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American Wrestling Alliance 
Proudly Presents 
AWA Saturday Night Wrestling

Live from the Abe Lemons Arena
Oklahoma City, Oklahoma
June 12, 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!"  The scene is the closing moments of the
Memorial Day Mayhem with Juan Vasquez perched on the top rope for a
second before hurling his body into the air and CRASHING DOWN onto a
prone Rhodes!]

GM:  SPLASH!!  BIG SPLASH OFF THE TOP!!!  MY GOD IN HEAVEN!!

[Vasquez immediately rolls off the downed Rhodes, clutching his own
ribcage.  He rolls around in pain on the mat, screaming out as Rhodes
continues to lie motionless on the mat.  The crowd is roaring for
Vasquez, trying to inspire him to get off the mat.]

GM:  Vasquez is trying to get up... these fans are roaring for him...
begging him to get off the mat...

[We cut ahead a few moments as Vasquez pulls Rhodes to his feet and
throws him over the ropes weakly, allowing Rhodes to fall onto the ring
apron.]

GM:  Oh, come on!

BW:  He couldn't get him to the floor!  Both feet have to touch the
floor!

GM:  It's the ribs!  It's those injured ribs!

[Vasquez shakes his head in frustration, leaning over the ropes to grab
his rival again, pulling him to a knee on the apron...

...where Rhodes lashes out with a short right hand to the ribcage!]

GM:  OHHH!  What a shot!  What a precision perfect shot to the ribs!

[Vasquez starts to fall backwards but Rhodes reaches over the ropes,
grabbing the Number One contender by the hair, holding him up against
the ropes...

...where he SMASHES his head into Vasquez!]

GM:  HEADBUTT!!

[Rhodes falls back, clutching the rope with his free hand and using the
other hand to keep Vasquez on his feet.  He shakes his head back and
forth, pulling himself forward again...]

GM:  OHHH!  ANOTHER HEADBUTT!!

[The second headbutt has the same effect, nearly toppling both men but
Rhodes' iron grip on the top rope as well as Vasquez' hair keeping them
both on their feet.  Rhodes pulls Vasquez closer, releasing his grip on
the rope to grab Vasquez' head with both hands...

...and SMASHING his skull into the forehead of Vasquez once... twice...
three times.  Rhodes grabs the rope again, trying to stay on his feet. 
Vasquez leans against him, a trickle of blood now escaping from his
skull.]

GM:  He split Juan Vasquez open!  It's that same spot where Vasquez got
busted open in that Texas Bullrope match with Mizusawa!  The blood is
starting to flow now!

[Rhodes grabs the bloodied Vasquez in a front facelock, slinging
Vasquez' arm over his neck.]

GM:  Oh no!

[With a pain-filled scream, Rhodes hoists Vasquez up into a suplex...

...but Vasquez lashes out with a knee to the skull in the middle of the
suplex, forcing Rhodes to put him down on the apron!  The crowd ERUPTS!]

GM:  Both men on the apron!  Both men on the apron!

[An exhausted Vasquez lashes out with an elbow strike to the jaw,
stunning Rhodes.  Grabbing two hands full of Rhodes' hair, Vasquez SLAMS
his knee into Rhodes' face once... twice... three times.  He pauses for
a moment, sucking wind...

...and delivers one more knee strike, knocking Rhodes to a kneeling
position on the apron!]

GM:  Rhodes is down!  Rhodes is on a knee on the apron!

[Vasquez quickly backs off, slaps his knee, and charges towards Rhodes,
determined to deliver a running knee to the face...]

GM:  RUNNING KNEEEEEEEE!

[But Rhodes slaps it aside, pushing up to his feet, and delivering one
more headbutt, this one squarely to the temple off an off-balance
Vasquez...

...who topples off the apron to the floor!]


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


MC:  Ladies and gentlemen... here is your winner of the Memorial DAy
Rumble...

RAPHAEL RHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOODES!!

[Rhodes falls back through the ropes, crawling to the center of the ring
on his hands and knees.  He takes one knee, kneeling on the non-injured
limb in the middle of the ring, head bowed with exhaustion.]

GM:  Raphael Rhodes has done it!  Raphael Rhodes has etched his name
next to Marcus Broussard and Ron Houston in the AWA history books! 
Raphael Rhodes has won the Memorial Day Rumble!

BW:  The Southern Syndicate has won it!  The Southern Syndicate has won
the Rumble as well!

[At the top of the aisle, a small group of men led by Ben Waterson
emerges from the locker room - an angry-looking Brian Von Braun, an
elated Simon Rhodes, Calisto Dufresne and Adrian Freeman who look a
little envious, and an overjoyed Stevie Scott who pats the title belt
resting on his shoulder.  In the front of it all stands Waterson,
applauding his charge's victory in the Rumble as we 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 Abe Lemons Arena in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma where over 4,000 fans
have jammed into this building on the campus of Oklahoma City University
to watch their favorite AWA stars.

The ring sits alone in the middle of the basketball court, thin blue
mats laid out around ringside.  There is a cheap looking metal barricade
set up to separate the fans from the ringside area as well.  Also at
ringside are a pair of tables - one for the timekeeper and one for our
announce duo.

Speaking of which, the camera cuts from the cheering crowd to our
announce team, two men on a mission.  Yo baby, yo baby, yo.

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 hot pink 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.  I'm Gordon
Myers and by my side as always is the Dean of Dapperness, Bucky Wilde!

BW:  Dean of Dapperness?  Are you mockin' me, Gordo?

GM:  I wouldn't dream of it.  We are live here tonight in Oklahoma City
as the AWA is in the middle of our annual summer tour.  How does it feel
to be on the road again?

BW:  Greasy spoons, cheap hotels, and having to carpool with you?  I've
seen better days.

GM:  I see.  We've got four thousand fans jammed here into the Abe
Lemons Arena here tonight waiting to see the greatest action goin' in
the ring today.  And everyone is talking about what went down two weeks
ago at Memorial Day Mayhem, Bucky.

BW:  It was a good night if you're a fan of the Southern Syndicate and
quite frankly, who's not?  "Hotshot" Stevie Scott is still the National
Champion and Raphael Rhodes won the Rumble itself, snatching victory
away from that lowlife Vasquez.

GM:  Juan Vasquez was arguably moments away from earning one more shot
at the National Champion but in the end, Raphael Rhodes was able to
outlast his own rival in what is the worst possible outcome for AWA
fans.

BW:  That's right, daddy.  The Southern Syndicate have made no secret of
the fact that that title shot is gettin' buried like a week-old corpse. 
The champ's got the gold and it's gonna stay that way.

GM:  Fans, we'll have much more on that and the rest of the happenings
at Memorial Day Mayhem as the show goes on but for now, let's go up to
Melissa for our opening matchup!

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

MC: The following tag team contest is set for one fall with a ten minute
time limit.  Introducing first, already in the ring, at a total combined
weight of 493 pounds...the team of Hank Green and Bart Morris!

[Complete indifference pop.  Which isn't a pop at all, is it?]

MC: And their opponents...

# GENERALS GATHERED IN THEIR MASSEEEEESSSSSS! #

[Yes indeed, the unique voice of Ozzy Osbourne blares out as Black
Sabbath's "War Pigs" starts up with the beginning of the Ozzman's
vocals.]

# JUST LIKE WITCHES AT BLACK MASSEEEEEESSSSSSS! #

[And running in from the back in a dead sprint for the ring are the
returning Hammer, Sabre and Richard E. Lee, the War Pigs.  Hammer and
Sabre are in full-length black leather pants, their faces painted and
hair cut in mohawks.  Lee follows behind in a loose-fitting silk shirt
and a rolled-up magazine in hand.]

MC: Hailing from Detroit, Michigan...Hammer and Sabre...

THE WAR PIGS!

[No sooner does Melissa finish the introduction than she has to dash out
of the ring, largely because Hammer and Sabre have invaded it with a
full head of steam and immediately attack a stunned Green and Morris.]

GM: The War Pigs!  The War Pigs are back in the AWA after a six-month
tour of Japan, where they were highly successful.

BW: Alright, daddy!  We need some more tail-kickers like this in the
AWA.  Especially if they target those loudmouths Rough N Ready again.

GM: Well, that feud didn't end too well for them last time.  In fact,
it's what convinced Richard E. Lee to take them to Japan to refine their
craft.

[Hammer, meanwhile, pounded away on Green in a corner before hoisting
him up into a gorilla press and doing five military presses before
tossing him over the top rope to the floor.]

BW: That move looked pretty refined, daddy!

GM: Indeed an impressive display of power from the Hammer.  Sabre now
has Morris backed into the ropes and sends him for the ride...Sabre off
the far side and DIVING SHOULDERBLOCK!  What elevation by Sabre there,
taking Morris right off his feet in the process!

BW: And about taking his head clear off his body.

[Though referee Mickey Meekly has clearly lost control of the match
already, Sabre drags a limp Morris to the corner and tags in Hammer.]

GM: Sabre with the tag...now sends Morris across with another Irish
whip...Hammer waiting for him on the rebound...and a HUUUUUUUGE
POWERSLAM!

BW: If Morris' back ain't broken after that, it oughta be!  Did you see
how far they bounced up off the mat?

[Lee shouts and points upward, and Hammer nods and motions likewise to
Sabre.]

GM: Hammer over to the corner and makes a tag to Sabre, who climbs to
the top rope.  Hammer now grabs both of Morris's
legs...slingshot...Sabre off the top...

[Pop!]

GM: FLYING CLOTHESLINE OFF THE TOP!

BW: Weapon of Mass Destruction, daddy!  And Bart Morris just got
destroyed!

GM: Sabre makes the cover, and there's no way Morris gets back up from
this.

[Green, finally on his feet, gets back into the ring and attempts to
save his partner, but eats a HUGE running lariat for Hammer while Sabre
puts both his hands on Morris's chest as Meekly makes the count: 1-2-3.]

MC: Here are your winners in one minute and 31 seconds...

THE WAAAAAAAAAAAR PIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGS!

[There's a pretty good sized "Welcome back!" reaction from the crowd.]

GM: So the War Pigs victorious in their return to the AWA, and take a
look at the power these two men from Detroit have, Bucky.

[Replay time!  First we get the press slam of Hank Green to the floor by
Hammer.]

BW: Look at that, daddy!  Throwing him around like yesterday's garbage!

[Now a replay of the powerslam by Hammer on Bart Morris.]

BW: Bart Morris doesn't fare any better.  Hammer just about sends him
all the way through the mat there.

[And lastly, a replay of Sabre leaping off the top as Hammer slingshots
Morris toward him to execute the WMD.]

BW: And their signature move, the Weapon of Mass Destruction.  I'd like
to see what that move could do to the Bishop Boys.

[Cut back to a now-standing Myers and Wilde at the table, where they are
joined by the War Pigs and Lee.]

GM: So the War Pigs are back in the AWA and they obviously mean
business.  Hammer, Sabre, and Richard E. Lee...what a surprise to see
you back in the AWA after your successful tour of Japan.

H: You know something, Gordon Myers, when the Sabre and I were touring
Japan, busting heads and kicking tails from Tokyo to Okinawa, we had a
lot of time to think about what we were gonna do when we came back to
the US.  In between breaking bones and winning titles, we kept up with
everything that was going on down here in the AWA.

And what we saw...made us SICK!

[Confused pop, if such a thing exists.  Just pretend it does.]

H: See, the three of us may be a lot of things that people don't like. 
We're mean.  We're big enough to take what we want.  We can be big sons
of a-

[Lee cracks a grin, holding his magazine over his mouth.]

H:  You get the point... if we feel like, because look at us...who's
gonna do anything about it?

[Sabre smiles, posing a double-bicep flex as Hammer continues.]

H: We like to go looking for fights, and we don't make no apologies for
that.  But something else we are, Gordon Myers, is MEN.  All three of
us.  And that's what made us sick.

Because we saw managers show up in the AWA who never hit the gym one day
in their miserable, pitiful lives!  Managers like Louis Matsui...

[Surprised pop, as the former heels just called out a heel manager.]

H: ...like James J. Dallas...

[The surprised pop turns to excitement.]

H: ...like Ronnie Jamieson...

[And more excitement, 'cause we hate those guys too!]

H: ...and ESPECIALLY like Larry freakin' Doyle!

["Hey, we like the War Pigs now" pop!]

H: You got these guys who are either pencil-necked GEEKS or guys who are
so fat, they ain't seen their shoes since 1998!  And then we looked at
OUR manager here, Richard E. Lee...a man who's BEEN in the ring
before...a man who STILL hits the gym with the Sabre and the Hammer
every time we bust down the doors!

[Hammer slaps Lee on the shoulder while Sabre nods in the background.]

H: HE is what a professional wrestling manager ought to be!  He runs
with us because he's a MAN, just like Sabre is a MAN, and just like
Hammer is a MAN.  He don't need to run his mouth and go HIDE behind us. 
He can takes care of himself if it comes down to it.

Which is a helluva lot more than I can say for those four clowns I just
mentioned.

So Gordon, we decided what we were gonna do when we came back to the
AWA.

[The Hammer points a menacing finger at the camera.  Menacing, I say!]

H: We decided we were going to RID the AWA of the GARBAGE that's been
stinking up the joint since we left!  Tell 'em, Sabre!

[Big pop!  A grinning Sabre, the (slightly) smaller of the two men,
steps forward as Myers moves the microphone toward him.]

S: Gordon Myers, don't you look dapper tonight!  And hey, Bucky, the
Blue Oyster Club called...

[Sabre reaches over and tugs on Wilde's jacket.]

S: ...they want their curtains back.

[Burn pop!  Wilde looks pissed, but he isn't dumb enough to say
anything.  Sabre smirks, then turns toward the camera with a menacing
finger pointing at it.  Yes, his finger is menacing too!]

S: What the Hammer said is oh...so...true.

It ain't just those quote-unquote managers we're ashamed of, either,
Gordo.  We're also embarrassed of their CLIENTS.

You call yourselves MEN?  Nuh-uh...if you run with BOYS, you know what
that makes you?  It makes you the exact same thing.  

Scola and Mafu, the Samaon Hit Squad?  I think you boys left an "S" off
your name, if you catch my drift.

[Cuss word reference pop!]

S: The Blonde Bombers?  Doyle, if you know what's good for ya...which I
doubt you do, judging by the clothes you wear...but if you know what's
good for ya, you'll keep your two beach bums as far away from the War
Pigs as possible, because we'd HATE to stain their pretty blonde hair
with a color that's...oh, I don't know...BLOOD RED!

[Violence against the Bombers pop!]

S: Devastation?  You don't know the MEANING of the word.  The only thing
devastating about YOU is when you're nearby your fat lardbutt of a
manager when he hits the Sizzler buffet!

And the biggest fat boy of them all...the one man that everyone around
here thinks is an unstoppable monster...MAMMOTH Misuzawa and your moron
of a manager, Louis Matsui.

[Sabre pauses, snorting.  In digust!]

S: Let me clue you in on a little something, FAT BOY...you may have
steamrolled through all the guys that the AWA has been feeding you, but
ain't NONE of them as rough...as tough...as mean...as bad...or as strong
as the two men you're looking at RIGHT HERE!

Like Hammer said, the War Pigs are always looking for a fight.  So if
ANY of you want to step up and prove us wrong...if ANY of you want to
come try to show us that you're something more than the puny, scared
little boys that we KNOW you are...

...we're not hard to find.

[More poppage!]

GM: If I may ask, Richard E. Lee, there's another manager here in the
AWA that you have yet to mention...talking of course about Ben Waterson
of the Southern Syndicate.

[Lee pauses, nodding as he looks down, then raises his head and points
to the ring with his rolled up magazine.]

REL: Don't think for a minute, Gordon Myers, that we haven't been paying
attention to what Waterson's been up to, because we have.  The thing
about Waterson as opposed to those other managers is that Waterson has
actually been in a ring before.  He's actually enough of a man to take
care of himself in a fight, as he's proven before in an AWA ring.

But that doesn't mean that the War Pigs don't have a little something
ready for you, either!

[Pop!]

REL: If Waterson and the Southern Syndicate get in our way?  We'll take
'em out just like we'd do to anyone else.  Like the Hammer and the Sabre
said, it doesn't matter to us.  We're always looking for a fight and
we're always ready to bust some heads when a fight comes along.  We're
sinply tired of BOYS coming around here and acting like MEN.

So that's why we're back in the AWA.

To show everyone what REAL men look like.

[With Lee's final statement, the Pigs and Lee turn and leave the
broadcast table, leaving behind a smiling Myers and a stunned Wilde.]

GM:  Now what do you think of the War Pigs' return, Bucky?

BW:  I... I... I...

GM:  My partner's speechless, fans.  And speaking of tag teams...

[It's at this point that Dave Cooper and Eric Matthew Somers, the
members of the tag team Rough N Ready, walk onto the scene. Cooper is
dressed in a pair of khakis and a white polo shirt. Somers is wearing an
AWA T-shirt (why, yes, they are on sale) and a pair of blue jeans.
Cooper has a serious
expression on his face, while Somers' face reveals no emotion.]

GM: Rough N Ready is here with us, and in just a few weeks, they will
get to challenge The Bishop Boys for the National Tag Team Titles.
Gentlemen, it looks like you are finally going to get that shot that
you've been pursuing for so long.

DC: You sure about that, Gordon? I need not remind you about how we had
a title shot promised to us, only for The Bishop Boys to walk right in
and take it from under our noses.

GM: Well, that's not exactly what happened... you know that...

DC: [interrupting] Hold on, Gordon, I'm not finished. And now we have
Cousin Bo coming up to our manager, saying he'll watch our backs if we
watch theirs. He knows full well that there is no love lost between
us... what makes him think we can trust him? And on top of that, to do
it when Sarah Sharpe is by herself and we aren't around to answer
anything.

GM: Perhaps Cousin Bo felt it was best to go manager to manager... and I
would take it you trust Sarah to relay the message.

DC: That's not the point, Gordon... the point is if Cousin Bo is going
to address Rough N Ready, he should be talking to Eric and myself. After
all, he had no problem sending his men into that title match that was
promised to us and...

