Saturday Night Wrestling

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American Wrestling Alliance 
Proudly Presents 
AWA Saturday Night Wrestling

Live from the WKIK Studios 
Dallas, Texas 
April 24, 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 the closing moments of the Main Event
with Duane Henry Bishop out on the floor surrounded by a pile of
Southern Syndicate members he just landed on.  Inside the ring, with the
referee distracted, Adrian Freeman slips up behind Cletus Lee...

...and DRIVES the metal suitcase into the upper back of the big man!]

GM:  OHH!  WHAT A SHOT!!

[But Cletus Lee sends the crowd into a frenzy as he slowly turns around,
staring stoically at Adrian Freeman...

...and then breaks into a slight grin, shaking his head back and forth
slowly at Freeman who winds up again, this time backing a few steps
towards the ropes to get a running start!]

GM:  HEADSHO- 

[BIG CHEER!]

GM:  COUSIN BO SNATCHES THE CASE!!

[Indeed he does, ripping the case out of Freeman's hands just before he
blasts Cletus Lee over the skull with it.  A stunned Freeman spins
around, taking a swing at Cousin Bo as Bo drops off the apron...

...and gets CREEEEEEAMED with a charging big boot to the jaw!]

GM:  OHHHHHHHHHHHHH MY STARS!!!

[The crowd goes absolutely nuts as Duane Henry gets to his feet outside
the ring...

...and is getting overwhelmed by the Southern Syndicate outside the
ring!]

GM:  Wait a second!  Duane Henry's getting assaulted by all of the
Southern Sundicate!  He's getting attacked by the Rhodes, Von Braun, the
National Champion... everyone!

[And suddenly, the WKIK Studio audience loses their minds!]

GM:  LOOK OUT!!  HERE COMES THE CAVALRY!!

[Sweet Daddy Williams, Soup Bone Samson, Juan Vasquez, the Keenings -
all hit the ringside area with a flurry, throwing fists at anyone in
sight.  The big brawl at ringside is going crazy...

...when suddenly Duane Henry emerges from the pile, climbing up on the
apron and giving his brother a shout.]

GM:  Cletus Lee's got Freeman back up and-

[Suddenly, Calisto Dufresne makes a break for it, climbing the ropes,
and sloppily hurling himself off...

...only to get caught in a chokehold once more!]

GM:  CLETUS LEE'S GOT 'EM!  HE'S GOT 'EM BOTH!!

[Cletus Lee quickly turns a full 360, showing them both off...

...and hoists them high before DRIVING them down hard to the canvas in a
thunderous double chokeslam!]

GM:  CHOOOOOOKESLAM!

[The crowd roars as Cletus Lee throws his arms apart, a rare show of
emotion for him as he nods to his shouting brother.  Pulling Dufresne
off the mat, Cletus Lee tosses him in the direction of the incoming
Duane Henry who scoops him up into a torture rack.]

BW:  BEN!!  BEN, GET IN THERE!!

[But the brawl outside the ring has almost everyone enveloped in chaos.]

BW:  BEN!!  YOU GOTTA STOP HIM!

[Duane Henry turns a full 360 to show off the trapped Dufresne. 
Suddenly, Cletus Lee breaks into a sprint, bouncing off the ropes... 

...and DRIVING his boot into the skull of Calisto Dufresne which sends
him spinning out of the backbreaker into a sitout powerbomb!]

GM:  DOC ALLAN'S MIRACLE HEADACHE ELIXIR!

[Breaking out of the pile, Waterson makes a lunge for the ring as
Michael Meekly drops down to count.  Waterson gets up on the apron...]

GM:  ONE!!!  TWO!!!

[But Cousin Bo is quicker, racing down the apron and TACKLING Waterson
off the apron and into the pile!]

GM:  THREEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  THEY DID IT!!  THEY DID IT!!  WE'VE GOT NEW TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS!!

BW:  This is... this is horrible!

[Duane Henry springs to his feet, falling into an embrace with Cletus
Lee with a roaring crowd celebrating right along with them!]

MC:  Here are your winners....

...and NEW AWA NATIONAL TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS...

THE BISHOP BOOOOOOOOOYS!

[The announcement drives the crowd crazier - and then just a tad louder
as the belts are handed over to Cletus Lee and Duane Henry!]

GM:  NEW CHAMPIONS!  THE BISHOP BOYS, THE REDNECK WRECKING CREW, HAVE
STRUCK GOLD TONIGHT IN DALLAS, TEXAS!!  FANS, WE'RE OUT OF TIME!  WE'VE
GOTTA GO!  WE'LL SEE YOU NEXT TIME!!  WHAT A NIGHT!

[The camera holds on the ring where the Bishop Boys are joined by Cousin
Bo, celebrating their victory together with the gold title belts held
high in the air... as we slowly fade to the sounds of "One More Saturday
Night" by the Grateful Dead.

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

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

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

After a moment, we fade away from the cheaply done intro to the interior
of the WKIK Studios in Dallas, Texas.  The back wall is covered with
various flags from around the world.  The bleachers on three sides of
the ring stand a little taller, helping to fit a few more people into
the building.  The ring is sporting red, white, and blue ropes with
matching buckles and is lookin' good, yo.

A quick cut reveals our announce area - a blue and white backdrop with a
television screen currently displaying the AWA logo behind our announce
duo.  They stand behind a small wooden podium, all grins as the fans
cheer.

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

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

GM:  Good evening, fans, and welcome to another edition of AWA Saturday
Night Wrestling featuring all the stars of the American Wrestling
Alliance, _the_ major league of professional wrestling.  And fans, once
again, for the second show in a row, we've got new champions to talk
about!

BW:  The Southern Syndicate was robbed, Gordo.  Plain and simple.

GM:  There's much to debate about that one but what can not be denied is
that the Bishop Boys captured the National Tag Team Titles two weeks ago
in impressive fashion.  The new champions will be here later tonight -
we'll hear from them then but the talk around the wrestling world is on
the Southern Syndicate.  Have they bit off more than they can chew? 
Have we seen some chinks in the armor?  It was about a month ago that we
saw Juan Vasquez win the National Title and while that reign was
short-lived, it showed that the Southern Syndicate COULD be beaten.  And
two weeks ago, the Bishops prove it as well.  Are the days of the
Southern Syndicate numbered?

BW:  Why don't you ask Ben Waterson that question yourself because I
have it on good authority that he'll be out here later tonight with a
State Of The Syndicate address.

GM:  I'm looking forward to that for sure.  And speaking of good
authority, two weeks ago we also announced that James Watkins would be
assuming the role of the Chairman of the Championship Committee and he
made an immediate impact, Bucky.

BW:  He was an integral part in that robbery I was talking about.

GM:  Again, we'll be discussing that more as the night goes on plus
we've got two big matches signed for tonight as the Lady Luck Challenge
continues with MAMMOTH Mizusawa taking on the debuting and
oh-so-dangerous Ebola Zaire!

BW:  Ebola Zaire has NEVER wrestled in the AWA, Gordo, and there's a
very good reason for that.  The man is nuts.  He's bloodthirsty.  And
you just never know what in the world he'll do inside that ring or
outside.  The giant has been unstoppable so far in the AWA... even
against the mighty Tumaffi... but tonight, he just might meet his match.

GM:  Plus, we've got the in-ring debuts of Anton Layton and Brian Von
Braun... the Rockstar Express will be here... Rough N Ready will be here
to respond to what happened two weeks ago... 

BW:  And don't forget the Main Event, daddy.

GM:  Stevie Scott and the Rhodes Brothers versus Sweet Daddy Williams
and the Keenings in a Memorial Day Mayhem preview.  We're about a month
away from one of the biggest events of the year for the AWA and those
six men will be taking each other on in two very big matches that night
in Houston.  But up first, it's the return of the Russian - Vladimir
Velikov!  Let's go up to the ring!

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

MC:  Tonight's opening contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten
minute time limit.  Introducing first... already in the ring... from
Dearborn, Michigan... Hank Green!

[The zero reaction for Green is eaten up by a shower of boos as the
Soviet National Anthem is heard over the PA.]

MC:  And his opponent... now stepping into the ring... from Russia...
weighing in at 312 pounds... VLAAAAADIMIR VELLLLLIKOV!

[The big Russian steps through the ropes from the apron, the heavy metal
chain hanging over his massive neck...

...where he shrugs off the chain, racing across the ring to bash Green
over the head with a running overhead forearm.  Velikov promptly throws
Green back into the buckles where he throws overhead clubbing forearm
after forearm, knocking Green to a knee where a kneesmash deposits him
on the mat!]

GM:  A lightning fast start by Vladimir Veliko- there's the bell, Bucky.
 All that activity took place before the bell as Velikov assaults young
Hank Green.

BW:  You've gotta be ready when a veteran like Velikov's in there with
you.

[Velikov delivers a pair of stomps to the ribs, forcing Green under the
ropes and out to the floor.  He steps through the ropes, ignoring the
official as he hops down to the barely-padded concrete.  Reaching down,
he hauls Green up by the hair...

...and smashes his face into the ring apron!]

GM:  Ohh!  Facefirst to the apron!

[With Green down on his knees, Velikov reaches around to yank at the
corners of Green's mouth, ripping and tearing as he screams in the
direction of the camera.]


"This is real Russian power!  This is what real athlete looks like!"


[A hard shove throws Green down to the floor where Velikov delivers a
few more stomps to the upper body.  Grabbing Green by the hair, the
Russian hurls him under the ropes into the ring.  Velikov steps back up
on the apron, barking at the protesting official as the Russian climbs
through the ropes...

...and drops a heavy leg across the throat!]

GM:  Big legdrop by Velikov...

[Velikov quickly rolls into a mounted position, battering Green with
rights and lefts before slowly climbing back to his feet, dragging Green
up with him.  He hoists Green to a standing position...

...and then attempts to decapitate him with a standing Russian Sickle!]

GM:  OHHHHHHH!

[The impact of the clothesline flattens Green and allows an arrogant
Velikov to plant a boot in his chest, ordering the count.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREEEEEE!!

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

[Velikov lifts his foot off Green, sneering at his fallen victim as he
has his arm raised by the official.]

GM:  An impressive victory there for Vladimir Velikov... and it sure
looks like he's on his way over here, Bucky.

BW:  Make way for Mother Russia's greatest athlete.

GM:  Whoa boy... that's a stretch.

[Velikov arrives, chain in hand, and slams the chain down on the wooden
podium with a clatter.]

GM:  Mr. Velikov, quite the win here for you in your return to Saturday
Night Wrestling.  It's been several weeks since we've seen-

VV:  Enough with the... how you say... small talk, Comrade Myers.  You
know why I'm here.

GM:  I... honestly, I can't say that I do, sir.

VV:  Watkins.

[The crowd buzzes with confusion.]

GM:  Mr. Velikov, I believe your issues with our new Chairman of the
Championship Committee are deep in the past.  There's no need to-

VV:  True Soviet warrior never forgets!  I remember, Watkins.  I
remember all too well.  New Year's Day 1995...

GM:  That's fifteen years-

VV:  I KNOW HOW LONG IT IS!

[Gordon quiets down, shaking his head in response.]

VV:  You stole my title.  You embarrass Mother Russia.

[Velikov grits his teeth, lifting a lone finger.]

VV:  For one... whole... year.  We fought, Watkins.  I don't forget.

GM:  He's an executive now, Mr. Velikov.

[Velikov snorts.]

VV:  He fool you.  He fool these people.  He does not fool me.  I know
who he is and what he is.  And if I turn my back, I know a Clawhold
waits for me.

I am watching you, Watkins.

[And with that, Velikov picks up his chain and storms out of view.]

GM:  The big Russian with a pointed message towards our new Chairman. 
Fans, don't go away - 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 back up to live action where our announce team is standing.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans... and we told you earlier tonight that we'd be
hearing from the new National Tag Team Champions!

[Big cheer!]

GM: Ladies and gentlemen, two weeks ago, the men who are about to join
us at ringside shocked the world by stepping up to the plate at the end
of a crazy night for tag team wrestling here in the AWA, and becoming
the NEW AWA National Tag Team Champions.

[A big pop from the crowd.]

GM: At this time, please welcome Cousin Bo, and the new champions
themselves, Cletus Lee and Duane Henry, The Bishop Boys!

[Rebel Meets Rebel's "Nothin" To Lose" cranks up over the speakers as Bo
steps out first, beaming with pride, gesturing towards the entryway with
his now ever-present newspaper. The fans pop big time as The Bishop Boys
themselves enter, giving them their first look at the duo with the extra
shiny-looking titles. Duane Henry proudly wears his belt around his
waist, smiling as he pats it, showing it off to the cameras. Cletus Lee
raises his belt with his right arm and snarls, before bringing his arm
down and letting the belt dangle from his massive hand. Bo immediately
gets down to business as the song fades out.]

CB: Myers, have we delivered or what? Honestly, have these belts ever
looked better? They're shinin' so bright, I'm sure the people watching
at home are trying to adjust their sets. Well, the camera does not lie,
people. These titles really are that shiny.

[Bo chuckles and looks at Gordon thoughtfully.]

CB: Y'know, it's almost as if the belts have their own personalities.
They're so happy to be worn by men who know a little something about
honor that they're positively beaming!

GM: Indeed, Mr. Allen. They look just as bright now as they did when
they were first introduced. I have to ask you a question, though.

[Bo nods. Gordon pauses for a second for emphasis.]

GM: Just how great did it feel to get your revenge on Ben Waterson?

[The crowd roars in approval as Bucky rolls his eyes in the background,
which Duane Henry notices. Duane Henry stares daggers at him, causing
Bucky to throw his hands in the air and back off.]

CB: Well, obviously, it feels good. Good, but not great.

[Gordon looks bewildered.]

GM: You're managing the new tag team champions but you don't feel like
you're on top of the world?

CB: Now, hold on, Myers. I didn't say I didn't enjoy it.

[Bo smirks.]

CB: For the last two weeks, we've been letting loose. Living the high
life. When you're a champion, all the good things come to you. The
ladies certainly have taken a greater interest in us. We've been all
over the TV stations here in Dallas and back home in Arkansas. The
magazines want to do articles on us. Every bar we walk into, all the
drinks have been on the house.

[Duane Henry nods with a smile at that.]

CB: That's nice and all, but there's one thing that's been eating away
at me the entire time. One thing I would change about it. And it's
something that's not gonna let me fully enjoy this until we take care of
it.

[Bo grimaces.]

CB: Ben Waterson still walks this earth.

[The fans boo.]

CB: He may have been temporarily rendered mute, but sure enough, he'll
be flapping his gums again. Still complaining about everything under the
sun. I swore I wasn't gonna rest until Ben Waterson was six feet under.
And I won't.

[Bo pauses for a second, staring hard at the camera.]

CB: Waterson, you love to throw out your warnings. But they're empty.
There's nothing behind them. You couldn't keep that title on Stevie
forever. And even though you weaseled your way right into him getting it
back, you know you can't hold on forever. Vasquez proved your golden boy
can be beaten. And when somebody finally neutralizes the rest of your
squad of errand boys, it's gonna happen again.

[Another pop from the crowd.]

CB: And speaking of evening the playing field, I think we're gonna do
just that. We've been told that there's no room at Memorial Day Mayhem
for a title defense from us. That irks me. I want the Bishop Boys to be
the cornerstone of the AWA's tag team division. We're already not
wrestling tonight. With the way the tag team scene is heating up around
here, we WANT the competition. Bring on all the challengers you've got.
But, if there's no room for a tag match for us, I guess we're just gonna
have to take matters into our own hands. Because we WILL be at Memorial
Day Mayhem. And we're comin' to fight.

[The crowd pops as Gordon raises an eyebrow.]

GM: Are you saying what I think you're saying?

CB: You bet, Myers. And in case you haven't figured it out yet, Benny
boy, let me spell it out for you real clear.

[Bo points at his cousins with the newspaper.]

CB: The Bishop Boys are officially entering the Rumble!

[HUGE pop from the crowd for that announcement.]

CB: Stack it up with as many as your manservants as you've got. ONE MORE
TIME, we're gonna prove that there's nothing in this world that's gonna
stop us from destroying you for good. Maybe we're just gonna have to pry
that title away from Stevie ourselves and monopolize the gold around
here.

[A smaller pop as the fans maybe aren't too sure about the idea of a
Bishop Boys-controlled title scene, but they're certainly happy that
they're going after the Southern Syndicate again.]

CB: Don't think we can do it? Ask Dufresne how he feels about that, if
he's managed to unscramble his brain by now. Look at that damn briefcase
of yours. Remind yourself that you absolutely walloped Cletus Lee with
it, so hard you busted it, and it did NOTHING to him.

[Cletus Lee snorts, almost, ALMOST cracking a smile.]

CB: Face facts. The Bishop Boys are your single biggest threat, and you
know it. I warned you before that the tag titles were coming home with
us, and now I'm warning you that the Rumble isn't gonna go your way
either. And unlike you? My warnings are worth their weight in gold.

[Bo looks to start walking away, but is cut off by Bucky, surprisingly
enough.]

BW: Now you just hold on there one cotton pickin' minute, bucko. Gordo
can tow the company line all he wants. I'm not lettin' ya off so easily,
pal. Why are you avoiding the question all the people REALLY want to
know?

[The Bishops look angry, but Bo holds them back and eyes Bucky warily.]

CB: Exactly what are you getting at, Buckthorn?

BW: Oh. Really? You're gonna play dumb with me? Come on, Bo, everybody
knows a rat when they smell one. How is it that TWO different teams that
were scheduled to get that title shot two weeks ago miraculously didn't
get it? 

[Bo shrugs.]

BW:  You're telling me that Rough N Ready, who haven't missed a whole
heck of a lot of shows in this company's history, suddenly can't catch a
plane here? Well, that sure is convenient. And then when Fitzgerald and
Lawson are given the shot, they somehow get jumped by The Samoan Hit
Squad RIGHT before the match, which leaves Dufresne and Freeman no time
at all to prepare for the only other team around here with three points,
which miraculously happens to be YOUR boys?! Boy, for somebody who used
to complain about Stephen Ross every single week, you sure seem to have
cozied up to Watkins real quick. As a matter of fa-

[Bo cuts Bucky off by sticking a finger right in his face, his own face
beet-red with anger.]

CB: You are treading on some seriously thin ice right now, Bucko. I know
you announcers are supposed to be untouchable around here, but believe
me, you want to keep spouting your idiotic conspiracy theory bull, I've
got no problems paying the fine, no matter how large the number. There's
a whole lot of that to go around. And, buddy, that's got nothing to do
with Watkins, that's MY own personal cash. 

[Big cheer!]

CB:  You want to know what happened with Rough N Ready? Ask them
yourselves. I don't like them, never have, never will, but I'm not about
to go around and sabotage other people to get my way. I ain't Waterson.
And as far as Fitz and Lawson go? They were just unfortunate enough to
run into a couple of ticked off Samoans who had no other outlet for
their anger. I don't know how you can think I could have anything to do
with it, when it's clear that not even Gregorson knows how to deal with
them.

[Bo gets right in Bucky's face.]

CB: As far as I'm concerned? Either team is entitled to challenge us
whenever they like. You know I want to redeem our loss to RNR. And we
damn sure want to prove our win all the way back at Stampede Cup over
the rookies was no fluke. We're not your Southern Syndicate golden boys.
Anybody wants to take a chance against us? Bring it on.

[And like that, Bo stomps off, still steaming, as The Bishops look at
Bucky with malicious intent in their eyes. Bo snaps his fingers, and The
Bishops follow, Cletus Lee keeping his eyes locked on Bucky the whole
time.]

GM: Bucky, WHY do you insist on antagonizing those men?

[Gordon sighs and shakes his head.]

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

[Cut to the ring with Melissa.]

MC:  The following contest is schedul-

[But Melissa doesn't get to finish as yet another sneak attack goes
down, this time young Bart Morris getting assaulted by the man we've
come to known as the "Prince Of Darkness" Anton Layton!  Layton bowls
Morris back into the corner as the bell rings, working him over with
punches and kicks.]

GM:  He's getting mauled in the corner!  Fight back, Bart Morris!

[Morris attempts to do so, winding waaaay back and connecting with a
right hand... and another... and another... and another... and then
throwing a big dropkick to the jaw that sends Layton stumbling
backwards.  Morris pops up to his feet, pumping a fist to the cheers of
the crowd.]

BW:  The kid's hesitating to celebrate with these idiots...

GM:  He's got Layton reeling!

[Morris rushes forward... 

...and gets caught with a knee to the gut, flipping him inside out and
down to the mat.  Layton immediately drops to his knees, howling like a
dog as he slams hammerfists down on the midsection of Morris.]

GM:  Look at this!

BW:  Quite a unique attack here.  Layton's got some of the most
unorthodox offense in the business, Gordo.

GM:  He certainly does.

[Layton proves that statement true as he smashes his own skull into the
midsection a few times.]

GM:  Kneeling headbutts to the gut... is he- HE'S BITING HIM!!

[Morris screams, clawing at Layton who is biting his stomach.]

GM:   The referee forces him to break.

[A dazed-looking Layton gets to his feet, stumbling around the ring
until his back hits the buckles...

...and rushes forward with a punt-like kick into the ribcage of the
kneeling Morris.]

GM:  Good grief!

[Layton grabs Morris by the hair, dragging him towards the corner and up
to his feet.  Ducking down, Layton pulls Morris up into a fireman's
carry, approaching the buckles...

...and shoves him up and over his head, dropping Morris down over his
bent knee!]

GM:  Ohh!  That'll knock the wind out of ya!

BW:  It could do worse than that.  It could break a rib or worse, Gordo.

GM:  Layton back to the corner... up on the middle rope...

[Layton nods his head at the jeering crowd, then leaps from his perch,
driving both feet down into the midsection of Morris!]

GM:  OHHHH!

BW:  That's it, Gordo.

GM:  Well, I should think so.  One.  Two.  And there's three.

[Layton slowly pushes up off of Morris, a twisted smile on his face as
he glares out at the booing crowd...

...and then seems to snap as he grabs a handful of hair, throwing
haymakers at the skull of Morris.  Grabbing a second hand of hair, he
starts smashing the back of Morris' head into the mat.]

GM:  Look at this!  Layton is trying to injure this young man!

BW:  That's what he does, Gordo.  You know it better than anyone.  He
wants to hurt people.

GM:  He certainly does.  

[Layton gets up, dragging Morris up by the hair.  He slides behind him,
grabbing Morris in a side waistlock and lifts him high, dropping him
down on the top rope facing out.  Layton reaches up, swinging Morris
back into the Tree of Woe...

...and starts driving his knee into the ribcage over and over.  Gripping
the top rope, Layton puts his boot on the windpipe of Morris, screaming
like a maniac as he tries to push the air out of Morris!]

GM:  Come on!  Get in there, referee!

[The Prince Of Darkness backs across the ring, pointing at Morris...

...and then breaks into a sprint, smashing his knee into the body of
Morris!]

GM:  Ohhh!  This is getting out of hand and-

[The crowd buzzes as Layton backs off, reaching into his boot.]

