhem dashes to full speed within two steps, and leaps nimbly over the
top rope, bringing Johnny's neck down across the top rope!  Casanova
goes slingshotting back into the center ring with authority!  The fans
cheer, and we can hear some especially loud shreiking from one side of
the arena.]

GM: MAYHEM WIPED HIM OUT!  THE BIG CLOTHESLINE INTO THE TOP ROPE, AND
SCOTTY MAYHEM GOING UP TOP!  WE ALL KNOW WHAT THIS IS!

BM: Jacksonville Jam comin' up!

BW: NO!  JOHNNY!  MOVE!

[Johnny isn't moving.  Scott stands, raises his hands, spits to test the
wind, and... stops.]

GM: Mayhem is pausing... OH NO!  OH NO, GET THE CAMERA UP AT THE TOP OF
THE RAMP!

[Oh, THAT is where the shreiking is coming from.  Big Mama, the tall
bottle-blonde manager of Johnny Casanova, is standing right next to the
curtain on the elevated rampway of the Crockett Coliseum.  Wearing a
dark-purple dress shirt and black pants, Big Mama is shreiking wildly
and pointing at Mayhem with her left hand.  Her right hand is filled
with hair.

Miss Amanda's hair.  And yes, Miss Amanda is still attached to that
hair.  The petite beauty is wearing a nice, modest light-purple dress,
but her eyes are filled with dread and pain as she cannot fight off Big
Mama.  She's not called Big Mama because she's a shrinking violet.  The
crowd goes bananas, booing and yelling for Mayhem to go take care of
this.

Big Mama points at Amanda... then points to the concrete floor next to
the rampway.  Eyes bulging with rage, Mayhem pauses for a moment,
pointing down the rampway at Big Mama.]

GM: WAIT JUST A MINUTE!  BIG MAMA IS BANNED FROM RINGSIDE!

BW: She ain't nowhere NEAR ringside, Gordo!  And Amanda is there too,
why pick on Big Mama!

GM: THIS IS EXTORTION!

BW:  Yeah, but you notice Mayhem ain't exactly runnin' down there to
stop this!

[Big Mama backpedals.  Well, actually she sidepedals.  She goes onto one
of the interview sets, and threatens to throw Amanda off...

...which finally caues Mayhem to jump down off the ropes to the ramp,
charging back towards the entryway to where Amanda is still screaming
for aid.]

GM:  Mayhem's heading back there!  He's gonna stop this!

[As Mayhem draws closer, Big Mama reacts in fear, and she shoves Amanda
down, fleeing the scene as Mayhem arrives, dropping to his own knees to
check on the downed Amanda.  Miss Amanda is hurting, clutching her
side.]  

BM: What kinda lowlife scum hurts a woman ta get at a man?!

BW: Big Mama is a woman, too!  She's allowed!

BM: Casanova sent her!  Ya know he did!  Who cares what the medium he
used... that's lowdown!

[Miss Amanda points to the ring, pleading with her man to forget about
her and go take care of business.  It's a heart-rending sight.  Mayhem's
eyes bulge in rage again... the kind of rage that makes you fear for a
man's life.  Shaking with fury, he heads back to the ring, glaring at
the still-downed Casanova as if he'd like to murder him.

And then something else interrupts him...]


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM: What's that... the bell?  No... NO!  SCOTT MAYHEM WAS COUNTED OUT!

[The referee goes to the now-seated form of Casanova, who only now has
pulled himself up... and raises his hand!  A deafening chorus of boos
rain down from all over the Crockett Colosseum!]

BW: I PICKED ME A WINNER TONIGHT, DADDY!  WE GOIN' SIZZLAH!

BM: Casanova might be goin' ta Hell.  Literally.

[Johnny C points and laughs.  "Your woman cost you AGAIN?!" he crows. 
And then he gurgles a lot, because Scott Mayhem kicks him right in the
throat.]

GM: AND MAYHEM IS UNHINGED!  HE'S CHOKING CASANOVA!  HE IS TRYING TO
CHOKE THE LIFE OUT OF JOHNNY CASANOVA!

BM: Ya put yer hands on a man's woman... directly or through a proxy...
an' this is what you should expect!

BW: HE'S TRYING TO KILL HIM!

GM: I don't know about that!  But he is definitely trying to hurt him
very badly!  Security is rushing the ring, and Casanova trying to roll
out of the ring!  They've pulled Casanova out, and are having to
physically restrain Scott Mayhem!

BW: They ain't doin' a real good job!

[Mayhem kicks through the ropes, blasting Casanva in the shoulder and
sending him down on top of the guards who were helping him to the back! 
Mayhem then climbs the turnbuckles... but security stands in the way. 
Mayhem beckons for them to move... even feints a jump... but Casanova is
able to hustle out of range before Scott makes the decision to pull the
trigger.  Casanova raises a weary hand, smiling and gloating as he
backpedals down the walkway next to the elevated ramp.  Mayhem just
glares... sheer, all-consuming hate in his eyes.]

GM: This is not over... oh, no.

BW: It's over for Mayhem's chances of winnin' the Longhorn Title!  He's
done!

BM: After what I just saw?  It's over for Casanova's chances.

GM: Of winning the title?

BM: Of _breeding_.