[Dave stops talking as now RnR's manager, Sarah Sharpe, walks onto the
scene.  He holds up a hand as Eric continues to stand there, still no
emotion on his face.]

DC: Hold on, Sarah... I just need to get things off my chest.

SS: Dave, so do I. Yes, you and the Bishop Boys have never gotten along,
and yes, Cousin Bo is somebody you don't like the sight of. That being
said, he approached me and, regardless of those past issues, I wanted to
hear him out.

But more importantly, Dave, I've been having to have several talks with
Jim Watkins, who told me he is a little disappointed in you. He always
respected you for being the veteran who has seen it all and should know
that sometimes things don't go the way you'd like. So when he heard you
insisting on a guaranteed title shot, he wasn't too happy.

DC: So why don't you have him explain why Eric and I have waited
patiently for a chance at a title shot, even after every obstacle was
tossed in front of us... and that includes those tossed by the Bishop
Boys... and yet then we are denied it again. Did he bother to explain
any of that?

[Sarah shakes her head in frustration.]

SS: This is not like you, Dave... to think there have been plenty of
times when you and I have had to calm Eric down, and now here you are,
flying off the handle.

DC: That's only because we defeated the Bishops to get ourselves a title
shot, and then we watch as they steal it from under our noses.

[Finally, Eric steps forward.]

EMS: Dave... easy does it, man. Hey, I'm just as fed up as you are, but
you don't need to take it out on Sarah.

DC: I'm not taking anything out on Sarah... it's not her fault. It's the
likes of Watkins and Cousin Bo who have things to answer for.

SS: Well, if that's the way you feel, Dave, then maybe it's just going
to be easier if I stop being the one in the middle and let the two of
you handle things.

[Dave and Eric both turn to Sarah... both of them look perplexed]

EMS: What are you saying?

SS: What I'm saying is that, if you two feel so strongly about this,
then maybe it's time you actually handle your affairs on your own.

[No response from Dave and Eric for a moment... but then Dave speaks.]

DC: Wait a minute... Sarah, I...

SS: No, Dave... I've already made up my mind and I talked to Watkins...
I'm resigning as your manager.

[A shocked response goes up for the crowd. Dave, Eric and Gordon look
surprised...even Bucky's expression suggests he didn't see it coming.]

SS: This bone you have to pick with Jim Watkins is something you need to
settle on your own... as far as Cousin Bo and the Bishops go, I know
where the two of you stand, but I'll be honest... Bo looked me in the
eye and I have no doubts to believe his offer is genuine.

But it's going to be up to the two of you to decide if you take up that
offer... I'm not going to continue to relay messages.

You two are the ones that need to decide the message you're going to
relay.

[With that, Sarah walks off the set. Dave still looks taken aback. Eric
has recovered enough to put a hand on Dave's shoulder.]

EMS: Dave... if that's what she wants, then that's what she wants. Come
on... let's go.

[Eric and Dave then slowly walk off the set.]

GM: Well, fans... that was something I didn't expect to happen. 

BW: What can I say... but...

GM: Go on...

BW: I can relate to how tough it can be for a manager to act as a
middleman... but it's part of the job. It's just that...

GM: What about it?

BW: I can't believe I'm saying this, but... I can understand where Rough
N
Ready is coming from.

GM: Never thought I'd see the day you'd say that.

BW: Hey, I don't like either one of them, but considering how long
they've
been in AWA and how they've taken on the best in the business and still
have been waiting for that golden opportunity... I can't really blame
them.

GM: I can understand Rough N Ready believing they have long deserved a
tag
team title shot... but now it looks like they'll be pursuing that shot
without Sarah Sharpe as their manager.  Who knows what else is going to
happen here tonight - fans, we've gotta take a quick break, 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 to our announce duo.]

GM:  Welcome back to Saturday Night Wrestling, fans, where we've already
seen the surprising return of the War Pigs to the AWA as well as the
shocking revelation that Sarah Sharpe has RESIGNED as the manager of
Rough N Ready just a few weeks before their big National Tag Team Title
shot!  That's shocking news, Bucky.

BW:  It's surprising for sure but I've always wondered if they'd fare
better without her.  I guess now we'll finally get a chance to find out.

GM:  It's a big night here in Oklahoma City just as it was two weeks ago
at Memorial Day Mayhem when-

[Suddenly, the crowd at the Oklahoma City crowd sounds out a chorus of
boos as the large frame of Grant Stone makes his way out of the
entrance.]

GM: What is this man doing here? He's not scheduled to be out here
tonight!

BW: You want to tell him to leave, Gordo?

[Stone wears a white A-shirt and jeans along with his black boots. He
also wears his perpetual grim and worn look behind his now-bearded face.
Stone still wears his brown hair short. His scars on his arms and
visible upper body show the wars that Stone's been in throughout his
career.]

BW: In fact, Gordo, looks like you can ask him yourself!  He's coming
this way!

[The big Louisville native steps towards the broadcast table and stops
in front of Gordon Myers... staring down at him through his tired eyes.
Myers gets up, microphone in hand, but anyone can tell that he's not too
keen on this interview.]

GM: Grant Stone, you've been gone since your defeat at the hands of
Bobby Taylor at Christmas Clash. You said you proved all you had to
prove here in the AWA. Why did you come back at Memorial Day Mayhem?

[Stone glares at Myers, letting the deadened look linger uncomfortably.]

GM: Why did you attack Jack Snyder? What deal did you make with with Ben
Waterson?

[Again, Stone just continues his deadened look down at Myers, who gets a
bit flustered at the non-response by the big man.]

GM: Mr. Stone, why are you here tonight?!

[Stone finally reacts, grabbing Myers' hand and raising up the
microphone. 

GS: Myers...

[Grant Stone narrows his eyes before letting go of the hand as the fans
get on Stone's case.]

GS: Myers, I'm a man who makes my living by taking on the highest offer.
Some men are in this for the glory or the titles, but that's not me. I
know my place in life. I don't give a care about what the rest of these
maggots here in AWA hold up for their goals.

[Stone pauses.]

GS: About the only thing that's kept me going all these years has been
revenge. Whether it working for someone's needs for it or my own... Two
years ago, I sought out my own revenge and worked for Kevin Slater for
his against Bobby Taylor. Now?

[Stone curls his upper lip in disgust.]

GS: That little man Waterson opened the door back for me to get my own
last bit of revenge. He offered me money... But when he said the name
"Jack Snyder" -

[The crowd lets out a decent cheer for the "Dying Breed". Stone looks
around, glaring at the crowd ominously before coming back to Myers.]

GS: The opportunity alone to cave in that piece of filth's neck in was
enough. I took this one on with no fee.

GM: But why Jack Snyder? What has he done that -

[The very act of the question sets of a bit of rage in Stone's eyes as
they widen.]

GS: WHAT HAS HE DONE?!? WHAT HAS HE DONE?!?

GM: Excuse me, I -

GS: Wouldn't you hunt down the man who trashed the memory of your own
wife?! Wouldn't you try to break the neck of the man who disrespected
the name of someone you loved?!

GM: I don't -

GS: Myers, I don't give a damn about much in this world... or in my
life. But the ONLY good thing that's ever happened to me? That rat Jack
Snyder spat on with his words.

[Stone pauses again, letting the rage die down a bit.]

GS: Words hurt, Myers... And the next time I see Snyder, ANYWHERE? It'll
be more than a dinged up neck. It'll be more than a little bit of a
pain. Cause the next time I see him? I'll be the one trampling on the
only thing HE cares about - his career.

[Stone looks down at Myers again for a moment before slowly turning
back, giving a glare to the fans he passes by as he makes his way
towards the exit.]

GM:  Goodness.

BW:  You'd better sit down before ya fall down, Gordo.

GM:  That man is pure intensity right there.  He made his return to the
AWA during the Memorial Day Rumble apparently under the employ of Ben
Waterson who had sworn to the world that he was going to make Jack
Snyder pay for embarrassing him.

BW:  And when the Agent To The Stars speaks it, you know it's the truth.

GM:  I wouldn't go that far but honestly, after being that close to that
man, I would NOT want to be Jack Snyder right now.

BW:  Who the heck would EVER want to be Jack Snyder?

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

[Fade to the ring to Melissa.]

MC: The following contest is set for one fall, with a fifteen minute
time limit! Already in the ring, from Kalamazoo, Michigan... weighing
250 pounds...

LONNIE CARTER!

[Carter is a big good looking kid, with an impressive physique and a
full head of curly brown hair. He flexes for the fans and hops from foot
to foot, getting ready to go.]

GM: A good looking kid from Michigan, Bucky, and he'll pose quite a test
for Eric Preston.

BW: I think we all learned something about Eric Preston on Memorial Day,
Gordo, he's not afraid to stand in there and face the music. He'll
boogie when he has to, and I can't say that's what I expected to see. 

GM: Indeed, Preston was on the short end of that intense brawl with
James Monosso, but I think he showed us a side that we haven't seen
before. Eric Preston is a certified tough customer, and I'm sure if he
were coherent or not heavily medicated, James Monosso would concur.

MC: His opponent, from Greenville, South Carolina... weighing 248
pounds...

ERIIIIC PRESTOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNN!!!

[The crowd erupts with cheers as "Show Me How To Live" by Audioslave
thunders over the public address system, and Eric Preston walks out from
the back. Preston is dressed in dark blue tights with a black and white
diamond pattern around the waistband, white boots with his initials
written in a black cursive script on the outside corners. His ribs are
heavily wrapped in white athletic tape, as are his wrists. Preston
raises his hands to the crowd and acknowledges them, and then curtly
walks to the ring, slapping hands as he goes.]

GM: A rousing ovation for one of the Combat Corner's very finest, and he
is showing the wear and tear of Memorial Day.

BW: Suck it up, baby, it's only a flesh wound.

[Preston gets into the ring and hops to the second rope, raising both
hands again to another cheer. He hops into the ring and gets checked
out, then backs into his corner as the bell rings.]

GM: The bell's underway in this one, and Eric Preston offers the
handshake.

[Carter looks either way to the crowd and then shakes the hand of Eric,
who nods at him and then backs away.]

GM: Good show of sportsmanship there, as this match is about to get
started. Both men now, circling one another, Eric quickly looking at the
crowd from time to time, urging them to come alive... and both men tie
up. Carter with a slight, slight weight advantage, but Preston backs him
into the corner.

[Eric takes his hands off and holds them up, then claps the dust off in
a show of good faith.]

BW: Oh come on, brother, can we please start the wrestling and lose the
polly prissy pants activity?

[You got it Bucky!]

"OOOHHHHHHHHH!!!!!"

BW: HA!

GM: Open handed slap as Lonnie Carter comes out of the corner! Not
exactly the sportsmanship Eric Preston was looking for!

[That's okay. Preston puts his hand to his cheek, makes sure everything
is where it's supposed to be... and then tackles Lonnie Carter, to the
thrill of the crowd!]

GM: WHOA! Double leg takedown by Eric Preston, and he's all over Lonnie
Carter! He looked like he was shot out of cannon, and Lonnie Carter
might feel like he got hit by a cannonball right now!

BW: We was just talkin' about it, and here it is! Eric Preston ain't
afraid to get down and dirty, Gordo, that myth has been disspelled.

[Preston lays in a right hand and then gets to his feet, racing to the
opposite ropes and preparing to do something, when Carter alertly rolls
out of the ring. Lonnie gets on his feet on the apron and turns to the
crowd, pointing to his head and bellowing... leaving his back totally
open...]

GM: Dropkick to the back of Lonnie Carter! Carter tumbles to the floor,
but my stars, Bucky, it could have been SO much worse!

BW: He was a hair away from going face first to those ringside mats, or
worse. That coulda been more tragic then the time my Uncle got second
prize for his meat pies at the dang County Fair, because his false teeth
fell into it by accident!

GM: What?!

BW: It was a dang accident Gordo, he deserved first!

[As Carter collects his thoughts on the outside, Eric Preston quickly
ascends to the top rope and eyes his target..]

GM: Preston to the top rope, is he gonna-

[...and then takes to the skies, leaping off the top rope and flying
halfway across the ringside area, then PLASTERING Carter with a double
axehandle, as the crowd ERUPTS in cheers!]

GM: OH MY STARS! HE NEARLY JUMPED THE LENGTH OF THE FLOOR!

BW: If he got any more height he'd need a stewardess!

GM: These fans are loving every minute of it, and Eric Preston has
EXPLODED in this match to take command.

[After being dazed for a second from the impact on his knees, Preston
springs to his feet, cups his mouth and gives a war whoop (echoed by the
crowd) then slings Lonnie Carter into the ring and follows him in.]

GM: Preston now grabs a front facelock, and hooks him... _hard_ snap
suplex, and Eric rolls into the cover!   ONE!!   TWO!!!  NO SIR! Kickout
by Lonnie Carter. 

[Preston smacks his hands in disappointment and gets to his feet, then
brings Carter with him by the hair.]

BW: Watch the hair, referee, let's be fair about it.

GM: Eric sends Lonnie Carter for the ride- reversed! Preston off the
ropes... _biiiig_ back elbow, and what momentum he got on that one,
Bucky.

BW: Preston's a horse, daddy, no matter what I think of him. He can
create power in a pinch, and he explodes into everything he does.

[Carter flops to the canvas, and Eric springs to his feet, shouting to
the fans again. This time the war whoop is echoed even louder, and an
amused Preston turns around to pick up Carter...

...and gets poked right in the eyes. The crowd boos as Carter goes on
the attack.]

BW: And Preston is also pre-occupied with these people, baby, and now
he's paying for it.

GM: An illegal way to mount a comeback, but effective nonetheless. Hard
forearms across the back, from the surprisingly powerful Lonnie Carter,
and now he sends Preston for the ride... 

"THUUUUUUUUUUUUD!"

GM: A magnificent spinning powerslam from Lonnie Carter! Heck of a move
from this young man, and now _he_ is on the attack.

BW: When opportunity knocks, you gotta answer the door, baby. Wasn't too
long ago that Preston was in this position himself.

[Carter brings the Combat Corner grad to his feet and hooks him around
the waist, then lifts and jams him into the mat with an atomic drop.]

GM: Very effective move from Lonnie Carter, working on the core and
lower lumbar region of Eric Preston, and that move has staggered young
Preston. Into the corner, and a forearm across the cheek... whip to the
far buckle, Preston kicks his feet up and Carter follows in right
underneath!

[Carter hits the turnbuckle by surprise just as Eric regains his footing
behind him. A right hand shocks Carter, and gives Preston the opening to
wrap his hands around the waist and pop his hips...]

"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!"

GM: Overhead suplex! That's all power and technique folks, it doesn't
get much better than that.

BW: He ragdolled him, daddy, that's 250 pounds thrown like a sack of
trash.

[Carter lands three quarters of the way across the ring, stunned, and
instead of following up, Preston circles Lonnie until he's directly
behind him in the corner. He grabs the top rope with both hands and
begins to stomp his right foot... once, twice, three times. The fans
catch on and begin to clap along, waiting for the next move...]

GM: The fans are into it, and Eric Preston is waiting for the opportune
moment... to do what, we're not sure...

[Just as Carter turns around, Preston springs out of the corner and
delivers a running, jumping knee lift to the mouth of his doubled over
opponent, causing him to snap back to the canvas and cup his mouth!]

GM: Oh! We've seen Preston deliver that move a few times, and it is a
vicious maneuver indeed. 

BW: It can bust a lip, it can break a nose, it could even break a tooth.
That's nasty, baby, that's what that is.

GM: Carter is down and out, and Preston is signalling to the crowd. He's
aiming to finish this one off, and here we go...

[Preston hooks Carter for a suplex and grabs the far leg, then lifts up
in a fisherman's hoist... let's all the blood drain... 

...and DRILLS Lonnie Carter with Greenville Thunder, to a raucous
ovation from the crowd.]

GM: He drilled it! He caught all of it, and the cover is academic! One,
two, three, put this one in the books. Impressive victory for Eric
Preston.

[The bell rings as the fans roar their approval, and Preston has his
hand raised by the referee. As Audioslave plays momentarily, Preston
exits the ring and makes his way to the announce position, where Gordon
Myers and Bucky await.]

GM: Eric Preston... Eric Preston, come on in here. Congratulations on
another big win here on Saturday Night Wrestling.

EP: Thanks Gordon. It's good to get back in the win column after a rough
few weeks, and it's good to be back out here in front of these people. 

GM: After that intense, intense match at Memorial Day Mayhem, there's
been talk of a rematch. Is that in your future, Eric Preston?

EP: You know, Gordon, I really can't say either way. As far as I'm
concerned, the issue is over. I stood up for what I believe in and I
fought with everything I had. Falls Count Anywhere isn't my kinda match
and I know it, but I asked for it and what happened was the kind of a
wild match the AWA hasn't seen before. 

Sure, technically, Monosso got the win and while I wish it were
different, it's not. He got a cheap win that was more accident than
anything else, and I'm gonna learn from that. The AWA is wide open right
now, Gordon, the time is right for someone to seize the day and shake
things up.

The time is right for Eric Preston to start moving up that Top Ten and
rattle some cages!

[The fans roar their approval again as Preston breaks into a grin.]

GM: It can't be denied that the people have accepted you as one of their
very own, Eric, and they've gotten behind you in a way that few
wrestlers can match. Why do you think that is.

EP: I think it's simple, Gordon. The people love someone who's real,
they love people who have nothing to hide. I'm an open book, baby, I
call it like I see it and I do what I say I'm going to do. I'm not out
here to cheat and steal, I'm not out here tooting my own horn and
patting myself on the back.

Not everyone is as lucky as we are, to be involved in this great sport
and to draw a pay check from doing something you love. There's people
out there working jobs they hate, working overtime to make ends meet so
they can put food on the table and clothes on their back. I've worked
for everything I've got so far, Gordon, I paid my way in blood, sweat
and tears, same as all these people. 

And it hasn't been easy, has it folks?

[Preston looks around to the people, shaking their heads back at home.]