GM:  Oh no... I know what this is.

BW:  So do I!

[The buzz turns to a concerned roar as Layton stands tall, a golden
spike gripped in his hand.]

GM:  The Golden Spike!  Anton Layton's weapon of choice has come into
play and-

[Grabbing Morris by the hair, he yanks him into a seated position,
preparing to drive the sharpened metal spike into the skull...

...when suddenly the crowd erupts!]

GM:  VERNON RILEY!

[Riley charges into view, diving under the ropes into the ring, ready
for a fight...

...but Layton bails from the ring, clutching the spike in his hand as he
points at Riley, cackling like a psychopath as he backs towards the
locker room.]

GM:  Vernon Riley was ready to do this and do it tonight!  If Layton
wants him so badly... if he came to the AWA for a shot at Vernon
Riley... he had his chance!

BW:  But if I know Layton at all, he's going to have that fight on his
terms... not Riley's.

GM:  Apparently so but thank the stars for Vernon Riley because this was
about to get ugly in a hurry out here with that Spike.  

[The camera zooms in on the Golden Spike, still clutched in the hand of
Anton Layton as he disappears through the curtain.  Inside the ring,
Riley stands near the ropes, one foot on the second rope as he glares at
the retreating Layton...

...and 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 the announcers at ringside.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans.  We are just over one month away from Memorial
Day Mayhem and the talk of the wrestling business is the big 30-Man
Rumble that will go down that night.  The annual Rumble that has meant
oh-so-much to the AWA in its first two years.  We've seen Ron Houston
win one of them.  We've seen Stevie Scott win one.  Both men have worn
the National Title and that Rumble just means so much momentum for the
winner.  Whoever wins that Rumble recieves a future shot at the National
Title... don't forget that.  We now know ten men - one-third of the
Rumble field... the entire Southern Syndicate is in there including
Simon Rhodes and Brian Von Braun, the two associates.  Earlier tonight,
we heard that the National Tag Team Champs, the Bishop Boys would be in
as well.  Vernon Riley is in.  A former World Champion, Shane Destiny,
is in.  And the first man who entered the Rumble, the awesome specimen
known as Devastation.  It'll be a wild night in Houston to be sure and
that doesn't even touch on the whole lineup.  But right here tonight,
we've got a lot of great matches lined up as well as we mentioned
earlier.  The Lady Luck Challenge between MAMMOTH Mizusawa and Ebola
Zaire... the big six man tag in our Main Event and- uh oh... James
Monosso... what is it now?!

[The hunched-over, hungry-eyed form of James Monosso lurches into view
from the left of the broadcast desk.  Monosso's angry glare focuses on
Myers as Bucky steps way back.]

JM: All those 'great' matches?!  YOU FORGOT ONE!

GM: I ran down what I was given...

JM: [practically snorting the word] Puppet.

[Monosso turns to the camera, and extends a taped finger.  He's dressed
for a match; wearing his black-and-silver singlet, wrestling boots, and
cutoff light green "PROPERTY OF STATE MENTAL INSTITUTION" T-Shirt.]

JM: ERIC PRESTON!  I saw the report.  "Expected to miss no time". 
THAT'S A JOKE!  They're covering up for you, Eric.  I know your ribs are
broken.  I heard them!  I heard them break!  And this proves it.  I came
here last time and told you... told the world that I was moving our
match!  I wanted to finish you this week, so those dumb Combat Corner
kids would get the message before it was too late. Someone's got to
smarten those kids up, because you know damn well the promoters won't. 
But it's too late for you, Eric.  IT'S TOO LATE!  

I wanted you this week, and now they're trying to protect you.  The AWA
is desperate, Eric.  They want a new hero.  They keep going through
them, you see, because heroes are expendable.  Eventually reality sets
in and the heroes fail and suffer.  Eventually they have to paint
vicious scumbags like Juan Vasquez and the Bishops as heroes.  Vicious
scumbags like me.  Did you know they used to cheer me once?  ME!  Of all
people!  Because the real heroes?  They don't last very long.  But oh,
do they bring in money from the suckers who are willing to pay money for
the false hope that "good guys win in the end".

So keep hiding, Eric.  They'll try to protect you.  Actually, they'll
try to protect the three or four big paychecks they hope to get from you
before someone who knows better cripples you.  But they've already
failed, Eric.  They're already down to just one big paycheck... and on
June first, they're gonna take that big paycheck to the bank.  Not you,
though.  You'll have cashed in the night before!

GM: You're... you're impossible!  You can't just make matches, or move
matches however you want to!  Even you must know that. You've been in
this business almost twenty years!

JM: One man, no, cannot make matches.  OF COURSE I KNOW THAT!  But two! 
Two men can make matches!  Anytime, anyplace.  I did my part!  And if
Eric is content to hide until Memorial Day, I understand.  It's not
stupid of him to do that.  It's probably the smart thing to do, which is
how I know the AWA told him to do it; it's completely out of character
for him!  But I'm still here, Eric.  I'll be here all night. Just
remember that.

[Following that ominous warning, Monosso skulks away.]

GM:  Fans... I have no idea if Eric Preston is here tonight.  But even
if he is, we saw that barbell hit him in the ribs!  We know he's hurting
and under no circumstances can I understand why he would come out here
and tangle with a maniac like Monosso!

BW:  Monosso thinks Preston's ribs are broken and I'm not sure I'd be
surprised to hear that.

GM:  Well... we may have another match added tonight.  I just don't know
but for now, let's go back to the ring for tag team action!

[We fade back to the ring where Melissa is waiting.]

MC:  The following contest is a tag team matchup scheduled for one fall
with a fifteen minute time limit.  Introducing first... already in the
ring at this time... from Oklahoma City, Oklahoma... at a total combined
weight of 520 pounds... Jack Powers and Chris Fox!

[A mixed reaction for the Oklahoma duo.]

MC:  And their opponents...

[Kiss' "Rock And Roll All Nite" kicks in to some cheers from the crowd.]

MC:  From the heart of Rock and Roll, Cleveland, Ohio... at a total
combined weight of 479 pounds... Scotty Storm... Marty Morgan... 

THE ROCKSTAR EXPRESS!

[The cheers intensify especially from the young ladies in the crowd as
Storm and Morgan break into view.  Both are clad in matching black and
green full-length tights.  Storm is clad in a Poison t-shirt with the
sleeves cut out while Morgan has a Skid Row shirt cut in a similar
style.  Both hit ringside quickly, making their way around the ring to
slap the hands of all the fans looking to greet them.]

GM:  The Rockstar Express, Scotty Storm and Marty Morgan, made an
impressive debut two weeks ago here on Saturday Night Wrestling and I'm
curious to see if they can keep that train a-rollin' here tonight,
Bucky.

BW:  These two little punks want nothing more than to make the girls
squeal.  They don't have the focus to compete here in the AWA, Gordo.

GM:  We'll see about that.

[Scotty and Marty hop up on the apron, pausing a moment just as the
music breaks down to the...

"I... WANNA ROCK AND ROLL ALL NIIIIIIIGHT..."

[The duo points to the crowd, trying to encourage a sing-a-long... which
surprisingly works a little bit.]

"AND PARTY EVERY DAY!"

[With a high-five, the two good-looking young men step through the ropes
into the ring.  To a squeal from the crowd, they pull off their
t-shirts, tossing them to the floor.  Morgan decides to start off for
his team, tugging at a zebra-printed bandana tied around his knee as he
stares across at their opponents.]

GM:  And here we go!

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

[Morgan circles out of the corner where Fox is waiting for him, tangling
in a collar and elbow...

...but Morgan quickly takes him down with an armdrag, pumping a fist in
triumph as he gets up to his feet.]

BW:  He's celebrating already?  

GM:  He's just firing up these fans, Bucky.

BW:  That's the problem.  More focus on the fans than their opponents.

[Fox slowly gets back to his feet, locking up again...

...and getting armdragged down to the mat again!]

GM:  Another quick takedown by Marty Morgan.

[Fox scampers up this time but Morgan is waiting for him, throwing a
dropkick to the jaw that sends Fox falling to the mat where he slides
back to the corner, tagging his partner.]

GM:  Tag made to Jack Powers, the big man of his squad.

[Powers steps through the ropes, slapping himself across the chest and
striking a double bicep pose to the jeers of the crowd.  Morgan nods his
head as he approaches.  Powers goes for the tieup but Morgan ducks under
it, connecting with a blow to the gut as he goes by.]

GM:  Marty Morgan showing his quickness.

[Powers spins around, going for another lockup...

...but Morgan ducks under it again, connecting with another shot to the
gut.]

GM:  Another duck under.  Morgan is-

[Powers goes for another tieup...

...but actually feints as Morgan attempts a duck under, hooking a
gutwrench and tossing Morgan down to the mat in a big suplex.]

GM:  Ohh!  Nice move there for Jack Powers!  He knew what was coming and
he had the counter ready...

[Standing over the downed Morgan, Powers deadleaps into the air,
dropping an elbowsmash into the sternum of Morgan.  The big man rolls
into a lateral press.]

GM:  There's one... there's two... and Morgan's out at two.

BW:  Powers with a sloppy cover.  He needs to hook a leg in there if he
wants to put this guy down.  Morgan may be a punk but he's no slouch
inside the ring.

GM:  Powers hooks him around the waist...

[A powerful lift yanks Morgan off the mat, dropping him to his feet...

...and BLASTS him with a forearm smash to the back of the head, knocking
Morgan off his feet once more.  Powers again deadleaps in the air, this
time dropping the elbow on the back of the head.]

GM:  Ohh!

[Powers flips Morgan to his back, making another pin attempt.]

GM:  One!  Two!  But Morgan's out at two again!

BW:  Still no leg cradle.  The kid's cocky and it's costing him in my
opinion.

[As Morgan crawls towards his corner, Powers grabs him by the ankle,
holding his grip as Morgan climbs up off the mat...

...and leaps in the air, lashing out with his free foot to the back of
Powers' head!]

GM:  OHHH!

BW:  Enzugiri!  The head kick by Morgan connects and that'll be his
window!

[Morgan does a front roll, leaping up to slap the hand of Scotty Storm
who scales the ropes...

...and takes the rising Powers back down with a cross body off the top!]

GM:  OH MY!!

[Storm pops back up to his feet, dancing around the ring as he waits for
Powers to rise.]

GM:  Jack Powers back to his-

[The crowd roars as Storm hits right hand after right hand, knocking
Powers back to the ropes.]

GM:  Irish whip... boot to the gut by Storm...

[Who immediately hits the far ropes, bouncing off to grab a handful of
Powers' hair and SLAM his face into the canvas!]

GM:  FACESLAM BULLDOG!!  OH YEAH!!

[This flurry of offense brings in Fox...

...who eats a dropkick that sends him sailing through the ropes to the
floor!  Big cheer!]

GM:  Storm pulls Powers off the mat... there's the tag...

[A double whip sends Powers across the ring...

...and both Rockstar Express members leave their feet, connecting with a
double dropkick to the chest that knocks Powers flat!]

GM:  DOUBLE DROPKICK!!  Cover by Storm for one... for two... and there's
the three!

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

MC:  Here are your winners... Scotty and Marty... THE ROCKSTAR EXPRESS!

[Scotty Storm and Marty Morgan are immediately to their feet, falling
into an embrace as the crowd cheers.]

GM:  Another big win for the Rockstar Express and they are on a
seriously roll here in the AWA, Bucky.  The tag team scene here in the
AWA has never been hotter, fans, and at this time, let's go backstage
where the former National Tag Team Champions, Calisto Dufresne and
Adrian Freeman are standing by!

[We cut backstage to find Jason Dane standing with the artists formerly
known as the AWA National Tag Team Champions, "Ladykiller" Calisto
Dufresne and "Subzero" Adrian Freeman.  Conspicuous by their absence are
the aforementioned National Tag Team Titles.  Probably because they were
physically lifted from the hated duo when The Bishop Boys destroyed the
pair two weeks ago.  And in this case, it's clear that time does _not_
heal all wounds, because the pair look none too happy.

Dufresne is clad in a simple white t-shirt with a large screwdriver on
the front with the words "SCREWED" in black lettering beneat it and a
pair of blue jeans.  His blonde hair is pulled back into a tight pony
tail emphasizing a determined glint in his eye.  Adrian Freeman has
apparently not had time to make a custom shirt and is instead wearing a
black Tapout shirt, jeans, and a scowl.]

JD: Folks, I'm live with the _former_ AWA National Tag Team Champions,
Calisto Dufresne and Adrian Freeman.  Gentlemen, I see no need to beat
around the bush so I'll get right to it: What are your thoughts about no
longer having the gold wrapped around your waists?

AF: Look, we may not have the title belts any more, but those are just
symbols.  Anyone with the intelligence to see beyond them knows that we
are still the best tag team in the world, and we just got -- as Calisto
likes to say -- screwed.  Royally so.

CD: It's a sign of the times, Dane.  Massive earthquakes in Haiti and
elsewhere.  Tsunamis crashing onto poor saps tanning on beaches. 
Volcanoes spewing hellfire and brimstone over the atmosphere.  Wars
leaving children orphaned.  Tornadoes specifically targeting City Jack
and other rednecks who reside in trailers.  And now we see true tragedy:
Calisto Dufresne and Adrian Freeman are victims of injustice of the
highest degree.

[Dufresne sighs deeply, shaking his head.]

JD: What injustice were you victim to, exactly?  You were contracted to
defend those titles and that's exactly what James Watkins ensured
happened.

CD: Other than the fact that we came out to announce sadly that there
would be no match and next thing we know two monsters fueled by Skoal
and Pabst Blue Ribbon come tearing out of the dressing room while I'm
clad in _street clothes?_  I knew that the AWA brass wanted to steal the
gold from us, but I had no idea they'd stoop so low.

AF: We had spent a week preparing for one team, and then had our
opponents switched on us three times.  How do you possibly expect us to
compete under these conditions?  The way I see it, Watkins probably
orchestrated this whole charade to give those belts to a pair of good
ol' boys like himself, who don't make him angry and confused by using
words with more than one syllable.

JD: You two were planning to take the travel issues experienced by Rough
N Ready and the vicious attack on Fitzgerald and Lawson to your
advantage and skate out of a title defense and you both know it.

AF:We didn't take advantage of that.  The Bishops did.  Honestly, if
Watkins wanted to punish someone he should have sicced those animals on
the Samoans or Rough N Ready's travel agent.  We are completely
innocent.

CD: Go back and look at our history, Dane.  You'll see that the two of
us were...

[Dufresne stops, correcting himself.]

CD: ..._are_... fighting champions.  We fought anyone, anytime.  It
didn't matter if we were even contracted to fight.  City Jack,
Fitzgerald and Lawson, those two rising stars from the Combat Corner
whose names I never bothered to learn... they can all attest to our
willingness to give our throngs of adoring fans their money's worth week
in, week out whether or not Ross, Watkins or anybody else scheduled us
to do so.

[Dane takes a moment to gather himself after hearing such nonsense, but
his professionalism pulls him through.]

JD: What will you be doing tonight while we lead up to the big Rumble at
Memorial Day Mayhem?  You're not scheduled to compete and we know that
if either of you win the Rumble that you won't be using your title shot
against your fellow Syndicate member, Stevie Scott.

AF: I'd call someone out, but I would probably have my opponent changed
on me three times and wind up facing MAMMOTH Mizusawa, so what's the
point?

CD: Well I have heard some idiot chirping about me the last few weeks. 
Soup Bone Samson.  I have no idea who you are or what you've
accomplished - if anything - in this sport.  But you seem to have a
little vendetta against me for giving City Jack his just desserts.  

You're waiting for the right time to get revenge, are you?  I'm not hard
to find, Samson.  I'm the guy who's out jet-setting all over the world
with the Southern Syndicate.  I'm the one who's gracing the covers of GQ
and Esquire.  I'm the one going home with women for whom you would give
your right arm if they would just drop you a "hello".

And just remember what happened to the last guy who had his eyes on
Calisto Dufresne...

[A cocky smirk plays across Dufresne's face.]

CD: ...he walked away missing one.

[Dane flashes Dufresne a disgusted look but continues.]

JD: And what does the long-term future hold for Calisto Dufresne and
Adrian Freeman?

AF: One word: rematch.  It's the least we're owed.

CD: What the future has held for us since the moment we laced our boots
for the first time: stardom.  We'll be getting _our_ titles back and it
won't be long before we do it.  If we wait too long those two inbreds
will melt the belts down and pawn them off to buy a new pickup truck or
a tractor.

While Fitzgerald and Lawson, the Samoans, Rough N Ready and any of these
other teams are tripping over themselves for a shot at the Bishop Boys,
Adrian and I will be sitting back and when the time comes... when things
are _just right,_ we'll strike.

And like City Jack...

[A wink.]

CD: ...you boys will never see it coming.

[And with that, Freeman and Dufresne walk off camera, leaving Dane to
ponder their words as we fade to black.

And then quickly back up on a shot of the AWA logo.  A voiceover
begins.]

"Fans, it's that time of year again!  As the AWA hits the summer months,
we're going on the road!  No longer staying in the Lone Star State, the
months of May, June, July, August, and September are your chances to see
the AWA all over the Southern states!

That's right!  You heard me right!

[A scrolling list of dates and cities appears as the voiceover reads
along with it.]

May 31st - Memorial Day Mayhem - Houston, Texas
June 12th - Oklahoma City, Oklahoma
June 26th - Little Rock, Arkansas
July 5th - Memphis, Tennessee
July 17th - Charlotte, North Carolina
July 31st - Charleston, South Carolina
August 14th - Atlanta, Georgia
August 28th - Mobile, Alabama
September 6th - New Orleans, Louisiana

Get your tickets now by calling your local ticket outlet or by visiting
AWAShop.com!"

[And with that, we fade back up to live action where Gordon and Bucky
are standing.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans, to Saturday Night Wrestling and at this time,
we will be joined by two men who will be in tonight's main event,
teaming with Stevie Scott against the Keenings and Sweet Daddy
Williams... the Rhodes brothers!

[Raphael and Simon Rhodes walk from the entrance, Raphael's eyes fixed
solely on Gordon Myers as he walks down to the announcer's table,
whereas Simon antagonizes fans around the ringside area.]

GM: Simon, will you knock it off?  Come on over here, I'd like to talk
to you about the main event tonight.

RR: Oy, you watch your tongue when you're talkin' to a member of the
Rhodes family, 'cause I ain't too worried about rippin' it out of your
skull.

[Simon joins his brother, a big smile plastered across his face.]

SR: Yeah, Gordon, you ain't too much more than a snack for us.

GM: Well, I certainly apologize, but I was wondering... where is Ben
Waterson?  Why is he not out here right now?

SR: He's gettin' the champ ready, sunshine.  The champ's a busy man, and
he ain't got time to worry about scrubs like the Keenings, or misfits
like Sweet Daddy Williams.

RR: Besides, what Ben Waterson does ain't none of your concern, mate. 
We may be part of the Southern Syndicate, but we ain't too keen on being
leashed up all the time.  Ben understands we need to roam free from time
to time.

SR: That's right!

GM: You mention being members of the Southern Syndicate, but we know
that Mr. Waterson has been very outspoken about Simon Rhodes _not_ being
a member, but instead, merely an associate.

RR: Are you takin' the piss, mate?  Simon Rhodes is just as much
Southern Syndicate as I am, because we've got the same blood runnin'
through our veins.  I've told Ben Waterson, I ain't goin' to be happy
with Brian Von Braun just gettin' let in, and I ain't goin' to be happy
until Simon gets officially deemed a full member.  But one thing, as far
as I'm concerned... he's Southern Syndicate.

SR: Hey, look... you've seen what me brother did last week.  He's got a
nasty temper, and I'm sure he ain't too keen on you.  Besides, I don't
care what you call me... the check's are clearin' and my bank account's
growin', and that's all I care about.

GM: Well tonight, you've got a lot to worry about, as the Keenings will
be teaming-...

RR: Don't you ever say that name around me again.

[Raphael storms off, leaving Simon Rhodes and Gordon Myers standing by
themselves.]

SR: The Keenings have been a thorn in our side for far too long, Gordon,
just like Sweet Daddy Williams has been a thorn in Stevie Scott's side
for far too long.  Tonight, we're takin' the tweezers to those thorns. 
And that's all you need to know.

[Simon flips Myers' tie out of his suit and storms off.]

GM:  We'll see those two later tonight in our Main Event as well as in
tag team action against the Keenings at Memorial Day Mayhem, fans, but
for now, let's go up to the ring for more action!

[Fade to the ring to Melissa.]

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit.  Introducing first... already in the ring at this time...
from Austin, Texas and weighing in at 202 pounds... Jimmy Jackson!

[Some cheers for the Texan.]

MC:  And his opponent...

[The sounds of Donna Summer's "Hot Stuff" brings the jeers.]

MC:  From Phoenix, Arizona and being accompanied to the ring by Kandi
Kane and Kevin Slater... 

"SCORCHIN" SHAAAAANE TAAAAYLOR!

[Taylor emerges from the locker room, Kandi Kane on his arm as he heads
towards the ring.  Kevin Slater takes up the rear, taunting the jeering
fans as he accompanies his partner down the aisle towards the ring.]

GM:  Shane Taylor competing tonight in a bit of a tune-up match for
Memorial Day Mayhem where Taylor and Slater will be teaming up to take
on Brent Maverick and Shane's older brother, "The Outlaw" Bobby Taylor
in what should be one heck of a war, Bucky.

BW:  It'll be a crazy one, I expect.  You won't want to miss it.

[Shane Taylor rolls under the ropes, taking a knee with his arms spread
as Kandi Kane steps up behind him, reaching around to embrace him. 
Slater steps up on the middle rope, glaring out through his dark
sunglasses at the jeering crowd.]

GM:  This trio is something else, Bucky.  Born out of a common hatred
for Bobby Taylor and more accurately perhaps, a lust for money.  Shane
Taylor sold out his own brother for a stack of cash from Kevin Slater,
The Man With The Money's, bank account.

BW:  You've heard the expression, "He'd sell out his own mother for a
buck."  Shane Taylor just be the living embodiment of that quote, daddy!

[Pulling off a silver vest, Taylor hands it over to Kandi who kisses him
on the cheek before exiting the ring with Kevin Slater.  The referee
gives Taylor some final instructions before calling for the bell to
start the match.]

GM:  And here we - WHOOOOA!

[The crowd roars as Jimmy Jackson races across the ring, throwing
himself into a dropkick that knocks Taylor off his feet!]

GM:  Where did that come from?!

BW:  Jackson's trying to get an early edge on Taylor!  

[Jackson drops down to his knees, throwing right hands from the kneeling
position at a stunned Taylor.  He grabs the wrist of Taylor, yanking him
off the mat and firing him across the ring...

...and then charges across himself, leaping up for a vertical splash!]

GM:  CORNER SPLAAAAASH!

BW:  CAUGHT!

[The crowd groans as Taylor catches him around the torso in a bearhug,
turning his body slightly...