[There is a loud THUMP as a disgusted Maverick dumps his headset and
exits the broadcast booth.  Mayhem remains perched on high, pointing to
the now-distant form of Johnny Casanova.  He screams... "THIS AIN'T
OVER!" as we fade to black.

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

JD:  You know, Mark... the AWA Access iPhone app has been so popular
over the past year, I hear we're making a sequel!

MS:  Jason, that kind of news is so hot, it should be on the app!

[The two men laugh very awkwardly as a giant iPhone appears.]

JD:  Hello, Mr. iPhone.

[The iPhone speaks.  Yes.  Yes it does.]

iPhone:  Hello, Jason Dane.  Did you know that former AWA National
Champion Kolya Sudakov was a former Mixed Martial Artist?

JD:  Well, actually I did.

iPhone:  Mark Stegglet, did you know that Calisto Dufresne was the first
and only champion in Pro Wrestling Revolution?

MS(in his best Johnny Carson impression):  I did not know that!

[Thankfully, a voiceover starts.]

VO:  Starting today, you can download AWA Access Version 2.0!  This new
app contains a brand new TRIVIA mode where you can get all the details
on your favorite AWA superstars!  Plus, be the first to see our brand
new BEFORE THE AWA section where you can find matches from the best of
the AWA - before they were AWA!

AWA Access Version 2.0 - coming to an iPhone near you!

[Fade back to black...

...and then back up to live action in the interview area, where we see
Jason Dane standing by with Juan Vasquez.]

JD: Ladies and gentlemen, I have with me at this time, a man who's been
surrounded by controversy as of late...Juan Vasquez!

[Juan waves to the crowd as they respond to him with huge cheers.]

JD: It was certainly a shocking course of events on the last edition of
Saturday Night, Juan.

JV: Ya' got that right, Jason. Never in a million years would I have
ever thought The Assassin would put Stevie Scott out like that. It's
just a damn shame that he didn't get to keep the title, though.

JD: Now, even though you denied the allegations last time, The West
Memphis Assassin's absolute refusal to unmask has only further fanned
the flames of controversy that he is in fact you! Do you have any
further comments regarding that?

[Juan smiles and laughs.]

JV: Are you guys *still* on that? How many times do I gotta' say that I
ain't the West Memphis Assassin before you believe me? 

[He shrugs.]

JV: What you guys need to understand is that in this business, a man
tends to end up with more enemies than he knows what to do with. I can
understand why The Assassin would want to keep his identity secret. We
all saw what happened to Todd Michaelson, didn't we? 

And right now, the West Memphis Assassin? 

He's got lunatics like the Masked Maniac and The Southern Syndicate to
watch out for. He's probably got friends and family he needs to protect
from those animals. I understand completely why he wouldn't want his
identity to be known.

[A sigh.]

JV: But whatever his reasons, The Assassin decided that keepin' his
identity secret was more important than even holdin' onto the National
Title. I can't say I like it, since that means Stevie Scott keeps the
belt... but I can accept it. That was his decision and we all gotta'
respect it.

[Juan smirks and runs his hand through his hair.]

JV: Besides, why would anyone with my youthful good looks ever try to
hide this face underneath a mask?

[Juan flashes a big grin as some of his more devoted female fans cheer
loudly.] 

JD: But you have to admit, there are a lot of similarities between you
two, including his in-ring style, which utilizes more than just a few of
your signature manuevers. 

JV: Hell, that just means the man's got excellent taste.

[A chuckle, before a more serious expression forms on Juan's face.]

JV: Look, Jason...I understand that a lot of people want to believe that
Juan Vasquez was the man underneath that mask. They want to believe that
I've been playing Ben Waterson and the Syndicate for fools all this
time. That I stepped into that ring two weeks ago, went
headbutt-for-headbutt with Raph, tossed MAMMOTH Mizusawa out like
yesterday's garbage, won that battle royal, called out Stevie
Scott...took this thumb... 

[Juan holds his thumb up into the air.]

JV: ..._STUCK_ it right into that bastard's throat...

[He makes a stabbing motion right into the imaginary neck of an
imaginary Stevie Scott.]

JV: ...and held it down until his limbs stopped flailing, his face
turned blue and his sorry butt was knocked unconscious! [Big Pop!] That
I won the AWA National title! [Bigger Pop!] That by all accounts, I _am_
the rightful National champion! [Biggest Pop!]

I know that's what they wanna' hear!

[The crowd cheers wildly as Juan gives a pretty vivid account of what he
"didn't" do to Stevie Scott two weeks ago.]

JV: But amigo? I'll say it now, I'll say it tomorrow and I'll say it
forever!

[Juan leans in close to Jason Dane and shakes his head slowly.]

JV: I _ain't_ the West Memphis Assassin.

[A wink.]

JV: And that's all there is...to it.

[With that, pats Dane on the shoulder and walks off-screen.]

JD:  You heard the man.  Now, let's go down to-

[Suddenly, Jason Dane freezes in his track, looking off camera.]

JD:  Uhh, hey... what are you doing here?

[The camera pans over to reveal Lori Dane approaching.]

JD:  You're not scheduled to be out here, Lori.  In fact, I don't know
what you're trying to do to Melis-

[Lori shakes her head, grabbing the mic.]

LD:  Let me handle this, Jason.