EP: No, nothing good is ever easy. There's been set backs along the way,
shoot, there were setbacks just getting to the AWA. But what I know, and
what these people know, is that everyone gets knocked down but not
everyone gets back up.

I get back up because the people get back up. The same people who pay my
salary are the people who are working the midnight shift to pay the
bills, the people who find ways to make it work every day. How can I
_not_ get back up everytime I get knocked down?

James Monosso knocked me down plenty, Gordon, but I learned from my
mistakes and I'm going to use what I learned to climb that Top Ten list,
one match at a time until yours truly is next in line. It's wide open
right now, and with these people behind me, the sky is the limit, and
the sky keeps falling. Thank you.

[With that, Audioslave begins to play again and Eric shakes hands with
Gordon, and then walks to the back, slapping hands and bumping fists
with the fans on the way back.]

GM:  Eric Preston's certainly a rising star here in the AWA and he's
looking to rise on up that Top Ten contenders list as well - something
I'm told we'll be hearing about from Big Jim Watkins later tonight.  I'm
looking forward to that, Bucky.

BW:  It's no Call Of The Wilde but Watkins usually makes headlines with
his announcements too.

GM:  Fans, Shane Destiny was considered one of the odds-on favorites
heading into the Memorial Day Rumble but things didn't work out exactly
like he had planned.  Let's take a look...

[We fade to footage marked "MEMORIAL DAY RUMBLE", joining the match in
progress with Shane Destiny down on the mat, trying to pull himself up
using the ropes.  At ringside, we can spot Mark Langseth who has just
come out of the crowd.]

GM:  Mark Langseth, the Hall of Famer is at ringside!

BW:  What's HE doing here?!  Houston, get 'im out of here!

[But the Special Enforcer is a bit distracted trying to shout
encouragement to his good friend, Rob Magnum.  That leaves Langseth all
alone to shout at Destiny.]

"I'VE GOT NOTHING TO DO WITH THIS MATCH?!  I'M NOT RELEVANT?!"

[The verbal assault seems to wake up Shane Destiny who drags himself to
his feet, pointing a finger at Langseth.]

"Get out of here!  Someone get him out of here!"

[AWA officials seem to swarm Mark Langseth, trying to get him away from
the ring...

...but the momentary distraction is all that is needed as MAMMOTH
Mizusawa simply grabs the back of Destiny's tights, throwing him over
the ropes to the floor!  Big cheer!]

GM:  DESTINY'S GONE!!  The giant tosses Shane Destiny over the top!

[An irate Destiny, having landed on a bunch of AWA officials, is right
up shouting at Langseth who returns the favor as we fade to the locker
room area where Jason Dane stands by in front of a black AWA banner.
Standing with Dane is Mark Langseth, dressed in a dress shirt and
slacks, looking a bit more relaxed than in weeks past.]

JD: Jason Dane here with Mark Langseth, coming off of his actions during
the Rumble at Memorial Day Mayhem, what are your thoughts?

ML: Right now?

[Mark nods.]

ML: Destiny? Right now?

[Langseth pauses, looking into the camera.]

ML: We're even. Maybe if we weigh what you did against what I did? You
running out my nephew and forcing me to play the only card I had to make
sure he didn't get his career ended moves the scale down just a bit more
than you losing your chance at a shot at the National Title... But for
what it is? We're even.

[Langseth takes a moment to step back, looking over at Dane.]

ML: You know, it's odd, but Destiny and me, we're alike. I'm here
trying... failing, maybe, but trying to get back to those heights I
reached ten years ago. And Destiny? He's here in AWA, trying to do the
same thing...

[Mark gets on a sly grin.]

ML: Trying to piece his life back together from the shambles he put
himself in... Trying to reclaim the respect he lost many times over for
his actions in AND out of the ring. I won't comment about what he did to
his personal life, but what he did to himself to try to get ahead in
this business was disgusting and cheap. So for him, it's a long road too
to get back to what he once was...

[Langseth looks back to Dane.]

ML: But, Dane, for me? I know what I have to do to get back. I know my
next step and in two weeks? 

[Langseth looks back to the camera.]

ML: I'm going to do what I MUST do in order to take that first step back
to glory.

[As Langseth looks on, determined, the shot cuts out to commercial.

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.  Sycho...no, that name doesn't fit with
the figure in front of us. Joe Petrow stands in front of an AWA
backdrop, wearing a dark grey Armani suit and styled, short,
salt-and-pepper hair, cutting a figure more like a Fortune 500 executive
than a wrestler with a tenuous grip on reality. He seems every bit in
control of himself as he addresses the camera:]

JP: I'd be lying if I said that Calisto Dufresne becoming the first and
only man to ever eliminate me from a battle royal or Rumble in the 17
years I've been in this sport didn't stick in my craw a little.  But
winning that match was not my main objective.  My objective was to
gather information on the AWA.  Nobody paid any attention to El Super
Gecko, so I got a good look at everyone.  I saw every match.  I even got
to test close to half the roster personally. And I discovered that the
AWA is truly a league of parity.  Everybody here can become the man. 
All they have to do is step up their game, and find that little
something extra.

[Petrow runs his fingers through his hair, briefly allowing his age to
show.]

JP: I'm closer to 50 now than 30, and I'm still feeling every one of
those damned punches and clotheslines that I took.  There comes a time
in life that being the man on top of the mountain isn't so interesting
anyone.  What's more interesting, is being the man that makes the winds
of change blow around on that mountain.  So when my night was over, I
found who I needed to talk to.  Filled out some paperwork.  Paid some
money.  [Petrow walks towards the camera, while reaching into his back
pocket]  And today, I received this:

[Petrow holds a card up to the camera. It takes a second to focus on the
image of Petrow's picture, and the words:

AWA Official Manager's License]

JP: So, maybe I'll be seeing you around.

[Petrow flashes a brief smile to the camera before walking out of the
shot.  Fade back to ringside where Gordon Myers' jaw is hanging low.]

GM:  Tell me I did not just see that.

BW:  You didn't.

GM:  Really?  Because I think I just saw one of the most controversial
superstars in wrestling history, Joe Petrow, showing off an official AWA
Manager's License!

BW:  Oh, that?  Yeah, that happened.

GM:  Wow.  Just... wow.  This place gets crazier and crazier all the
time.

BW:  Ooh, ooh - and now?  It just got a little bit... SYCHO!

[Bucky cackles at the pun.]

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

[Fade up to the ring, Melissa Cannon has the mic, ready to announce the
next match.]

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit.  Already in the ring at this time... hailing from Oklahoma
City, Oklahoma and weighing in at 235 pounds... Gary Whitebread!

[Hometown pop for Whitebread as he mounts the corner and raises both
arms in the air.]

MC:  And his opponent...

["The Washington Post" by John Philip Sousa, as performed by the
United States Marine Band, starts to play over the arena speakers. The
crowd cheers, more a Pavlovian response to the patriotic march than
anything else, since they have no idea who is coming out next. A hush
falls upon the Abe Lemons Arena as the seven-foot tall MAMMOTH
Mizusawa emerges from the entranceway, a big smile on his face and
waving an American flag on a pole. He is dressed to compete in a black
singlet, with the Japanese flag emblazoned on the outside of the right
thigh and the flag of the United States of America on the outside of
the left thigh, black knee pads and black boots. Mizusawa is soon
joined by the smiling, bespectacled Louis Matsui, who has ditched his
usual suit for a white-and-blue Team USA tracksuit. He points to the
flag which Mizusawa is enthusiastically waving, then turns around and
points with his thumbs to the American flag on the back of his
tracksuit jacket. Matsui turns around again and starts leading his
charge towards the ring.]

BW: Gordo... Gordo... Are you seeing what I'm seeing?

GM: ...

BW: Gordo, this is the time for you to make one of your sarcastic
remarks... Gordo?

[As they make their way down the aisle, MAMMOTH Mizusawa continues to
wave the American flag, while chanting, "U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A!" Matsui
points out to the camera the words printed in black on the front of
his tracksuit jacket: "MATSUI," a large "4" beneath it and "TEAM USA"
beneath that.]

MC:  Hailing from Los Angeles, California, by way of Tokyo, Japan,
weighing in at 420 pounds and being accompanied to the ring by LOUIS
MATSUI,

He is MAMMOTH... MIZUSAWA!

[Reaching the ringside area, MAMMOTH Mizusawa grabs the top rope and
pulls himself onto the ring apron, then secures the flag pole to a
corner. He steps over the top rope and 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:  There's the bell and Gary Whitebread comes out of his corner to
meet MAMMOTH Mizusawa... Who holds out his hand for a handshake?

BW: Say what you will about the giant, Gordo, but he has always shown
great sportsman-like conduct and the spirit of fair competition.

GM: Has Louis Matsui been supplying you with a script again, Bucky?

[Whitebread looks to the fans, unsure what to do. The crowd expresses
their disapproval. Whitebread shakes Mizusawa's hand tentatively, then
shrugs and decides to throw a sucker punch with his other hand...
Which the giant sees coming and catches with his other hand. He shakes
his head and squeezes Whitebread's fist, causing the Oklahoma native
to yell out in pain. Mizusawa lets go and lets out a loud, throaty
laugh.]

GM: Is... Is Mizusawa laughing, Bucky?

BW: I have no idea, Gordo. I'm not sure if I like this new side of the
giant.

GM: Whitebread is shaking out his fist... But turns around and lunges
towards Mizusawa... And catches a massive knee to the breadbasket. And
now the seven-footer is laying into him with forearm strikes... And a
giant headbutt takes the Oklahoman down!

BW: He's looking to drop that massive elbow...

GM: No! Whitebread managed to roll out of the way-

BW: Possibly saving his life, Gordo.

[Whitebread scrambles to his feet, while the giant manages to roll
over and push himself up onto his knees. Whitebread hits the ropes and
lands a running boot to Mizusawa's face on the rebound. The giant
sways about slightly, but manages to stay up. Whitebread bounces off
the ropes again and drops the point of his elbow on Mizusawa's
forehead. He then wraps his arms around Mizusawa's neck in a front
facelock.]

GM: The giant is on his knees and Whitebread looks like he's going for
the DDT here.

BW: He's trying, Gordo, but Mizusawa's blocking it...

GM: Mizusawa's fighting it... And Mizusawa breaks free!

BW: And Mizusawa reaches up and wraps both his hands around
Whitebread's throat! You know what's coming, Gordo!

GM: The referee is warning the giant to release the choke... But the
giant's back on his feet... The giant lifts...

BW: TUSK CRUSHER! TUSK CRUSHER!

GM: Mizusawa plants the young man from Oklahoma with that massive
two-handed chokeslam... Pin!

1...

2...

3...

"DING!  DING!  DING!"


MC:  Here is your winner... MAMMOTH MIZUUUUSAAAWAAA!

[The crowd jeers the announcement as "The Washington Post" march
starts playing again. Louis Matsui climbs into the ring, applauding
Mizusawa and, together with the referee, raises Mizusawa's hand in
victory. Both Matsui and Mizusawa look down on Whitebread's fallen
figure, but only for a brief moment as Matsui then points Mizusawa to
the flag in the corner. The seven-footer goes over to it, picks the
flag pole and begins to wave the flag some more. Matsui waves Mizusawa
over as he exits the ring and leads the way to the announce position.
Gordon Myers rises uncertainly, mic in hand.]

GM: Louis Matsui...

LM: How are you doing, Gordon? Bucky.

BW: ...

LM: Firstly, I must correct you. That move that won Mizusawa the match
tonight? That's no Tusk Crusher. No, that, Bucky, Gordon, is what I am
calling the La Brea Driver.

GM: That... Is noted... It's been quite a night, Louis, so I'm going
to cut to the chase and ask, what is up with the flag-waving?

LM: You see, Gordon, last month, during that brutal match between
MAMMOTH Mizusawa and Juan Vasquez...

[MASSIVE FACE POP!]

LM: During that match, I had an epiphany!

GM: You took a hit in the head with a ringbell off the top rope-

LM: I saw the light! I came to the realization that Juan Vasquez is a
small man of dubious character. In many ways, Vasquez is just like the
very people he claims to stand against, except maybe more foolish. And
we are done with him. When my client put him through the wall, it was
like the load had been dropped and buried. You know what he tried to
do to me; the man just cannot be trusted. And I am glad he did not win
the Memorial Day Rumble. I am glad that he has lost what might have
been his only shot at the National title.

GM: Speaking of the Rumble, your client gave his all in that match,
but he, too, came up short.

LM: And that moment, Gordon, as Mizusawa was assisted to the back by
AWA officials, all but spent, that moment was a turning point in the
career of one MAMMOTH Mizusawa. As I watched the fans applauding his
valiant effort and heard them chant, "U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A!"

[At that, Mizusawa begins to echo the chant in the background.]

LM: Yes, at that moment, I knew for sure that we had made the right
choice, that we had found what was TRULY worth fighting for-

GM: With all due respect, Louis, I saw no such thing. I heard no such
chant-

LM: That's because you're not listening hard enough. Dig deep, Gordon.
Dig deep and you will soon realize that the very rhythm that beats in
the heart of MAMMOTH Mizusawa beats in the hearts of Americans all
over this great land we call home. 

You see, Gordon, while we were slightly disappointed with the outcome of
Memorial Day Mayhem, especially for my client, we have chosen to take it
in our stride, and my client does have a very big stride, and see it as
the beginning of bigger, better things for MAMMOTH Mizusawa. Memorial
Day marks the start of our road to the Fourth of July, where my client
and I will be
proud to celebrate our country's Independence Day with Americans
everywhere. 

Because you see, Gordon, this isn't just the American Wrestling
Alliance's summer tour. This is also MAMMOTH Mizusawa's All-American
Tour and, on behalf of my client and the Matsui Corporation, I would
like to invite all of you to come on board the MAMMOTH Machine as we
make our way across America, celebrating the American way and honoring
her glory... From sea to shining sea, Gordon. From sea to shining sea!
Thank you, Oklahoma! Thank you, America! Thank you very much!

[Despite the confused reaction from the crowd, MAMMOTH Mizusawa is
waving the American flag wildly, while yelling, "U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A!"
Louis Matsui waves to the crowd, before leading the big man to the
back.]

GM:  I'm.. what in the world is going on here tonight, Bucky?

BW:  I'm just as confused as you are on this one.

GM:  Fans, Louis Matsui is up to something... you can believe that for
sure.

["You Can't Judge A Book By The Cover" by Hank Williams Jr. starts up to
a large reaction from the Oklahoma crowd.  A fired-up Vernon Riley comes
breaking through the entrance curtain, dressed in street clothes.  He
wears a pair of blue jeans and cowboy boots along with an AWA Memorial
Day Mayhem t-shirt.  Riley is slapping hands alongside the aisle as he
approaches.]

GM:  Vernon Riley is on his way out here.  I don't think we were
expecting Big Vern out here though, Bucky.

BW:  I was personally hoping we'd never see him again.

GM:  That's not very nice.

[Riley gets about ten feet from the announce team...

...when a masked man comes sprinting from the locker room, blindsiding
Riley with a running forearm smash to the back of the head!]

GM:  Ohhh!  Where in the world did he come from?!

[The crowd jeers as the masked man lays in the boots, kicking and
stomping the head and neck of the big man.]

GM:  Riley has been Pearl Harbored out here by- ohh!  Punt kick to the
ear of the Working Man!

[The masked man drops to his knees, grabbing Riley by the hair and
laying in punches to the skull.]

GM:  We may need to get some help out here for Vernon Ril- oh no.

[The crowd begins to jeer as the "Prince Of Darkness" Anton Layton, clad
in a black robe with a crescent moon stitched on the back drags himself
down the aisle, head bowed as he approaches.  With a pointed hand, the
masked man drags Riley up by the hair, throwing him under the ropes as
Layton approaches the announce table.]

GM:  Anton Layton, what is the meaning of-

AL:  SIIIIILENCE, GORDON MYERS!!

[Layton snatches the mic away.]

AL:  Again!  Again!

[The masked man, now inside the ring, nods as he delivers a hard kick to
the ribcage of the big man.]

AL:  Look at him, Gordon Myers.  Look at my servant!

GM:  Servant?  What in the world are you-

AL:  He was sent to me, Gahhhdahn.  He was sent to me!  I told my Master
that I needed his succor and he obliged.  He sent me this warrior forged
from the blood of our rivals and built for destruction! 

GM:  Who is this man?

[Inside the ring, the masked man is down on his knees, openly strangling
Riley with both hands.]

AL:  Under my dominion, he ceases to have a name, Gaaahdahhn.  He ceases
to be an individual of the flesh and becomes a warrior of the darkness. 
The mask cloaks him from the light of day just as my welcoming arms do. 
And now?  Now, Vernon Riley will feel the hand of my Master end his days
walking amongst us!

[Looking up into the ring, Layton drags a taped thumb across his throat.
 The masked man pulls Riley off the mat, throwing him into the ropes...

...but Riley rampages off the ropes, flooring the masked man with a
clothesline!]

GM:  It appears you are mistaken, Anton Layton!

AL:  Do not dare to question my proclamations, Myers.  It has been said
and so it shall be- ACK!

[The Prince Of Darkness' words are interrupted by a right hand from
Riley knocking him down to the floor.  The crowd roars as Riley kneels
down, pulling Layton up by the thinning hair and delivers haymaker after
haymaker to the skull.]

GM:  Riley's all over him!  Get him, Vernon!

BW:  You're the most biased announcer I've ever met.

GM:  No mirrors in your house?

[Riley continues to pound away but misses the recovering masked man who
rolls under the ropes.]

GM:  Here comes that masked man!  Look out, Vern!

[But a falling double axehandle to the back of the skull knocks Riley
down to the floor.  A few more stomps follow and when Layton gets back
to his feet, he shrugs off his robe, joining the masked man in a
beatdown on Riley.]

GM:  They fire him back into the ring... look out here...

[The masked man rolls back in as Layton climbs up on the apron, shouting
instructions.]

GM:  Riley's back to his feet, shoved back to the corner...

[With Riley cornered, the masked man throws haymakers at him as Layton
shouts "AGAIN!  AGAIN!" at him...