...and dropping down, smashing Jackson's throat across the top rope!]

GM:  HOT SHOT!!  HE GOT ALL OF THAT!!

[Taylor drops into a lateral press, reaching back to hook a leg.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREE!!  

BW:  Haha!  I love it!  Just like that, daddy!

GM:  Shane Taylor with a quick victory right here.  Jimmy Jackson
thought he had Taylor in trouble.  He thought he had him reeling but
Shane Taylor with the picture perfect counter to get the win.

[Taylor slaps the downed Jackson across the face before rolling under
the ropes to the floor, joining a celebrating Kandi and Kevin Slater as
they walk towards the announce area.]

GM:  Shane, that was quite the-

SST:  Shut yer mouth, Myers!

[A grinning Kandi Kane rubs Shane's chest as he speaks.]

SST:  Were ya watchin' Brent Maverick?  Were ya?  Because you just saw a
small taste... A SMALL TASTE... of what me and the Outlaw are gonna do
to ya at Memorial Day Mayhem!

GM:  That was a message to Brent Maverick?

KS:  You'd better believe it, Gordon.  You see... Shane and I... we were
ready to deal with his brother.  We were ready to take that old horse
out behind the barn and shoot 'em in the head.  We were ready to put
Bobby Taylor... and the wrestling business... out of their misery by
ending his career.

But Brent Maverick?  We weren't ready for Brent Maverick.

GM:  What do you-

SST:  What he means is that Brent Maverick is a wild card.  He's a
surprise.  And we don't like surprises unless we're throwin' 'em, ain't
that right, baby?

[Kandi Kane nods her head in agreement.]

SST:  We don't like surprises, Brent Maverick, and you getting yourself
involved in our business is definitely a surprise.  Maverick wants to be
a big name in the AWA.  He wants to make a big first impression.  And he
thinks we're the way he can do it.

[Taylor nods.]

SST:  But the only impression you're gonna make, Maverick, is the one
your skull makes on the canvas when we drive you throught it, baby!

[Slater cackles.]

SST:  So, here's the deal, Maverick.  We're giving you two weeks.  Two
weeks to reconsider.  Two weeks to come to your senses and back your
nose out of our business.

Two weeks to leave my brother stranded in Houston, Texas.

In two weeks' time, we'll come out here... we'll call you out here...
and you're going to shake our hands and tell us you made a mistake.  And
being the gentlemen we are... we'll let you walk away... right, Kev?

[Slater nods.]

KS:  And Maverick... if you need a little more persuasion...

[The former "Wild Thing" produces a handful of cash.]

KS:  The Man With The Money can make it worth your while.

[A big grin from Slater and Taylor... and don't forget Kandi... before
they make their exit.]

GM:  There you go, fans.  An offer... well, perhaps an offer that Brent
Maverick can't refuse.  He's got two weeks to decide if he wants to take
the cash and bow out of the match at Memorial Day Mayhem.

BW:  It'd be the best move of his life, Gordo.  Money AND not having to
team with Taylor?  It's the best deal he'll ever get.

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

[We cut to the Memorial Day Mayhem Control Center where Jason Dane sits
amongst a sea of monitors, all showing AWA action as a MDM logo appears
over Dane's right shoulder.]

JD:  Welcome, fans, to the Control Center where we've got all the news
and notes about the big event coming up in just over a month - Memorial
Day Mayhem!  May 31st at the Arena Theater in Houston, Texas, is the
time and place and what a night it's going to be, fans.  Let's look at
the lineup...

[A graphic comes up with Eric Preston and James Monosso.]

JD:  What was a war of national pride has turned into a very personal
issue as James Monosso and Eric Preston will collide in Houston, Texas! 


[Now one of the Keenings and the Rhodes brothers.]

JD:  It'll be a tag team war when Jason and Michael Keening collide with
Simon and Raphael Rhodes!  This one goes all the way back to SuperClash
when Jason Keening feels he was used by Raphael Rhodes and it all comes
to a head at Memorial Day Mayhem.

[Switch to Taylor/Maverick vs Taylor/Slater.]

JD:  We just heard Shane Taylor and Kevin Slater talking about it. 
They've got a tag team war of their own on their hands when they meet
Brent Maverick and the man who they've united to destroy, Bobby Taylor. 
We heard Slater and Taylor make the offer... trying to buy off Brent
Maverick... trying to keep him out of the ring in Houston.  Can it be
done?  We'll find out in two weeks.

[A big graphic that reads "TITLE vs $50,000"]

JD:  The National Title will be on the line when Sweet Daddy Williams
puts up fifty thousand dollars of Juan Vasquez' money for the right to
challenge "Hotshot" Stevie Scott for the National Title!  We've got more
on that match later tonight in the Control Center but nearly a year
after the Hotshot betrayed the Sweet Daddy, the fan favorite from
Atlanta, Georgia, finally gets his chance at payback.

[The graphic changes to one of ten filled-out images and twenty
silhouettes.]

JD:  And of course, the Main Event of the night will be the Rumble. 
Thirty men colliding for the right to become the Number One contender to
the AWA National Title and a guaranteed title match.  We've got ten men
in the Rumble already:  Devastation, Raphael & Simon Rhodes, Calisto
Dufresne, Adrian Freeman, Brian Von Braun, Vernon Riley, Shane Destiny,
and the AWA National Tag Team Champions, the Bishop Boys.  Ten men
looking to earn that shot at the National Title.  But twenty more names
are still to be announced.  We've got a few more now.

[A shot of Anton Layton.]

JD:  The Prince Of Darkness says if Vernon Riley's going to be there -
so is he!  Anton Layton is the eleventh man in the Rumble!

[A big shot of the Russian flag.]

JD:  Vladimir Velikov is the twelfth man in!  He's demanding his chance
to win the big event on Memorial Day!

[A shot of Jack Snyder.]

JD:  Jack Snyder!  The "Dying Breed" is the thirteenth man to join the
Rumble! 

[The graphic fades away, leaving just Dane.]

JD:  We've been through the signed matches.  We've added some names to
the Rumble.  But we're not done yet... the Championship Committee has
added one final match to the lineup for this show... take a look...

[We fade from the Control Center to a shot of Soup Bone Samson standing
outside a building in an alley.  He's dressed in street clothes - blue
jeans, black t-shirt, black beanie...

...and he's carrying a tire iron.]

SBS:  Calisto Dufresne.

[Samson SMASHES the tire iron into a metal dumpster.]

SBS:  Calisto Dufresne.

[He SMASHES the tire iron into the dumpster again.]

SBS:  Calisto Dufresne.

[One more hard swing of the tire iron sounds a loud clang into the air.]

SBS:  I told ya I was waiting for the right time.  I told ya I was
waiting for the right place.  

[Samson smirks.]

SBS:  Well, now that you're a FORMER tag team champ... I'd say the time
is now.  And I'd say the place?  Is Memorial Day Mayhem.

[Another hard swing of the tire iron.]

SBS:  You've gotten away with what you've done for too long now.  The
line of people waitin' to kick your teeth down your throat is around the
buildin' but me?  

I'm at the front of the line.

So, at Memorial Day Mayhem... it's gonna be you... it's gonna be me...

[Samson spikes the tire iron to the concrete, sending it clattering away
as he raises his clenched fists.]

SBS:  And it's gonna be these.  

[Samson nods.]

SBS:  And Dufresne?  You'd better get down on your knees and pray that
these are more forgiving than I am.

[A steely-gaze fills the screen as the camera zooms in.]

SBS:  See you in a month.

[And 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...

...and then back up to live action where Jason Dane is standing by with
the dark-suited Louis Matsui and his charge, MAMMOTH Mizusawa, who is
dressed for his match, in a black singlet, knee pads and boots. For
once, Matsui isn't smirking. In fact, he is pacing impatiently as Dane
asks his question.]

JD: Louis Matsui, two weeks ago, MAMMOTH Mizusawa made quick work of El
Corazon Negro in the Lady Luck Challenge. This week, however, he steps
into the ring with the Botswana Beast, Ebola Zaire. Are you at all
worried about what could happen tonight?

LM: [Stops to snatch the mic out of Jason Dane's hand.] Give 'er here!
Worried, Jay? Worried? EBOLA ZAIRE IS [BLEEP]ING CRAZY! We're talking
James Monosso levels of insanity here, and then some. You people want to
call my giant a monster, but fail to see that he is as fair and as
honorable a competitor as any. Ebola Zaire is a much worse monster and
the AWA suits see fit to bring him anywhere near an AWA ring? I swear-

[Mizusawa has placed his large hand on Matsui's shoulder, stopping him
in his tracks. With his other hand, he grabs hold of the mic, and
Matsui's hand which is holding onto it, and stoops slightly to speak
into it.]

MM: Mista Matsui, Ebola Zaire? No problem.

[He releases Matsui's hand and both Louis Matsui and Jason Dane stare at
the giant for a moment, as if surprised to hear him speak.]

LM: [Somewhat calmer.] Still, let me make this clear to The Powers That
Be; if Ebola Zaire pulls off any of the sh... stuff... that he is known
for, if my client gets hurt because Ebola Zaire does something he ought
not to be doing in a straight-up wrestling match, IT WILL BE ON YOU! I
will sue you for everything that this company is worth! I will muster
the greatest legal minds the Matsui Corporation can afford againt you
for unsafe working conditions! The Matsui Corporation will nail your
tails for negligence and we will nail your balls for reckless
endangerment!

[Having worked himself up, Matsui takes a pause to regain his composure,
although, we still see no signs of his usual smirk.]

LM: In the meantime, we have Sweet Daddy Williams making a move for the
National champion and we have Juan Vasquez enabling him. Yet, we have no
word from the suits as to WHEN the Best Two out of Three Falls match
between my client and Vasquez will take place. I don't know about you,
but if this match is not going to happen at Memorial Day Mayhem, as well
it should, then my client wants in on that Memorial Day Rumble. Because
I am sick of seeing the likes of the Collector of Oddities, who is
nothing more than a carnie yeller, and Larry Doyle, who IS an ODDITY,
and Ronnie Jamieson and his boy, Devastation, or, as I call him, MAMMOTH
Lite, running their mouths, and making demands, and claiming domination
when there is ONE MAN who has proven his domination and who is waiting
in the wings and biding his time, and that man is MAMMOTH Mizusawa. 

[Matsui pauses.]

LM:  So, the way I see it, Jimmy Watkins and the rest of the AWA suits
have a choice to make; either we head into Memorial Day Mayhem and my
client puts ONE MAN through a gruelling Best Two out of Three Falls
match, or we head into Memorial Day Mayhem and DOMINATE twenty-nine
other competitors and cement our claim for the shot at the National
title.

MM: [Once again grabbing Matsui's hand and the mic.] Nenshou? No
problem. Devastation? No problem! Vasquez? NO PROBLEM!!! SYNDICATE-

LM: [Cutting the big man off.] And now . . . Now, more than ever, Ben
Waterson needs to let us know if he wants us to rid the Syndicate of
Juan Vasquez once and for all, because Vasquez has shown that he is
CLEARLY not done with the Syndicate. Now, more than ever, Benny-boy
needs to name his price for keeping that belt around the waist of one
Stevie Scott. Mister Waterson, it's time to open that briefcase and show
us the money.

[Louis Matsui thrusts the mic back to Jason Dane and walks off, followed
by Mizusawa.]

JD:  Louis Matsui and MAMMOTH Mizusawa... they're looking for answers. 
Will they get them tonight?  Gordon, Bucky... back to you.

[We cross-dissolve back to ringside where Gordon and Bucky are
standing.]

GM:  Fans, Memorial Day Mayhem gets better and better with Soup Bone
Samson and Calisto Dufresne added to the lineup.

BW:  But what about Mizusawa?  Does he get the match with Vasquez like
he wants?  

GM:  We don't know.  We know he's earned that match.  He won the right
to call for that match way back at SuperClash but it has yet to happen. 
He wants it at Memorial Day Mayhem OR he wants in the Rumble... either
one has to be a frightening idea to the entire AWA locker room.

BW:  And Matsui continues to position Mizusawa as an island to himself. 
Making threats towards Nenshou... towards the Blonde Bombers... towards
Devastation... and towards the Southern Syndicate!  Matsui truly has no
use for anyone other than his giant!

GM:  It would appear so... but he may wish he had some allies when
Mizusawa climbs in the ring with Ebola Zaire later tonight.  Fans, if
you've never seen the unpredictable Zaire in the ring before, you will
not want to miss it.  And at this time, we'll be joined by one of the
top contending teams for the National Tag Team Titles... Bailey
Fitzgerald and Corey Lawson!

[The crowd lets out an enthusiastic cheer as Corey Lawson somberly walks
from the entrance, sporting a T-shirt from an old Waylon Jennings tour,
along with a pair of beaten up jeans.  He is followed closely behind by
Bailey Fitzgerald.  The Buffalo native sports a simple tee with a gym
advertisement and a pair of off the rack denim.  His cropped blond hair
already matted down by perspiration and hands placed firmly upon his
hips, Fitzgerald cannot shield his look of frustration and contempt. 
Myers extends his hand to Lawson, who half-heartedly accepts.]

GM: Mr. Fitzgerald, Mr. Lawson, I'm sure you two gentlemen have had a
lot on your minds since we last saw you.

[Lawson lets out a deep breath.]

CL: Well, Gordon... I ain't much for talkin' about my background here in
front of these great fans.  They want to see us wrestle, they don't need
no doggone life story.  But there's somethin' I've been itchin' to tell
you folks about, ever since we got jumped by those doggone Samoans.  And
Gordon, I'd appreciate it if you just let me get through this train of
thought uninterrupted.

[Myers nods, as Lawson looks directly at the camera lens.]

CL: I've been pluggin' away at pro wrestlin' for seventeen years now.  I
got my start when I was a junior in high school, and I've given up
everythin' I know because I love wrestlin' so much, and I love these
fans with all my heart.  I can tell you about all the road trips I used
to take, scrimpin' and savin' away.  We put eight people in a hotel
room... lived off tuna fish and pork and beans and ramen noodles, hopin'
we'd all get a break.  And one thing I've always been proud of is that I
never took one dang shortcut to get here.  It's been nothin' but the
product of hard work and discipline, and I know Bailey here's the same
way.

[Lawson slaps his tag team partner on the shoulder.]

CL: It's easy to pull tights and jump people from behind.  But man,
sometimes it ain't about the easy way... it's about the right way.  And
it may have taken me seventeen years to get to the AWA, and it catch me
on the wrong side of a butt-whoopin' more times than I care to count,
but I can look at myself in the mirror and know that the struggle is all
worth it.  And someday, Gordon?  I'm goin' to have grandkids that'll
come up to their ol' grandpappy, when my body just can't do it no more
and I step back and retire, and they're goin' to want to know just what
kind of man I am.  And I'll take great pride in tellin' them that I
lived my life by hard work and always doin' the right thing.

[Lawson looks down at the floor and shakes his head.]

CL: Now, what happened a couple of weeks back... I don't know, Gordon. 
Rough N Ready didn't make it, and we knew that we had the best
opportunity to cash in our three points and take them belts home, not
just for ourselves, but for these fans.  James Watkins gave us the
match, we were gettin' ready... and those Samoans.  Those doggone
Samoans, they jumped us.  They hit us harder than a runaway train.  And
for what?  I don't even know what we did to make them Samoans jump us.

[Lawson looks back up at the camera.]

CL: It may not have been personal for the Samoans... they wanted the
National Tag Team Titles just as bad as we did, and I guess they figured
out that if we got taken out, maybe James Watkins would give them the
match.  I can understand why they did what they did.  But let me tell
you somethin', Gordon, and let me tell all these people here
somethin'... I spent my whole life waiting for the moment where I could
fight for the top prize in the sport, and thought about all the
sacrifices I made, keepin' it down the straight and narrow.  Maybe I
could've taken those shortcuts, Gordon.  Maybe I could've jumped someone
from behind.  But I didn't.

[Lawson points at the camera.]

CL: And you, Samoans... you took away what I've fought so hard for.  You
took away everythin' I sacrificed for.  You think it's easy, spendin'
Thanksgivin' and Christmas every year for seventeen doggone years in a
Waffle House, away from my family, cursin' at myself because I didn't
want to do things the wrong way?  Dufrense and Freeman... we had their
numbers.  We knew we could beat them because we did it twice... but the
Samoans, they didn't care about any of that.  Maybe Bailey and I
wouldn't have won... but I could've told my grandkids that I spent
seventeen years doin' things the right way and it led me to fightin' for
those National Titles.  And because of you, Samoans, I can't do that. 
Maybe sometime in the future... but I sure can't do it now.

[Lawson takes another deep breath.]

CL: It may not have been personal to you, Samoans, but it's dang
personal to me.  You want to jump us from behind?  You want to take away
our dreams?  Well... you better be ready for the doggonedest fight you
ever seen.  Tell them about it, Bailey.

[Fitzgerald takes a deep breath of his own now, emphatically exhaling
immediately thereafter.]

BF: The short and sweet of it is this -- this is probably the best thing
that could have happened to Corey and I.

[Clearly taken aback by his comment, Lawson fires his partner a look of
bewilderment.  But before Lawson can even question him, Fitzgerald
throws up his hand to put Lawson at ease somewhat as he elaborates
further.]

BF: I know, I know, but hear me out.  Believe me, there was no part of
me that enjoyed getting blindsided by those cowards the way we did and
being handed an infirmary bill the likes of Evel Knievel never saw.  But
I figure it's all in how we choose to look at things, Corey.

[Bailey turns his attention toward his elder partner, cringing in
obvious pain as he carefully turns his head west.]

BF: Was it cheap, tawdry and underhanded?  You bet it was.  But you and
I have to continuously expect that from teams like the Samoans.  Teams
who see this as one big game of "Can you top this?"  The same way
Freeman and Dufresne did.  We've got to remember --

[Fitzgerald exhales again, offering up a look of disappointment.]

BF: We're still just a couple minnows swimming around in pond full of
piranhas.  We can rant and rave till we're both blue in the face about
the points system, how we had more of a right to be in the title match
than any two guys employed here and all that nonsense. That fact is,
it's a moot point and nothing we do is going to rewrite history.

[Shrugging his shoulders and motioning toward the ring, he shifts his
attention toward Gordon Myers now.]

BF: For argument's sake, sure, let's say Corey and I stepped between
those ropes two weeks ago and defeated Freeman and Dufresne for a -
count 'em - third time.  The material and monetary gain aside, what
would _really_ be different?

[Fitzgerald does not await a response.]

BF: No guarantee the news would even make the Morning Times.  We would
still be the same two never-wases the majority pegged us as when we
assumed the role of the dark horses back in December.  But two
intimidated Samoan imports leaving the number one contenders lying in a
heap, well that's front page news.

[An unsubtle eye roll follows.]

BF: I agree with Corey's assessment a hundred and ten percent.  There
was nothing stand-up about what those gutless wonders offered up two
weeks back.  But you won't catch either of us moping around the back...
dragging our feet, feeling sorry for ourselves. It's not our style.  We
would rather view this as not what you crooks took away from what us,
but rather... what you gave us.

[For the first instance on this night, Fitzgerald musters somewhat of a
smile.]

BF: And what you gave us, Hit Squad, was an opportunity.  An opportunity
to prove we're more than some under-the-radar pairing who's capable of
more than frolicking in the shallow end.  An opportunity to shed the
fairy tale label once and for all.  So in that sense, Samoans, we have
no choice but to offer our sincerest form of gratitude.  And I would say
we'll let you know how it all works out, but if I were to venture a
guess?

[An unmistakable sneer comes across Fitzgerald's mug as he lifts his
head upward, seemingly ignoring the neck discomfort he experienced only
moments before.]

BF: I'd say you two sorry scabs will find out for damn yourselves. 
First hand.

[Take it away Gordon and Bucky!]

GM:  Goodness.  A very serious Corey Lawson and Bailey Fitzgerald have
made it very clear that the Samoans are dead in their sights now.  We've
never seen Lawson and Fitz like that before and I'm thinking Scola and
Mafu may regret what they've done.

BW:  Samoans don't know the meaning of "remorse."

GM:  I'm thinking they might when Lawson and Fitz get done with them.

BW:  Well, they still probably won't know the meaning of it since
Samoans don't know the meaning of most words but you could be right,
Gordo.

GM:  Oh brother.  Let's go up to the ring.

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

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit.  Introducing first... to my left, at a combined weight of
480 pounds, the team of Dan Christopher and Floyd Erickson.

[Two young men, one with long brown hair and the other with short black
hair, raise their arms to the crowd.]

[The opening strands of Deep Purple's "Knocking At Your Back Door" kick
in, the chords seemingly building anticipation for what is to come. And
once the chords reach their crescendo and the drums kick in, that's when
Rough N Ready emerges from the entranceway.

Dave Cooper wears black wrestling trunks, matching kneepads and white
wrestling boots, and also wears a black T-shirt that says "Rough N
Ready" in white lettering. Eric Matthew Somers wears a black singlet and
white wrestling boots. Standing in between them is their manager, Sarah
Sharpe, dressed in black pants and matching jacket and a white T-shirt.]

MC: And their opponents, hailing from Albuquerque, New Mexico, at a
combined weight of 615 pounds... Dave Cooper and Eric Matthew Somers...
Rough N Ready!

[Cooper and Somers quickly make their way to the ring, ignoring fans who
are leaning over the railing. They both climb onto the ring apron, duck
between the ropes...

...and then suddenly make a beeline for Christopher and Erickson.]

GM: Hold on!  What are they doing?

BW: Looks like the old fogies forgot to take their medication.

GM: Somers and Cooper pounding away on Christopher and Erickson... what
is this all about?

[The referee quickly calls for the bell as Somers tosses Erickson
through the ropes, then heads to the apron as Cooper corners Christopher
and works him over.]

GM: I figured Rough N Ready would be disappointed at missing out on a
title shot last week... but this is a bit uncharacteristic for them.

BW: Hey... shouldn't you be doing your job at ringside?

[Bucky refers to Sarah Sharpe, who has joined Gordon and Bucky at the
broadcast position.]

SS: I wish I could be... but Dave and Eric just aren't in the mood to
listen to me.

GM: Dave hiptossing Christopher out of the corner... now he's stomping
away. Sarah, your men don't look too happy about what transpired two
weeks ago.

SS: I can't say I blame them... I know how much they wanted their title
shot and wanted to get their hands on Dufresne and Freeman.

BW: So, instead, they call in sick so can they look good beating up
these scrubs.

SS: Bucky, you know the truth... our travel issues kept us from getting
here last week. Still, I can't say I like Dave and Eric being too
aggressive with these young kids... although I can understand their
frustration.

[Dave hoists Christopher up and executes a belly to belly suplex, before
dropping an elbow across the chest.]

GM: Cooper with the tag to Somers... Sarah, can I ask why you aren't
doing more to calm them down?

BW: It's obvious... she's a woman, so she's weak!