[Jason snatches the mic back.]

JD:  I'm just trying to do my job out here.  And we've got a Main Event
to go to-

[Lori grabs the mic again.]

LD:  We're running late every damn week.  I'm sure WKIK's got a few
minutes for me to talk.

[Jason tries to get the mic again.]

LD:  Knock it off, Jason.  Look, little brother, you'd do well to
remember who got you into this business to begin with.  I convinced Todd
to give you a shot.  I convinced the front office in Los Angeles to let
you work there too on a national stage.  I'm the reason you've got a job
here.

So, step aside and let me handle my business...

[A humiliated Jason Dane raises his hands, backing off from his angry
sister who casts a gaze towards the ring where Melissa Cannon is
standing.]

LD:  Well, well, well...

[Lori pauses.]

LD:  I see that not a single thing I've said has sunk into that pretty
little head of yours.  You're not listening to me.  You're not back in a
ring somewhere training.  You're not pushing the front office to find
you someone to wrestle.

[Dane nods.]

LD:  So, you've chosen to ignore me?

[Melissa shakes her head inside the ring, almost pleading with Lori to
stop.]

LD:  When you came to that filthy garage in Los Angeles and told me how
you wanted to wrestle, you told me I was one of your heroes in this
business.

Was that a lie, Melissa?

[Cannon shakes her head in denial.]

LD:  Because if that was the truth, than you know that I don't take well
to being ignored.

[The crowd buzzes at the implied threat.]

LD:  Fine.  You want to try to ignore me?  I'm going to make it
impossible for you.

In two weeks, I'm coming to the Crockett Coliseum...

...and I'm coming dressed to wrestle.

[Big cheer!]

LD:  I will walk down that ramp.  I will step into that ring.  I will
walk across it...

...and I will slap you in the face.

[The crowd explodes in a mixed reaction.]

LD:  You'll have two choices - you can slap me back and fight me like
the WRESTLER you once claimed to be...

[Dane pauses.]

LD:  Or you can whimper and cry and announce me as the winner of the
match by forfeit.

It's your choice.  But you've only got two weeks to make it.

[One more pause to show off a glare to tell the world just how serious
she is.]

LD:  Choose wisely.

[Dane drops the mic, turning to walk away from the interview platform. 
The camera cuts inside the ring where a stunned Melissa Cannon is
looking on, shaking her head in disbelief.]

GM:  What in the world has gotten into Lori Dane, Bucky?

BW:  She wants her prize student to do what she's been trained to do! 
What's wrong with that?

GM:  There's a right and a wrong way to handle something like this and
this is totally wrong!

BW:  Says you.

GM:  Look at Melissa Cannon!  She's practically in tears!  Fans, we're
going to take a quick break to let Melissa regroup and we'll be right
back with our Main Event of the evening!

[Fade to black.

...and then back up on a shot of the AWA National Title belt.  The
super-excited voice of Mark Stegglet is heard over it.]

"You've seen it on Saturday Night Wrestling!"

[A shot of Marcus Broussard with the belt over his shoulder.]

"You've seen it on AWA supercards like Memorial Day Mayhem and The Last
Stampede!"

[A shot of Ron Houston wearing the belt in a promo picture.]

"You've seen the best the AWA has to offer wearing it!"

[Now a shot of Kolya Sudakov in a fighting pose with the belt hanging
over his shoulder.]

"And now, it can be yours!"

[A shot of Stevie Scott holding the belt high in the air fades into a
shot of a young fan doing the same.]

"Available NOW on AWAShop.com, get the official replica of the AWA
National Title belt that only the best and brightest of the AWA
superstars have held!"

[A closeup of the AWA National Title slowly fades to black...

...and then back up to live action where a still-shaken Melissa Cannon
is standing in the middle of the ring.]

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a one hour
time limit!

[Big cheer!]

MC:  It is a non-title match.  However, if the West Memphis Assassin
wins, he will be awarded an OPEN CONTRACT for a National Title match!

[Bigger cheer!]

MC:  But if he loses, the MASK COMES OFF TONIGHT!

[A big mixed reaction - hey, people want to know who's under the hood!]

MC:  Introducing first... 

[The crowd bursts into jeers at the sounds of "Gimme Back My Bullets."]

MC:  He is accompanied to the ring by his manager, the Agent To The
Stars, Ben Waterson and is the reigning AWA National Champion...

"HOTSHOT" STEEEEEEVIE SCOTT!

[Scott and Waterson step through the curtain to even more jeers.  A
flustered-looking Waterson is absent his suit jacket and tie, wearing
his dress shirt buttoned down a few notches.  His red face is shouting
at any ringside fans who dare to yell in his direction tonight.]

GM:  Look at Ben Waterson.  This just hasn't been his best couple of
months, Bucky.

BW:  The loss in WarGames.  Homecoming was pretty much a bust.  Freeman
loses tonight in the tournament.  BVB quits.  I'm sure he's ready to
pop.

[The National Champion seems a lot more in control, the title belt
snugly secured around his waist as he slowly walks down the ramp, eyes
locked on the ring.  He doesn't react to a single fan as he steps
through the ropes.  He hands the title belt over to the official,
promptly moving to the corner where he shadowboxes a bit to loosen up.]