...but suddenly, Riley overpowers the smaller man, spinning him around
in the corner.  He quickly hooks a side headlock, charging out of the
corner, leaping into the air to smash the masked man's face into the
canvas.

His now exposed face as the mask came off in mid-bulldog.]

GM:  THE MASK IS OFF!!  THE MASK IS OFF!!

[Riley rolls to his feet, mask in hand.  He pretends to wipe his
backside with it before throwing it at Layton who angrily throws it down
to the mat, leaping off the apron before Riley can get to him.]

GM:  Who is it, Bucky?

BW:  He looks familiar but-

[With Layton retreating up the aisle, Riley nudges the formerly masked
man over onto his back with his cowboy boot to reveal...]

GM:  HIM?!

[The camera zooms in a little closer to show the world his identity.]

GM:  It's... the Disco Machine, Gino Moretti!

BW:  We haven't seen that guy in months!

GM:  We certainly haven't.  I believe he suffered an injury and to be
honest, I thought he was no longer with the company but apparently he's
just been under this mask doing the bidding of Anton Layton for several
weeks!

[Riley looks down at Moretti, hands on his hips, with a puzzled
expression on his face.]

GM:  Vernon Riley looks just as confused as we do, Bucky.

BW:  I don't think that's what he was expecting at all.

GM:  The mask comes off... and it's Gino Moretti, the Disco Machine...
that's a bizarre turn of events if you ask me, fans.  But Vernon Riley
has solved the mystery - no more masked men for him - and... wait a
second, it looks like Vernon is on his way over here to us...

[The camera cuts to ringside where an angry Riley storms over to the
announce table, breathing heavily as he grabs a microphone away from
Bucky.]

VR: LAAAAYTOOOON!

[Riley, still breathing hard partially from the fight and partially from
anger, points toward the entrance area.]

VR: Is this the best you got?  Is this guy the best you can do now? 
Have you gotten so weak that the only guy whose mind you can warp is
some local nobody who ain't even been in the ring in ages?

[The Working Man spits on the floor.]

VR: If you can't do no better than this, Layton, you're wastin' my time.
 

Face it, brother, you ain't got it anymore.  You'd be better off to
forget all this blabbing about your master and our destiny and head back
to Florida or wherever you came here from, because right now our
destiny's gonna involve me puttin' my foot so far up your butt that it
comes outta your mouth!

He's wastin' my time, Gawdahn.  Wastin' my time.

[Riley tosses the mic back at Bucky and storms away from the table.]

GM:  Fans, we'll be right back!

[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 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.]

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 alongside Kevin Slater (who is wearing his Stetson), Shane
Taylor, and the trashy-yet-lovely Kandi Kane.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans... and at this time, as you can see, we have
been joined at ringside by Kandi Kane, Shane Taylor, and Kevin Slater. 
Mr. Slater, you had quite the night at Memorial Day Mayhem.

[No response from Slater who looks away.]

GM:  Mr. Slater?

[Still nothing for a moment before he snaps his head towards the mic.]

KS:  Gordon, I know you're a man of great pride and dignity.  You're
someone who strives to be the best at what you do.  And I know you dream
of someday being as good of an announcer as my good friend, Bucky, here.

[Bucky beams.]

KS:  So, I'll give you one more chance to do that right.

GM:  I'm not sure I understand.

KS:  The name, Gordo.  The name.

GM:  Are you trying to get me to-

KS:  Taylor said it himself!  He told me that if I wanted his name, I
needed to come and get it, right?  Well, at Memorial Day Mayhem, I came
and got it!  When I was done with Taylor and Maverick, they were staring
at the lights and I was the winner!

SST:  We were the winners... WE.

[Slater waves him off.]

KS:  Right, of course.  We were the winners, Gordon.  Were we not?

GM:  Yes, yes you were.

KS:  And that makes me...

[Slater pauses and uses his best Michael Buffer voice... or is it
Bruce?]

KS:  THE!  OUTLAW!  OF!  PROFESSIONAL WRESTLING!

[The Oklahoma crowd jeers.]

GM:  Surely you don't think Bobby Taylor is finished with you after the
way that match ended three weeks ago.

[Shane snatches the mic.]

SST:  When it came down to it, Gordo, my brother couldn't even man up
and do what he needed to do.  And we knew it, Gordo!  We knew all along
he wouldn't be able to do it.  For all his talk about being the big, bad
Outlaw who has done so many horrible things, when the moment arrived, he
couldn't do it.

But WE... could.

[Taylor smirks as Kandi rubs his shoulders.]

KS:  That's right.  And if you think Taylor really wants another piece
of the Outlaw... he knows where to find me, Gordon.

[Myers shakes his head as he turns to Shane Taylor.]

GM:  Shane, Lady Luck has drawn your name for tonight but she may not be
on your side because you're facing Jack Snyder!

[Taylor shakes his head, slipping an arm around Kandi's waist.]

SST:  Lady Luck may not be on my side but she'd better keep her dirty
hands off me or Kandi's gonna claw the whore's eyes out, brother.

[Kandi does clawing motions with her long fingernails towards the
camera.]

SST:  Everybody wants to talk about how tough Jack Snyder is.  He's
supposed to be a real tough guy, you know?  But Shane Taylor ain't seen
jack squat from Jack Snyder.  

The only thing I've seen from Snyder is how to get dropped on your head
by Grant Stone...

[Slater interrupts.]

KS:  An old friend by the way.

[And ducks back out as a grinning Shane continues.]

SST:  But I'm hot, Gordo.  I'm on a hot streak.  I beat the great Bobby
Taylor and some surefire Hall of Famer in Maverick.  I'm red hot and
Jack Snyder just can't handle this.

In fact... if he gets too close?

[Taylor produces a Zippo out of his pocket, flicking the top open and
lighting it.]

SST:  He just might get burned.

[And with a cackle from Kevin Slater, he heads towards the ring as Kandi
and Shane trail behind him - Kandi pausing to run a hand down the front
of Gordon Myers' jacket.]

GM:  Let's go up to the ring.

[Cut to the ring where Melissa is standing as Slater steps through the
ropes.]

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit.  Introducing first... hailing from Tulsa, Oklahoma... Danny
Trasker!

[Young Trasker raises an arm to a hometown cheer...

...and gets run over by a rampaging Slater clothesline.]

GM:  Oh, come on!

[Slater smirks at the jeering crowd, pausing to sit on the middle rope
to help Melissa out of the ring.  As he stands up, he pauses to shout at
a particularly vocal woman in the front row.]

"Who let the dogs out?!"

[Slater cackles, pointing at the young lady as the fans jeer.]

GM:  Such a witty guy.  Timely too.

BW:  Don't be jealous that he gets to hang out with Kandi Kane.  I saw
the way you were looking at her.

GM:  I don't think so.

BW:  It's okay, Gordo.  You're married, not dead.  Although one night
with Kandi might put you in the ground, daddy.

GM:  Let's change this subject.

[Slater spins away from the ropes...

...and gets caught with a haymaker from a rising Trasker!  Big cheer!]

GM:  Trasker caught him!

[A few more big right hands puts Slater against the ropes where Trasker
fires him across...

...and sends him sailing with a backdrop!]

GM:  HIIIIIIIIIGH BACK BODYDROP!

[At this point, Shane Taylor leaps up on the apron...

...and catches a running dropkick that sends Taylor sailing off the
apron to the floor much to the cheers of the crowd, especially the young
blonde who had been yelled at moments ago.  Kandi Kane casts a mean look
in her direction as she kneels down next to her fallen Shane.]

GM:  Danny Trasker takes out everyone!  And listen to these hometown
fans going wild!

[Trasker is pumped, running back and forth throwing his arms in the air
as he waits for Slater to get up off the mat.  As the former two-time
World Champion reaches his feet, Trasker moves in on him...

...and gets his eyes raked promptly.]

GM:  Ohh!  Cheapshot by Slater!

[A boot to the gut follows up, doubling up Trasker as Slater tugs him
into a front facelock.]

BW:  Here it is!

[Slater quickly hoists Trasker off the mat, SPIKING him skullfirst into
the canvas with a lifting DDT.]

BW:  CATTLEBUSTER!  THE OUTLAW DRILLS IT!!

GM:  He's NOT the... oh, never mind.

[Slater arrogantly rolls back onto the downed Trasker, resting his
elbows on the midsection.]

GM:  One.  Two.  And three.


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


[Slater pops up to his feet to jeers from the crowd.]

MC:  Here is your winner... 

KEVVVVVVINNNN SLAAAAAATER!

[Slater orders the referee to lift his hand while he casts a mean stare
in the direction of Melissa Cannon.  Apparently, he decides not to
bother though, simply rolling under the ropes to the floor where Shane
Taylor is trying to shake the cobwebs...

...and again, the young blonde is screaming at Slater and Taylor.  Kandi
Kane has a "who the hell is this?" expression on her face as she helps
her man away from ringside.]

GM:  Another victory for Kevin Slater who is certainly on a roll but you
just have to wonder what will happen when Bobby Taylor gets his hands on
him again.

BW:  The same thing that happened last time.  Lights out.  Slater wins.

GM:  Someday, we'll find out about that together.  Fans, we heard from
Shane Taylor about the Lady Luck Challenge moments ago.  Now, let's go
backstage where Jason Dane is trying to get some words from his opponent
in that match, Jack Snyder!

[We cut to the backstage area and Jason Dane, who is standing with his
back half-turned to us, knocking on one of the locker room doors, like
so:

*KNOCK*
*KNOCK*
*KNOCK*

There is no answer.  After a short pause he turns, holds his microphone
to his lips and address the camera.]

JD:  Hello, once again, AWA wrestling fans.  I'm here just outside the
dressing room of "Dying Breed" Jack Snyder, hoping to get his comments
on both his Lady Luck challenge match tonight against Shane Taylor and
the attack he received at Memorial Day Mayhem at the hands of Grant
Stone.  

*KNOCK* 
*KNOCK*
*KNOCK*

[Another brief pause, slightly embarrassed.]

JD:  I've been knocking, but there's been no answer.  Perhaps Jack has
reverted back to his silent ways.  I'll give it one more try...

[But before his knuckles meet the door it flings wide open - the
intrepid, husky figure of Jack Snyder standing firmly in its arch. 
Fastened with white medical tape and ace bandages around the right side
of his neck and upper shoulder is a big bag of ice.  He wears his
wrestling gear: plain black trunks and boots with his fingers taped up. 
No padding.  His expression is stern as ever.  Dane gets a word in.]

JD:  Hi Jack, thanks for coming out and giving this interview.

[Dane holds the mic out to Snyder, hoping for some pleasantries. 
Uncomfortable silence.]

JD:  If you don't mind, I'm here for your thoughts on a couple of
issues.  At Me-

JS:  Ain't here to blather on 'bout particulars.  Here to fight.

JD:  Yes, b-

JS:  Still, I'll tell ya what ya want to hear.  

[Snyder spits out some funky looking tobacco juice and adjusts the big
bag of ice on his shoulder.]

JS:  You wanna know my thoughts? 

I think tonight's gonna be just like every other night of my career.  I
think I'm gonna go out there and fight like a dog.  A dirty dog.  I
think I'm gonna get on Shane Taylor from the moment that bell rings and
never let up.  I think I'll slam his face into the turnbuckles, the
canvas, the concrete floor, and any other solid object I lay my eyes on.
 I think I'm gonna go out there and teach Bobby's little bro a lesson in
good old-fashioned beat-downs. 

And I _know_ he'll never forget it.

JD:  What kind of effe-

JS [interruping, but not aggressively.. with an intense calm]:  Ain't
finished tellin' you my thoughts Dane.  That's what ya wanted to hear,
wasn't it?

JD:  I... yes.

JS:  Most importantly, I think tonight's the night I get back on track. 
The track I was derailed from at Memorial Day Mayhem.  I said from the
very first moment I stepped foot in the AWA that I was here for one
thing... the National Title.  I was on a roll in that Rumble.  I was
bustin' skulls and launching them over the top rope.  I was on my way to
earning that shot when I was so rudely interrupted.

Well, tonight, no matter who interrupts, it won't matter.  I'm gonna win
this Lady Luck Challenge match.  Then I'm gonna win four more of 'em in
a row and claim my shot that way.  It's only a matter of time.

JD:  Speaking of Memorial Day Mayhem, you've yet to address the arrival
of your greatest nemesis, Grant Stone.  He's the one who destroyed your
momentum in the big Rumble and eventually eliminated you after executing
his deadly finishing move the Etched in Stone.  The rumor is floating
around backstage that your neck and shoulder injury is more severe than
was indicated on the injury report, and that maybe you shouldn't even be
competing tonight.

[Without hesitation and with great strength, Snyder rips the ice bag and
all its bandaging from off his right shoulder, then throws it to the
ground in the hallway, ice flying everywhere!  He pounds his pectoral
with his left hand and rolls his neck and shoulder, showing it's
mobility.]

JS:  My shoulder's fine, Dane.  Fine.

JD:  Then wh-

JS:  And this interview is over.

[Another uncomfortable pause.  Finally...]

JD:  Well there you have it folks.  Back to the ring.

[As Dane walks away, his back turned to Snyder, the "Dying Breed" grabs
the injured side of his neck and grimaces, sharply sucking air through
his teeth and shaking his head in concern as we fade back to ringside.]

GM:  I think Jason might have been on to something there, Bucky.  What
if Jack Snyder is hurt worse than he's letting on?

BW:  Than it's going to be an easier night for Shane Taylor than it was
at Memorial Day Mayhem, daddy.

GM:  When you're in the ring with Jack Snyder, there's no such thing as
an easy night.

BW:  Tell that to Grant Stone.

GM:  Let's go up to Meliss-

[A large figure emerges from the back. His face stubbled.. his eyes
worn.  It is none other than The Athens Georgia Madman.. the former
National Champion..  Ron Houston. Houston's face hides behind several
days worth of growth.. his buzzed head matching the length.]

GM: Ladies and gentlemen.. Ron Houston is in the building!

BW: I'm surprised BVB hasn't smacked him back to Athens yet, Gordo! 

GM: Houston does _not_ look happy, Bucky. 

BW: Having your best friend retired by your worst enemy'll do that to a
man, Gordon. 

[Houston ignores the traditional cheers that accompany his entrance and
quickly marches over to Gordon and Bucky.. his eyes narrowed.. his fists
clenched.]

GM: Ron, it's a ple--

[Houston's having none of it tonight.]

RH: Get me Brian Von Braun.

[Houston points at the ground in front of him.]

RH: Get him out here. In front of me.. face to face.

Right.

_NOW_!

[POP!]

GM: Ron.. we understand you're upset. But truth be told, we don't even
know if Von Braun is here to--

[Our very ticked off Southerner has no patience.. not tonight.]

RH: Oh.. he's here, Gordon. He's right back there.. 'tween those
curtains. Most certainly runnin' his jaw 'bout what he did ta Magnum.
What he did ta _me_. And 'fore tonight's out.. 

[Jabs a finger in his own chest.. gritting his teeth.]

RH: .. he's answerin' fer what he did.

Get Von Braun.. get him out here.. Right. This. Second. 

[Houston folds his arms across his "Southern Comfort" t-shirt as he
stands there waiting.. 

.. 5 seconds pass.. nothing. 

.. Another 5.. nothing.

Houston's face reddens in salty frustration.]

RH:  Fine. 

Ya wanna do it the hard way, kid? 

Have at it.

[Houston storms off camera towards the back. Gordon and Bucky left to
wonder what exactly Houston's intentions are.]

GM: I don't think we've seen the last of Ron Houston tonight, Bucky.

BW: I got a feeling you're right!

GM: We'll be right back, fans!

...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...

Cut back to ringside where Gordon Myers and Bucky Wilde have been joined
by Scola and Mafu - the Samoan Hit Squad - and their manager, Colonel
James J. Dallas.]

GM: We're back, ladies and gentlemen, and we're joined by Colonel James
J. Dallas and the Samoan Hit Squad, who tonight are scheduled to face-

[Dallas grabs the mic from Gordon Myers.]

JJD: It doesn't matter who we're scheduled to face, Gordon Myers, 'cause
my Samoans'll beat any team you throw at 'em. You saw how Scola did in
the Rumble and you saw how long Mafu managed to stay in the ring before
he was eliminated. These two boys are a threat to every team in the AWA
and you know it. Give 'em the Southern Syndicate, give 'em MAMMOTH
Mizusawa, or give 'em the AWA Tag Team Champions, the Bishop Boys. It
doesn't matter who their opponents are, Gordon. These two boys are the
uncrowned champions, the power and the glory, the-
 
[The arena suddenly goes black and the howl of a lone wolf echoes out
through the darkness before the lights come back on to find Dallas now
standing behind the imposing figure of the Samoan Mafu.]

GM: That's the second time that you've been interrupted by the howl of a
wolf, James Dallas. Could it be that the former manager of your Samoan
Hit Squad-

JJD (stepping back to the front): Don't you say his name, Gordon Myers.
Don't you talk about that man. My Samoans have sent him runnin' from the
AWA and there ain't no way that-

[Metallica's "Of Wolf and Man" begins to blast out over the PA and
Dallas once again ducks behind his man, gesturing for the Samoans to get
into the ring as their opponents are introduced.]

MC:  The following match is a tag team match scheduled for one fall with
a fifteen minute time limit.  Introducing first, hailing from Oklahoma
City... Kevin Watson and Don Jensen!

[The two wimpies wave to the crowd...]

MC:  And their opponents...

[Mafu and Scola climb up on the apron, ducking through the ropes as
James J. Dallas stands at ringside, looking frantically over his
shoulder back and forth.]

MC:  From the Isle of Samoa... accompanied to the ring by James J.
Dallas...

MAFU... SCOLA...

THE SAMOAN HIT SQUAD!

[The referee calls for the bell as Watson and Jensen charge across the
ring, slamming forearms down across the massive backs of both of the
Samoans.]

GM:  An interesting strategy.

BW:  I don't think anyone's tried it yet at least.

GM:  Certainly not.

[Mafu and Scola both slowly turn around, facing their attackers...