SS: Bucky, I'm going to ignore that remark. Gordon, I've tried to talk
some sense into Dave and Eric, but they were quite unhappy... I figured
it best to let them vent their frustrations in this match and hopefully
they'll move forward.

[Eric scoops up Christopher and gives him a hard bodyslam... then drags
him and executes a gutwrench suplex into the corner.]

GM: Christopher reaching over to make the tag to Erickson... Sarah, have
you had a chance to talk to Jim Watkins?

SS: Not yet... I will say this, however... I do respect the decision Jim
Watkins had to make. I understand him wanting to keep the fans happy.

GM: Still, it was the Bishop Boys who ended up winning the titles... and
that's a team Dave and Eric have a long history with.

[Erickson has given his best shot against Somers, but his punches are
having no effect. Somers catches him with a goozle across the throat,
then a quick chokeslam follows.]

SS: I'm aware of that... and as you might imagine, that's something else
that has upset Dave and Eric. When they won that match a few months ago
at SuperClash, they believed things were settled and they would get that
title shot they earned.

GM: Any thoughts about talking to Watkins to see if Dave and Eric can
get that title shot at a later date.

BW: Yeah, a woman just might be able to convince him to do that... as
long as she uses her best assets!

GM: Bucky!

SS: That's all right, Gordon... I know my best assets are my brains...
which rank among Bucky's worst assets.

BW: Hey!

[Somers has sent Erickson into the ropes and hit a powerslam, before
taking in Cooper, who now heads to the corner.]

GM: Somers has Erickson set... Cooper comes off the ropes... Rough
Housing!
One... two... three... this one is over.

[Cooper immediately gets up, following Somers, who has already exited
the ring, and the two then immediately make their way up the aisle and
to the dressing room.]

MC: The winners of the match... Rough N Ready!


GM: Well, looks like Dave and Eric aren't going to have anything to say
for the moment.

SS: Believe me, Gordon... I'm afraid they might say the wrong things.

BW: You snooze, you lose, it's that simple. Of course, it would have
been better if Watkins had just let Dufresne and Freeman win by forfeit.

GM: Well, Watkins made his decision... although it's a decision that
doesn't appear to sit well with Rough N Ready.

SS: They'll be all right, Gordon... they just need a little time to get
over it. I'm confident they'll be focused on their goals soon enough.

[With that, Sarah departs the broadcast position.]

GM:  Sarah Sharpe, fans... hoping she can get her men, Cooper and
Somers, under control and back on track.  I know it must be
disheartening for them to lose out on their shot at the titles but it
couldn't be helped, Bucky.

BW:  Just bad luck on their part.

GM:  But you know that they're going to keep on coming until they get
that long-awaited shot at the gold.  I know that for a fact and-

[And the crowd comes to its feet as Metallica's "Of Wolf and Man" begins
to play and the 6'8" tall Gregorson steps out through the curtain and
makes his way down to ringside. Stepping up into the ring, Gregorson
nods his head at Gordon Myers and gestures for a microphone of his own.]

WG: Gordon, I know what the fans have been asking and I stand before you
now to categorically deny *any* knowledge whatsoever of what Scola and
Mafu had planned for Bailey Fitzgerald and Corey Lawson.

In fact, since we last spoke, I have tried to speak with both Scola and
Mafu back home in Samoa but their families have refused to allow me any
contact.

With that in mind, I know that the Samoan Hit Squad is here tonight and
I'd like for them both to come out here right now and join us in the
ring.

[The arena goes black and an intense Samoan drum beat begins to blast
out over the P.A. Suddenly, a horrifying scream pierces the blackness as
a barrel-chested man in his mid-fifties steps through the curtain,
drressed in a cheap gray suit, white shirt, bolo tie, and white Stetson
hat with a half-smoked cigar clenched in his teeth and a silver headed
cane in his hand. Making his way down the aisle with a noticeable limp,
the Southern "gentlemen" climbs into the ring and steps right up to the
stand in front of Gregorson.]

MAN: Mister Gregorson, my name is Dallas.

Colonel James J. Dallas.

And it is my duty to inform you that your services are no longer
required by the Samoan Hit Squad.

[Gregorson's eyes open wide and he raises the microphone to his lips.]

WG: I'm sorry...but who are you supposed to be?

JJD: I told you. My name is Dallas and I've been retained by Scola and
Mafu to serve as their new manager here in the AWA.

WG: Their new...

JJD: Manager, yes.

You see, Scola and Mafu no longer seem to think that you have their best
interests at heart and...

WG: Wait. Their best interests?

I brought those two boys to the AWA at my own personal expense, provided
them with a roof over their heads, the best training facilities that
money can buy, and an opportunity to carry on a family tradition, and
you say I don't have their best interests at heart?

Well, Mister Dallas, let me tell you something...

JJD: No, let me tell *you* something, Mr. Gregorson.

My clients put their trust in you and you manipulated them, used them to
serve your own petty jealousies, and tried turning them into something
they are not.

Scola and Mafu are *animals*, Mister Gregorson - wild animals who thirst
for blood - not a couple of golden boy heroes who yearn for the roar of
the crowd and the approval of a misguided has-been like yourself.

WG: Has-been? Now isn't that the pot calling the kettle black, Jimmy?

JJD: Jimmy? Nobody calls me Jimmy, Mister Gregorson, and I'd appreciate
it if you...

WG: Well, Jimmy, it may have taken me a minute or two to recognize you
since you've obviously put on some weight since I last saw you wrestle
but I really don't think that you, the second-rate younger brother of
one of the greatest Southern Heavyweight Champions I've ever had the
pleasure of meeting...

Is in any position to call *me* a has-been.

JJD: Is that so? Well, Werewolf, why don't we just settle this once and
for all.

Scola...

Mafu...

Can you boys come out here please?

[And, as Dallas, Gregorson, and Myers all turn to watch the curtain for
the arrival of the Samoan Hit Squad, Scola and Mafu make their
appearance from out of the crowd, sliding under the bottom ropes and
*nailing* Gregorson from behind, dropping the big man to the canvas and
putting the boots...er, the bare feet...to him while James J. Dallas
laughs maniacally.]

GM:  The Samoans have attacked Gregorson!

BW:  I guess he's fired, Gordo.

GM:  I should say so but... my stars, this is getting out of hand in a
hurry!

[The crowd jeers as the Samoans continue to stomp and kick the downed
Gregorson.  Mafu reaches down, hauling their now-former manager up by
the hair...

...and drills him with a headbutt, sending him falling back towards
Scola who mows him over with a running clothesline!]

GM:  Good grief!

[Grabbing the top rope, Scola continues to stomp Gregorson as Mafu drops
down to the mat, wrapping his hands around the throat of the former
Marine...

...until a huge cheer comes up from the crowd, celebrating the arrival
of the cavalry!]

GM:  FITZGERALD!  LAWSON!

[The two fan favorites hit the ring...

...but the Samoans are waiting, immediately attacking the new
interlopers.  James J. Dallas quickly exits the ring as the fight starts
up, shouting instructions from the floor.  A series of snapping jabs by
Lawson has Mafu reeling while Fitzgerald throws himself into a dropkick,
knocking Scola back into the ropes.]

GM:  Bailey Fitzgerald and Corey Lawson have got the Samoans reeling
and-

[A hard knee to the gut of Fitzgerald allows Scola to grab him by the
back of the head, hurling him through the ropes to the floor.  Moving
away from Mafu, Lawson races towards the distracted Scola, leaping up to
hook a headscissors...

...but gets PLANTED with a thunderous standing powerbomb!  A howling
Mafu leaps into the air, dropping his skull squarely on the head of the
now-downed Lawson!]

GM:  The Samoans have regained the edge and... 

[A few more stomps and kicks land before an order from Dallas has the
two Samoans exiting the ring, leaving bodies strewn everywhere.]

GM:  Fitzgerald's down.  Lawson's down.  Gregorson's down.  And these
Samoans are proving to be more dangerous than we ever thought.  Fans,
we'll be right back!

[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 back up to live action where Melissa Cannon is standing in
the ring.]

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit and is part of the LADY LUCK CHALLENGE!

[Big cheer!]

MC:  Introducing first... from deepest, darkest Africa... weighing in at
360 pounds... 

EBOOOOOOOLA ZAIIIIIIIRE!

[Some funky sounding African tribal beats rings out over the PA for a
moment before a large man appears through the curtain.  Looking like
something out of a horror movie, the morbidly obese man stumbles towards
the ring.  He wears a red cloth hood over his head, long tails hanging
off it over his back.  His fingers are heavily taped - something we
notice as he continually slaps at his own chest.  His red boots with a
curling point polish off the white pants ensemble.  Zaire rolls under
the ropes, kneeling down in the corner.]

GM:  Good grief, Bucky.  I didn't think I'd ever see this.

BW:  This man is one of the most feared and most dangerous men in the
world of wrestling.  I wouldn't be surprised if he hauled a fan out of
the crowd in a minute and stabbed 'em in the head.

GM:  Bucky!  Don't even joke about something like that.

BW:  Who's joking?

[Zaire leans against the buckles, presumably glaring at the official who
is trying to draw up the courage to draw near enough to unmask him.]

MC:  And his opponent...

[Tomoyasu Hotei’s “Battle Without Honor or Humanity” starts to play over
the arena speakers. Louis Matsui emerges with a smirk from the
entranceway. He is followed closely by the scowling seven-footer,
MAMMOTH Mizusawa, dressed in a black singlet, black knee pads and a pair
of black boots. Matsui points with his thumb over his shoulders at
Mizusawa, who raises both his arms in the air. Both men start to make
their way down the aisle.]

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

MAMMOTH MIZUSAWA!

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

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

GM:  I have to admit... I've really been looking forward to this one,
Bucky.

BW:  Me too.

[As the bell rings, Zaire shoves the official aside, lunging at Mizusawa
with a stiff-fingered karate thrust into the throat, causing the giant
to stumble backwards.  The Botswanan Beast moves forward again,
stretching out both arms into a choke...

...but having the arms slapped away by Mizusawa who grabs Zaire by the
back of the neck and delivers a crushing headbutt that knocks Zaire off
his feet, falling back down to the canvas.]

GM:  Ohh!  What a headbutt!

BW:  Mizusawa and Matsui have been screaming for competition ever since
they got here.  Tonight?  I think they've got their hands full, daddy!

GM:  The giant pulls him off the mat, shoving him back to the corner.

[Backing to the corner, the giant presses his body against Zaire's...

...and steps out just slightly before driving his weight back into the
chest of the African.]

GM:  Oh!  He crushes him back against the buckles! 

BW:  And again, Gordo!  This is a simple but effective way to wear down
your opponent in a hurry.

GM:  It certainly is.  One more for good measure now before Mizusawa
turns back to face Zaire...

[Pushing Zaire's head back, Mizusawa exposes his chest before SMASHING
an overhead slapping chop down on the massive chest.]

GM:  Good grief!

BW:  It sounds like a thunderclap, daddy!

GM:  You could have heard that one down in San Antonio, I think.

[With Zaire stuck in the corner, a bark from Matsui seems to light a
fire under Mizusawa who throws repeated knife-edge chops across the
chest of Zaire.]

GM:  He's tearing into Zaire... here comes a whip...

[Ebola Zaire is sent sailing across the ring with a powerful Irish
Whip...

...and gets popped with a reverse knife-edge chop that staggers Zaire,
knocking him over the middle rope!]

GM:  Mizusawa takes him down...

[And then sits down on the back of Zaire's neck, strangling him over the
second rope!]

GM:  He's choking him!  Mizusawa is choking him on the ropes!

BW:  So far, Gordo, it's been Mizusawa who is showing he's the most of
the most feared and dangerous men in the business.  He's completely
handling Zaire so far.

[Mizusawa drags Zaire off the ropes by the arm, throwing him into the
buckles.]

GM:  To the corner again... here we go again!

[The Asian giant charges across the ring towards the stunned Zaire...

...who lunges forward, popping Mizusawa with an uppercut throat strike,
catching the giant squarely on the windpipe, sending the big man
staggering backwards.]

GM:  Ohh!  He caught him with that one!

[A huge haymaker catches Mizusawa on the jaw, sending him stumbling
backwards, doubling up...

...and the Botswanan Beast smashes home a headbutt into the back of the
giant's skull, sending him falling into the ropes where he drops down to
a knee, one arm over the top rope to keep from falling completely down.]

GM: Down goes the giant!  

[Grabbing Mizusawa by the head, Zaire SLAMS home another headbutt,
knocking the giant completely off his feet and down to the mat.  With
the giant down, Zaire grabs the top rope, smashing down stomp after
stomp after stomp into his face.  The referee screams and shouts at
Zaire, trying to get him to back off...

...which Zaire finally does, turning to go after the referee who beats a
quick retreat, leaving Zaire to glare at him.]

GM:  I'd get out of there, Mr. Meekly, if I were you.

[Zaire spins around towards Mizusawa, dropping down to his knees and
wraps both hands around the throat of the giant, choking him on the
canvas.  After a few moments, he hauls Mizusawa back to his knees,
smashing him with another headbutt to the temple area.]

GM:  Most people deliver a headbutt to the forehead or the bridge of the
nose.  Zaire's going for soft spots.  Back of the head... the temple...
ooh!  There's another one to the side of the head!

BW:  But Mizusawa's trying to get up!

[The crowd buzzes a bit as the giant struggles underneath the headbutts,
trying to push off his knees as Ebola Zaire continues to rain down blows
upon him.]

GM:  Zaire drags him the rest of- ohhh!  Big chop by Mizusawa!

[The blow knocks Zaire back near the corner where he stealthily reaches
down into his red boot, digging out something.]

GM:  He's got something in his hand!

BW:  It sure looks like it.  Some kind of an object completely wrapped
in tape and-

[As the giant approaches, Zaire lashes out with the weapon, striking him
in the throat with it and sending Mizusawa falling back into the corner
as Zaire returns the weapon to his boot.]

GM:  And just like that... the madman turns the match around without the
referee catching a glimpse of it.

BW:  Ebola Zaire is a master at cheating and getting away with it.  Not
that he'd care that much if he got caught as long as he did some damage,
daddy.

GM:  He pulls the big man into a side headlock... and another shot to
the throat!  Come on, referee!

BW:  The referee's afraid of him too!

[With the giant leaning on the buckles, Zaire throws a few chops at the
upper body...

...but the big man simply reaches out and spins him around so that the
Botswanan Beast is against the buckles.]

GM:  Whoa!  What a reversal!

[A few chops from Mizusawa do some damage before the giant drags him out
of the corner...

...and hooks him around the throat with his right hand!]

GM:  You've gotta be kidding me!

BW:  He's gonna chokeslam a 360 pound man?!

GM:  There's no way!  No way he's going to- ohhh!

[The crowd gasps as Mizusawa attempts to lift Zaire off the mat...

...but gets his eyes raked in response.]

GM:  Ohh!  Zaire goes to the eyes!

[The bulky brawler quickly steps back, rushing in for a clothesline
attempt...

...but catching a desperately thrown big boot to the jaw!]

GM:  Ohh!  He caught him coming in!

[And this time, Mizusawa goes for the sure thing, ducking down and
scooping the 360 pounder into the air...

...before violently slamming him down to the canvas!]

GM:  HE SLAMMED HIM!  HE SLAMMED EBOLA ZAIRE!!

[The giant drops to his knees, raining down repeated blows to the head
to the surprising cheers of the crowd...

...and then wraps his hands around the throat of Zaire which brings
boos.  Fickle fans.]

GM:  He's choking him!  The referee's right there to count!  Two...
three... four... fiv- he breaks the choke at five!

[The giant slowly gets to his feet, looking around at the crowd who are
still roaring with a mixed reaction...

...and lets loose a roar of his own before deadleaping up and bringing
all his weight down in a splash!]

GM:  OHHHHHHHHHHHH!

BW:  Did he just do that?!  Did he just splash him?!

GM:  A 420 pound splash and- one... two... three!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


MC:  Here is your winner of the Lady Luck Challenge...

MAMMOTH... MIZUSAWAAAAAA!

[A jubilant Louis Matsui shouts praise to his charge from outside the
ring, clapping, hootin', and hollerin' as the giant slowly gets to his
feet, wincing a bit from the intense battle he just went through.  He
looks down at Zaire, giving a slight nod of respect before making his
exit from the ring.]

GM:  Another win for MAMMOTH Mizusawa.  That's his second win in this
Lady Luck Challenge... Mr. Matsui, congratulations on the victory.

[Matsui is still giddy, grinning from ear to ear as he approaches the
desk while Gordon Myers produces the remaining deck of cards.]

GM:  And now if you would please... draw your next opponent...

[Matsui reaches into the deck and pulls out a card, handing it back to
Gordon.]

GM:  It's the eight of Clubs which means...

JASON KEENING!

[BIG CHEER!]

GM:  Oh my, fans!  Jason Keening vs MAMMOTH Mizusawa in two weeks!  Mr.
Matsui, what do you think about that?

[Matsui shakes his head, walking off set with his giant.]

GM:  Fans, that one... you will NOT want to miss that!  We'll be right
back!

[Fade to black...

And then fade back up a moment later on video of the first Memorial Day
Mayhem event.  We see Mark Shaw hoisting Marcus Broussard high into the
air for a crucifix powerbomb, walking out of the corner when his knee
buckles, allowing Broussard to drop down to the canvas behind him.
Seizing the moment, Broussard hooks him in a waistlock, charging
forward, smashing Shaw's face into an exposed metal turnbuckle, and
rolling back into a reverse rolling cradle, throwing himself into a
picture-perfect bridge as the referee dives to the mat, slapping the
canvas three times.]

MC:  Ladies and gentlemen... after twenty-eight minutes and six seconds
of hard-fought action... your winner of the match...

And the FIRST AWA NATIONAL CHAMPION...

MAAAAAARRRRCUS BROUUUUUSSARRRRRRD!

[The shot freezes on Broussard with the title belt held high, confetti
falling from the sky as a voiceover sounds out.]

"The first year saw the crowning of a champion."

[The footage picks back up as we see a shot of Ron Houston standing on
the ring apron, reaching over the ropes to hoist Adam Rogers upon his
shoulders for a Fade To Black...

...when suddenly Stevie Scott lashes out with the Heatseeker, catching
Houston squarely on the chin, knocking both men off the apron to the
floor.]

GM:  OH MY STARS!  STEVIE SCOTT HAS DONE IT!  STEVIE SCOTT HAS DONE IT!
STEVIE SCOTT HAS DONE IT!

[The Hotshot falls to his knees in the middle of the ring, pumping both
fists in triumph as he lets loose a wail of victory with the crowd
roaring in celebration as the shot holds and a voiceover picks up
again.]

"The second year saw the start of a new era."

[The footage fades out to a Memorial Day Mayhem logo.]

"On May 31st, 2010, the AWA does it again.

Memorial Day Mayhem is coming.

But what will this year bring?"

[The logo and voice fade out together.

And fade back up to the announce area where Gordon and Bucky are
standing.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans.  It's been an exciting night so far and we've
still got that big six man tag team Main Event later tonight with the
National Champion Stevie Scott, Simon Rhodes, and Raphael Rhodes taking
on Sweet Daddy Williams, Jason Keening, and Michael Keening.  That
should be a good one, Bucky.

BW:  A sneak preview of two of the matches we'll be seeing in about a
month at Memorial Day Mayhem.  I'm looking forward to it.

GM:  The Southern Syndicate will be looking to wear down their opponents
a little bit you can be sure... maybe even looking to hurt one of
them... and speaking of the Southern Syndicate...

["Hot Stuff" Brian Von Braun walks over to the announcer's table where
Gordon Myers is standing.]

GM:  We heard from Ben Waterson two weeks ago, Brian Von Braun.  You're
just an associate of the Southern Syndicate right now.  What are your
thoughts about this situation?

BVB:  Ya know, Gordon Myers, this situation is what it is.  Waterson
wants to make tha Rocket City Badboy an associate?  I can dig that.
Ben Waterson wants to keep the peace between me and Raphael Rhodes.
An' I'll play along fer now.  Ben Waterson wants to see what ol' Hot
Stuff is about?  He wants me ta prove I deserve ta be in tha Southern
Syndicate?  I can dig that.  I'll do my part an' protect the National
Heavyweight Champ.

GM:  The situation with the Rhodes Brothers is water under the bridge?

[BVB looks at Gordon Myers.]

BVB:  It ain't water under the bridge, Gordon.  It's on tha back
burner... for now.  Raphael and Simon have been given a reprieve for
the time being.  Our business ain't finished by any stretch of the
imagination.

GM:  Two weeks ago, you showed your loyalty in assisting the Southern
Syndicate.  Don't you think you should be a full member?

BVB:  Waterson wants to call 'em the Southern Syndicate, but ain't
none of them boys from tha South.  But, like I said before, Waterson
wants me ta prove my worth.  An' I'll do jus' that in tha comin'
weeks.

[BVB goes through the motions of swinging a chair.]

BVB:  Be it hittin' Aaron Anderson with a chair ta protect Stevie.  Be
it gettin' in tha face of Sweet Daddy Williams to block his quest for
tha gold.

[BVB pulls out his Zippo and flips the top open and gets a wild-eyed
grin on his face.]

BVB:  Be it blindin' someone ta teach him not to mess with tha
Southern Syndicate, Bee Vee Bee is Waterson's man.

GM:  Strong words, Brian.

[BVB pockets the Zippo into the front pocket of his shirt.]

BVB:  Here's some stronger words fer ya, Gordon.  Seems Juan Vasquez
has a twenty-five kay bounty on anyone associated with or helping the
Southern Syndicate.

GM:  That hasn't been mentioned in a while.  I'm not sure it's still in-

BVB:  I want someone ta come an' try ta collect the bounty on my head.
Anyone.  Someone step up an' take a crack at me.  Come an' collect.

[BVB heads to the ring where Melissa is waiting.]

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit.  Introducing first... in the corner to my right... from
Baltimore, Maryland... Terry Mason!

[Mild cheers.]

MC:  And his opponent... in the opposite corner... from Huntsville,
Alabama and weighing in at 215 pounds...

"HOT STUFF"

BRIAN VON BRAUUUUUUN!

[Von Braun has no reaction to the jeering crowd.]

GM:  Brian Von Braun, a member of the legendary Von Braun wrestling
family, making his in-ring debut for the AWA right here tonight, Bucky.

BW:  He's a Southern Syndicate associate before he even wrestles here! 
That should show the world just how important BVB is in the grand scheme
of things, Gordo.

GM:  I suppose it does.


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


[A wide-eyed Brian Von Braun sprints across the ring, throwing a back
elbow to the jaw, knocking Mason down to his rear in the corner.]

GM:  A quick start to this one and now Von Braun is stomping Terry Mason
into the mat in the corner!

[Holding onto the top rope, BVB continues to stomp Mason before changing
up the attack, planting his foot on the throat of Mason!]

GM:  He's choking him, Bucky!  

BW:  I'm not sure about that.

GM:  You're not- he's not even hiding it!

[The referee's count hits four before BVB breaks the choke...

...and then drops down to his knees, wrapping his hands around the
throat of Mason instead!]