GM:  It's been a long time since we've seen Stevie Scott this focused,
Bucky.

BW:  He said he's out to send a message tonight.  He's out to show the
world the Stevie Scott of old - the man who stooped to unheard-of depths
to become the National Champion and has gone even deeper at times to
keep that belt around his waist for the better part of over a year.

GM:  The greatest professional wrestler in the world is inside that ring
ready to compete with the man he believes is his greatest rival.  But is
it?  We may find out tonight.

[The music starts to fade as it is replaced by the theme to "For A Few
Dollars More."  The crowd BURSTS into cheers!]

MC:  And his opponent... he hails from West Memphis, Tennessee...

THE WEST... MEMPHIS... ASSASSINNNNNN!

[The masked man steps into view, covered completely from head to toe.  A
long leather trenchcoat covers his body as he strides down the aisle,
his face completely obscured by a mask.]

GM:  Here he comes, Bucky - the man who two weeks ago put Stevie Scott
down with the Assassin's Spike and left him unconscious in the middle of
the ring to become the National Champion.

BW:  But he gave the title back rather than take that mask off!  What
kind of competitor does that?  This is the biggest title in our sport! 
You want to know who does that, Gordo?  Someone who has something to
hide!  Someone who has something to lose!  And Juan Vasquez has the
WORLD to lose!  If that mask comes off to show his face, he will be
BANNED from the AWA for life!

GM:  That was the ruling put down by "Big" Jim Watkins and it certainly
adds a level of intrigue to this showdown here tonight in the Crockett
Coliseum.  The Assassin steps through-

[But as soon as he gets his torso between the ropes, the National
Champion dashes into action, scoring with a high kneelift to the masked
man's jaw, knocking him backwards through the ropes onto the elevated
ramp.]

GM:  Ohh!  And the champ's off to an early start!

[He shouts at the referee to ring the bell as he steps through the ropes
to where his masked rival is down on the wooden platform.]

GM:  There's the bell and this match is underway!

[Scott delivers a pair of stomps to the downed masked man before
dropping down to a knee himself.  He grabs the Assassin by the back of
the head, delivering a pair of hard right hands to the skull before
grabbing the neckline of the mask, trying to pull it up.]

GM:  He's going for the mask already!

[But the Assassin is ready, swinging a leg up to drive a knee into the
back of Scott, blocking his attempt.  The Assassin scampers to his feet,
adjusting the mask as he leans against the ropes outside the ring.]

BW:  The champ needs to stay focused - win the match and the mask comes
off.  Don't get caught up in trying to get the mask off before then. 
Win first, mask second.

GM:  It's a good strategy, Bucky.

BW:  I'm not a former Manager Of The Year for nothing, Gordo.

GM:  I suppose not.

[Outside the ring, the Hotshot regains his feet, approaching the
Assassin who is leaning on the ropes, still a little rattled from the
kneelift.  Scott pushes his head back, snapping off a chop across the
chest.]

GM:  Ohh!  Big knife-edge chop out on the ramp!

[A second one connects as well, stunning the Assassin as the Hotshot
backs off, measuring his man...]

GM:  What's he got in mind now?

[With the referee's count up to six, the Hotshot charges forward with a
clothesline...

...but the Assassin ducks down, HURLING Scott over the ropes and down to
the canvas below with a backdrop!]

GM:  He backdrops him INTO the ring!  You don't see that too often!

[Out on the ramp, the masked man removes his trenchcoat, throwing it
down to the wooden ramp before he steps through the ropes, approaching
Scott who is scooting backwards on his backside, hands raised as the
masked man approaches.  Outside the ring, Ben Waterson is SCREAMING
instructions to his man as the masked man draws near...

...and the Hotshot follows them, reaching up to hook a handful of
tights, using the leverage to yank the Assassin through the ropes and
down to the barely-padded concrete floor below.]

GM:  OHHH!  Back outside the ring he goes!

BW:  And I don't think the Assassin would be wise to be outside the ring
with the Hotshot.  The champ plays dirty and likes it that way, Gordo.

GM:  Scott's following out after him - on the apron now...

[Leaping off, the Hotshot smashes home the point of his elbow into the
covered back of the Assassin's neck, putting him back down on the
floor.]

GM:  Simple execution but so effective.

[A few feet away, Ben Waterson gives some instructions as the Hotshot
hauls the masked man off the floor.  Grabbing the back of the mask, the
National Champion SLAMS him facefirst into the ring apron to the jeers
of the ringside fans.]

GM:  Scott's got the masked man reeling here and- look out now!

[Grabbing the arm of the Assassin, Scott HURLS him spinefirst into the
nearest steel barricade to the jeers of the crowd!]

GM:  OHHH!  BACKFIRST INTO THE SAFETY RAILING!!

[As the referee's count hits eight, Scott rolls back into the ring,
getting to his feet where the referee lets him have it for the
outside-the-ring brawling...

...a distraction that proves costly for the Assassin as Waterson
measures him and cracks him with a right hand, knocking him down to the
floor.]

GM:  Ohh!  Right hand from Waterson!

BW:  And don't forget - that's no sissy manager out there.  Ben Waterson
is a former pro wrestler and a former Mixed Martial Artist.  He can
throw a right hand!

GM:  He certainly can.