...and in unison lash out with big kicks to the guts, doubling them up. 
Mafu quickly grabs Watson by the head, delivering a crushing headbutt to
the back of the skull as Scola throws Jensen through the ropes to the
floor with ease, stepping back out to the apron.]

GM:  Scola's going after Don Jensen while Kevin Watson is all alone in
there with Mafu.

BW:  Not a good place to be.

GM:  For who?  

BW:  Either of them.  I'd prefer to be as far away from the Samoans as
possible.  Getting in range of them is a dangerous proposition.  Just
ask Bailey Fitzgerald.

GM:  Young Bailey Fitzgerald was, of course, seriously injured at the
hands of these Samoans during the Memorial Day Rumble.  I understand he
is suffering from internal injuries and there is no timetable for his
return to the ring.

[Mafu delivers a pair of hard kicks to the ribs of Watson, sending him
rolling out to the center of the ring.  He drags Watson up by the hair,
flnging him into the closest set of ropes and taking him off his feet
with a double handed chop across the chest, toppling the young man. 
Mafu turns to the camera, barking at it as he moves towards the corner.]

GM:  This guy isn't playing a full deck, Bucky.

BW:  Mafu's sanity would certainly be up for debate.

[Out on the floor, Scola has pulled Jensen up to his feet, hoisting him
in a military press...

...and throwing him through the ropes back into the ring.]

GM:  Jensen hits the mat hard but look at the power of Scola!

[Scola rolls back into the ring, shoving aside a protesting referee. 
Mafu drags Watson up, throwing him to the ropes again.]

GM:  Watson off the ropes...

[Mafu ducks down, tossing Watson backwards with a backdrop...

...into the waiting arms of the powerful Scola who holds him high before
driving him down with a thunderous powerbomb!]

GM:  OHHHHH!  

BW:  They could end it right here if they want to.

GM:  But I'm sure they don't.  These Samoans like to make people hurt.

[A barking Mafu pulls Jensen to his feet, wrapping his leg between
Jensen's and grabbing him by the back of the hair...

...and slamming him facefirst into the mat!]

GM:  OHHHHH!  FACE FIRST RUSSIAN LEGSWEEP!!

[With Jensen facedown on the mat, Mafu grabs two hands full of his hair
and rakes his face back and forth across the canvas.]

GM:  Come on, referee!  Get in there!

[Scola scales the ropes while his partner argues with the referee...
well, argues in that he barks wildly at the referee's protests.  Outside
the ring, James J. Dallas is looking quite smug at his team's efforts.]

GM:  Here it comes, fans...

[Mafu starts climbing the same ropes that his partner did, reaching the
peak where Scola is standing.  Scola quickly hooks on a suplex, hoisting
Mafu horizontal to the mat...

...and letting him go, sending him smashing down across the chest of the
prone Jensen!]

GM:  SUPER SAMOAN SPLASH!!  

BW:  Bailey Fitzgerald goes into a twitch just seeing it.

GM:  Very funny, Bucky.  This one is academic from here.  One.  Two. 
Three.

[Mafu rises off their downed victim as the bell rings.  James J. Dallas
quickly enters the ring, raising the arms of Scola and Mafu as the crowd
jeers.]

GM:  Another victory for the Samoan Hit Squad - and you would have to
think these two men are quickly climbing the tag team rankings here in
the AWA, Bucky.

BW: Since they dumped that deadweight Gregorson, they've looked simply
unstoppable if you ask me, Gordo.

GM:  There's a lot of teams in the AWA who'll be looking to stop them
though.  Teams like the Rockstar Express... the War Pigs... the- hey,
wait a second, Corey Lawson is here!

[The camera pans over to Lawson, dressed out in black leg-length tights
and white bandannas around his knees, wrists, and black boots.]

CL: I'm sorry to interrupt, but there's just somethin' to this that
ain't sittin' too good with me.  You see, my partner, Bailey Fitzgerald.
 He's hurt.  He's hurt real bad, and it's because of you two savages.

[Lawson has clearly got the attention of the Samoans, who are staring
from the ring at him.]

CL: You've busted me up, and that's great.  You can bust me up all you
want, I'm an old dog but I can take a beatin'.  But Bailey Fitzgerald's
a kid, man.  He's a young man with a lot of potential, and he may never
wrestle again, and that just gets my blood boilin'.  Gordon... James
Watkins says any match we want, he ain't goin' to get in the way, right?
 We can have it?

GM: That's right, but...

CL: ... then let's hook 'em up.

[And with that, Lawson runs from behind the announce desk, sliding
head-first into the ring, and pounces on the nearest Samoan!]

GM:  What in the world?!

[Lawson has Mafu down on the mat in a hurry, smashing him in the skull
over and over with haymakers.  A surprised Scola quickly moves into
action, grabbing two hands full of Lawson's hair and yanking him off his
partner.]

GM:  Scola's got-

[But a back elbow to the gut finds the mark, breaking Scola's grip.  A
pair of right hands to the skull knock Scola back a step.  Lawson gets
the crowd going with a lightning-fast barrage of body blows, lefts and
rights tearing into the torso of the big man, sending him back into the
ropes.]

GM:  Corey Lawson's taking on BOTH Samoans on his own!

BW:  Is this an official match?

GM:  I don't know but- 

[Lawson grabs the powerhouse by the wrist, firing him across the ring
which sends him smashing into a rising Mafu, knocking Mafu down to the
mat again to a big cheer from the crowd.]

GM:  Down goes Mafu!

[A dazed Scola turns around...

...and gets rocked with a running dropkick that knocks him over the
ropes and down to the floor to a roar!]

GM:  LAWSON SENDS SCOLA OVER THE TOP!!

[With one Samoan out of the picture, he turns his attention to Mafu,
dragging him up by the hair and cracking him with a right hand to the
jaw.  Still holding the hair, Lawson pulls him into a side headlock,
swinging his arm around in the air.]

GM:  He's calling for a bulldog!

[Charging across the ring, Lawson leaps into the air...

...and gets DUMPED down on the back of his head and neck with a crushing
belly-to-back suplex!]

GM:  OHHHHH!

[An angry Mafu pushes up off the mat, hovering over the now-downed
Lawson and barking at him.]

GM:  Uh oh... Scola's getting back up as well...

BW:  Welcome to your worst nightmare, Corey Lawson!

GM:  Mafu's dragging him off the mat now...

[He hooks Lawson in a front facelock, hoisting him off the mat, and
dumping him gutfirst across the top rope!]

GM:  He hangs Corey Lawson out to dry!

[James J. Dallas is barking instructions to both of his men as Scola
climbs up on the apron, glaring down the length of it at Lawson who is
clinging to the ropes to stay on his feet...

...but not for long as Scola charges down the apron and DRILLS Lawson
with a big boot to the side of the head, snapping him around and down
off the apron to the floor!]

GM:  Good grief, Bucky!

BW:  A fierce kick delivered by Scola and Corey Lawson's wishing he'd
let sleeping Samoans lie right now, daddy!

GM:  Corey Lawson is down out here on the floor... right down on those
thin blue mats and... where is Mafu going?

[Climbing out to the apron, Mafu throws his head back and lets loose a
wild howl...

...and then takes a three step run down the apron, throwing himself off,
and down into a splash across the torso of Lawson!]

GM:  OHHHHHHH!

[Mafu stays crouched on top of Lawson with a "OOOF!  OOOF!  OOOF!" 
Scola drops down to the floor, standing over him as James J. Dallas
approaches.  When Mafu gets to his feet, Dallas delivers a pair of boots
to the ribs of Lawson as well and then delivers three words to seal the
fate of Lawson.]

"Do it again!"

[With a nod, Mafu hops up on the apron.  This time, Scola scrapes Lawson
off the floor.  He picks him up in a side backbreaker, bringing him down
across the knee, holding him there...

...until Mafu takes flight off the apron again, this time with a leaping
legdrop that smashes Lawson's head down into the floor!]

GM:  DECAPITATION ON THE FLOOR!!  HE NEARLY TOOK HIS HEAD OFF!!

[In unison, the Samoans rise and again have their hands raised by James
J. Dallas to the boos of the Oklahoma City fans.  Together, the trio
walks out of view to even more boos.]

GM:  What a violent, brutal assault we've just seen on Corey Lawson!

BW:  And I hope he gets a group rate at the hospital alongside his buddy
Fitzgerald 'cause he's gonna need an extended stay there too!

GM:  Give me a break, Bucky.  That's not even close to being funny.  But
we do need to get some medical aid out here for Corey Lawson.  He hasn't
moved since that big kick to the head on the apron.  He could have a
concussion... maybe some internal injuries off the splash... and who
knows what that legdrop off the apron might have done. 

[The camera cuts to the aisle where a team of AWA medicial officials led
by Dr. Bob Ponavitch are racing down the aisle.]

GM:  Fans, we need to give these men some room to work.  We'll be right
back!

[And we fade to black.

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

"Have you ever dreamed of fame?"

[Cut a little closer.]

"Of glory?"

[A little closer.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Two young students are grappling on the canvas.]

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

You want to wrestle!"

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

...and then fade back up to  the opening guitar riffs of ZZ Top's "Sharp
Dressed Man" as they come blaring through the loudspeakers inside Abe
Lemons Arena.  The boos come flying in as the crowd recognizes the song,
but somehow get even louder as "Ladykiller" Calisto Dufresne struts
through the entrance portal and the crowd gets a look at his attire. 
Dufresne is clad in a pair of blue jeans and a burgundy Adrian Peterson
Oklahoma Sooners jersey.  In his right hand is a duffel bag.  Dufresne
smiles broadly to the crowd and waves to his "throngs of adoring fans"
before heading towards the announcing duo, where Bucky Wilde stands
ready to greet him.]

BW: Calisto!  Welcome, welcome.  

CD: Thanks, Bucky!  I just want to say, before I get to my huge
announcement, how great it is to be here and see all of my fans from the
great University of Oklahoma!  _BOOMER SOONER!_

[Dufresne pumps his fist in the air, very proud of his college knowledge
as the crowd unleashes a very cheap heel pop.  Bucky then proceeds to
rain on his parade a bit.]

BW: Uhh, Calisto, we're actually at Oklahoma City University.

[Dufresne shrugs his shoulders with indifference.]

CD: Whatever, Bucky.  It's not like anybody here in Oklahoma is ever
going to actually GO to college anyway.

[Another cheap heel pop.]

BW: Um, right.  So, back to business.  After you easily dispatched of
Soup Bone Samson two weeks ago and nearly single-handedly won the
Rumble, rumors came flying out that you had a _huge_ announcement that
you wanted to share.  Is that true?

CD: Boy is it ever true, Bucky.  And since I am the greatest wrestler
this industry has ever seen and _you_ my friend, are the greatest
announcer this industry has ever seen...

[Dufresne pats Bucky on the back good-naturedly.]

CD: ...I figured that it'd only be fitting for you to be a part of this
historic, monumental moment.

[Bucky looks quite proud of himself as he stares at Gordon with an "I
told you so" look on his face.]

CD: But I digress.  At Memorial Day Mayhem, Calisto Dufresne cleaned up;
making short work of City Jack's lapdog Soup Bone Samson, then being
right there ready to win the Rumble in the name of the Southern
Syndicate before I was double-crossed by one of my fellow... associates.

[Dufresne stares hard into the camera, pleased with his choice of words.
 He slowly breaks out into a grin, however.]

CD: Also, I'm a part of the greatest tag team that this organization has
ever seen and only through trickery and deceit was I robbed of my AWA
National Tag Team championship.  Regardless of that minor hiccup, it has
become clear to anybody who has a brain - present company excluded, of
course...

[Dufresne waves his hand to the crowd, who lay down another cheap heel
pop.]

CD: ...that yours truly is the hottest rising star in the AWA and in the
industry as a whole!

[Dufresne pauses to take a bow as the boos continue.]

BW: Nobody can really deny that, daddy!  But since that's not exactly
breaking news to anybody, where does your announcement come in to play?

[Dufresne nods at Bucky's ability to get right to the point.]

CD: It's pretty simple, actually, and I'm a little upset that I hadn't
thought of it earlier.  As I listened to Todd Michaelson rant and rave
about Ben Waterson and how he's still under contract as a wrestler from
the PWR and how the AWA bought out PWR and all of its contracts came
with it, it became clear to me that I also was a part of this little
buyout.  And, as you all remember, Calisto Dufresne was the only Pacific
Champion that little organization ever knew.  _I_ helped carry that
place on these broad, statuesque shoulders.

[Dufresne flexes an arm, kissing his bicep while he's at it.]

CD: So, as the PWR Pacific Champion, AWA National Tag Team Champion,
Stampede Cup Champion, I want this announcement to be made the same way
any other champion would deserve.  Melissa Cannon, please come on over
here, sweetheart.

[The camera pans over to Cannon who looks shocked at being mentioned,
but slowly makes her way over to the announce booth, looking confused. 
Dufresne whispers something in her ear and the ring announcer looks at
him sideways before shaking her head no.  Dufresne, not used to hearing
no from a woman, doesn't look too happy, but quickly flashes his best
smile at her, whispering something else into her ear which elicits a
giggle from Cannon as she smiles and nods her head.  Dufresne looks
pleased with himself as Bucky looks on with anticipation.  Cannon takes
the microphone and wish her usual flourish, makes the announcement...]

MC: Here is your winner and STTTTIIIIIIIIIIIIIILLLLLLLLLLL AWA PACIFIC
CHAMPION... "LADYKILLER" CALISTO
DUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUFFFFFFFFRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSNNNNNEEEEEEEEE!!!

["Sharp Dressed Man" kicks in once again as the crowd looks around in
confusion before Dufresne opens up the duffel bag in his hand and
produces the PWR Pacific Championship belt that he never lost and raises
it above his head like he just won a 60-minute epic to win the title. 
The crowd boos as Bucky pumps his fist and Myers looks on incredulously.
 Dufresne once again takes over as the music dies down.]

CD: That's right, folks!  Since I never lost this title and AWA bought
out everything that was PWR, I have taken it upon myself to bring this
glorious piece of gold back to the AWA and yet again bring gold home to
the Southern Syndicate!  

[Dufresne straps the belt around his waist.]

CD: And since we all know that Calisto Dufresne is a fighting
champion... _your champion,_ I hereby proclaim an open challenge to
whomever wants to try and lift this off my very trim waist.  I will
defend this title the same way I did in the PWR - all comers are
welcome.  Just know that I never lost it in Los Angeles...

[A nod.  A wink.  A smile.]

CD: ...and I certainly don't plan on losing it in a dump like this one.

[The boos rain down once more as "Sharp Dressed Man" kicks in for the
third time and Dufresne heads back towards the entrance portal, smiling
at the gold that is back around his waist.]

BW:  Another piece of gold goes home with the Southern Syndicate, Gordo!

GM:  That's... that's not a recognized title in the AWA, Bucky!  The PWR
Pacific Championship is not recognized by the Championship Committee at
all!  Dufresne can't just walk around with a title belt and proclaim
himself a champion!

BW:  Don't look now 'cause I think he just did, daddy.

GM:  Unbelievable.  Melissa, take it away...

[Cut back to Melissa Cannon who is still beaming from her encounter with
Dufresne.]

MC:  The following contest is set for one fall with a ten minute time
limit.  Introducing first... from Parts Unknown, the Red Devil!

[A smallish masked man dressed all in red raises both arms and then gets
really mad when the crowd boos.]

MC:  And his opponent...

[The opening chords of an a slow-paced, Southern rock-style theme begins
to play over the PA.  It's forceful, full of 70's-era-sounding electric
guitars and piano, and incorporates "The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly"
theme into something more modern. 

Brent Maverick emerges from the back, and the fans cheer.  He wears
rust-red colored knee-length trunks with a small golden Arizona Sun logo
on the upper right-hand side.  His footwear of choice is reddish brown
leather 'western' style boots with an engraved eagle motif along the
front sides.  A reddish-brown leather vest and wrist tape completes his
attire. 
 
Maverick storms down the aisle towards the ring.  His eyes lock on the
ring and do not waver, as he bee-lines for ringside at a pretty good
clip.  The ring announcer does her duty:]

MC:  From Tucson, Arizona... weighing in at 240 pounds...

BRENNNNNNT MAAAAAVERICK!

[Maverick slides underneath the bottom rope, moving like a torpedo.  He
hops up, removes his vest, and begins pacing like the proverbial caged
animal.]

GM:  Look at Maverick, Bucky - fresh off that loss to Slater and Shane
Taylor at Memorial Day Mayhem and he looks ready for a fight.

BW:  You can be sure that's not how he wanted to start off his AWA
career.  Lost at the Stampede Cup.  Lost at Memorial Day Mayhem. 
Maverick's on a losing streak, daddy, and I love it!

GM:  You can be equally sure that Maverick certainly DOESN'T love it and
he's going to look to get back on track here tonight and in the weeks to
come.

[The bell rings and Maverick paces right across the ring towards the
masked man who rushes forward, throwing weak punches and kicks at
Maverick who simply reaches up and piefaces him down to the mat!]

GM:  Ohh!  Down he goes!
 
[The Red Devil scampers back to his feet where Maverick is waiting for
him, catching him with a kneelift to the gut before grabbing him around
the head and neck and throwing him out to the middle of the ring from
the corner.]

GM:  Good grief, Bucky!  He sent the man nearly all the way across the
ring with that hiptoss out of the corner!

[Maverick is all business as he marches across the ring, grabbing the
recovering masked man in a side headlock.  He turns him away from the
referee, jabbing his thumb into the windpipe which leaves the Devil
gasping for air against the ropes as the referee questions Maverick. 
The rough and tumble Maverick simply shakes his head, grabbing the
masked man by the arm.]

GM:  Here comes the whip...

[Maverick drops down to a knee from the force of the whip that sends the
masked man CRASHING chestfirst into the buckles at incredible speed.  He
staggers backwards from the corner...

...and gets flattened with a running clothesline to the back of the
head!]

GM:  Ohhh, what a shot right there!

[The man from Arizona stands over the downed masked man for a moment,
glaring at him before reaching down.  He sticks his fingers into the
eyeholes of the mask, yanking the Red Devil to his feet using them.]