GM:  Another choke!  Come on!

[The referee's count again hits four before Von Braun releases the
choke...

...and runs both hands through his own hair with a sick grin on his
face.]

GM:  This guy... I get the feeling he's not playing with a full deck,
Bucky.

[Grabbing a hand full of hair, Von Braun hauls Terry Mason back to his
feet, hooking him under the arm and chucking him out of the corner in a
big hiptoss.]

GM:  Mason's just getting manhandled right now in there.  Mason rolls
out to the floor, looking for a breather...

[Von Braun breaks into a sprint, dropping into a baseball slide to drive
both feet squarely into the face of Mason, sending him falling back into
the front row of fans.]

GM:  Ohh!  Nice dropkick by Von Braun...

[Rolling to the floor, Von Braun delivers a pair of boots to the ribs of
a stunned Mason before dragging him away from the crowd and whipping him
spinefirst into the ring apron!]

GM:  Ohh my stars... Von Braun's showing quite the mean streak here
tonight.

[A hurting Mason spins away from Von Braun, leaning chestfirst over the
apron...

...which exposes the back to a double handed backrake from Von Braun,
slashing his fingernails down the back!]

GM:  There's no call for that, Bucky.  None at all.

BW:  I think Mason asked him to do it.  Sicko.

GM:  He most certainly did not.

[Von Braun shoves the wincing Mason under the ropes into the ring before
climbing up on them himself.  He quickly moves through the ropes as
well, pulling him up by the back of the trunks into a side waistlock
where he hoists Mason up and drops him down in a belly-to-back suplex!]

GM:  Ohh!  Nice execution on that one and there's a cover for one... for
two...

[But a cackling Von Braun pulls Mason up by the hair, shaking his head
back and forth to the jeers of the crowd and the complaints of the
official.]

GM:  He pulls him at two.  He had him right there, Bucky, and you know
it.

BW:  You know it, I know it, the fans know it.  But BVB ain't done with
'im and that's what matters, daddy!

GM:  Von Braun back to his feet, hauling this poor rookie up.  There's a
whip right there...

[The whip sends Mason sailing off the ropes.  Von Braun swings a wild
clothesline that Mason manages to duck, hitting the far ropes and coming
back off...

...where Von Braun ducks a clothesline attempt from Mason, reaching back
with both hands to DROP Mason with a snapping hangman's neckbreaker!]

GM:  OHHHH!  That's it!

[A grinning Von Braun gets up, pointing out at the jeering fans...

...and then grabs the legs of the motionless Mason, tying them up, and
turning him over into a Texas Cloverleaf!]

GM:  Submission hold applied by Von Braun!

BW:  He's calling this the Crimson Tide Cloverleaf, daddy!

GM:  Mason's fighting it!  He's trying to- 


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


MC:  Here is your winner by submission... BRIAN!  VON!  BRAUUUUUN!

[Von Braun keeps the hold locked on, pulling back hard as the referee
reprimands him.  After a few moments, the ref starts a count.]

GM:  Come on!  Break the hold!

BW:  If he keeps this one, it's gonna be more than the hold he breaks!

GM:  The referee's gonna reverse the decision if he doesn't break it! 
Two... three... four... fiv- 

[But just before the five count, Von Braun releases the hold, standing
up with his arms raised to the jeers of the crowd.]

GM:  An impressive win for Brian Von Braun in his debut here and-

BW:  And if he keeps it up like that, Ben Waterson won't have a choice
but to make him a full member of the Southern Syndicate, Gordo!

GM:  You may be right about that.  A big win there for Von Braun and it
certainly does help his case with the Syndicate, Bucky, just like you
said.  And speaking of which, let's go backstage right now with Jason
Dane who is standing by with Ben Waterson for his State Of The Syndicate
address.  Jason?

[We cut back to the locker room area where Jason Dane is indeed standing
next to Ben Waterson.]

JD:  Mr. Waterson, you specifically asked for this time to address a lot
of the rumors and speculation about the Southern Syndicate going on
right now.  A lot of people have speculated about... chinks in the
armor... so to speak of the Southern Syndicate with the loss of both
championships in the past month.  Your thoughts?

ATTSBW:  My thoughts?  MY thoughts?  My thoughts are that we may have
lost two championships in a month but we won one of them right back,
Dane!  And it's just a matter of time before we get the other one back
as well. 

But let's do this the right way...

Let's talk about the State of The Syndicate...

[Waterson pauses.]

ATTSBW:  People are talking about the Southern Syndicate.  That's
nothing new.  But what IS new is people talking about us like we're a
thing of the past... like we're yesterday's news...

Two weeks ago, after we lost the National Tag Team Titles... after they
were STOLEN from us by the Championship Committee... by Jim Watkins...
by those inbred hicks from Arkansas of all places... I starting hearing
the rumors too.  

"They're showing chinks in the armor."  "They're not as strong as they
were."  "They're not what they used to be."  "They're biting off more
than they can chew."

[Waterson is steaming mad at this point, turning red.]

ATTSBW:  How many people can we take on at once, Dane?

ALL OF 'EM!

Every single one of them.  Vasquez, Williams, the Bishops, the Keenings,
that old man Michaelson, Snyder... 

ALL OF 'EM!  

[Waterson nudges Dane aside, snatching the mic from him.]

ATTSBW:  The Southern Syndicate is as strong as we ever were - STRONGER!
 We've got the National Champion, Stevie Scott, who stands NO CHANCE...
NO CHANCE... of losing the gold at Memorial Day Mayhem to that fat slob
who'd rather dance than run laps.

We've got Calisto and Adrian... the former National Tag Team Champions. 
And do you really think it's not just a matter of time before they get
those belts back?  When they get their rematch, this time, they'll be
ready for the Bishops.  And those idiots don't stand a chance.  The best
part of that?  City Jack's still got one eye to see it happen with.

[Waterson cracks an evil grin.]

ATTSBW:  The Keenings?  Those old fossils' days are numbered.  Raph's
got it under control.  And if he doesn't?  One of our associates, Simon
Rhodes, is right there to help him out.

Snyder?  I told you I've got something for you.  I told you your day is
coming.  And it's coming soon.  You will NOT get away with embarrassing
me in public like you did, Snyder.  That's a fact.

[Waterson stops, looking peaceful for a moment.]

ATTSBW:  Ahhh, Juan Vasquez.

Juan Vasquez wants to keep sticking his nose in our business.  Juan
Vasquez wants to think he can pester us into breaking the stipulation
and giving him another shot at the champ.

NOT!  GONNA!  HAPPEN!

You're done, Vasquez.  You're finished.  You're off our radar.  We don't
care one bit what you do.

Go fight Mizusawa.  Go find a partner and challenge the Bishops.  Go do
whatever you want to do, Vasquez... but stay the hell away from us
because the Southern Syndicate and Juan Vasquez are mutually exclusive
terms now.  You have nothing to do with us.  We have nothing to do with
you.  And you can waste all the money you want on buying Sweet Daddy
Williams a shot at the champ because it's NOT... GOING... TO MATTER!

[That grin returns.]

ATTSBW:  And then, of course, there's Todd Michaelson.  Michaelson, you
and I go waaaay back.  You want a shot at me?  Of course you do, you old
gloryhog.  You see a chance to jump on the back of the Southern
Syndicate and re-live the storied career that you really never had!

But here's the problem, Michaelson.  

I'm not a wrestler.  I'm a manager.  

[Big smile now.]

ATTSBW:  So, unless you want to sacrifice your ability to walk down the
street by getting in the ring with Stevie, Adrian, Calisto, or
Raphael... I'm afraid you've got nothing that interests me.

[Dane interrupts finally.]

JD:  Are you refusing the challenge of Todd Michaelson?

ATTSBW:  Did I stutter, Dane?  Michaelson, the answer is no.

JD:  What are your thoughts on MAMMOTH Mizusawa?

ATTSBW:  He's a friggin' giant.  What do you mean?

JD:  Louis Matsui wants you to open your checkbook.  He wants you to pay
off Mizusawa to finish off Vasquez and to stay away from the National
Title.

ATTSBW:  The Southern Syndicate has had no issues in making a deal with
the Matsui Corporation in the past - a deal that turned out quite well
for both us sending that fat Samoan packing.  

JD:  Is that a yes?  Do you accept his offer?

ATTSBW:  If Matsui wants to negotiate with the Southern Syndicate, he
knows where to find us.

[And with that, Waterson storms out of sight, leaving Jason behind.]

JD:  Let's go back to the ring!

[We cut back to the ring where Gordon and Bucky are standing.]

GM:  Some interesting words there from Ben Waterson.  But up next, Juan
Vasquez in action for the first time since he lost the National Title!
Let's go up to Melissa!

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

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit.  Introducing first... already in the ring...he weighs in at
255 lbs.. fighting out of Athens, Ohio... Viktor Samson!

[An overall mixed reaction for the barrel-chested, second generation
competitor.]

MC:  And his opponent... weighing in at 238 lbs...from Los Angeles,
California... he is the #1 contender to the AWA National Title...

JUUUUUAAAAAAAANNNNNN 


VAAASSSSSSQQQUUUUEEEZZZZ!!!!

["They Reminisce Over You" by Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth begins to play
over the PA system as Vasquez bursts through the curtain to a huge roar
from the AWA crowd! He's clad in his usual tracksuit style attire,
jogging down the aisle as he slaps the hands of the ringside fans.]

BW: Why even bother with calling him the #1 contender? He's never
getting a shot at that title ever again! You're just wasting a precious
spot in the top ten, daddy!

GM: While he might have lost any chance of getting rematch with Stevie
Scott for the National title, Juan Vasquez's credentials cannot be
denied. So far, he's been the only wrestler who's proven to be able to
take that National title away from Stevie Scott and the Syndicate.

BW: And with the way he keeps sticking his nose into their business,
he's also proven himself to be the bravest idiot in the entire roster!

DING DING!

[The bell rings, as Vasquez and Samson circle each other. They lock up,
with Samson making a quick go-behind and catching Vasquez in a
waistlock. He quickly muscles the former National champion into the air
and slams him facedown into the mat, keeping the waistlock cinched in.]

GM: Viktor Samson, son of the infamous Laszlo Samson...no relation to
our very own, Soup Bone Samson, showing off a little bit of his amateur
background here.

BW: I saw his daddy wrestle in the midwest in his heyday and he was one
mean son of a gun! The last thing you'd think he do was find a girl to
settle down with and have a kid!

[Juan struggles on the mat momentarily, before quickly breaking the hold
and reversing positions with young Samson on the mat, transitioning
right into a front facelock. He and Samson get back into a vertical base
with the facelock still held on by Vasquez. Samson pushes Juan back into
the ropes, where he makes a clean break. However, as he holds his arms
into the air, Samson catches Vasquez with a big forearm in the chest!]

GM: And it doesn't seem like the apple fell far from the tree, as Viktor
Samson catches Vasquez with that cheapshot!

[Samson presses his advantage, nailing Vasquez with a big kneelift to
the gut and whipping him into the ropes...]

GM: Clothesline...ducked...Vasquez back off the far ropes...

[Pop!]

GM: ...BIG dropkick by Vasquez takes Viktor Samson off his feet!



"THUUUUUUUUUUUUD!"



GM: And a huge hip toss has Samson rolling out of the ring to regroup!

BW: That's a smart move by the kid. The last thing you want is for
Vasquez to get on a roll. I don't think I've ever seen any wrestler feed
off momentum like he does.

GM: You might have spoke too soon, Bucky, because here comes Vasquez!

[Indeed. As Samson gets back to his feet on the outside, the ex-champ
has already made a sprint towards the ropes...]

BW: Oh my!

GM: Whatta' show-off!

[...but grabs onto the top rope at the last second, using the momentum
to swing himself between the ropes and back into the ring! He pumps a
fist into the air, drawing a loud cheer from the crowd!]

GM: An amazing display of agility by Juan Vasquez, right there!

BW: I think he just wanted to make the rookie look stupid! What a jerk!

[On the outside, Samson slams his hands on the ring apron, angry at
being faked out like that. He quickly slides back into the ring and
charges at Vasquez, who sidesteps him and sends Samson into the ropes.
As he comes back, Vasquez leaps into the air, taking him over with a
flying headscissors! Samson gets back to his feet and is then flattened
by a running clothesline!]

GM: Big clothesline and Vasquez drops down for the quick cover...only
two! 

BW: Samson played right into Vasquez's hands! The last thing you want is
to lose your head in the ring like that.

GM: Vasquez sends Samson into the corner...no reversed!

[Vasquez hits the turnbuckles hard...and as he stumbles out, he's then
doubled over by a charging headbutt to the midsection!]

GM: And Samson paying tribute to his father right there with that
battering ram-like headbutt!

BW: It's not quite as pretty as when his old man used to do it, but
still just as effective!   

[Samson wastes no time, sending Juan crashing into the mat with a big
scoop slam, followed by a meaty elbowdrop right across the throat!]

GM: Pin attempt here...one, two...no! Vasquez gets the shoulder up!

BW: He's gonna' need to bring out heavier artillery than that, daddy! 

GM: Samson lifting Vasquez up for a suplex...and Vasquez slips free and
lands behind...



"SMAAAACCCCK!"



GM: ...OHHHH! There's that big right hand!

BW: I think Vasquez had enough of playing around with the rookie, Myers!
He tried to take his jaw off with that shot!

[Samson is dropped to the canvas by the blow but almost immediately pops
back up to his feet, comically trying to keep his balance on extremely
wobbly legs, before stumbling right into Vasquez's grasp...]

GM: WHAT A MANUEVER!

BW: An overhead suplex! Samson hit HARD. Vasquez tried to plant him like
a lawndart there!

GM: He's signaling for the end now!

[BIG POP!]

GM:  CITY OF ANGELS! ONE!  TWO!  THREE!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


MC:  Ladies and gentlemen... here is your winner...


JUAN VASSSQUUUUEEZZZ!


[The crowd responds with a huge round of applause as Vasquez's arm is
raised into the air.]

GM: An impressive victory for Juan Vasquez, coming off that devastating
loss to Stevie Scott.

BW: These wins don't mean anything, Myers! He's got nothing to shoot for
now! 

GM: Fans, we're going to take a short break, but when we come back, I'm
going to try to get a word with Juan Vasquez.

[The camera focuses on a shot of Juan Vasquez helping Viktor Samson back
to his feet and giving him a pat on the back before fading out.

...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 the WKIK Studios, where Gordon Myers is standing
by with a smiling Juan Vasquez, who looks to have barely broken a sweat
from his match.]

GM: Welcome back, folks. We just saw Juan Vasquez score an impressive
victory over Viktor Samson. But right now, Juan...I'd like to know your
thoughts concerning the situation surrounding you and the Southern
Syndicate. Two weeks ago, we saw you continue to make yourself a thorn
in their side, despite having lost the opportunity to have any more
rematches for Stevie Scott's National title by putting up the money for
Sweet Daddy Williams' title shot. Seemingly in retaliation, the
Syndicate viciously attacked the two men in the Combat Corner Showcase,
severely injuring the both of them.

[Juan's smile disappears, as a serious look appears on his face.]  

JV: Gordon...Pedro Perez Jr. and Jackson Martin were two men that I got
to know pretty well when I was at the Combat Corner. They were two guys
that I thought had a real shot at being something special in this sport
someday...

[He stops and lowers his head, letting out a frustrated sigh.]

JV: ...and two weeks ago, I had to watch them be carried out on
stretchers... their careers possibly over before they even began,
because of the Southern Syndicate.

[He shakes his head sadly.] 

JV: I ain't ever gonna' deny the fact that Stevie Scott is just about
one of the most talented wrestlers I've ever stepped into the ring with,
but I also can't deny the fact that he's one of the biggest damn cowards
you'll ever come across.

[Juan grows angrier with every word, clearly agitated by the Syndicate's
actions.]

JV: What they did to those rookies was shameful. What he did to Perez
was disgusting...just about the worst damn thing I've ever seen them do
to anyone...and there ain't nothing I'd love to see more than for Sweet
Daddy Williams to beat the tar outta' Stevie Scott at Memorial Day
Mayhem. Heck, if I had my way, I'd take Stevie behind a woodshed myself
and beat his hide raw and bleed that bastard dry!

[The crowd comes to life with cheers for a split-second...]

JV: ...But I can't. 

[...and just as quickly dies down. Juan lowers his head, dejected.]

JV: I blew it. I took one chance too many, lost my title, let that snake
Brian Von Braun pull the wool over my eyes and now...I ain't got no more
chances at Stevie Scott.

[There's a short pause, before we hear a small chuckle from Juan.]

JV: Or at least...that's what I thought.

GM: That's what..."you thought"?

[Juan nods and holds up a finger.]

JV: I got one more chance, Gordon. 

GM: I don't think I quite understand, Juan...the stipulations clearly
stated that if you lost, there would be _no more_ rematches.

JV: That's right, Gordon. Right now, I might not be able to *ask* for a
rematch...

...but I sure as heck can _win_ one.

[A look of realization suddenly comes over Myers.]

GM: The Rumble.

[Juan smiles and nods.]

JV: The Rumble.

[The crowd slowly begins to stir, realizing that not all hope is lost.]

JV: Jim Watkins told me...all I gotta' do is win the Rumble. All I
gotta' do is conquer twenty-nine men all gunning for that same
shot...and if somehow he survives his match against Sweet Daddy...I'll
get my chance at Stevie one last time. 

[Crowd pop!]

GM: But aren't you concerned? The entire Southern Syndicate entered into
the Rumble for the sole purpose of protecting Stevie Scott's title!
Considering the trouble you've caused them, there's no doubt that
they'll all be gunning for you.

JV: Then let them! It ain't any different from what they've done to me
these last six months, Gordon. If the entire Southern Syndicate wants to
come after me, then I'll paint that bullseye on my chest, put a target
on my back the size of Mexico and dare them to come after me! 

[Crowd pop!]

JV: From that snake Calisto Dufrense all the way down to Raph's big
brother, Simon...I owe them all for the garbage they've put the AWA
through! Send them all at me and see if I don't beat every single last
one of those bastards within an inch of their lives!

[The crowd is getting almost as worked up as Vasquez is, loudly cheering
their approval.]

JV: It don't matter if it's one-on-one, ten-on-one, or me against the
entire city of Dallas! 

The Rumble is my last chance. 

My _only_ chance.

[Juan lowers his head, the realization that this is all or nothing for
him finally settling in.]

JV: And for the rest of those twenty-nine men?

[Pause, as a determined look appears on his face.]

JV: That means they ain't got no chance at all. 

[Vasquez pats Gordon Myers on the back before walking out of view.]

GM:  Bucky, do you believe it?!  One more shot for Juan Vasquez!

BW:  That can't be right!  Get the Southern Syndicate's legal team on
the phone!  Heck, get my mama's lawyers on the phone!

GM:  You can call all the ambulance-chasing lawyers you want but I think
that's a lock!  If Juan Vasquez can win the Rumble, he gets one more
shot at Stevie Scott and the National Title!  Somewhere in this
building, the Hotshot's gotta be livid!  Somewhere in this building, Ben
Waterson's gotta be livid!

BW:  This isn't right!  This isn't fair!

GM:  I beg to differ!  I think this is completely fair!  The Memorial
Day Rumble just got a whole lot more interesting, fans!  And right now,
we're going up to the ring to see another man who will be in that
Rumble, Vernon Riley, in action!  Take it away, Melissa!

[We fade up to the ring where Melissa Cannon is standing with two men -
one of them being Vernon Riley.]

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a-

[The announcement gets cut off as the "enhancement talent" sprints
across the ring, blindsiding Vernon Riley who was waving to some
ringside fans.]

GM:  Here we go!  Vernon Riley against The Dark Shadow.

[The masked man punches and kicks Riley from behind, spinning him around
and shoving him back to the corner.  He lands a few boots to the gut
before grabbing Riley by the arm.]

GM:  Irish whip to the corner...

[But as soon as Riley hits the buckles, he rebounds out, charging hard,
and landing a leaping bulldog headlock!]

GM:  WHOA!!  RILEY ROUNDUP!!!  OUT OF NOWHERE!!

[Riley flips him to his back, hooking a leg.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREE!!  And just like that, we've got a win!

[The big man from Amarillo, Texas pops up to his feet, pumping a fist in
triumph...

...when suddenly a man dressed in all black attacks him from behind!]

GM:  What the- who is that?!

[The man is dressed in black from head to toe and is stomping and
kicking Riley into the mat.]

BW:  That was just two weeks ago that Anton Layton showed us that
footage of him assaulting Riley for the first time down in Florida. 
Wasn't Layton wearing all black during that?

GM:  He certainly was.  But this doesn't look like Layton to me, Bucky.

[The "Man In Black" (no, not THAT Man In Black) stomps and kicks Riley
on the mat for a few moments, ignoring the referee's protests.  Finally,
he hauls Riley up by the arm, firing him across the ring.]

GM:  Riley to the ropes... clothesli- ducked by Riley!

[Riley quickly spins around, peppering the masked man with
lightning-quick jabs to the jaw...

...and crowns him with an overhead elbow smash, knocking the masked man
flat!]

GM:  Oh yeah!  Down goes the masked man!

[Riley grabs him by the head, going for the mask.]

GM:  He's going for it!  He's gonna unmask- now what in the world...?

[Suddenly, another masked man emerges from the locker room, diving
headfirst through the ropes...

...and drilling Riley in the kidneys with a knee.]

GM:  Oh, come on!

BW:  Now THAT looks like Anton Layton!

GM:  It certainly does.  I don't know what kind of game he's playing
here with Vernon Riley but-

[The second masked man pulls Riley back, holding his arms behind him
while the first recovers and drives boot after boot into the midsection
of the Texan.]

GM:  This is a two-on-one!  We need to get some help out here for Vernon
Riley!

[Suddenly, the second masked man reaches into his boot, pulling out a
weapon of some kind as he shoves Riley over to the first man who floors
Riley with a haymaker.]

GM:  The Spike!  Layton's got the Golden Spike!

[Layton pulls the sharpened metal spike into view, holding it high for
all of the jeering crowd to see...

...but before he can use it, Riley manages to land a low kick on the
first masked man, flooring him with a haymaker!]

GM:  Riley's free!  Riley's free!

[The Golden Spike comes swinging towards Riley who raises a right arm to
block it...

...and then pops (presumably) Layton with a right hand, sending him down
to the mat where he rolls to safety alongside the other masked man!]

GM:  Riley fights 'em off!  He fight 'em both off!

[The two masked men beat a retreat, leaving a steamed Riley in the ring,
screaming at them both from the middle rope as we fade to black.

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

"Have you ever dreamed of fame?"

[Cut a little closer.]

"Of glory?"

[A little closer.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Two young students are grappling on the canvas.]

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

You want to wrestle!"

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

...and then come back to live action where Gordon and Bucky are standing
alongside Todd Michaelson.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans, and at this time, you can see we've been joined
by Todd Michaelson, the head trainer at the Combat Corner and the man
who made a special challenge to Ben Waterson following a brutal assault
on two of his students two weeks ago... let's take a look...