[Scott steps back out on the apron with his opponent down on a knee on
the floor.  The referee reprimands him but he ignores the cries, hopping
down off the apron.  He promptly delivers a kick to the ribs of the
Assassin before leaning down to drag him back to his feet.]

GM:  Both men back up on their feet now...

[The crowd begins to buzz as the Hotshot slings the Assassin's arm over
his neck, reaching back to hook the tights.]

GM:  He's going to suplex him on the floor!  

[The champ attempts to do exactly that but a wriggling Assassin blocks
it, landing on his feet...

...and reversing the move, taking Scott up and over, smashing down on
the floor!]

GM:  OHHH!  Big vertical suplex on the barely-padded floor!

[Both men lie motionless on the floor for a few moments as the referee's
count hits six.  The Assassin is the first to rise, using the bottom
rope to tug himself back into the ring.  At Waterson's frantic urging,
Scott is up at eight, stumbling into the apron where he pulls himself up
onto it.]

GM:  Scott's on the apron and-

[The crowd cheers a big European uppercut under the chin by the
Assassin, snapping Scott's head back.  He quickly hooks the Hotshot
again, slinging the arm over his neck...]

GM:  He's bringing him in the hard way!

[But before he can, Ben Waterson subtly hooks the ankle, blocking the
lift.  The Assassin has to break his grip on Scott to kick Waterson
away...

...and gets his eyes raked for his efforts!]

GM:  Ohh!  Scott with a cheapshot and-

[Hooking both hands behind the head of the Assassin, Scott leaps off the
apron, snapping the masked man's throat down over the top rope!]

GM:  He clotheslined him with the top rope!  Snapped him back and down
to the mat!

[Scott promptly dives under the bottom rope, applying a lateral press on
the gasping Assassin who is clutching his throat.]

GM:  Cover for one!  For two!  But that's all.  The Assassin is out at
two.

[The Hotshot pushes up off the mat, exposing the point of his elbow, and
DRIVING it down into the throat of the Assassin!]

GM:  Ohh!  What a shot!

BW:  And I really like this strategy, Gordo.  It's hard enough to
breathe inside one of those masks and this will just make it worse.

[A fierce-looking Scott wraps his hands around the throat, throttling a
choking Assassin.]

GM:  Blatant choke here by the Hotshot.  We've heard Juan Vasquez two
weeks in a row deny that he is the West Memphis Assassin.  In fact, this
week, he asked why anyone would ever think he'd wear a mask.

BW:  But anyone who has followed the career of Juan Vasquez knows that
he HAS worn a mask before!  Back in Los Angeles, he wore the mask of a
competitor known as the Ribera Kid for months!  So, spare me the "Oh,
who me?" routine.

GM:  My broadcast colleague has definitely done his research.

[Scott breaks the choke at four...

...and then reapplies it.]

GM:  Come on, referee!  Get in there and do your job.

BW:  He's counting, Gordo.  He can't do anything else.

[Scott breaks the choke at four again, this time regaining his feet.  He
reaches down to haul the masked man back to his feet, bodying him back
to stand chestfirst against the ropes.  Grabbing a handful of hair,
Scott looks out at the jeering crowd...

...and then leaps over the ropes, snapping his throat down on the top
rope again!]

GM:  Ohh!  He got all of that!

[Scott promptly rolls back in, applying another cover.]

GM:  One!  Two!  That's it but there was a lot less pepper on the
kickout of the Assassin this time.  Stevie Scott's having a lot of luck
in taking some of the wind out of the masked man's sails, Bucky.

BW:  A wise man once said, "If a man can't breathe, he can't fight." 
And if you want living proof, take a look right now at the West Memphis
Assassin.

[The masked man rolls away under the ropes to the apron...

...where a baseball slide kick from Stevie Scott knocks him back out to
the floor.]

GM:  Ohh - down to the floor he goes!

[Scott rolls out under the ropes as well, stalking towards the masked
man who has regained his feet and is trying to back away.]

BW:  Look at the big, bad masked man running now!  He's not so tough!

[Grabbing the masked man by the arm, Scott wheels him around, looking to
whip him into the steel ringpost...

...but the Assassin reverses it, sending the Hotshot crashing into the
steel!]

GM:  REVERSED!  REVERSED BY THE ASSASSIN!

[Scott stumbles backwards into the waiting arms of the Assassin who
spins him around, scooping him up, and driving him down to the thin
padding with a bodyslam!]

GM:  Scoop slam on the floor and- BOOM!  Big elbowdrop to follow!

[And this time, the Assassin rolls into the mount, grabbing the champion
by his long hair and driving right hands over and over into the skull of
the downed National Champion!]

GM:  The Assassin's all over him on the floor!  He's beating the tar out
of the champ on the floor!

[With the crowd roaring and the referee's count rising, the Assassin
rises up.  He grabs at his throat once before pulling Scott off the
floor, shoving him bodily under the ropes.]

GM:  Both men back inside the ring now... Scott's trying to back away...

[He backscoots all the way to the corner on his rear, hands raised...

...and EATS a running knee to the face in the buckles!]

GM:  OHHHH!

BW:  TELL ME, GORDO!  TELL ME that's not Juan Vasquez!  That's a
signature move of Juan Vasquez!