GM:  He pulled him up by the mask!

BW:  Maverick's not messing around today.

GM:  What's he doing here?

[Maverick straightens the Red Devil up, hooking him around the head and
arm...

...and throws him violently overhead, sending the Devil crashing down to
the canvas on the back of his head!]

GM:  OHHHHHH!!

BW:  He calls that the Hangman's Suplex, daddy!  A brutal head and arm
suplex if I've ever seen one.

GM:  He could probably end the match right there.

BW:  But he's not going to.

[Maverick hauls the Devil up by the arm, yanking him into a fireman's
carry.  He gets a running start, jumps, and SPIKES the masked man's
skull into the canvas!]

GM:  ACEY!  DEUCY!!

[He rolls into a cover, reaching back to hook a leg.]

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

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

MC:  Here is your winner... BRENNNNNT MAAAAAVERICK!

[Maverick raises an arm in triumph before simply rolling out of the
ring, walking back up the aisle.]

GM:  Well, I guess we won't be hearing from Brent Maverick tonight,
fans.  He came in, did his business, and got out of here.

BW:  Maybe he's got a hot date.

GM:  Or maybe he's just in no mood to talk after what Slater and Taylor
pulled at Memorial Day Mayhem.  Can you blame him?  Fans, we'll be right
back with more Saturday Night Wrestling!

[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.  As we come back from commercial, we
find Gordon Myers standing at the table alongside the AWA National
Champion, "Hotshot" Stevie Scott.  Tonight he is by himself, his manager
Ben Waterson not at his side like he often is.  The champ is all smiles
as Myers brings the broadcast back in.]

GM: Welcome back to AWA Saturday Night, and at this time I am joined by
the man who is still the AWA National Champion after defeating Sweet
Daddy Williams at Memorial Day Mayhem.

[Myers extends the microphone toward Scott.]

HSS: Gordon MYERS!

[Stevie laughs arrogantly, slapping the face plate of the AWA National
Title that rests on his shoulder.]

HSS: Another one...bites the dust!

[Heel poppage!  Stevie nods toward the crowd.]

HSS: Sweet Daddy Williams.  They're asking me questions, Sweet Daddy. 
How could you do that to your old friend, they say.  How could you take
that man's knee, take his ligaments and tendons and turn them into
shredded cheese?  How could you end that man's career?

You know what I say?

I say, I gave the old fat man a chance to get out and he didn't take it.
 So in effect, Williams, you signed your OWN death warrant.

[More heel poppage.  Stevie points at the camera.]

HSS: Before you got in that ring, I warned you.  I told you that the
outcome wasn't going to be in your favor, and I wasn't just talking in
terms of winning or losing.  I gave you opportunity after opportunity
after opportunity to get out.  I told you what would happen if you
didn't.

And now look where we are.

Sweet Daddy, let this be a lesson to _you_ and to the entire
_AWA_...that when "Hotshot" Stevie Scott says something is going to
happen?  That something happens.  I've done it time and time again, so
much so that I could pass for a prophet.  If Stevie Scott says it?  Take
it to the bank, brother.

And speaking of bank...

[Stevie rubs his fingers together in the universal money signal.  And
yep, laughing.]

HSS: Juan Vasquez, I want to say thank you.  First, thank you for
funding the end of Sweet Daddy Williams' career.  I'm sure he'll be
happy to thank you himself when you visit him in the nursing home.

Second, thank you for buying me _this_.

[Stevie holds up his left wrist, revealing a large watch.]

HSS: Come on, get a close-up of this baby.

[And that's what we get.  The close-up reveals a diamond-and-sapphire
encrusted face.]

HSS: The Rolex Oyster Special Edition Cosmograph Daytona Leopard.  Solid
18 karat gold.  48 diamond end-piece set.  36 cognac sapphires.  8
diamond hour markers.  And you know how much this cost, Gordo?

[Cut back to the "normal" shot, which shows Myers looking at the watch
before sarcastically answering the question.]

GM: Fifty thousand dollars.

HSS: Fifty-one thousand 400 dollars, Myers!  More than you make in a
year...all thanks to my man, Juan Vasquez.  In fact, that's what I named
this watch...the Sweet Vasquez in honor of my two favorite non-Southern
Syndicate wrestlers.

[The heel heat just keeps on building.]

HSS: So once again, let this be a lesson to ANY of you out there who
want to try to take down the Hotshot.  Because when Stevie Scott says
it?  By God, Stevie Scott DOES it.

And I dare ANYONE to try to stop me!

[And with that, the National Champion walks off camera, leaving Gordon
Myers behind to shake his head.]

GM:  There you have it, fans.  Of course, Mr. Scott's medical diagnosis
of Sweet Daddy Williams is certainly lacking.  He did NOT suffer any
ligament or tendon damage to his knee.  However, he did suffer a broken
leg at the hands of Stevie Scott and Ben Waterson. 

BW:  The Southern Syndicate claims another victim.  How many does it
have to be before the rest of the AWA just gets out of their way and
lets them do whatever they want?

GM:  There are men in that locker room who'll NEVER let that happen! 
They'd have to take out each and every one of them to get a chance to do
that.

BW:  Well, I wouldn't say that too loudly because they may take it as a
challenge and do exactly that to all of your precious favorites.

GM:  I'd like to see them try.  Fans, after what we saw at Memorial Day
Mayhem what I would also like is to announce that The Blonde Bombers
_won't_ be here tonight.. but I've received word that they'll be out
here any moment for a tag team contest versus Jacob and Isaac Douglas.

BW: Bombahs gonna murder 'em!

GM: Let's just hope that tonight the Bombers at least wait for their
opponents to reach the ring before jumping them.

BW: Salty much? Bombers put on an _excellent_ showing at Memorial Day
Mayhem, Gordo!

GM: I think we all remember what happened..

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

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

["Would" by Alice in Chains rips through the arena.]

MC: Coming to the ring.. from Rutter Falls, Washington.. at a total
combined weight of 515 pounds.. Jacob and Isaac Douglas!

[Two semi muscular men come trotting from the back in matching blue
unitards with white boots. Both men sport big ol' black beards and bald
heads. They hop into the ring and beat their chests in the middle.. like
caged beasts.]

MC: AND THEIR OPPONENTS..

#REACH OUT AND TOUCH FAITH#

[Wham! Boos practically rip apart the arena.]

GM: These fans are _really_ letting the Blonde Bombers have it after
what they did to the Rockstar Express.

BW: You mean beat 'em.

GM: Technically.. I think they _lost_ by disqualification.

BW: Bombers are walking.. haven't even seen the Rockstars tonight, chalk
one up for the Blondes. 

[Melissa continues.]

MC: .. at a total combined weight of five hundred and seventy five
pounds.. from The Edge of the Night.. accomanied by "Hollywood" Larry
Doyle.. 

[HAY-UGE BOOS!]

MC:  .. and Crusher Glenn.. they are.. 

"LOVE MACHINE" JOHNNY NOVA.. 

"BEAUTIFUL" BOBBY BALDWIN.. 

THE BLONDE BOMBERS!!

[We immediately see the cheshire grin of one "Hollywood" Larry Doyle.
From ear to ear, baby! Doyle's attire is fairly traditional.. by Doyle's
standards. He's engulfed in a full, simple, black and white tuxedo.
Simple despite the fact that he's wearing one black loafer and one black
cowboy boot. He mockingly does the same hop.. the same skip.. the same
jump that he did when he crushed Marty Morgan with the boot. He cackles
maniacally.]

GM: Doyle.. rubbing salt in the wounds of the Rockstar Express.. and we
don't even know if they're here tonight after what Doyle and his goons
did at Memorial Day Mayhem. 

BW: They're probably still trying to wipe boot prints off Morgan's
skull, Gordo!

[As Doyle continues to cackle his obnoxious cackle, the Blonde Bombers
emerge. Nova and Baldwin. The Blonde Gods. They run their hands through
their platnium blonde hair as they saunter towards the ring in glitzy
red robes that read "Bombers" down across the back in gold glittery
cursive. Behind them, you ask? Bombers security.. Crusher Glenn.
Crusher's dressed head to toe in black. The foursome saunters out
towards the ring, Baldwin and Nova slide in as Doyle and Glenn take
their spots at ringside.]

GM: And here we go.. The Blonde Bombers versus the Douglas Boys!

BW: Bombers gonna crush as always, Gordon!

[Baldwin and Nova remove their robes.. revealing red tights.. red knee
pads.. red boots.. and perfectly tan skin. They take their ropes and..]

GM: Baldwin and Nova throw their robes in the faces of The Douglas
Boys.. they attack!

BW: Wooooo.. always be prepared with Baldwin and Nova out there.

[Baldwin and Nova continue to hammer on the heads of Isaac and Jacob
Douglas.. their arms flailing as they are blinded underneath the
Bombers' robes. Nova and Baldwin punch and punch and punch some more..
until the Douglas Boys are on the mat. At which point the Bombers kick
their robes out of the ring.. Nova exiting the ring and pulling Isaac
out behind him.]

GM: Ah.. I guess we're getting Baldwin and Jacob Douglas to start.

BW: And Doyle is in the face of a downed Isaac Douglas just screaming at
him. Ohh.. I don't think you can say that on television, Gordo.

GM: Fortunately.. I don't think the cameras picked that up. Baldwin
grabs Douglas by the legs.

[Nova hops back up onto the apron and throws his right foot up up over
the top turnbuckle.]

BW: Slingshot right into Nova's boot! Gotta love the teamwork, partner!

GM: More like cheating.

BW: Potato.. potahto, Gordo.

GM: Baldwin picks up Douglas and slams him down hard in the Bombers
corner. He tags in Nova.. Nova leaps in and perches on the second
turnbuckle.. big forearm off the second turnbuckle.

[Nova gets up and mockingly dusts off his tanned shoulders.]

BW: Nova pulls Douglas back to his feet.. irish whip to the opposite
corner. Nova charges..

GM: BIG BODY SPLASH!! 

[Jacob Douglas comes staggering out of the corner on dream street.. Nova
hits the ropes and grabs him around the head.]

BW: Big bulldog!

GM: The Bombers are all over Jacob Douglas after yet another prematch
ambush.

BW: Sure, blame the smart guys for gaining every edge they can!

[Nova quickly tags in Baldwin, both Bombers staying in the ring. Baldwin
hooks Jacob around the waist as Nova positions himself behind.. grabbing
Jacob by the head.]

GM: BLONDE BOMBSHELL!

BW: Mark it! This one's in the books!

GM: One! Two! Three!

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

[Baldwin rolls off Jacob Douglas and Johnny Nova helps pull him back to
his feet.. both men patting each other on the chest.]

GM: The Blonde Bombers pull another one out here, Bucky.. and it looks
like Isaac Douglas is checking on his broth-- COME ON!

BW: You mess with the bull.. yer gonna get the horns!

GM: The Blonde Bombers are laying the boots to Isaac Douglas. He was
just checking on his brother, for pete's sake!

[The Bombers continue to beat on Isaac as Larry Doyle rolls in.. boot
already in hand.]

BW: Doyle's directing Baldwin and Nova to hold Isaac Douglas up! 

GM: Shades of Memorial Day Mayhem. Shades of Marty Morgan. Larry Doyle's
ego is all consuming and he's taking it out once again.. this time on
Isaac Douglas.

[Doyle hops. He skips. He jumps. Deja vu.. OHMY!]


"TTTHHHWWWAAACCKKKKK!"


BW: ISAAC GETS THE BOOT!

GM: Doyle just crushed Isaac Douglas with that dang boot and the Bombers
exit the ring to _huge_ boos, Bucky.

[BOOOO!]

MC: The winner of this match.. THE BLONDE BOMBERS!

[The Bombers, Doyle, and Glenn all approach Gordon and Bucky.
Confidently strolling up. Doyle steps out and pulls his obnoxiously
large Oakleys off and hands them to Crusher Glenn. He rips the mic out
from in front of Gordon.]

LD: Morgan.. Storm.. Rockstars.. 

[Doyle mockingly wipes his hands clean.]

LD:  .. MY OH MY.. DIDJAJUSTGETSQUASHEDOR _WHAT_?!

[Doyle's entire body convulses in laughter.]

LD:  Haha! It was great! You two.. high fivin'.. huggin'.. ready to
"Rock N Roll" the Bombers. So excited to finally shut me and my boys up.
To continue _humiliating_ the best damn tag team in da wweerrrllldddd.

[Doyle holds up a singular index finger.]

LD:  _BUT_. 

A little sumptin' sumptin' happend on the way to victory lane.. didn't
it boys?

[Doyle motions to Nova and Baldwin who nod in agreement.]

LD:  Ya got bashed, crushed, ballyhoo'd, hoodwinked, smashed, crushed,
beaten, maimed, injured.. and.. oh yeah.. did I say _crushed_ already?!
In case I didn't let's just put it on record.

We.

Crushed.

_YOU_!

And as far as me, Baldwin, Nova, and Glenn are concerned.. we've proven
all there is to prove to you two imbiciles. Not that it matters.. but
I've heard that Storm has been forced to feed Morgan pea soup through a
straw after the beating we put down on him, boys.

True story.. I mean.. A STRAW FER CRYIN' OUT LOUD!

[Doyle laughs again.]

LD:  We've got bigger fish to fry now that we've _proven_ beyond a
shadow of a doubt just how far and _beeeyoonnnddd_ you two vegetables we
are. Matter of fact, a brand spanking whole new.. great god.. _list_ is
in the works with Bombers demands going forward.

We've got our sights set on bigger.

On better..

On.. Golder? Things!

That's right, bay-bees.. GIVE DA BOMBERS OUR SHOT!

Cause ya can't spell Blonde Bombers.. without some G-O-L-D, BAY-BEES!

[Suddenly, the crowd breaks into a roar.  Larry Doyle is quite pleased
with himself for a moment until he realizes the roar is not for he and
his boys but rather an approaching Scotty Storm and Marty Morgan.  The
Rockstar Express is in the house!]

GM:  Gentlemen, please... let's try and keep this civil... 

[Storm and Morgan arrive on camera, standing to the opposite side of
where the Bombers are.  Crusher Glenn presses his massive hands
together, grinding them back and forth as he glares at the Rockstars. 
Marty Morgan is obviously a little worse for wear, limping a bit and
wincing at his movements.  Scotty Storm though seems quite fired up.]

SS:  We ain't here to fight tonight, Gordon!  On any given night, the
Rockstars come on out here ready to throw down with whoever wants to
step up to the plate.  But not tonight, baby!

And that's 'cause my partner's been beaten up and smacked down by you
four yella-bellies!

[Big cheer!]

SS:  You backjumped us on Memorial Day.  You got the edge on us.  We
admit that.

But that ain't gonna happen this time!

[Storm points a threatening finger at the four men.]

SS:  Two weeks from tonight, the Rockstar Express pulls into Little
Rock, Arkansas and if you ain't never been to Little Rock, you're
talkin' 'bout a place that loves to rock and roll with the best of 'em
so I can't think of no place finer than to get on in there and show you
how it goes.

Marty still ain't gonna be ready.  Doctor's orders.

But that ain't gonna stop me from draggin' one of you slobberin' dogs
into that there squared circle and beatin' you up and down and all the
way over the state line, baby!

[Doyle looks surprised at first as the crowd cheers...

...but slowly gets a big grin on his face.]

LD: Ho ho ho ho! Ha ha ha! You want one of the Bombers, Storm? Really?!
After what _we_ did to _you_.. you _really_ wanna get back in here with
_any_ of us?

Fine.. have at it. 

You can even pick which Bombers you want.

Doesn't matter.. next card.. we're finishing the job we started at
Memorial Day Mayhem. But don't worry.. I'll request a wheelchair.. on
the Bombers.. just so you got something to wheel yourself out of here
in.  

Let's get out of here, boys!

[Doyle snaps his fingers and all four men walk away, leaving Storm and a
hobbled Morgan behind.]

GM:  Wow!  Scotty Storm versus one of the Blonde Bombers right here in
two weeks time!  What a match that's gonna be!

BW:  Scotty Storm's dumber than he looks, Gordo, and that's sayin'
something 'cause the Bombers are gonna break 'em down and wheel 'em out
of the AWA.

GM:  As fired up as Scotty Storm is, I think whichever Bomber he gets in
Little Rock is in for a very rough night, fans.  Now, coming up next,
we've got a very special treat for all of you fans out there.  The
Chairman of the Championship Committee, Big Jim Watkins, has some things
he wants to address to all of these fans in Oklahoma.  So, let's send it
up to Jim inside the ring!

[We fade inside the ring where Big Jim Watkins is standing.]

JW:  Thank you, Gordon!  And hello Oklahoma!

[Big "That's us!" cheer!]

JW:  It feels really good to be back in Oklahoma City.  When I was just
getting my start in this business, I spent several years living in this
wonderful city trying to find my big break.  When I finally got it, I
had to move on but I've always had a soft spot in my heart for the
people of Oklahoma.

[Another cheer.]

JW:  I've got a few things I wanted to talk about tonight and I wanted
to do it from inside this ring so everyone here in the building could
hear it.  

The first thing is... earlier tonight, Calisto Dufresne came out here
with a title belt and proclaimed himself an AWA champion.

[Boos from the crowd.]

JW:  I'm here on the behalf of the Championship Committee to say that
just ain't the case now.  The AWA does NOT recognize the PWR Pacific
Championship as an AWA title although we do recognize its history in our
sport.  Mr. Dufresne is NOT an AWA champion no matter how he tries to
spin it.

HOWEVER...

[Dramatic pause.]

JW:  I was in the locker room just now speakin' to Soup Bone Samson. 
And after how their match at Memorial Day Mayhem went down, ol' Soup
Bone says he can't think of nothin' he'd rather do more than take that
gold belt right off Dufresne's waist.

[Big cheer!]

JW:  I thought it was a good idea myself too.  So, we have signed it. 
In two weeks time, in Little Rock, Arkansas... Dufresne's gonna defend
that self-awarded gold against Soup Bone Samson!

[Bigger cheer!]