[We fade to footage marked "TWO WEEKS AGO" where Calisto Dufresne yanks
Pedro Perez Jr. off the mat, shoving him towards Stevie Scott.]

GM:  What's he- oh my god.

[The crowd is roaring with disgust as the Hotshot drags Perez Jr. into a
standing headscissors.  The National Champion reaches underneath Perez
Jr's waist...

...and hoists him high into the air, pausing for one and all to see...

...and then sits down, SPIKING Perez Jr. headfirst into the canvas with
his lethal piledriver!  The crowd falls silent at the sight of Perez
Jr's head being compressed into the canvas.  The announcers go silent as
well as the Hotshot jumps to his feet, glaring down at the motionless
Combat Corner trainee.

Suddenly, Juan Vasquez, Soup Bone Samson, and Sweet Daddy Williams come
charging from the locker room, sending the Southern Syndicate fleeing
for their lives.

The fan favorites make a circle around the fallen rookie, Vasquez
holding people back as he screams for a medic.  The AWA medical team,
led by Dr. Bob Ponavitch, come charging from the locker room as well. 
The medical team hits the ring quickly, immediately rushing to the
downed Pedro Perez Jr's side.

The camera holds for a little while, watching silently as the young
rookie is loaded onto a stretcher... and fades back to live action where
Todd Michaelson is slowly shaking his head back and forth, looking down
at the floor.]

GM:  Todd, I know that's hard for you to watch.  And I'm sure you heard
the words of Ben Waterson earlier tonight answering your challenge.

[Michaelson slowly nods.]

TM:  I heard him, Gordon.  Ben Waterson came out here earlier tonight
and told the entire world that he was refusing my challenge because he's
not a professional wrestler.

[Another nod.]

TM:  Well, for once, we can't accuse him of lying, Gordon.  He's not a
professional wrestler.  And if you have any doubt that that's the truth,
I've got some old Pro Wrestling Revolution DVDs to show you.  Waterson's
not a wrestler.  He's never been a wrestler.  He tried... Lord knows he
tried back in Los Angeles.  But he couldn't cut it.  He couldn't hack it
in the squared circle so he tucked his tail and ran.

And of all the differences between my students and you, Waterson, that's
the biggest.  

Every day... each and every day they're in the Combat Corner, I push
them hard... but they push themselves even harder.  They know it'll take
the hardest work of their lives to live their dreams right here in front
of these AWA fans.  They know that it'll take broken bones and bruised
bodies and bloodied noses and God knows what else to even get the chance
to lace their boots in an AWA locker room... just like Aaron Anderson
and Eric Preston have gotten the opportunity to do.  They know it... and
they live for it.

[Michaelson sneers.]

TM:  You had that chance back in PWR, Waterson.  You had the chance to
push yourself... to struggle alongside your training partners... to give
it everything you could to be the best.

But you just couldn't do it.  And you know why?  It's not your nature,
Waterson.  You?  You're always looking for the easy way out.  You're
looking for the quick fix to your problems.  You're looking for the road
without a bump in it.  That's why you hitched your wagon to Sudakov
after you left PWR and it's damn sure why you've surrounded yourselves
with a pack of jackals like the Southern Syndicate now.  They're not
your friends... not your allies... not even your clients really.  To
you?

They're just your meal ticket.

So, I'm not surprised you turned down my challenge, Ben... not at all. 
In fact, I expected it.

[Michaelson rubs his furrowed brow.]

TM:  But I'm also not going to stop making it.  I want this match,
Waterson.  Hell, I NEED this match.

Every time I look at you... every time I look at your pack of
buzzards... every time I see you screw over Juan or take out someone
like Adam Rogers...

I feel responsible.

[Another nod.]

TM:  Because when it's all said and done, Waterson... I brought you into
this business.  I was the one to let you sneak your foot into the door. 
I was the one to let you in.

I brought you into this world...

...and I'm going to take you out of it.

[Michaelson holds up a rolled-up sheet of paper.]

TM:  You see this, Gordon?

[Gordon looks at it.]

TM:  This is a Pro Wrestling Revolution contract... a WRESTLING
contract...

[Gordon's eyes grow wider.]

TM:  And the name at the bottom of it?

GM:  Ben Waterson!

TM:  That's right.  You signed this when you first stepped foot into
PWR, Waterson.  And when you came back to PWR, you signed the same deal.
 It was an oversight on my part - you weren't a wrestler anymore but...

Well, these things come in handy sometime.

[A grin.]

TM:  Because the last time I checked, when I sold PWR to the AWA... I
sold THIS with it.

[Big cheer!]

TM:  And that means in the eyes of the AWA... YOU!  ARE!  A!  WRESTLER!

[BIGGER CHEER!]

TM:  And after I just met with Jim Watkins backstage, it also means that
in two weeks... YOU... ME... IN THAT RING!

[BIGGEST CHEER!]

TM:  I'm gonna throw the hardest forearms of my life.  The hardest
elbows of my life.  I'm going to beat you all around that ring.  I'm
going to pick you up and drop you in so many suplexes, you won't even
know what state you're in.  Heck, I might even have some flashbacks to
my days in Los Angeles and go to the extreme all over you!

[HUGER CHEER!]

TM:  And when I tie up those arms, hoist you up, and put you down with
the Billion Dollar Bomb, I'm going to do it extra hard, Waterson.  I'm
going to do it extra hard for Sweet Daddy Williams.  For Juan Vasquez. 
For Adam Rogers.  For Kolya Sudakov.  For everyone else you've screwed
over or hurt just to make an extra buck.

But most of all... I'm going to do it for Pedro Perez Jr... my son... my
boy... one of my kids...

[The enthusiasm of the fans slowly dims until the cheers are replaced
with more of a buzz.  The kind of buzz you hear when something is about
to go horribly wrong.

Michaelson didn't survive for as long as he has in the business by not
immediately recognizing this sound, so he starts looking around, fist
clenched.  Perhaps Waterson is sending the Syndicate after him?  Perhaps
he's even coming out to respond himself?  No... a mixture of surprise
and disgust crosses Todd's face when he sees the man heading towards his
location...

...of all people?  It's James Monosso.  Monosso's expression is
practically a mirror of Michaelson's, as he seems to be rather unhappy
with something that Todd just said.  Nonetheless, he's giving him a
slow, almost mocking golf clap.]

TM:  You've got no business out here, Monosso.  What are you doing here?

JM:  I heard you talking about your kids.  Todd...

TM:  Don't you come out here and call me "Todd" like we're old friends,
you maniac.  

[Monosso smirks.]

JM:  I only call my elders Mister, Todd.  I've been in this hellhole of
a business as long as you.  Or longer.  It's hard to remember.  Two
decades of headshots do that.  I'm sure you can _back_ me up on that
statement, can't you?

[Michaelson's frown turns even deeper at Monosso's emphasis on the word
'back'.]

JM: But I was talking about your kids, and how much you love them.  Tell
me, do you have children?  Real children?  From your wife?  Or your
mistress?  Or someone else?  I don't care; you don't have to answer that
question.  But you do have to answer this one: would you send your own
children out to suffer on your behalf?  Would you let them ruin their
lives for you?  Would you destroy their hopes and dreams for your
personal benefit?

Because that is exactly what you're doing to 'your kids'!  YOU KNOW
BETTER, DAMN YOU!

[Uh, oh.  James is crossing the line from 'bitter rambling' to 'angry
bitter rambling'.  He thrusts a finger at Michaelson's chest... Todd
tries to swat it away, but it doesn't budge.]

JM:  Twenty years did what to you?  Destroyed your back!  Piled failure
on top of failure!  Burned your wife!

TM:  LEAVE MY WIFE OUT OF-

JM: IF YOU DON'T LIKE THE TRUTH, GO LIVE IN A FANTASY WORLD!  Oh,
wait... YOU ALREADY DO!  AND YOU CALL IT THE COMBAT CORNER!  You lie and
lie and lie to those dumb kids about the great future they might have in
wrestling, when all this sport does is chew people up and spit them out!
 THERE ARE NO HAPPY ENDINGS, AND YOU KNOW IT!  YOU LIVE IT!  And now
you're hooking these dumb kids in to suffer the same way we all
suffered!  It's too late for us, Todd, but they might have a chance in
this world if they turn back now!

TM:  I love this business.  I love everything about this business.  And
giving these kids a chance to be a part of it are the greatest thing
I've ever been a part of.  

And you?  Listening to you talk about our business makes me sick.

[Monosso grabs the mic from Myers in a rage, his face turning purple as
his venom explodes in a flurry of words and spittle.]

JM: NO, YOU MAKE _ME_ SICK!  Every day you wake up with your spinal
column screaming to you for what you did to it!  A reminder of how this
sport destroys people!  Then you go and see if your latest check
cleared, or if your latest employer went belly-up just like the last ten
or twelve did!  A reminder of how this business destroys people!  And
then when you get ready to go to work, you kiss Lori on the cheek, and
the smell of the plastic they had to use to put her face back together
reminds you a third time!  And then you go find some dumb kids to put
them through that same hell, all so you can what?  Pay the bills?  You
could be sitting there next to Myers spewing the same old crap and
getting paid for it!  But no, you had to go and find some more suckers
to feed the machine!  And you have the nerve to pretend you care about
them?!  I'M DOING MORE FOR THEM THAN YOU ARE!

[The last line has been crossed.  In a blind rage, Michaelson punches
Monosso... the fans cheer for a moment, until they see how much effect
this has had on the wild-eyed madman.  Which is to say none, unless you
count making him angrier.]

BW: Todd... run.

[No, he's not going to do that.  He's going to find something much
harder to swing, but by the time he comes up with a nearby chair,
Monosso has kneed him in the small of the back, sending Todd to his
knees.  The fans boo vehemently!]

GM:  His back!  Todd Michaelson is more than capable of defending
himself, but Monosso's psychotic!

[And he has the chair which Michaelson intended to use on him.  The
six-foot-eight maniac winds up a home run swing to take the Combat
Corner's head trainers head off...]

BW: PRESTON!

[...but it never reaches its target, as Eric Preston dives out of
nowhere to wrench it from Monosso's grasp!  Cheering erupts from the
audience as the South Carolina native throws the chair away and starts
swinging at the stringy-haired lunatic... who powers through his punches
and headbutts him in the chin!  Preston reels, and Monosso rakes his
eyes.]

GM:  THIS IS NOT THE TIME FOR THIS!  WE NEED SECURITY!

[A wild blind swing by Preston misses the target, and Eric ends up
facing the wrong way.  Sneering with a hint of a bitter smile, Monosso
grabs him in the waistlock... the horrified crowd recognizes what is
coming next and screams in protest!]

GM:  NO!  NOT ON THE FLOOR!  NOT THE DESCENT INTO...



"WHAAAAAAAAAAAACK!"



[BILLION DOLLAR POP!]

GM:  MICHAELSON WITH THE CHAIR ACROSS THE BACK!  THAT WILL GET MONOSSO'S
ATTENTION!

BW:  It didn't even knock him down!



"WHAAAAAAAAAAAACK!"



[A second chair to the back by the enraged head of the Combat Corner,
and Monosso has now dropped Preston.  His shoulders are tucked up and
his head tucked down in a clear expression of pain... but he slowly
turns back to Michaelson, gritting his teeth through the agony.  Todd
winds up for a head-shot... but Monosso blocks it with one outstretched
hand, and snatches Michaelson by the neck with the other.

But Preston is upon him before anything further can happen, and he
tackles Monosso to the floor!  Eric grabs the long stringy hair of
Monosso and whacks his face into the concrete!  Security begins to file
in as Michaelson gets a few kicks in.  They quickly pull Preston and
Monosso apart.  Both men point fingers at one another and make threats
over the cadre of security guards.]

GM:  Fans!  We've got to get this under control!  We'll be right back!

[With the two men still shouting at each other, 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 where we see a darkened hallway. 
Down towards the end, we can almost make out two people throwing fists
at each other.  The cameraman is running to try and get closer.]

GM:  Fans!  Welcome back, fans... we've got... Preston and Monosso broke
loose!  They're fighting back in the locker room area - the backstage
area of this building!  We need to get our cameras closer!  Guys, if we
can get a little closer to...

BW:  This is nuts, Gordo!

GM:  We're trying to-

[A quick cut to another camera gets a better shot, showing James Monosso
standing over Preston, smashing him with double axehandle blows to the
head.  Preston is kneeling on the concrete floor, his ribs heavily taped
from the assault by Monosso two weeks prior.  The former mental patient
pulls Preston up by the hair...

...where the young rookie fires a right hand to the jaw, knocking
Monosso back a step.  Reaching to the side, Preston comes back into view
with a broom.]

GM:  He's got a broom!  Preston's looking to... clean up... the AWA!

[Lashing out with the broom, Preston drives the edge of the handle into
the throat of Monosso, spinning him around as he reaches up to grab his
neck which gives Preston the chance to rear waaaaay back...

...and SHATTER the broomstick across the back of Monosso, leaving a
bright red welt behind!]

GM:  OHHHHH!

[With Monosso falling forward into the wall of the backstage area,
Preston grabs him by his stringy hair...

...and SMASHES his face into the wall!]

GM:  Good grief!  This is out of control, fans!  These two are
destroying one another backstage here in the WKIK Studios and-

[A nearby metal trash can gets scooped off the floor by Preston...

...and HURLED at Monosso's head who ducks out of the way just in time,
sending the can into the wall and clattering away harmlessly.  Preston
rushes forward...]

GM:  Rights and lefts by Preston!  Battering him back against the wall!

[But Monosso ducks down, hooking Preston around the torso and hoisting
him off the floor...

...and violently THROWS him down onto the metal trash can!]

GM:  OHHHHH!  OH MY STARS, BUCKY!!

BW:  He just destroyed that trash can!  This is... my god, Gordo... this
is crazy!

GM:  Now what in the world is Monosso doing?

[Grabbing Preston by the ankle, Monosso drags him down the backstage
hallway...

...and kicks open a door, dragging Preston through it.]

GM:  Where are they going now?

BW:  Where is Monosso going is more like it?  Preston doesn't have a
choice in the matter!

GM:  Get our camera over... oh no.

[As the cameraman walks through the door, we find the two men out in the
parking lot of the WKIK Studios.  Monosso continues to drag Preston
across the asphalt, ripping and tearing his flesh as he draws closer to
the cars parked near the building.]

GM:  This is the wrestlers' parking lot, fans.  You can see the fence
surrounding it... 

[Monosso reaches down, hauling Preston up by the hair, walking him
towards a bright pink Cadillac.]

BW:  Hey!  That's my car!  Get away from there, ya freak!

[Still holding Preston by the hair, Monosso SLAMS Preston's head into
the trunk of the car!]

GM:  No!

BW:  I agree!  NO!  Don't dent my car!

GM:  Preston went facefirst into the trunk of Bucky's car and-

[The crowd inside the Studios buzzes as Monosso reaches down, scooping
up Preston.]

GM:  He's gonna slam him on your car!

[But Preston wriggles free, landing on his feet behind Monosso.  A few
hard right hands stuns the former mental patient which allows Preston to
grab Monosso by the arm...

...and SLAMS his hand down on the trunk!]

GM:  OHHH!

BW:  That could break a hand in a hurry!

GM:  Monosso is cradling that hand.  Preston may have just... where's he
going?

[Preston quickly leaps up on the trunk of the car, standing tall as
Monosso slowly turns...

...and LEAPS off, knocking him flat with the crossbody off the trunk of
the car!]

GM:  HE GOT HIM!!  HE TOOK HIM DOWN WITH THAT!!

[Preston pops up to his knees, breathing heavily as he clutches his
injured ribcage, raising a right arm in the air in celebration...

...and promptly gets two fingers shoved into his mouth!]

GM:  WHAT?!

BW:  MANDIBLE CLAW!!  MANDIBLE CLAW!!

GM:  We saw this two weeks ago!  We saw what he does with this hold two
weeks ago!

[Pushing Preston backwards, Monosso gets off the asphalt, shoving
Preston back towards the pink Cadillac...

...and SMASHES the back of Preston's skull into the metal!]

GM:  OHHHHH!

[Still holding the claw, Monosso shouts something unintelligible...

...and SLAMS his head into the car again!]

GM:  Good grief!

[Monosso violently shoves Preston down, leaving him down on the asphalt
in a heap...

...and then just walks away as a sea of AWA officials hit the scene,
trying to get this situation out of control.  We quickly cut back inside
the building where Gordon and Bucky are looking on, shocked.]

GM:  I don't... wow.  Fans, that was something else.  That was out of
control.  It certainly wasn't what we like to see here in the AWA.  We
like to see our fights settled inside the squared circle - not in the
parking lot like we just witnessed.

BW:  Speak for yourself.  I like a good fight all over the building as
much as the next guy... as long as it's not on my car!  They're gonna
pay for any damage, Gordo!

GM:  Yes, I'd like to see you try to collect from James Monosso.  Fans,
we'll try to bring you an update on what we just saw as soon as possible
but for now-

[Five sneaky little words crawl out over the PA System.]

#REACH OUT AND TOUCH FAITH#

["Personal Jesus" fires into full gear as the AWA fans break into
immediate jeers. Why you ask? World War III? The second coming of the
Bubonic Plague? Herpes for everyone? Nope. Worse. Larry Doyle.]

BW: "HOLLYWOOD" LARRY DOYLE IN DA HOUSE!

GM: Sans Bombers, folks. We've got Larry Doyle heading out here probably
to drum up some more demands before self-proclaimed "World's Greatest
Tag Team" shows their smug faces.

BW: Speaking of which, Gordo, it doesn't look like _any_ of Doyle's
demands were met. No buffet. No waterslide. Not even a tiny little hot
tub. A bloody travesty if I've ever seen one! 

[Doyle is dressed in his standard, awful, attire. A neon blue blazer
covers a very very bedazzled blue collered shirt. Blue dress pants. Even
his shoes are blue. His right a boot.. blue. His left.. a bright blue
loafer. Doyle urgently looks back towards the curtains.. waving to the
back for something.. or someone.]

GM: What the heck is Doyle up to? He's waving like a mad man towards the
back.

BW: The man's got a plan, Gordo. Who are we to judge? 

[Doyle screams. Loud enough for the camera to pick it up.]

LD: Get. Out. Here. Now!

[Two men emerge from the back, but they ain't no Blonde Bombers. No sir.
These men are dressed in full waiter attire, which consists of white
shirts, black ties, black vests, black pants. Everything fancy really.
Very Mr. Peanutish, one might say. The two men stand on opposite sides
of a a long wooden table adorn with a metal food tins. They carry the
table down towards ringside as Doyle anxiously keeps lookout.]

GM: Ladies and Gentlemen, I can _assure_ you that AWA is not catering to
the whims of Larry Doyle and the Blonde Bombers. I'm not sure what's
going on, but I _am_ sure that Larry Doyle is up to something.

BW: Yeah, he's up to his neck in cocktail shrimp, that's what he's up
to.

[Sure enough, the two waiters leave the table at ringside, having
removed the metal tins, revealing a veritable feast. Oysters. Shrimp.
Prime rib. Condiments. And even a large round cake reading "Blonde
Bombers" across the top in yellow frosting. The two men scamper into the
back as Doyle surveys the scene, surveys the audience.. heck, he even
surveys Gordon and Bucky. Before yelling.]

LD: Nobody saw a _thing_!

[Doyle disappears behind the curtain quickly.]

GM: Well.. it appears that Larry Doyle just brought his _own_ buffet
down to ringside. 

BW: What are ya talkin' about, Gordo? We very clearly saw that two
waiters brought that robust feast out here. 

GM: You know as well as I do that Larry Doyle _paid_ them to bring that
food out here. The AWA would _never_ cater to these primadonnas!
Literally or figuratively. And where the heck did Doyle go-

#REACH OUT AND TOUCH FAITH#

[Boom! And just.. that.. quickly. Larry Doyle and The Blonde Bombers
emerge from the back. The only difference in Doyle's attire is the smile
plastered from ear to ear as he saunters out ahead of the Bombers.
"Beautiful" Bobby Baldwin and "Love Machine" Johnny Nova stand before
the audience like Blonde Gods. Their matching platnium blonde hair oozes
over their oh-so-tanned shoulders as they slowly saunter down towards
the ring feigning backhands towards the audience.]

GM: These guys are just so smug it makes me sick. 

BW: Three finer gentlemen I've never seen!

[Baldwin and Nova are in matching red wrestling trunks that read
"Blonde" on the front and "Bombers" on the back in matching blonde
lettering. They also wear matching red elbow and knee pads and red
wrestling boots. The dynamic trio saunters over towards the buffet where
Gordon and Bucky meet them. Doyle snares the microphone out of Gordon's
hand quickly.]

LD: MY.. _OH_.. MMMYYY!!

[Bam! Boos already!]

LD:  _First_ the beautiful hot tub that the AWA provided to 'Da Bombers
at the _sterling_ Ramada Inn. On company dime and all. I really can't
say enough about that _delightful_ place, by the way. Tippy top service.
Ravishing rooms. _Exceptional_ ammenities. And even better guests..

[Doyle motions with a free hand towards the Bombers and himself.]

LD:  And now this.. this.. _feast_. 

OH MY! SUCH DECADENCE!

[Doyle cackles a maniacal cackle. Grabbing a shrimp cocktail and
stuffing it into his oversized mouth. Chomping down as he continues,
specks of shrimp flying everywhere.. including into an annoyed Gordon
Myers' face.]

LD:  Congratulations, AWA. You did it. You obviously want 'Da Bombers.
You obviously want 'em bbbaaddddd. So tonight.. tonight.. 'Da Bombers 
you shall have!

[POP! Moreso to see their smug faces caved in.]

LD:  And after Nova and Baldwin wipe the floor with whatever two bit
chumps that you manage to scrape off the street and put in the ring.
After they beat 'em from turnbuckle to turnbuckle. From pillar to post.
_After_ they take their stupid, tacky, brainless, no good, moronic,
idiotic, embroyotic, flembonic, mismyognic..

[Let him go.. he's on a roll.]

LD:  .. _faces_.. and turn the dang things backwards and punt 'em out of
the arena.. _nay_ out of the atmosphere.._double nay_ out of the
_GALAXY_.. then after they do allllll that.. we're gonna party like the
rockstars we are over at our dang sweet flippin' buffet.

[A beat. Moreso because Doyle's slurping down an oyster which he tosses
carelessly over his shoulder. The Bombers casually stand behind Doyle..
cocky smirks adorning their tanned faces.]

LD:  Mmmmm.. now _that_ is how you cook oysters, baby!

[A micless Gordon can be heard mouthing.. "Oysters are raw, idiot."]

LD:  I'm sorry, Gordo baby.. I can't hear you over all this delicious
food I'm eating. Delicious food that was provided to us courtesy of the
_AWA_.. because.. in case ya haven't heard.. they spare nnnoooo expense
for da Blonde Bombahs baaayyy-bbeeee!