[The Assassin violently yanks a dazed Scott up to his feet, hooking him
under the arm...

...and HURLING him through the air and down to the mat with a hiptoss!]

GM:  BIG!  TIME!  HIP!  TOSS!

BW:  Another one!  How many times have we called a hiptoss in a Juan
Vasquez match?

[And with a dashing start, the Assassin hurls himself into the air,
smashing down across the chest of the National Champion with a sloppy
looking senton!]

GM:  Backsplash!

BW:  SHADES OF TOMMY STEPHENS PERHAPS?!?

[Flipping to his chest, the Assassin reaches back to hook a leg.]

GM:  THAT'S ONE!!  TWO!!  THR-

[The crowd roars in disappointment as the Hotshot just barely gets a
shoulder up off the canvas.]

GM:  He got the shoulder up!  The National Champion lives to keep on
fighting!

[The Assassin slowly gets up, looking out over the roaring crowd.  He
reaches down, hauling Scott to his feet by the hair...

...and pulling him into a standing headscissors!]

GM:  Whoa!  Whoa!

BW:  He's gonna piledrive the champion!

GM:  Where did THIS come from?

[The Assassin reaches down, wrapping his arms around the torso of Stevie
Scott...

...but Ben Waterson promptly leaps up on the apron, screaming and
shouting in the direction of the official.  The referee moves to
intercept.]

GM:  The referee's trying to get Waterson off the apron and-

[And Stevie Scott drops to a knee just before SLAMMING his arm up into
the groin of the Assassin!]

GM:  OHHH!  LOW BLOW!  LOW BLOW!

BW:  And rightfully so!  Do you know how dangerous that piledriver can
be?

GM:  I do!  We've seen Stevie Scott use that piledriver in the AWA
before and-

[With the Assassin hurting from the low blow, Scott hooks his head and
leg, dragging him down into a small package.]

GM:  CRADLE!  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE-

[But the Assassin's shoulder flies off the mat just before the three
count falls.  An irate Ben Waterson screams at the official for an
alleged slow count outside the ring.  The referee argues it was only two
as both men try to get back to their feet before the other.]

GM:  We've got a race to get up!

[Both men get to their feet roughly the same time.  The West Memphis
Assassin strikes first with a heavy haymaker across the jaw.  The
champion quickly fires back.]

GM:  This is a slugfest now!

[The two men continue to trade right hands to the roars of the crowd.  A
wildly swung right hand from Scott is ducked as the Assassin hooks him
behind the arms, taking him down in a backslide.]

GM:  BACKSLIDE!!  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE- 

[The crowd deflates as the Hotshot kicks out just in time.]

GM:  The cradle was SO tight!  He just narrowly escaped it!

[Both men scamper to their feet again, this time Scott sneaking a knee
into the midsection to stop the Assassin short.  He yanks the Assassin
into a standing headscissors of his own.]

GM:  And now it's the Hotshot going for a piledriver!  He's going for
the piledriver!

[A desperate Assassin grabs both legs, straightening up and pulling hard
to take the legs out from under Scott.]

GM:  Whew.  He countered it and now- 

[BIG CHEER!]

GM:  What's he- 

[Tying up the legs, the Assassin steps through, turning Scott over onto
his stomach!]

GM:  LAST RITES!  HE'S GOT THE LAST RITES APPLIED!

[The scorpion deathlock wrenches the back of the Hotshot, causing him to
cry out in pain as the Assassin leans back.  The crowd roars, surging to
their feet in anticipation of a submission.]

GM:  He's got it hooked in the middle of the ring!  There's no way out
of this!  There's no way-

[The crowd ERUPTS in jeers as Calisto Dufresne and Adrian Freeman come
charging down the ramp towards the ring.  Spotting them coming, the
Assassin breaks the hold and steps out on the apron where he catches
Freeman coming in, twisting...

...and DRIVING him down on the ramp with a spinning powerslam!]

GM:  POWERSLAM ON FREEMAN!!

[From ringside, Waterson can be heard screaming at Dufresne!]

GM:  He called off Dufresne!  He told Dufresne that if he touches the
Assassin, Stevie loses!

BW:  And he's right!

[The Ladykiller backs off, hands raised as the Assassin glares him
down...

...and then steps back through the ropes.]



"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!"



GM:  HEATSEEKER!!  HEATSEEKER OUT OF NOWHERE!!

[Scott collapses on the prone Assassin!]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREEEEEEEE!!!

[But the crowd ERUPTS as the referee leaps up holding two fingers in the
air, pointing to the Assassin's foot that is draped over the bottom
rope.]

GM:  No!  No!  He got the foot on the ropes!

BW:  Drag him to the center, Stevie!  Get the mask off him!

[Scott goes to do exactly that, dragging the Assassin by the arm out
towards the middle of the ring...

...and points to the buckles!]

GM:  Are you kidding me?!  This is an amazing risk to take right now!

BW:  Stevie's going up top!

GM:  He's heading to the corner... up to the second rope... now to the
top...

[And with a foot on the top rope, he steps all the way up, pausing a
moment before backflipping through the air...]

GM:  STEVIESAULT!!

[The National Champion hits a full rotation before CRASHING chestfirst
down across the covered chest of the West Memphis Assassin!]