JW:  It'll be a big week in Little Rock with that match, Scotty Storm
versus one of the Blonde Bombers, plus, of course, the Lady Luck
Challenge.

[Watkins grins.]

JW:  But we do have one more thing to announce for that show.

Turns out that the National Tag Team Champions, the Bishop Boys, are
from Arkansas... and Mr. Allan has let it be known that he intends to
have his boys compete that night as well.

Now, I told him we'd have to make sure it's a non-title match to protect
that title match with Rough N Ready on the 4th of July but he was okay
with it.  His boys just want to get out there in front of their hometown
fans and hook 'em up.

So, what we've got is an open challenge from the Bishop Boys.  Any tag
team in the entire wrestling world who wants to tangle with the champs
on that night in Little Rock, you show up and we'll make that happen! 
Y'all like the idea of that?

[Another big cheer!]

JW:  Me too.  Now, speakin' of things the fans like... I think you'll
like this too.  A lot of people have been askin' why we didn't have a
Top 10 rankings announced after the last couple shows.

And I'm here to tell ya why.  The Championship Committee has decided to
let the fans give us a hand in naming the Top Ten contenders to both the
National Title as well as the National Tag Team Titles.

So, shortly after this show ends tonight, you can go on the 'Net and you
can vote for your own personal Top 10.

And next time out, in Little Rock, we're going to announce that Top 10
LIVE to the entire world!

[More cheers!]

JW:  The AWA is hotter than ever and we just want to give you fans a
chance to be a part of-

[The crowd roars as former National Champion Juan Vasquez, dressed in
street clothes, emerges from the locker room and slowly makes his way
down the aisle towards the ring.  He swiftly climbs the ringsteps,
grabbing an offered mic from ringside as he enters the ring.  Big Jim
Watkins looks a little surprised as he raises his mic.]

JW: What are you doing here, Juan?

JV: You know exactly why I'm here, Mr. Watkins.

[There's a no-nonsense expression on Juan's face. He's practically
fuming with rage.]

JV: Me and Stevie Scott. 

_Tonight._

[This draws a huge cheer from the crowd, but Watkins merely frowns.]

JW: Now look here, Juan...you know that I can't do that. The
stipulations from your last title match clearly stated-

[Juan interrupts.]

JV: I know! I know, damnit...I made those stipulations myself! 

[The former National Champion shakes his head at his own foolishness.] 

JV: But after what happened on Memorial Day, after what he did to Sweet
Daddy Williams... I don't care what the hell I said! What's the use of
keeping my word when all it ever does is make things worse? What's the
use of holding onto honor when everything else is sacrificed for it?

JW: I'm sorry Juan, but I-

JV: DON'T YOU DARE SAY "I'M SORRY!"

[The outburst draws a HUGE ROAR from the crowd, but Juan almost
immediately realizes what he's done, bowing his head at letting his
anger get the best of him.]

JV: I'm...I'm sorry about raising my voice at you like that, Mr.
Watkins.

[Juan sighs, slumping his shoulders, looking defeated.]

JV: But all we ever seem to get here is more broken bodies and ended
careers and nobody ever does a damn thing about it! All we ever hear is
about how terrible it is, but who's gonna actually step up to do
something about it?

[Watkins just looks down, not quite sure how to respond.] 

JV: The Keenings are gone. Ron Houston can't or won't. Marcus Broussard
doesn't even care. City Jack and Sweet Daddy aren't here anymore...but
I'm still here! I've been fighting these bastards every step of the way!
And I can still fight! I can still win! All you need to do is say the
word! Say "Hook'em up!" and-

[As difficult as it is for him to do it, Watkins simply shakes his head,
frustrating Juan to no end.] 

JV: Damnit! This ain't just about the title. This is about the AWA,
itself! You got a disgraceful coward representin' himself as the face of
the AWA, you got men that go around blinding other men 'cause they
refuse to feed their ego, you got a conspiracy to pocket that title shot
from the Rumble so Stevie won't ever have to defend the title and
you're-

[Juan stops himself, because everyone already knows the story. There's
no need to repeat it anymore. Instead, he clasps his hands together and
does something he's never done before. 

He begs.]

JV: Just _one_ more chance. 

That's all I'm asking for.

And if I lose...

[Juan almost chokes on these next words...but he's desperate.]

JV: ...I'll walk away from the AWA forever.  

[Whew boy. That catches just about everyone's attention, including James
Watkins, who grabs Juan by the shoulders and gives him a shake.]

JW: Get ahold of yourself, Juan!

[He looks Vasquez right in the eye with a serious look on his face.]

JW: I know you're desperate to get your hands on Stevie Scott more than
anyone else in the AWA for the things he's done, but you're the one that
made that deal with Stevie Scott and you're gonna have to live with it.
I'm sorry.

[Juan stares down at the canvas with a bit of a shameful look on his
face. After a few seconds, he bites his lower lip and sadly nods his
head in agreement with Watkins.]

JV: I...I understand, Mr. Watkins. I...[Pause.]...sorry for taking up
your time... 

[Dejected, a slightly more composed Juan Vasquez holds his head up high
and quietly exits the ring, trying his best to hide his disappointment. 
The camera follows Vasquez as he slowly walks up the aisle towards the
locker room, Jim Watkins following his path with his eyes from inside
the ring, slowly shaking his head left and right...

...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 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.]

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 the opening chords of Beethoven's
"Moonlight Sonata" begins to play over the PA system. A song familiar..
although nobody is able to place their finger on how or why.]

GM: That music sounds familiar, Bucky.. but I can not, for the life of
me.. remember why. You?

BW: I"m speechles, Gordo.

[A figure emerges from the back. dressed in a full armani suit. Black
and white.. down to his oh-so-expensive boots. The man runs a hand over
his trademarked blonde beard and then rustles his long wavy blond hair.
He looks around.. a look of disgust. A look that says "how dare I have
to live amongst _them_". The man wanders over to Gordon and Bucky. He
reaches into his pocket and pulls out a huge wad of 100s. Benjamins to
the thugs in the room. He tosses them all over the table. Bucky and
Gordon looking around incredulously.]

Man: Let's call it a mic fee. Since time around these parts seems to be
just ohhh sooo precious! Go on, boys, reap 'em up. Smell the money. Soak
in the fact that it's the most amount of money you'll ever make in your
sorry existences.. in your feeble feeble days.

You might remember me for the fraction of a second that I spent.. er..
wasted here in AWA. It was Memorial Day Mayhem 2009.. and you're looking
at the man who single handedly throttled Juan Vasquez within an inch of
his life.. and then tossed him like the dog he was.

[BOO! NOW THEY'RE REMEMBERIN'!]

Man:  The name is Sole.

Lucius Sole.

[More boos!]

LS:  The one and only. The billionairio extraordinario. The Count of
Monte Mullah.

And I'm here tonight.

I'm back.

If even for just one night. To show to the world that there's not a
single man in the AWA that can even afford to lick the boots I'm
wearing. Let alone lace 'em up.

I've taken the liberty of buying this time with my vast vast
vvvaaasssttt sums of money. Just to feed my whim. Just to show you all,
that the AWA is filled with nothing more than a...

[Suddenly, a guitar riff familiar to many of the Oklahoma faithful hits
the PA system, elicting a shocked cheer from the crowd. The song? "Shout
at the Devil" by Motley Crue. And when the curtains part, the crowd
explodes.]

GM: Oh my stars...

BW: What the hell are _THEY_ doing here!?! 

[The "they" that Bucky's referring to? Two of the meanest and nastiest
looking hombres you'll ever see step inside a wrestling ring...

...and generally regarded by many as the greatest tag team in all of
Japan.

Danny Morton and Jackson Haynes.

Violence Unlimited.]

GM: Morton and Haynes! Morton and Haynes are in the AWA! 

BW: I always knew Danny Morton was ready for a fight, I always knew he'd
be up for any challenge...but this is ridiculous! Last I heard, these
guys were in Tokyo!

GM: For our viewers unfamiliar with these two men, Danny Morton and
Jackson Haynes are just about two of the toughest men I've ever seen
step inside a wrestling ring. They've been plying their trade in Japan
in recent years, but tonight, they're right here in the AWA, in Morton's
home state of Oklahoma!

[The shorter of the two immediately breaks out into a sprint and slides
into the ring, where he's quickly met by an annoyed Lucius Sole.]

GM: Danny Morton, as fired up as ever, just dove head first into this
attack!

BW: I don't think any of that's having an affect on him! Sole's just
making him mad! 

[Morton stands straight up and turns around, giving Sole one of those
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" sort of looks. Looking
slightly terrified, Sole takes a step back, before firing another shot
to the head, which Morton takes with a smile! He shakes his head
furiously, slapping himself in the head repeatedly and dares Sole to hit
him again! Sole obliges, this time going for a boot to the gut, but
Morton catches his foot and spins Sole around...]





"SMAAAAACCCCKKK!!!"





[...into a brutally stiff lariat! Big pop!]

GM: OHHHHHH!

BW: I think Sole might need to use some of that money of his to buy some
new teeth! He just got clobbered like a baby seal, daddy!

GM: There's not even a referee out here! This isn't even an official
match!



"OHHHHHHH!!!"



GM: And it might never be! Lucius Sole's being set-up for the ride!

[Morton pulls Sole up to his feet and lifts him up into a military
press. He brings him down to the top of his head, before pressing him
back high into the air and holds him there for a few seconds, before
letting him go...]




"THHHUUUUUD!!!"




[...and catching him with a powerslam! Morton pops to his feet with a
wide-eyed, opened mouth look of amazement on his face, spinning around
in a circle with a finger pointed into the air, before dropping
down...into a three-point stance. HUGE POP!]

GM: A classic Danny Morton moment coming right up!

[Sole clutches his back in pain, slowly getting back to a vertical base.
However, as soon as he's back on his feet, Morton charges right into
him, sending him flying with a massive shoulderblock!] 

GM: That big shoulderblock sends Sole fl-...


"OOOOHHHHH!!!"


BW: A neck isn't supposed to bend that way, daddy!

GM: And Morton with a horrific back suplex! That was nearly homicidal!
He...

BW: ...he dropped Sole right on his melon!

[Inside the ring, we see Danny Morton administer his own three count, as
his hometown crowd goes wild.]

GM: So much for Lucius Sole's plans to show-up the AWA lockerroom.

BW: So much for his career!

GM: I'm going to try to get a word with them...

[As Morton and Haynes make their way from ringside, Gordon Myers
intercepts them.]

GM: Danny Morton! Jackson Haynes! What...what are you two doing here in
the AWA?

[Morton, still very much fired up from his skirmish with Sole, grabs the
microphone from Gordon Myers' hands.]

DM: We heard a rumor! We heard a rumor! We heard a rumor that the
greatest tag teams in all the world were in the AWA, Gordon Myers! 

And well...that just can't be true, can it?

[He chuckles softly.]

DM: 'Cause last I heard...

[A big grin appears on his face.]

DM: ...the greatest tag team in all the world was Violence Unlimited.

[Jackson Haynes, a black stetson-wearing monster of a man who towers
over Morton and Gordon Myers, holds out his hand and is handed the
microphone from Morton. There's a slight southern drawl in his deep
voice and his tone is a bit patronizing.]

JH: Now, I'm pretty sure the teams 'round here can do a nice little song
and dance number and you like to call it wrasslin', Gordon Myers, but
there's no way in hell they got a right to call themselves the best
_anything!_

[He grins...cackles, in fact.]

JH: Those AWA National tag team titles are goin' right 'round these
waists right where they belong, Gordon Myers and there's two things
these _BOYS_ in the AWA can do about it.

Nothing.

And like it!

[With that, Haynes hands the microphone back to Gordon Myers and the two
turn to walk away.]

GM: Well, you heard it folks, Danny Morton and Jackson Haynes...Violence
Unlimited, are officially here in the AWA and they're after the National
tag team titles!

[In the background, we see can Morton thrusting a fist into the air,
yelling to the crowd...]


"BOOMER!!!"


Crowd: "SOONER!!!"


"BOOMER!!!"


Crowd: "SOONER!!!"


"BOOMER!!!"


Crowd: "SOONER!!!"


[And on that note, we fade out to backstage where we see Jason Dane
standing against the ever present AWA interview backdrop.]

JD:  Ladies and gentlemen, at this time I would like to welcome a guest
of the AWA.  It is my pleasure to introduce... NOVEMBER!

[The camera thusly pans back and out to show November standing beside
Mr. Dane.  He is instantly recognizable as the former EMWC Junior
Heavyweight Champion.  He is a bit bulkier, older and more mature
looking, sporting a thicker head of hair and a 5 o'clock shadow.  His
eyes still glimmer as before, tinged with... something.]

N:  November is a relic of the past, Jason Dane.  That guy can stay with
the rest of the skeletons.

JD:  Well then... what DO you go by now?

N:  I was invited here by the AWA and welcomed with open arms.  I very
much appreciate the gesture.  There are a lot of guys back here I
haven't seen for years.  Juan Vasquez, Todd Michaelson, Shane Destiny...

[A smirk overcomes his serene demeanor... but for a second.]

N:  ... the list goes on and on.  It has been fantastic seeing old faces
and watching what has to be one of the best rosters I've ever seen top
to bottom.   Really, Jason, AWA is the place to be for a wrestler.

JD:  It sounds like _you_ are looking forward to wrestling here
yourself!

[A calming hand is raised.]

N:  I am here to visit friends.  That's all.  When and more importantly
IF it's time, I shall don the AWA regalia and do my very best to
entertain these fans.  When _and_ if, Jason.  

JD:  I am sure the AWA audience would love to see you in that ring once
again!  This is Jason Dane backstage with No... uh... with...

[And before Jason can turn to ask him for a sign out... he leaves.

And we fade back to ringside.]

GM:  Well, the man formerly known as November has it right.  The AWA IS
indeed the place to be for a wrestler right now.  You can see that by
the locker room we have assembled - returning competitors like the War
Pigs and Grant Stone, debuting veterans like Joe Petrow - everyone wants
to be a part of the American Wrestling Alliance.

BW:  Everyone except Marcus Broussard.

GM:  Now, I don't know if that's entirely fair.  Fans, as you know,
about a month ago now, we were expecting to see Todd Michaelson team
with a returning Marcus Broussard against a Southern Syndicate squad of
the former National Tag Team Champions, Adrian Freeman and Calisto
Dufresne.  However, when the match time came upon us, Broussard was
nowhere to be found.  Let's go back now and hear some of what Todd
Michaelson had to say that night!

[We cut to footage marked "MAY 22nd, 2010"  Todd Michaelson is standing
in street clothes at the WKIK Studios announce podium with Gordon and
Bucky.  We join him in mid-interview.]

TM:  This is one of the worst moments of my career.  One of the most
humiliating moments of my career... and Marcus Broussard, this falls
squarely on your shoulders.

You make me sick.

[The crowd "oooohs."]

TM:  You're not the man I thought you were.  I know you were hurt by
those Southern Syndicate jackals.  I know Stevie and his boys busted you
up pretty well.  You've been sitting at home, trying to heal up.  But I
know you're ready, Marcus.  I know you're ready to come back.

But you're afraid.  

You sit home and you watch Stevie Scott and the Southern Syndicate run
wild over this entire company!  They put you out... they put Sudakov
out... they put your friend Adam Rogers out... they put Ron Houston
out... they've put person after person out and you... the guy who this
place revolved around for a year...

You can't even be bothered to give a damn?

[Michaelson shakes his head.]

TM:  You're a coward, Marcus.  You're a damn coward and you make me
sick.  You let me down tonight.  You let these people down.  And at the
end of the day, you let the entire AWA down.

And I don't think you even care.

[With that, a disappointed Michaelson simply walks off camera.  We fade
back to live action to Gordon and Bucky.]

GM:  At Memorial Day Mayhem, we dispatched Jason Dane to get comments
from Marcus Broussard but he was turned away.

BW:  And then you opened your trap.

GM:  Well, yes.  I made some comments... some strong comments... towards
Mr. Broussard as well and apparently between my words and the words of
Todd Michaelson, Mr. Broussard had a change of heart.  He asked that we
send Jason Dane to his home in California once again and this time, he
promised to speak with him.  Jason went out there earlier this week. 
Let's see what he found out.

[We fade to footage taped earlier in the week to Jason Dane, looking
very relaxed in white polo shirt with the AWA logo on the sleeve and a
microphone clipped onto his shirt. The camera pans out to find that Dane
is sitting in a leather chair, holding a clipboard in front of him.]

JD: Ladies and gentlemen, this is Jason Dane here  for an exclusive
interview. At Memorial Day Mayhem, Marcus Broussard did not want to talk
with me, but about three days after Memorial Day Mayhem, a certified
letter arrived at the AWA Offices inviting me back to the Broussard home
for a one on one interview.

Marcus, thank you so much for your time.

[The camera cuts to the right, and right there in the flesh is Marcus
Broussard. The San Jose Shark wears a white button down shirt and a
maroon power tie, with his hair cropped a little shorter than before.
He's clean shaven and looks to be, for all intents and purposes, in good
spirits.]

MB: Jason, you're very welcome. After the abrupt way your last trip here
ended, I figured that you deserved a more fitting reply.

Also, my wife apologizes for her behavior.

[Dane shrugs.]

JD: It happens. I can't imagine too many people would react differently
with a live camera crew at their door. 

[Broussard nods and politely smiles while Dane looks at his notes. Both
men wait for the other to start, and finally Dane breaks the awkward
silence.]

JD: After the last Saturday Night Wrestling, the AWA Offices were
literally flooded with letters, emails, calls and even angry tweets from
people who either made special plans to get to the show, or people who
were disappointed in your no-show. There are people far and wide who
want an answer. Do you have one for them?

MB: I do. I'm extremely upset that I'm the cause of so much
consternation from the fans of the AWA, and I offer my most sincere
apologies. Communication was bungled on both ends, and really everyone
came out looking the worse for it. I'm sorry it came to that, Jason.

JD: Then why did you sic your wife on me when I came to your house?

MB: Because it's my _house_ Jason. If I can't have privacy in my own
place of residence, what's the point of it? I didn't wish to speak with
anyone, and I wasn't ready  to speak to anyone. You didn't heed my
warning, and ended up with an angry Mrs. Broussard scolding you.