[OM MY GOD, THIS GUYS OBNOXIOUS BOOS! Micless Gordon again yells.."You
brought the darn food out here _yourself_!" at Doyle. His face
tightening, his teeth clenching.]

LD:  I'm sorry, _Gordon_. But I believe you're mistaken. I haven't even
been out here before two darn minutes ago when me and the Bombers came
out here to enjoy our AWA provided feast. You must be _misremembering_
how things occured. I think _maybe_ you've been sneaking in a few
glasses of champ-agnay when nobody's been looking.

[Doyle.. obviously trying to hem and haw his way out of this one..
continues to seek diversion. He nervously laughs.]

LD:  Speaking of which.. don't mind if I _do_!

[Doyle grabs a glass of champagne and gulps it down in one tip of the
glass.]

LD:  I'm sorry people, Gordon Myers here is blathering like an idiot and
getting us all wwwaaayyy off topic. The topic at hand. The topic that's
on _everybody's_ minds is the fact that the AWA very _clearly_ fulfilled
our demands for this week so you will all, in fact, be getting you a
dose of the Blonde Bombers in action. In jjuusttttt a few secondidos
here. Assuming that the AWA was able to even find _one_ team willing to
have a two-on-two fist meet n' greet with the Greatest. Dang. Tag. Team.
In. Da. Weerrllldd! 

Which I highly doub..

["Dr. Feelgood" by Motley Crew comes darting over the PA like a rocket.
Bucky and Gordon exit stage right, and rush back to their booth as a
flustered Larry Doyle jumps up and down like a child throwing a temper
tantrum. The Bombers, meanwhile, stand behind Doyle staring on and
seething the intrusion of _their_ time.]

MC: Coming to the ring... from San Diego, California... at a total
combined weight of 498 pounds... "Dangerous" Doug Stapleton... Barry
Brodie...

THE DESTROYERS!

[Charity Pop!]

[The two men each wear matching black trunks and boots. They come
jogging from the back towards the ring, slapping hands with the fans en
route. They slide quickly into the ring and charge to opposite corners..
leaping to the second turnbuckles and pumping their fists in the air to
the crowd's delight.]

GM: We're back on mic and.. OH MY! Nova and Baldwin attack the
Destroyers from behind!

BW: That's what you get for interrupting a buffet, Gordo. You of all
people should know that.

[Nova and Baldwin each nail axe handles to the back of Stapleton and
Brodie's spines. Each Bomber yanks their unsuspecting opponent off the
second ropes and yanks on their arms.]

GM: The Bombers whip Stapleton and Brodie right into each other!

BW: Serves 'em right!

[Both men staggers around, caught completely off guard. Nova charges and
grabs Brodie around the head, charging forward and nailing Stapleton
with a clothesline at the same time he drops Brodie with a bulldog.
Meanwhile, Baldwin goes to his respective corner at the direction of the
official.]

Ding!! Ding!! Ding!!

GM: And we're finally officially underway after the cheap shots by
Baldwin and Nova before The Destroyers even had a chance to get in the
ring.

BW: Hey! They were in the ring.. heck, they were in there a good long
three to four seconds! How long are they supposed to wait, Gordo?! We've
all got places to be!

GM: How about until the bell rings?

BW: Oh.. trust me, it'll be ringing here _real_ soon.

[Nova tosses Stapleton through the ropes to the floor before turning
back to Brodie. He pats himself on the back as he grabs the hair of a
rising Barry Brodie and drives a headbutt into the back of his head.
Dropping the AWA newcomer to one knee. Nova hits the ropes.]

GM: Running dropkick by Johnny Nova and Barry Brodie may have broken his
nose right there!

BW: In fairness.. it was Johnny Nova who broke his nose. Why would he
break his own nose?

GM: You know perfectly well what I meant. 

[Nova dusts the invisible dirt off his hands mockingly before yanking
Brodie back up and hooking him around the head. He hooks the leg.]

GM: Fisherman's Suplex! One!! Two!! Thr-- last second kickout!

Bw: Two words. Slow. Count. 

GM: That count looked perfectly fine to me. Nova tags in Baldwin who
yanks Brodie up into a bear hug..

[Nova should be standing in his corner. He should be doing a lot of
things that he's not doing. But what he _is_ doing is climbing up to the
middle rope. He measures the distance and leaps.]


"OOHHHHHHH!!!"


GM: Johnny Nova hit that leaping knee to the right in the kisser of
Barry Brodie!

BW: "That Leaping Knee" has a name, Gordo. It's called the Blonde
Bombshell! 

GM: Of course it is. 

[Baldwin, still clinging to a very weary Brodie pivots, spins and drives
him into the mat with a spinebuster. The ring almost shaking.]

BW: Chalk up another _easy_ Bombers "W", el Gordo!

GM: One!!! Two!!! Thre.. that disgusting man! Baldwin yanked Brodie's
shoulders off the mat with no cause whatsoever. 

[Meanwhile, Stapleton has begun to turn and is slowly using the ring to
rise to his feet. Not seeing the assault that is looming.]


"CRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!"


GM: UNBELIEVABLE! Larry Doyle took off that damn boot and just nailed
Stapleton in the back of the skull with it while the referee was busy
paying attention to the action on the other side of the ring.

BW: Baldwin with the tag to Nova. Nova sets Brodie up for a belly to
back Suplex.. Nova pounces as well...

... THEY JUST KILLED BARRY BRODIE!

GM: That modified belly to back suplex with a reverse neckbreaker thrown
in... vicious vicious move.

BW: It's academic at this point...

GM: One!! Two!! Three!!

[Ding! Ding! Ding!]


MC: The winners of this match...


.."LOVE MACHINE" JOHNNY NOVA

.. "BEAUTIFUL" BOBBY BALDWIN


    .. THE BLONDE BOMBERS!!!


[The Bombers slowly rise to their feet, ready to celebrate their
triumphant second match on AWA soil. They high five on their way out of
the ring, meeting Larry Doyle in front of the buffet table at ringside.
Doyle, having worked up a feverish appetite from watching his Bombers
before, begins to plop shrimp after shrimp into his mouth.. washing it
down with a nice rack of lamb. He chomps ravenously as Gordon and Bucky
make their way back over to the announcers table.]

LD: HOLY MOLY RAVIOLI!

[Literally pops a ravioli into his mouth. Food flying like confetti.]

LD:  Are these boys great? Or are theessee booyyyss greeaatttt?!?!

[Doyle happily pats the shoulders of Baldwin and Nova who smile on
approvingly.]

LD:  And listen guys, I don't want ya to think that Larry Doyle isn't
looking out for you. I love both you men like my own grown sons. So our
demands for next week are going to be simple. Bombers 2010 Swimsuit
Contest! Right in that there ring that you were just el victorioso in,
PLLAAYYAASSSS!

[Doyle high fives both men.]

LD:  Three judges. 

[Holds up one index finger.]

LD:  "Beautiful" Bobby Balwin  

[Middle finger.]

LD:  "Love Machine" Johnny Nova

[Aannddd.. numero three.]

LD:  And last and _certainly_ not least... you get the hollywood man
himself. "Hollywood" Larry "Holy Bejesus!" Doyle!

[Boos! Doyle savors each and every one of 'em. Perhaps attempting to add
fuel to the fire.]

LD:  Guys.. have you _ever_ been privy to such a crossbreed, low class,
trashy, po dunk town as the one we're in tonight? 

[Both Bombers lean in and in unison.]

BB's: Never, Larry. 

LD: Have you _ever_ walked through a town with more leg cratered,
vericose vein riddled, moustache wearin', weight machine tearin' ..
bimbo beast ho dirts? 

[Huh?]

LD:  You know... rooty tooty two bit hussies?

BB's: No. 

[BOO!!!]

LD: And that's just getting me _started_ with all you imbeciles. But
fortunately for you all... I've brought with me...

[Drumroll please! Larry digs through his pockets for an uncomfortably
long time before managing to pull out a crumbled up piece of paper,
which he unfolds and holds up in the air like it's the winning lottery
ticket.]

LD:  ... a _list_ 

And on this list is a little something something that I've been dying to
share with all of you!

[POP!  The pop surprises Doyle, not realizing the two men who are slowly
approaching from behing.]

LD:  Ah... um... yeah... I'm glad we're in agreement. It's about time
you good for nothing, welfare bilking, mother marryin' homeless creepers
got what you had coming to you.

[Another POP!  This one more startling than the first. Doyle stares
around in confusion, not having expected this response at all. He even
steps back for a second. Still oblvious to the approaching duo.]

LD:  Ah... yeah... I'm glad you enjoyed that last one. You cow hide
wearing, fake chopper riding, meth riddled addicts of the "please jump
off a cliff and die" galaxy. I mean..

[POP!  And finally they turn.]

GM: THE ROCKSTAR EXPRESS HAS SNUCK UP BEHIND THE BLONDE BOMBERS! 

BW: Look out!

[As the obtuse Bombers slowly turn they freeze in front of Morgan and
Storm. Instinctively, they both fire hard rights which are easily
blocked by the Rockstars.. who then reach out and shove not just Baldwin
and Nova 

.. but Larry Doyle as well.]


"CRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASH!"


BW: GET ME A MEDIC OUT HERE PRONTO!

GM: THE ROCKSTAR EXPRESS JUST SHOVED THE BLONDE BOMBERS OVER THEIR
BUFFET TABLE!! There's food everybody!

BW: Get me a medivac in here _pronto_.

GM: And look at Larry Doyle... he's trying to stand and he's just
slipping in that cake. While the Rockstars laugh. 

[A massive figure arrives in the enterance and slowly makes his way
towards the ring. The same massive figure who was at Larry Doyle's side
a mere few weeks ago, a sight that doesn't go unnoticed by the Rockstar
Express as they quickly exit and bolt past the huge figure. He reaches
ringside and helps pull through three men out of the oyster, shrimp,
prime rib, chocolate cake debacle. Their entire bodies caked in food.
And Larry Doyle and the Bombers faces redden and contort, staring at the
quickly fleeting Rockstar Express.]

BW: Rockstars just made a bbiiigggg mistake, Gordo. 

GM:  Haha!  You may be right, Bucky, but for tonight, the Rockstar
Express just gave all the AWA fans something to remember.  Larry Doyle
and the Blonde Bombers just got humiliated at the hands of the Rockstar
Express and I love it!  Fans, let's go backstage where Jason Dane is
standing by with the man who will be the Special Enforcer for tonight's
Main Event!

[We cut to the backstage area where Jason Dane is standing.  By his
side?

AWA Rumble Winner.

Former National Champion.

The East Coast Terror. 

The Athens Georgia Madman.

Ron Houston.

He's adorn in a sleeveless black t-shirt reading "Houston's Law" across
the front in white script. Jeans. Boots. Black Cowboy hat.]

JD:  Mr. Houston, it's great to see you back.  Last we saw of you.. was
a few weeks back after Stevie Scott once again pulled the wool over the
AWA's eyes and reclaimed the National Title in.. um.. dubious manner. So
tell me Ron, what's been going through your mind?

[Houston leans in towards Jason.]

RH: What ah thought then ain't much different than what ah think right
this here second, Jason.  Ah think the whole stinkin' thing was easily
remedied and that all Mr. Ross had ta do was dust off his ol' spine and
put The Athens Georgia Madman in charge of that there debacle. The man
brought me in fer a reason. And that reason was ta fix the mess that he
had created in the first place. The mess ah _would've_ prevented had ah
gotten ta do mah job. 

Hell, ya ain't payin' me ta be pretty.

[Houston points at his rough and weary face.]

RH:  Ya ain't payin' me ta be charmin'. 

[Houston mockingly smiles from ear to ear.]

RH:  Heck, ya ain't even payin' me ta _wrestle_ fer cryin' out loud. 

So if yer gonna pay me Ross. If the AWA's gonna shell out some
Greenbacks and pop 'em in mah wallet each week. Ya could've at least
_used_ me. Ya know, made me earn mah keep.

But instead we got us..

[Houston's teeth grit.]

RH:  .. we've got us "The Hotshot". But me and him... now ain't the time
fer us ta finish what we've got goin'. But believe you me.. me and Scott
got us some unfinished business that will be addressed when the time is
right. 

But ah'm not here tonight ta run down a man who's already gotten his
fair share. Or a man who's gonna get his either..

[Houston pauses, collecting his thoughts, he tilts his cowboy hat up so
his full sincerity is visible.]

RH:  Ross.. ah just wanted ta say that ah'm sorry that it had ta end
that way. Ah can't imagine what it must've been like to walk around with
that there noose hanging over your throat, ready ta strangle yer job
away from ya at every twist and turn. Ah know ah'd been cross with ya in
recent weeks, but ta be truthfully and totally honest.. ya ain't
deserved no stinkin' no confidence vote. 

Ya took the AWA ta places it couldn't have gone without ya. So ah guess
what ah'm sayin' is.. 

[Houston pauses, choosing his words carefully.]

RH:  .. good luck. 

[Houston pauses and begins to clap]

RH:  Ah guess what ah'm sayin' is "bravo".. job well done, kid. 

[Houston claps harder and harder for a second.]

RH:  If ya _ever_ need anything.. ya just pick up the phone, Ross. 

[Houston's eyes light up at the impending topic change.]

RH:  And speakin' of needin' something. Ah was _quite_ surprised ta find
out that Mr. Jim Watkins found it in his good graces ta take advantage
of mah.. mah.. 

[Houston chuckles.]

RH:  .. heck, well let's just call a spade a spade.. mah pretty opened
schedule. 

[Houston's eyes narrow as he looks directly into the camera.]

RH:  Let it be know that yer all.. every single one of ya back there. It
doesn't matter who. Yer all gonna get what ya got comin' to ya. 

Cause ah might not be _back_. Ah might be retired. But ah sure as heck
ain't done with the lot of you back there.

And ah'll be seein' ya'll _real_ soon.

[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 back up to live action to Mark Stegglet, holding a
microphone to the head of a sitting Eric Preston, who's slumped in a
metal folding chair and seething for all the world to see.]

MS: Eric Preston, what we just saw out there-

EP: No no, no no no.

[Preston gets to his feet and puts his hand up to Stegglet, signaling
for him to stop.]

EP: Let me handle this one, Mark. Just do me a favor and hold the
microphone.

[Preston puts his arm around Stegglet to keep himself up, then leans
into the microphone.]

EP: As God is my witness, I ain't never met anyone like you, Monosso.
Everytime you talk, everytime you speak, you give me another reason to
kick your teeth down you're stinkin' throat. I swear, it seems like you
cross another line every dang time I see you.

Todd Michaelson...

[Preston stops to cough.]

EP: That man's just as close to me as family. The wrestling business has
gotten me closer to my Dad than I ever could have thought, and my Mom,
God love her, she left us a few years ago. But she loved this sport
until her last breath, James. She loved the sport that brought our
family together, so when you slam it, you slam my family. You slap me
right in the face. 

Getting up in Todd's face, getting ready to take him out, that wasn't
the last straw. The last straw was driving those dumb bells into my
ribs. The last straw was attacking me right in the middle of the Combat
Corner. You never met my Mama, Monosso, but your little stunt with Todd
means you want to meet her real soon. You didn't think I'd answer your
challenge, but I did.

Now here's mine.

[Eric stops talking for a moment and takes a deep breath, then looks
dead in the camera.]

EP: Jim Watkins, I know you're listening. And I know you know who I am.
I am formally asking that you make a match at Memorial Day Mayhem. Mr.
Watkins, I'm asking that you book James Monosso against Eric Preston in
a Falls Count Anywhere match for Memorial Day Mayhem, and I'm asking
that you put a parental advisory warning before it goes on. There's not
a _damn thing_ family friendly about the whuppin' I'm about to put on
James Monosso, and God as my witness, James Monosso is going to learn to
_never_ underestimate Eric Preston.

Tonight was just the tip of the iceberg. You ain't seen nothin' yet.

[Preston's gaze is cold.  Ice cold.]

MS:  Mr. Watkins, you heard the man.  Now, make that match.  And fans,
let's go to my good friend, Jason Dane, in the Control Center!

[We fade from the locker room area to a Memorial Day Mayhem logo that
holds for a moment before spinning away to reveal Jason Dane sitting in
front of a bank of monitors.]

JD:  Welcome back to the Control Center, fans, and boy, do we have news
for you!

Earlier tonight, we announced more names in the 30 Man Rumble... and of
course, just a little while ago, we heard it made official...

JUAN VASQUEZ IS IN THE RUMBLE!

[Dane pauses.]

JD:  One more chance.  One more opportunity.  One more crack to get a
shot at the National Title.  This is the biggest night of Juan Vasquez'
career here in the AWA, fans.  If he does not win the Rumble... what's
left for Juan Vasquez to do?  It's gonna be a wild night in Houston,
Texas!  

But Juan Vasquez isn't the only name to add to the Rumble!

Moments ago, because of what we saw earlier tonight, we were informed
that we could add four more names to the Rumble.  BAILEY FITZGERALD,
COREY LAWSON, MAFU, and SCOLA!  All four men are in the Rumble!

That's eighteen men in the Rumble... 

[Dane pauses for dramatic effect.]

JD:  Let's add two more for an even twenty...

One of my favorite things about the Rumble are the men who use the AWA's
Open Door policy to show up in the AWA for one night and take a shot at
becoming the National Champion.

Like this man...

[Fade in on a close up of the side of an Asian man's head.  His black
hair streaked with red and spiked 4” up into the air, his eyes hidden by
a pair of mirrored wraparound sunglasses, he, nevertheless, has an air
of stoicism about him.  As he speaks it is in a near monotone that is
nearly non-regional, with just a hint of his original Japanese accent
poking through here and there.]

TW: Konbon-wa, Texas.  If I seem familiar to the elder among you, you
are not mistaken.  In another life I fought here, first among the Great
Lakes, and then on a stage called “Universal”, but the boy that I was is
far different from the man I am now.

[Widening, the camera takes in a full view now of both the speaker and
the AWA backdrop behind him.  Bare to the waist, his pants are long
black vinyl patterned in flames that lick up from his ankles, and he
wears similarly styled pads, boots and MMA-styled padded gloves.]

TW: I changed the spelling of my name in an attempt to spite the
“gaijin”, who I thought had chosen the spelling incorrectly when taking
it from the kanji.  Heh.  I am Takeharu Watanabe, and I am a changed
man...

[Tracing a few scars here and there, on his chest, on his arm, on his
neck, Takeharu gives a slight smile.]

TW: No more do I need an entourage at my side to compete; I shall stand
on my own.  The Rumble comes, and so does “Shooto Severe” Takeharu
Watanabe.  Ichiban, you bettah believe.

[Cut back to the Control Center.]

JD:  Takeharu Watanabe is the nineteenth man in the Rumble!

And how 'bout #20?

You heard the demand earlier tonight.  You heard Louis Matsui make it
very clear.

Yes, the twentieth man entered into the 2010 Rumble...

He is the giant...

MAMMOTH MIZUSAWA!

[Dane pauses for the cheers... that don't come inside the Control
Center.]

JD:  The Rumble is one of my favorites nights of the year for the AWA
and this year promises to be no different.  We've got twenty men in...
ten spots remaining... and it's already a jam-packed field!  Who else
will make the Rumble?  We'll find out in the weeks to come but Memorial
Day Mayhem is not just about the Rumble.

It's also about that huge National Title Match - Sweet Daddy Williams
challenging "Hotshot" Stevie Scott for the gold!  And of course, Sweet
Daddy Williams will put fifty thousand dollars - of Juan Vasquez' money
- for the matchup!

Earlier this week, the contract was signed for that big showdown and our
cameras were there.  Let's take a look...

[We fade to a new scene that opens in what appears to be a corporate
boardroom.  We assume this because of the conference table in the middle
of it.  So maybe it's just a regular conference room, then.  Whatever,
there's also a series of windows behind the table, with the skyline of
DFW easily seen through them.  Yep.  This room must be important!

And that's not even thinking about the four people already sitting at
the table.  At the head is new AWA honcho James Watkins...but you can
probably call him Jim.  Seated immediately to his left are "Agent to the
Stars" Ben Waterson and the AWA National Champion, "Hotshot" Stevie
Scott.  Both are decked out in charcoal grayish suits, with the champ
also sporting sunglasses.  'Cause he cool like that.

The last person?  Well, seated at the other end of the table and making
a rare on-screen appearance is one of the six owners of the AWA: Jon
Stegglet.  Having aged a bit since the last time we've seen him, the man
once known as Steggy looks none too pleased to be there, or perhaps be
there with certain company.]

ATTSBW: Where _is_ he?  We're busy men.  We have places to go and women
to see, you know.

[A clearly irritated Waterson taps his watch as he talks.]

JW: I'm sure he's gonna be here soon, Waterson.  Keep your pants on.

[Stevie leans over and whispers something to his manager, eliciting a
laugh from them both.  But they're not gonna share.  Inside joke, I
guess.]

ATTSBW: I doubt he's going to show up, anyway.  I'd be surprised if
Vasquez actually forks over the money to such a lost cause.

[Well, we're about to find out, because no sooner does Waterson finish
his statement than the door opens and in walks Sweet Daddy Williams. 
Juan Vasquez is a couple steps behind, a suitcase in hand.]

ATTSBW: It's about time.  Was the line at the Sizzler Buffet a little
longer that usual?

[SDW glares at Waterson as he sits down, but says nothing in response
despite Ben's smug smile.  Stevie, for his part, looks disinterested in
the whole affair.]

JW: Now that Mr. Williams and Mr. Vasquez have arrived, we can get this
taken care of.  Gentlemen, as you know, we are here to sign the contract
for the match between the AWA National Champion, Stevie Scott, and the
challenger for the title, Sweet Daddy Williams, at Memorial Day Mayhem. 
We are also here to ensure that Mr. Williams provides the 50,000 dollars
to put up against the title as per the stipulations agreed upon two
weeks ago.

[Watkins pushes a stack of stapled papers forward]

JW: This is the contract for the match, and we will get the appropriate
signatures as soon as Mr. Williams turns over the money to Mr. Jon
Stegglet for keeping until the match.

[SDW picks up the briefcase and slides it across the table to Stegglet,
who in turn opens it, looks inside, and spins the briefcase 180 degrees
to show the other three individuals.

The camera cuts to a close-up of the briefcase, and sure enough, there
are stacks of 100 dollar bills filling up the inside.

Cut back to a shot of Waterson and Scott, who peer at the money for a
moment.  Stevie looks at his manager and shrugs, and Ben follows by
turning to Watkins.]

ATTSBW: I'd like to review the contract before we sign it.

JW: Of course you do.

[Waterson reaches over and pulls the contract in front of him,
speed-reading its contents.  He flips a page, and after just a couple of
seconds looks up with a puzzled look on his face.]

ATTSBW: This contract says a sixty minute time limit.

JW: That's correct.

ATTSBW: I thought I said it would be a thirty minute time limit.

JW: Those are the terms, Mr. Waterson.  Take them or leave them.

[The two Southern Syndicate members lean together, whispering
momentarily, before Waterson turns back to Watkins.]