GM:  HE GOT IT!!  I CAN'T BELIEVE IT, HE GOT IT ALL!!

[The Hotshot crawls across the downed Assassin, reaching back to hook a
leg.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE-

[HUUUUUUGE CHEER!]

GM:  SHOULDER UP!!  MY GOD, HE GOT THE SHOULDER UP!!

[A shocked Stevie Scott pops up to his knees, glaring at the official. 
He smacks the canvas hard with the palm of his right hand before getting
back up to his feet.  He shouts out "HEATSEEKER!" as he backs to the
corner, slapping his leg as he waits for the masked man to rise.]

GM:  The Assassin got out of one Heatseeker but I don't think he'd kick
out of a second one!  

BW:  Stevie's ready!  Stevie's set!

[And as the masked man slowly climbs to his feet, shaking his head back
and forth, he staggers as he turns...]

GM:  HEATSEEKER!!

[But this time, the Assassin ducks under it, causing Stevie to fly past
him.  The masked man wraps his arms around the waist of the Hotshot,
hoisting him up into the air and DUMPING him down on the back of his
head on the mat!]

GM:  OHHH!  WAISTLOCK SUPLEX!!

[Still holding the waistlock after the German Suplex, the masked man
rolls them both back up to his feet...

...and charges them both into the ropes, Scott's chest smacking into the
ropes as they rebound off.  The Assassin falls backwards, pulling
Scott's shoulders down onto the mat!]

GM:  ROLLING REVERSE CRADLE!!

[But the Assassin breaks the cradle to deliver a hard right hand on
Calisto Dufresne who had rushed towards the apron, knocking him down to
the floor!]

GM:  DUFRESNE IS DOWN!!

BW:  But the champ is saved again and-

[The Assassin turns around, reaching down to pull the champion back to
his feet...

...when the Hotshot suddenly slams his extended fingers into the
windpipe of the Assassin!]

GM:  Ohh!  He caught him in the throat!

[Scott promptly grabs the Assassin around the waist, hoisting him off
the mat, turning towards the ropes...

...and DROPS the masked man throatfirst across the top rope!]

GM:  OHH!  HE DROPS THE HAMMER ON THE ASSASSIN!

[Scott pops up, pumping a fist before diving on top of the masked man,
going right after the mask...]

GM:  He's not going for a cover!

BW:  It's better!  He's going for the mask!

GM:  I thought you said that was a bad idea!

BW:  It was until now!

[The Hotshot quickly goes to work on the mask of the injured Assassin...

...and RIPS it off, turning away to hold it high in the air as the
formely-masked man covers his head!]

GM:  THE MASK IS OFF!!

BW:  IS IT HIM?!  IS IT VASQUEZ?!

GM:  I can't tell!  He's got his arms over his head!

BW:  Turn him over, Stevie!  Show the world who is packing their bags! 
Show the world-

[Bucky stops in mid-sentence as the crowd ERUPTS in cheers.

Why?

Because someone has just stepped out onto the entrance ramp, applauding
in the direction of the ring.]

GM:  JUAN VASQUEZ!!  VASQUEZ IS OUT ON THE RAMP!!

BW:  What?!  WHAT?!  If he's there, then who is-

[The National Champion, mask in hand, spots Vasquez on the apron.  His
eyes go wide.]

"YOU?!"

[Vasquez simply grins at his rival who looks shocked.]

"But if you're there... then who is..."

[HUUUUUUGE CHEER!]

GM:  OH MY GOD!!  OH MY GOD!!!

[Scott spins around, mask still in hand...

...and comes face-to-face with the man he THOUGHT he had put out of
wrestling with a piledriver over a year ago!]

GM:  ADAM ROGERS IS THE WEST MEMPHIS ASSASSIN!

[A still stunned Scott throws the mask aside and frantically throws a
Heatseeker aimed at the grinning Natural...

...who sidesteps it, hooking his left arm around the upper body of the
National Champion!]

BW:  NO!!

[And SINKS his right thumb into the windpipe of the Hotshot!]

GM:  ASSASSIN'S SPIKE!!  ASSASSIN'S SPIKE!!

[Scott frantically struggles against the same hold that left him
unconscious two weeks ago.  Ben Waterson leaps up on the apron,
screaming at the official...

...and gets YANKED down off the apron by Juan Vasquez who winds up and
DRILLS Waterson with a right hand that knocks him flat!  Vasquez spins
around and suddenly is brawling with Calisto Dufresne and Adrian Freeman
as well when Marcus Broussard emerges out of nowhere to join in the
brawl!]

GM:  BROUSSARD!  BROUSSARD AND VASQUEZ ARE BRAWLING WITH THE SOUTHERN
SYNDICATE AT RINGSIDE!!  SCOTT'S ALL ALONE!!

[The National Champion pumps his arms, looking to get to the ropes,
looking for any kind of escape...

...but slowly and surely starts to fade!]

GM:  Stevie's going out!  The National Champion is fading fast!  He's-


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


[DEAFENING CHEER!]

GM:  HE'S OUT!  HE'S OUT!!

[The crowd is roaring as Adam Rogers releases the Spike, allowing Stevie
Scott to slump down to the canvas.  Juan Vasquez and Marcus Broussard
hop up on the apron, joining Rogers inside the ring as Melissa makes it
official.]