ATTSBW: The champion says it doesn't matter, because he plans to beat
the old fat man in under 10 minutes anyway.

[A smirking Scott grabs a pen and signs, followed by Waterson.  Waterson
then shoves the contract across the table to Sweet Daddy.]

ATTSBW: Last chance to avoid complete and utter embarassment, Sweet
Tooth.

[Williams glares across the table - first at Waterson, then at Scott.]

SDW:  I wouldn't miss this chance for my own mama's birthday.

[Williams quickly signs the sheet of paper, sliding it over to Watkins.]

JW:  It looks like this is official, gentlemen.

[Waterson raises a finger.]

ATTSBW:  I think there is one matter left.  We need to confirm that Mr.
Williams does indeed HAVE fifty thousand dollars in that case...

[Waterson reaches for the case...

...and gets his wrist slapped by Williams who stands up, causing the
National Champion to get up as well.]

SDW:  You keep your dirty hands off the money!  If you want the money,
you show up in Houston and you WIN the money, ya hear?  I've got the
money.  Juan gave me the money.  And that money will be at ringside on
Memorial Day, baby.

[Williams grabs the case, closing it up and handing it back to Juan
Vasquez before the two make their exit, leaving a complaining Waterson
behind as we fade back to the Control Center.]

JD:  It'll be a grudge match of first class proportions at Memorial Day
Mayhem, fans!  And I can't wait to see it.  

Gordon, Bucky, back to you!

[We fade away from the Control Center back to ringside where we can see
the Keenings and Sweet Daddy Williams on one side of the ring with the
Southern Syndicate squad of Stevie Scott and the Rhodes brothers on the
other side of the ring.]

GM:  Thanks, Jason!  Fans, we're in overtime here on Saturday Night
Wrestling so we've gotta get this Main Event started so...


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  Here we go!
 
[As the bell rings, Michael Keening moves out of the corner towards
Simon Rhodes...

...and Simon lunges forward, smashing Keening with a right hand to the
skull.  He grabs a handful of his hair, promptly throwing him through
the ropes to the floor.]

GM:  What in the world?

BW:  Rhodes is wasting no time!  We talked about them trying to possibly
hurt their Memorial Day Mayhem opponents and that's exactly what we're
seeing right now!

[Simon Rhodes rolls to the floor, grabbing Michael Keening by the wrist,
whipping him into the ring apron.  Rhodes approaches, pressing his
forearm into the eye area of Keening, rubbing the forearm bone back and
forth across the face before driving home a knee into the gut.  Just
around the ringpost, Outside-The-Ring-Enforcer Ron Houston is keeping a
watchful eye on the action.]

GM:  The referee's count is up to five...

[Rhodes drags Keening away from the apron, out onto the exposed
concrete...

...which causes Jason Keening to jump down off the apron, racing around
the ring apron!]

GM:  Here we go!  Here we go!

[Raphael Rhodes races along the apron, leaping off to floor Jason
Keening with a kneestrike to the face!]

GM:  OHHH!  Down goes Jason Keening!

[Ron Houston immediately arrives to reprimand Raphael Rhodes, shouting
at him to get back on the apron.  Nearby, Simon Rhodes hoists Michael
Keening up off the mat...

...but Keening slips out the backdoor, landing on his feet behind
Rhodes, and popping him across the chest with a chop.  Grabbing Rhodes
by the hair, Keening fires him into the ring.  The Banshee quickly gets
up on the apron, moving up the ropes lightning fast...]

GM:  Michael Keening's up top!  Michael Keening's up top!

[As Simon Rhodes staggers to his feet, Keening takes flight!]

GM:  CROSSBODY OFF THE TOP!!!  WE'VE GOT ONE!!  WE'VE GOT TWO!!!

[And Stevie Scott makes a diving save, interrupting the pin attempt just
before Sweet Daddy Williams pulls him up, rearing back a right hand...

...but the National Champion backpedals away, dropping down to the mat
and rolling out to the floor as Williams just narrowly avoids getting
his hands on him.  A few feet away, Houston looks on with disgust at the
National Champion as Williams complains to the Athens, Georgia Madman.]

GM:  Sweet Daddy Williams wanted to get his hands on the champ but
Stevie was a little too fast for him.  And now he's complaining to
Houston about it.  Not much Ron can do though.

BW:  He's an invalid out there.  What purpose does Houston even serve if
he can't physically get involved?

GM:  Now we've got Raphael Rhodes stomping Jason Keening into a pile out
on the floor.

[Inside the ring, Keening drags Simon off the mat, popping him with a
pair of chops across the chest to send him back into the corner.]

GM:  Irish whip by the Banshee...

[Keening comes fast across the ring, leaping up to plant his feet on the
upper legs of Rhodes.]

GM:  Monkey fli- OHHHH!

[The crowd jeers as Raphael Rhodes grabs the back of his brother's
trunks, causing Keening to fly back, smashing his head into the canvas. 
The momentary save gives Simon Rhodes the chance to charge out of the
corner, dropping an elbow down on the throat of Michael Keening. 
Houston again shouts at Raphael Rhodes, chasing him away from the corner
with a warning.]

GM:  We've got a cover for one!  For two!  

[Reaching his arms under the ropes, a recovering Jason Keening drags
Simon Rhodes off the pin, breaking it up...

...just before Raphael Rhodes delivers a running forearm smash, knocking
Jason down to a knee.]

GM:  This is an out and out fight... and I don't even know if these four
realize they've got partners!  Sweet Daddy Williams and Stevie Scott are
just glaring at one another from across the ring!  You know how badly
Williams wants to get his hands on the Hotshot - his former friend.

BW:  Good luck with that.  On Memorial Day, he'll get his chance but I'd
imagine not before then if Ben Waterson gets his way.

GM:  Simon Rhodes pulling Michael Keening up off the mat... ohh!  Big
headbutt sends Keening falling back into the corner... chop in the
buckles!  And another!

[Grabbing Keening by the wrist, Rhodes fires him across...

...and then watches in shock as Keening runs up the turnbuckles,
backflipping out in a moonsault!]

GM:  OH MY STARS!!  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR- OHHHH!

[A shocked Rhodes just barely escapes the pinfall attempt as Michael
Keening scrambles to his feet, leaping up to catch Rhodes with a
dropkick that knocks him out to the floor.]

GM:  Keening clears out Simon Rhodes!  Simon Rhodes is out on the floor!

[Waving an arm to rally the fans, Michael Keening hits the ropes,
rebounding back...]

GM:  HERE HE COMES!!

[Keening dives through the ropes, knocking Simon Rhodes flat with a
somersault dive through the ropes!]

GM:  OHHHHH!

BW:  Keening's down!  Rhodes is down!

GM:  Which ones?!

[Not Raphael who hurls Jason Keening under the ropes.  The referee
protests that neither are the legal man as Raphael stomps Jason Keening
in the corner.  Rhodes threatens the official with a backhand, causing
Meekly to move over to make the count on the two legal men.  Outside the
ring, Houston shouts a warning at Raphael Rhodes with a, "Throw that
backhand at me, son, and see what happens!"]

GM:  Ron Houston trying to get Rhodes to threaten him with that
backhand.  Of course, Houston can't get physically involved unless he's
physically provoked.  Now, Raphael Rhodes drags Keening up off the- ohh!
 Big European uppercut!

[The big uppercut pops Keening under the chin, knocking him back into
the buckles where he grabs the ropes to stay on his feet.]

GM:  What a shot that was!

[Approaching the corner, Rhodes is shouting at Keening.]

GM:  What a jerk.  He's trying to humiliate Keening now and-

[The crowd groans as Rhodes lashes out with one of those high impact
slaps to the ear, causing Jason Keening to slip down to a knee.  A
sneering Rhodes stands over him, putting his hands on the shoulders of
Keening to deliver a skull-crunching headbutt that knocks Keening all
the way down to the mat.]

GM:  The count on the floor is up to six...

[Hearing the count, Ben Waterson climbs up on the apron, shouting at
Michael Meekly which breaks his count attempt as Michael Keening pulls
Simon Rhodes off the floor, drilling him with a forearm smash before
shoving him under the ropes.]

GM:  Both Rhodes brothers are in the ring now... Michael Keening's up on
the apron...

[Keening grabs the top rope, ready to springboard onto both men...

...when Stevie Scott runs down the apron, clubbing him with a right hand
that stops him short.  A smirking Raphael Rhodes moves over, suplexing
Keening over the ropes into the ring.  Again, Houston shouts a warning
on both Syndicate members.]

GM:  We've got both Rhodes in the ring!  Both Keenings in the ring as
well!

BW:  Your precious Meekly needs to get some control.

GM:  He's trying to do exactly that - forcing Raphael out of the ring
now.

[On the other side of the ring, Jason Keening rolls out to the floor to
leave his brother inside the ring with Simon Rhodes - the two legal
men.]

GM:  Simon Rhodes is the first one to his feet...

[And drops right back down, crowning Michael Keening with a diving
axehandle smash, throwing him onto his shoulders and applying a lateral
press.]

GM:  Cover for one!  Now two!  And th- shoulder up!

[Down on the mat, Simon Rhodes drives right hand after right hand into
the downed Keening.  He grabs two hands full of hair, dragging Keening
to his feet with some trashtalk as he shoves him back into the corner.]

GM:  Back to the buckles...

[A forearm catches Keening on the jaw, stunning him as Rhodes grabs him
in a front facelock, hauling him out of the corner and slowly turning
him over...]

GM:  Neckbreaker on the way and-

[But Keening breaks free of the grip, reaching back with both arms to
drag Rhodes down into a backslide!]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR- OHHHH!  

[The crowd jeers as Raphael Rhodes breaks up the pin attempt, mockingly
wiping his brow as he backs out of the ring before Jason Keening can
storm across at him.]

GM:  Jason Keening's on the apron.  Sweet Daddy Williams is on the
apron.  And Michael Keening desperately needs to make a tag to one of
them.

[Simon rolls across the ring, slapping the hand of Raphael to bring him
into the match.]

GM:  Raphael Rhodes tags in...

[A few stomps land before Rhodes pulls Keening off the mat, snapping him
over in a suplex and floating into a lateral press.]

GM:  We've got one!  We've got two!  THRE- JASON BREAKS THE PIN!

[Jason points a finger at Raphael Rhodes as he exits the ring.]

GM:  Both teams have broken up a pin now and Raphael Rhodes delivers a
few more stomps to Michael Keening, shouting at Jason while he's doing
it.  There's a lot of bad blood between those two, Bucky.

BW:  It goes all the way back to November at SuperClash.  Nearly six
months of bad blood now...

[Rhodes backs off, flipping the bird in the direction of Jason Keening
before spreading his arms wide and toppling over, smashing his skull
into Michael Keening's.]

GM:  Falling headbutt!  Fans, we apologize for that... that gesture from
Rhodes but what a headbutt that was.

[A slightly-stunned Rhodes makes another cover, getting a two count
before Michael Keening kicks out.]

GM:  Another kickout by Keening!  

[A sneering Raphael Rhodes drags the Banshee off the mat, drilling him
with an uppercut that sends him falling back into the Southern
Syndicate's corner.]

GM:  Uh oh - this can't be good for Michael Keening.

[A quick tag is made to the National Champion.  The Rhodes brothers each
grab an arm, leaving Keening open as the champ tees off on the torso of
Michael Keening.  The referee counts to four before Keening is released,
allowing Scott to grab the wrist, firing him across the ring...]

GM:  To the ropes...

[The crowd buzzes as the National Champion attempts to uncork the
Heatseeker...

...but Michael Keening breaks into a front roll, avoiding the
superkick!]

GM:  He missed the Heatseeker!

[Keening pops up to his feet, spots Scott rushing him, and drops into
another front roll, avoiding a clothesline from the National Champion,
leaps into the air...

...and SLAPS the hand of his brother, Jason!]

GM:  HERE COMES JASON KEENING!

[Keening comes in and comes in hard, knocking the National Champion flat
with a running clothesline.  Raphael Rhodes tries to slip into the
ring...

...but a second running clothesline sends him over the ropes to the
floor!]

GM:  OHHHH!

[Simon Rhodes comes in, stumbling a bit from the weardown he took
earlier...

...and gets hoisted into the air, spun into a high impact powerslam!]

GM:  POWERSLAM!!  POWERSLAM!!  

[Jason Keening pops up, throwing his arms apart in a loud roar!]

GM:  Jason Keening has cleaned house on all three of these Southern
Syndicate goons!

BW:  GOONS?!  I'm telling Waterson you said that!

[The Screaming Drillbit spins around, pulling the National Champion off
the mat...

...and points to Sweet Daddy Williams!  The crowd roars!]

GM:  Oh yeah!  Make that tag!

[Keening hoists Stevie Scott up on his shoulders in a fireman's carry,
walking across the ring towards an eager Sweet Daddy Williams...

...but a desperate Hotshot rakes the eyes, blinding Jason Keening as he
slips out of the hold.  He quickly spins Keening around, hooking the
front facelock...]


"THUUUUUUUUD!"


GM:  DDT!  OH MY!

[The crowd groans at the sight of Jason Keening's skull being driven
into the canvas at maximum impact.  A dazed Stevie Scott rolls away from
Keening, slapping the hand of Simon Rhodes who looks a bit surprised but
rushed back in, throwing himself into a lateral press.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR- OHHH!

[Keening just barely fires the shoulder off the mat in time as a furious
Simon Rhodes argues with the official.]

GM:  Simon thought he had him but it wasn't enough!

[Simon Rhodes gets up, hauling Jason Keening up to his feet.]

GM:  Both men up... 

[A headbutt by Rhodes knocks Keening back to a knee.  Rhodes nods his
head to the crowd as he grabs Keening, pulling him back up...

...and gets plucked into a small package!]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE- 

[The crowd roars with disdain as a lunging Raphael Rhodes breaks up the
pin attempt!]

GM:  Both Rhodes brothers are in...

[And as Raph gets his brother back up, they double whip Jason Keening
into the ropes, hitting him with a double boot to the gut on the
rebound.  A quick shout from Raph sends Simon charging to the ropes
behind Jason as Raph races to the others...]

GM:  Double team coming here and-

[BIG CHEER!]

GM:  SWEET DADDY PULLED DOWN THE ROPES!!

[Raphael Rhodes topples over the ropes to the floor thanks to Sweet
Daddy Williams who pumps a fist in triumph even as a reluctant Ron
Houston gives Williams a warning for the illegal action.

And as Simon rebounds back with a clothesline attempt, Keening ducks it,
hitting the ropes himself, and exploding off the ropes with a leaping
shoulderblock!]

GM:  DOWN GOES SIMON!!

BW:  Get Simon out of there!  He needs to make a tag!

GM:  Jason Keening's back up...

[BIG CHEER!]

GM:  AND THERE'S THE TAG TO SWEET DADDY WILLIAMS!!

[The fan favorite from Atlanta comes in with a flurry of rights and
lefts on a stunned Simon Rhodes.]

GM:  He's all over him, fans!

[Grabbing Rhodes by the hair, Sweet Daddy smashes his face into the
buckles!]

GM:  What a smash to the buckles...

[And with Simon dazed, Williams hoists him up in a side waistlock, turns
around...

...and drops him down on his knee!]

GM:  ATOMIC DROP!

[Simon staggers and stumbles across the ring...

...and falls into the corner where he slaps the hand of a stunned Stevie
Scott!]

GM:  HE TAGGED HIM!  HE TAGGED HIM!

BW:  WHAT?!  NO!

GM:  He didn't mean to but the champ tags in!

[Sweet Daddy Williams is all grins as he points at Stevie Scott who
lifts his hands, begging off...

...and rushes forward, grabbing the top rope, and catapulting the
champion into the ring!]

GM:  HE'S GOT HIM IN!!

[Ben Waterson leaps up on the apron, shouting at the man who will
challenge for the National Title in just about a month...

...and gets FLOORED with a right hand!  Outside the ring, Ron Houston
applauds the haymaker from Sweet Daddy Williams.]

GM:  DOWN GOES WATERSON!!

BW:  What's Houston clapping for?!  He's supposed to be unbiased!

[The crowd is roaring as Williams turns around, charging the National
Champion who ducks the oncoming Williams, sliding under the ropes to the
floor...

...where Williams goes out after him!]

GM:  The champion's heading for the hills!  But Sweet Daddy Williams is
heading out there after him!

BW:  Get away!  Get away!

[BIG CHEER!]

GM:  VASQUEZ!!  VASQUEZ IS BLOCKING THE AISLEWAY!!

[The crowd roars as Stevie Scott pulls up short at the sight of the man
who defeated him for the National Title...

...and then backpedals right into Sweet Daddy Williams' waiting arms!]

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

[The Atlanta native hurls Scott under the ropes into the ring...

...where the champion slaps the hand of a still-dazed Simon Rhodes!]

GM:  Oh, come on!

[Williams hits the ring, ready to go...

...but finds the Hotshot leaving the ring again!]

GM:  I can't believe it but-

[A furious Williams grabs Simon Rhodes, hiptossing him over the ropes
into the ring...

...and charges across, taking flight with a high impact elbowdrow!]

GM:  BIIIIIG elbow by Sweet Daddy Williams! 

[Williams rolls off the downed Rhodes, angrily slapping the hand of
Michael Keening who scales the ropes...

...and leaps off the top, crashing down on a prone Rhodes with a flying
splash!]

GM:  HE HIT THE SPLASH!!

[Stevie Scott rolls back into the ring, a move which brings Sweet Daddy
Williams back in...

...who gets immediately tied up with the referee who tries to stop the
fiery fan favorite!]

GM:  Williams wants in there!  He wants in there so badly!

[And as Keening pops up to his feet out of the splash...

...he catches a Heatseeker under the chin!]

GM:  OHHHH!

[Keening falls back from the impact of the kick to the canvas as the
Hotshot stands up...

...and slaps his hands together before rolling Simon Rhodes out to the
floor!]

GM:  What the-?!

BW:  It's brilliant!  He wants the ref to think he tagged in!  He wants-

GM:  RAPHAEL RHODES!!

[The Brit quickly scales the ropes, leaping off the top, and BURYING his
skull into a prone Michael Keening!]

GM:  HEADBUTT OFF THE TOP!!

[A stunned Stevie Scott looks on as Raphael Rhodes throws an arm over
the chest of the downed Keening...

...as the referee spins around, making the count and Stevie Scott throws
himself to tackle the incoming Jason Keening, blocking his path.]

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


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


MC:  Here are your winners... 

SIMON RHODES, RAPHAEL RHODES, AND "HOTSHOT" STEEEEVIE SCOTT!

[The crowd roars its disapproval as Scott rolls out of the ring, helping
Waterson towards the locker room before the Rhodes brothers join them,
making their retreat together as Jason Keening and Sweet Daddy Williams
glare at their rivals from the ring.]

GM:  The Southern Syndicate takes the win in this six man tag... but
will this happen at Memorial Day Mayhem?

BW:  What's Houston doing?

GM:  I'm not sure.  Ron Houston is speaking to Michael Meekly.  He's-
what is going on here?

[Suddenly, Meekly looks out at the Southern Syndicate...

...and gestures to Melissa Cannon, calling her over to talk.]

GM:  Fans, I'm not sure what we're seeing here but...

[Melissa interrupts.]

MC:  Ladies and gentlemen... after conferring with outside-the-ring
enforcer Ron Houston, referee Michael Meekly has determined that the
Southern Syndicate made an ILLEGAL TAG EXCHANGE...

[The crowd starts to buzz.]

MC:  Therefore, Simon Rhodes MUST return to the ring...

[The buzz grows.]

MC:  And the match... MUST continue!

[BIG CHEER!]

GM:  THE MATCH CONTINUES!

BW:  How?!  Why?!  Ron Houston has gone TOO far!

GM:  He's just doing his job, Bucky!

BW:  That's bull and you know it, Gordo!  Houston's got a personal
vendetta with the Southern Syndicate and he's abusing the power that the
Championship Committee has given him!

[From the aisle, Ben Waterson is complaining like crazy.  Raphael Rhodes
is shouting towards the ring where the referee has started a ten count.]

GM:  He's counting them out!  If the Southern Syndicate doesn't get back
in there, he's going to count them out!

BW:  This isn't fair, Gordo!

GM:  It's completely fair!  Thank the stars for Ron Houston tonight!

[An irate Simon Rhodes shoves his brother aside and charges towards the
ring, diving under the ropes where the entire fan favorite team is
waiting for him.  A haymaker from Jason Keening spins him towards Sweet
Daddy Williams who pops him with a double arm bell ringer clap...

...which spins him right into Michael Keening who deadleaps into the
air, hooking his head between his legs, and pulling him down into a
cradled rana!]

GM:  BOTH LEGS HOOKED!!  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREEEEEEE!!!

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

[The crowd roars as the Keenings and Sweet Daddy Williams celebrate
their victory.  After a moment, Juan Vasquez hits the ring to join them,
shaking hands with the Keenings and raising Sweet Daddy Williams' arm as
Williams makes the "I want the belt!" gesture in the direction of Stevie
Scott...

...when suddenly MAMMOTH Mizusawa storms through the entrance curtain,
shoving his way through the entire Southern Syndicate team as he marches
towards the ring, stepping up on the apron, swinging his legs over the
ropes to get into the ring...

...and points right at Juan Vasquez.]

GM:  What in the world?

[Suddenly, the voice of Louis Matsui is heard.]

LM:  You can't avoid us forever, Vasquez!  You join the Rumble?  We join
the Rumble!  But we want our match!  

Or more importantly... HE DOES!

[Suddenly, the giant lunges forward, grabbing Vasquez by the throat with
both hands.  Sweet Daddy Williams is the first to act, throwing forearms
and haymakers at the head and mammoth back of the Asian giant...

...but Mizusawa does not break his grip.]

GM:  He won't let go!

[The Keenings join in, battering Mizusawa with all their limbs, throwing
hard and trying to break Vasquez free...

...but Mizusawa does not break his grip.]

BW:  Look at this, Gordo!  Six men are beating on Mizusawa and he won't
let go!  He won't let go!

[But Mizusawa does let go - lashing out to grab Williams head with his
right hand, smashing his skull into the Atlanta native and taking him
down.  He spins to the left, throwing a right hand that knocks Jason
Keening backwards a few steps as he grabs Keening with his left hand,
throwing him over the ropes to the floor.]

GM:  Mizusawa takes out Michael Keening!

[Jason Keening charges back in...

...and runs right into a big boot that knocks him flat!]

BW:  That's a preview right there!  That's what'll happen to Keening in
two weeks at the Lady Luck Challenge!

[Spinning away from the Keenings, Mizusawa grabs the stunned Vasquez by
the throat again with his left hand, reaching down to hoist him high
with his right into a military press.]

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

[Mizusawa holds him high, making a full 360 with him...

...and then DRIVES him down in a crushing standing spinebuster!]

GM:  MAMMOTH SLAM!!  DEAR GOD!!!

[Mizusawa stands over the downed Vasquez, glaring down at him as the
fans jeer all over the WKIK Studios...

...and we fade to black.]