MC:  Ladies and gentlemen... here is your winner by referee stoppage...

He is THE NATURAL...

AAAAAAAADAM ROOOOOOOOGERRRRRS!

[The crowd ERUPTS as the announcement is made.  A big grin crosses
Rogers' face as he watches Dufresne and Freeman drag the Hotshot from
the ring to the floor where a frantic Ben Waterson hovers over him,
shaking the champion repeatedly.]

GM:  Adam Rogers was the West Memphis Assassin!

BW:  Tonight he was!  You trying to tell me Rogers has been the Assassin
all along?!  No way!  No chance!  Adam Rogers is not capable of some of
the offense we saw from the Assassin over the past few months!  This is
all some kind of trick - some kind of scam!  Juan Vasquez was the damned
Assassin!  I know he was!

GM:  The mask came off and Adam Rogers was under it!

BW:  Damn it, Myers!  I know he was tonight but-

GM:  Adam Rogers has beaten Stevie Scott and he has won an Open Contract
to challenge for the AWA National Title!  Rogers has- wait a second...
wait one second... Rogers is asking for the house mic...

[Melissa hands the mic over to Adam Rogers who is still grinning.]

AR:  They say...

[Rogers takes a second to catch his breath.]

AR:  They say that those who don't learn their history are doomed to
repeat it.

In 1978, my father, George Rogers, wore this mask...

[Rogers picks up the discarded West Memphis Assassin mask.]

AR:  And no one ever saw it coming when he took it off.  32 years
later... I've done the exact... same... thing.

[Big cheer!]

AR:  This night means so much to me.  To be able to come back here for
one night to the AWA and do what I do best in front of all these great
fans...

[Another big cheer!]

AR:  It means so much to me.  It really does.  I just couldn't live with
the thought that the last memory you would all have of me is getting
carried out on a stretcher after that piledriver last August.

So, when Juan asked me to be a part of this... I couldn't refuse.

[The cheers keep on going.]

AR:  I can't thank you all enough and I really could stand out here all
night trying but...

[Rogers points to the Southern Syndicate, rattled at ringside.]

AR:  ...there's one piece of business to get to.

If I heard Melissa right, I won this match... I, the West Memphis
Assassin, beat you, Stevie Scott.  Is that right?

[Rogers grins at the crowd's reaction.]

AR:  I thought so.  And if I read the contract right, that means that I,
Adam Rogers, now own an Open Contract to a shot at the AWA National
Title whenever and wherever I want...

[Another huge cheer!]

AR:  But the fact is, I didn't do this alone.  Juan Vasquez, my friend,
is the whole reason this came together tonight.  And I couldn't have
done any of this without him.

[A handshake between Rogers and Vasquez.]

AR:  Truth is... this is a one night stand for me.

[The crowd boos that news.  Rogers grins, shaking his head.]

AR:  I appreciate that too.  Maybe another time... but this isn't my
moment.  You guys don't need me.  You've got guys like my best friend,
Marcus Broussard...

[Big cheer!]

AR:  ...and Juan Vasquez.

[Big cheer!]

AR:  Which brings me to that open contract.

[The crowd starts to buzz.]

AR:  Now, I've got quite a bit of cash left from my days working in Los
Angeles and as you may have heard ol' Ben down there say, I've been
saving some money on health care working up in Canada these days...

[Laughter all around!]

AR:  So, I had time to have my high-priced lawyer go over the contract
for this match here tonight.  And if he reads it right, it looks like
not only do I get to pick WHEN this National Title match happens...

Not only to I get to pick WHERE this National Title match happens...

[Dramatic pause!]

AR:  I get to pick WHO gets this National Title match!

[HUGE CHEER!]

AR:  And in all due respect to Marcus, I really can think of only one
man who DESERVES that shot at the title.

[BIGGER CHEER!]

AR:  ANYBODY WANT TO TAKE A GUESS WHO THAT IS?!

[EVEN BIGGER CHEER!]

AR:  On Thanksgiving night... at SuperClash 2... "Hotshot", you better
bring your A-game because you're putting that title on the line...

...AGAINST JUAN VASQUEZ!!!

[DEAFENING ROAR!!  The Southern Syndicate loses their collective minds
at ringside as Rogers throws the mic down, again shaking the hand of a
beaming Juan Vasquez who does the "I want the belt" gesture in the
direction of a now-conscious Stevie Scott who is staring into the ring
in total disbelief.]

GM:  OH MY STARS AND GARTERS!!  WHAT A NIGHT WE'VE HAD HERE IN DALLAS! 
THE WEST MEMPHIS ASSASSIN'S MASK CAME OFF... BUT JUAN VASQUEZ HAS GOTTEN
ONE MORE SHOT AT THE NATIONAL TITLE!!

BW:  This can't be happening.  Someone wake me up please.  This is
Dallas, right?  Crazy dreams happen in Dallas!

GM:  This is no dream!  Juan Vasquez will challenge Stevie Scott for the
National Title in just over six weeks' time!  My stars, I can't believe
it!  Fans, we're out of time!  We've gotta go!  We'll see you next
time... at the matches!

[Vasquez is up on the middle rope, pointing at a shocked Stevie Scott as
the crowd continues to roar...

...and we fade to black.]