JD: And I guess that's the crux of our frustration, Marcus: why did you
not go to Saturday Night Wrestling? Why did you no-show on Todd
Michaelson?

MB: I didn't no show on anyone, Jason. I wasn't signed to a contract, I
wasn't under any agreement, I was just sent a fax that said Todd was
expecting me in Dallas. That's not how I operate, and you know that.
There was no time to prepare, no time to gameplan. I was just thrown
willy nilly out there. Not a good situation for me.

[Dane looks down at his clipboard, then back at Broussard.]

JD: But Todd Michaelson and you are close friends, Marcus, everyone
knows that. How could you do that to a friend?

MB: Todd's no dummy either, Jason, he knew the risks he took upon
himself by throwing my name out there. He didn't end up any worse for
wear, and he lives to fight another day.

[Marcus shrugs and Dane continues on, no longer looking at his notes.]

JD: I'm sorry Marcus, but... that's not good enough. 

Todd Michaelson gave you a chance in the EMWC, I know, I was there. He
opened the door for you, and to your credit you kicked it in. And when
the AWA opened for business, you were one of the first people he called.
Yours is a name that's going to be synonymous for a long time, Marcus,
I'm sure you saw it. People were lined up for hours before the show to
see your return because they wanted to see you defend the company you
helped put on the map. We've gotten calls and letters for months now,
asking when you're going to show back up.

And you backed out because it wasn't a good situation? 

MB: That match was going to pit someone who hasn't wrestled on a regular
basis in YEARS along with someone coming off a bad injury against
perhaps the top team in the industry. That was a horrible situation,
Jason, let's be honest. I don't know how you would have expected me to
come back when I don't even know what the shoulder is going to do.
That's not a great first match back.

JD: So it's your health, then? Are you not competing because of your
health?

[Broussard shakes his head from side to side.]

MB: That's incorrect, Jason. In fact, I was given a clean bill of health
four weeks ago by a renowned doctor in Beverly Hills. My health isn't
the issue.

JD: So then what _is_ the issue? 

MB: The issue is...

[Marcus shakes his head back and forth, trying to find the words.]

MB: ...the issue is this.

After six long months of rehab, which did not go smoothly, by the way,
I'm starting to wonder if wrestling is something to put in my rear view
mirror. I can't think of a good reason to get the clearances signed, to
sign the waivers, to arrange the travel and do all the things that
people in our profession do. And I'm ashamed to say it, I'm embarrassed
beyond all belief, but that's the truth.

Knowing that I'm one bad fall away from six more months, it makes you
think. And the AWA has gone on to brilliance since I left, Jason, that's
for sure. The national recognition, the praise from around the world, it
all makes me proud. But when it comes to packing the bag and catching
the flight, with my family having success at home... I really can't find
the passion in me to do it.

I guess the issue here is that my head, and my heart, just isn't into
the AWA anymore. I'm proud of what it's turned into and I'll always be
thankful for the opportunity given to me by Todd Michaelson and the
other members of the committee, but watching what has happened to some
of the men I wrestled just two years ago... I'm not sure it's worth it. 

JD: So you're... done with wrestling?

MB: I don't know.

[Broussard puts his hand over his face and thinks.]

MB: I don't think I can ever shut the door on making a full return, but
I'll know when the time is right. And maybe some of that will be when I
get confidence in my shoulder back, maybe some of that will come when I
am comfortable with my capability in the ring, but right now it's just
not adding up. It's not making sense to me.

And I could never go to an AWA show, step in the ring and phone it in.
I'm not the guy who collects his paycheck and slinks away. I put too
much pride in my performance to do that.

But I need to know that I'm at the top of my game. I know the perils of
the AWA, I know how hazardous it can be to navigate in those murky
waters, and I don't know if I am good enough to do that right now. I
don't know if I ever will be.

[Saying this deflates the San Jose Shark, and he sits in his chair,
forlornly nodding his head.]

JD: Do you have a timeline?

MB: For getting back my desire to be in the ring? I'm not sure, my
friend. I'm just not sure.

JD: Well, Marcus, I think I speak for everyone in the AWA when I say
that we hope we see you soon. And if we don't, and that ship has passed,
let me be the first to say thanks for everything.

[Broussard nods, staring off into space.]

MB: Thank you Jason. 

[The two men shake hands...

...and we fade back to live television where Gordon Myers and Bucky
Wilde are standing next to former World Champion and current Combat
Corner trainer, Todd Michaelson.]

GM:  Well, Todd, you heard the man.  Your thoughts?

[Michaelson shakes his head.]

TM:  My thoughts are... I completely understand.

[The crowd buzzes with confusion.]

GM:  You understand?  Really?

TM:  Absolutely.  Marcus is concerned with one bad fall putting him back
on the shelf.  He's scared.

[Michaelson nods.]

TM:  And that's something I've been living with for over ten years now. 
Except in my case, I know that one bad fall may not just put me on the
shelf.  It may put me in a wheelchair paralyzed.  Try living with that
reality, kid.

But I get it.  I totally get it.  You're scared.  You're worried.  And
you're wondering if you've lost a step.  You're wondering if getting up
in the morning, kissing your wife goodbye, and flying to Texas, Georgia,
Alabama, Tennessee, or right here in good ol' Oklahoma...

[Big hometown cheer!]

TM:  ...is worth it anymore.

[Todd shrugs.]

TM:  I can't answer that for you, Marcus.  I can't tell you whether or
not you'll find it all worth it at the end of the day.  But I CAN tell
you that if you don't find out... and you sit at home in your living
room for the rest of your life... someday you'll look back and regret
it.

You need to know, Marcus.  And you owe it to yourself to find out.

And quite honestly, I think you owe it to these fans to give them one
last chance to see you inside that ring.  These fans who supported you
even when every instinct they had said not to.  They deserve one more
chance with you in the ring if you decide to walk away...

[Michaelson grins.]

TM:  And I know just the place to do it.  

I told Waterson I wasn't through with him and his boys and I meant it. 
Earlier today, I went to Jim Watkins and had some contracts drawn up
just in case I needed them.  And I can't think of a better time to show
them to the world.

[Michaelson holds up a pack of papers.]

TM:  These say that on the 4th of July in Memphis, Tennessee, that there
will be a six man tag team match.  On one side, whatever three men
Waterson wants to scrape together.  On the other?  Me... and Marcus
Broussard.

[Big cheer!]

GM:  That seems very presumptive, Todd.

TM:  I know, I know.  But I got a feeling on this one, Gordon.  And this
time?  If Marcus doesn't show up?  I'll still be there... and I'll still
get in that ring.  There won't be a forfeit... not this time.

BW:  I'm no math whiz, Michaelson, but that still puts you a man short.

[Michaelson grins.]

TM:  It does, doesn't it?  Well, let's change that right now.  

[The crowd rises to the feet with cheers as "They Reminisce over You" by
Pete Rock and CL Smooth begins to play over the PA system as Juan
Vasquez comes out from behind the curtains. Vasquez seems to be in much
higher spirits than he was earlier in the show as he walks up to Wilde,
Myers, and Michaelson.]

GM: Juan Vasquez! You're the third man?

[Vasquez merely smiles and nods his head.]

BW: What's your game, Vasquez? We all saw you out here a little
earlier...you ain't weaseling your way into any more shots, no matter
what you do!

[Juan shoots Bucky a dirty look.]

JV: This ain't about weaseling my way into any more title shots, Wilde! 

[He shakes his head furiously.]

JV: It wasn't too long ago, when I said that the war 'tween me and the
Southern Syndicate had just begun. Well amigo, I wasn't just blowin'
smoke when I said that. I meant every single word. 

[He turns to Todd Michaelson.]

JV: Todd asked for my help and that's all I needed to hear. I ain't ever
abandoned a friend that needed my help and I ain't gonna' start now.
Marcus Broussard might not know what he wants to do with his career and
that's okay...but I sure as heck do!

And there ain't anything more important to me than bringing down the
Southern Syndicate! 

[Vasquez and Michaelson exchange a high five before walking off camera
to the roaring cheers of the crowd.]

GM:  Michaelson, Vasquez, and Broussard versus the Southern Syndicate on
the 4th of July!  Will it happen?  Fans, we've gotta take a quick break
- we'll be right back with more AWA action!

[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 Gordon and Bucky are standing.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans.  Another big match from Memorial day was the
brutal Falls Count Anywhere match between Eric Preston and James
Monosso. The rookie Preston brought his best effort, and a great deal of
aggression... but in the end, it was this man who emerged the winner.

[As one would expect from a lead-in like that, it's James Monosso who
marches up to the interview area.  The stringy-haired broad-shouldered
maniac towers over Gordon and Bucky, wearing his "PROPERTY OF STATE
MENTAL INSTITUTION" pale-green cutoff shirt, as well as dingy black
jeans and worn-out brown work boots.  He also wears a sour expression on
his wide face.]

James Monosso: A winner?  You call THAT winning?!  Rub it in, Myers...
rub it in until I forget about that little "kill the idiot with the
microphone and you're going back to the institution" speech they give me
every time I decide to... never mind about that.  

[Gordon is simultaneously confused at Monosso's apparent lack of
enthusiasm for the Memorial Day result, and horrified at the mention of
"killing the idiot with the microphone".  And a little offended at the
use of the word "idiot" from a man who barely remembers his own name.]

GM: That's... that's... alright, then, would you tell us why you don't
consider a clear, fair three-count over Eric Preston a victory?

JM: And they say MY memory's shot?!  What did I say I was going to do at
Memorial Day Mayhem, Myers?  Why did I say I wanted to fight that dumb
kid in the first place?  Oh, forget it, you're hopeless.  Wilde, tell
them!

BW: He said he was gonna take Preston out for keeps, Gordo.  Really,
what's wrong with ya?  Maybe we need ta trade him in for a newer model,
James?

JM: That's 'Mister Monosso, Sir'.

BW: ...uh!  Mister Monosso, sir!

JM: I think Eric Preston GOT UP AND WALKED AWAY!

[Uh, oh, sudden mid-sentence snap-and-ramble coming up.  Monosso's
entire demeanor goes from surly and threatening to exasperated anger in
a blink.]

JM: I DIDN'T WANT THAT PIN!  PRESTON, YOU RAT, YOU LAID THERE
DELIBERATELY!  YOU WERE FINISHED AND YOU KNEW YOU WERE FINISHED!  YOU
KNEW WHAT I WAS GOING TO DO!  YOU KNEW I WOULD HAVE SHOWN ALL THOSE DUMB
KIDS AT THE COMBAT CORNER WHY THIS BUSINESS IS HELL AND THEY SHOULD RUN
SCREAMING FOR THE HILLS!  YOU KNEW IT! SO YOU HELD ME ON TOP AND LET ME
PIN YOU!  YOU... YOU... you're smarter than you look.

[Woah, second sudden change in demeanor.  James seems to have talked
himself into reimagining what happened at the end of the match.  He's
now calm, accepting, and sad.]

JM: So you quit.  Like tapping out, but even more cowardly, because you
didn't have the guts to show everyone that you quit.  Now I can see that
you really are a Todd Michaelson protege.  You pulled a Broussard and
packed it in.  That's your hero, folks.  That's the guy who was going to
show everyone what courage meant on Memorial Day.  Fitting.

GM: He... what... that's rid... are you claiming that Eric Preston threw
the match?!

JM: No, he didn't.  He tried to fight me; tried and failed.  All he did
was what he had to do to survive the ending.  But he made a mistake,
Myers.

He assumed that would be good enough for me.

[Monosso raises a finger to the camera and starts shouting again;
another sudden mood swing.]

JM: YOU CAN'T ESCAPE!  YOU'RE TRYING TO PROVE THAT SOMEONE CAN GET BY IN
THIS ROTTEN SPORT BY RUNNING! BUT I WON'T LET YOU!  I'LL FINISH YOU,
PRESTON!  I'LL FINISH YOU, AND YOU WON'T BE ABLE TO RUN FROM ME, HIDE
FROM ME, OR STAND UP STRAIGHT EVER AGAIN!  There's only one way to
survive in this sport, kid, and THAT IS NOT IT!  You've got only two
choices now, Eric...

[Monosso's gruff, venomous tone grows lower as he continues, until it
becomes dead-level.]

JM:  ...be crippled by me...

...or BECOME ME.

And you'd have to be INSANE to think otherwise.

[With those words, the madman takes his leave.]

GM: I say this all too often after hearing James Monosso... but that man
is sick.  SICK.

BW: But he made sense, Myers.  I think he ain't as crazy as he looks. 
If he won't stop 'till he cripples Eric Preston, then the kid's only got
one choice, right?

GM: But look at the man!  Look where those choices LEAD!  Bitter,
broken-down, and... and that's his point, isn't it?

BW: See?  Sometimes ya gotta be crazy ta see when things are crazy.

GM:  Fans, let's-

[The twangy opening guitar chords of "Farewell Ride" by Beck reverberate
throughout the arena.]

GM: We saw a _very_ upset Ron Houston out here earlier tonight, Buck.
And with good cause. At Memorial Day Mayhem.. Brian Von Braun once again
attacked the former National Champ.. this time with a chair to that same
injured arm that forced Houston into retirement. And _also_ ruined
Houston's friend, Rob Magnum's final match ever. 

BW: Don't forget that he stole Houston's finisher.. he did that to!

[The East Coast Terror storms the set.. paper en tow. What's on the
paper? I think we're about to find out. Houston approaches Gordon and
Bucky, a slight smile on his face.]

RH: Ya had yer chance, Von Braun. 

Now we're gonna do this the hard way. 

Ya see.. at Memorial Day Mayhem ya put yer stinkin' hands on an
_official_ and round these parts.. that ain't somethin' that's taken
lightly. Ya had the stroke ta roll out of the ring and hit me with a
chair in mah arm when ah ain't lookin'. The arm that put me out of this
business at that..  

So.. ah _just_ had a little conversation with a Mr. Jim Watkins.. and he
handed me this..

[Houston holds up the paper.]

RH:  ..hot off the press.

BW: What is this? What the heck is that? 

RH: _This_ is a paper that certifies me to _suspend_ Brian Von Braun..
if he doesn't comes out here and answer ta me.. fer hittin' an official
at Memorial Day Mayhem. 

[Woah! POP!]

BW: What?! You can't do this! What gives you the authorit--

RH: Shut up and cue the music, _Buck_. 

[Houston eagerly turns towards the entrance.. the paper wrinkled beneath
his clenched fingers.

Ron Houston waits for a few seconds and no entrance music hits.]

GM:  It looks like Brian Von Braun isn't going to be coming out here
tonight.

BW:  Gordon, he could come from any direction.

[Houston, like he heard Bucky's comments, starts scanning the crowd.  He
turns around, making sure to watch his back and flanks for any surprise
attack.]

GM:  After Memorial Day Mayhem, Ron Houston isn't taking any chances,
Bucky.

[After a few more moments, Brian Von Braun emerges from between the
curtains.  The crowd boos and jeers.  BVB is decked out in a pair of
black cargo pants with a black t-shirt which reads "Southern Syndicate
Associate".  A pair of black boots and five o'clock shadow complete his
ensemble.  BVB looks none to pleased as he heads down to the broadcast
area.  Bucky hands a mic to BVB.]

BVB:  [sticking out his free hand] Lemme see that paper.

[BVB takes a moment to read the contents of the paper and then looks up
at Ron Houston.]

BVB:  So, yer gonna suspend tha Rocket City Badboy fer puttin' his hands
on an official at Memorial Day Mayhem?

[Houston nods, which makes BVB nod as he looks down at the paper again.]

BVB:  Just ta make sure I'm clear, I'm gonna get suspended fer puttin'
my hands on a biased official?

[Houston's eyes narrow as BVB looks at him.]

BVB:  Lemme show ya what I think 'bout this.

[BVB spits on the piece of paper and crumples it up.  He uses the paper
to wipe his butt as the crowd boos.  He finishes crumpling up the paper
and then throws it at Houston's head.  Houston easily side steps the
paper.]

BVB:  Whatcha gotta say 'bout that, Peach?

[Houston pauses.. smirking slightly.]

RH: _Peach_.. ah like that, Brian. Like a Georgia Peach.. ain't that
cute of ya. No wonder if took ya so long ta get out here. Why ah bet
ya've been thinkin' of that one fer a reeeallll long time, Bee-Vee-Bee.

[Houston looks down ato the tarnished piece of paper.. kicking it
aside.]

RH:  Truth be told.. if ya could _fight_ as well as ya wreck a perfectly
fine piece of paper.. then maybe it would be _YOU_ who walked out of
Memorial Day Mayhem with the shot at Stevie Scott. But ah guess that's
why yer shirt says "Associate" on it.. ain't it? 

[Von Braun looks a tad bit flustered by the cheap shot of Houston.]

RH:  That bug ya.. "Rocket City Badboy"?

Stuck in yer flamin' craw?

Go on.. then, boy, take yerself a shot at The Athens Georgia Madman.

[Houston leans in.]

RH:  No?

[Houston paces back and forth.]

RH:  Truth be told.. ah could care less 'bout ya puttin' yer
moneygrubbers on me. 'Bout ya hitting mah injured arm. Hell ah could
care less 'bout suspendin' ya fer what ya done. 

Ah ain't in the tattletale business. 

[Houston grits.]

RH:  Ah'm in the Fadin' business. 

And way ah figure it.. ah'll be Fadin' ya out just as soon as yer
impulsive.. revolting.. rotted brain can't hold back any more. And
knowin' _you_.. ya ain't got the stones.. or willpower ta hold yer
flamin' fist back. 

So go on.. _associate_ take yerself a shot at Ron Houston.. 

Gimme an excuse. 

[Von Braun looks down at his clenched fists.]

RH:  Ya wanna mess with the East Coast Terror? Wanna get in mah
business? Ruin mah friend's career? Kick a man when he's down? Drag his
name through the mud? 

Then have yerself the brass to smack him..

[Houston steps in.]

RH:  Right.

[Closer.]

RH:  In.

[Even closer.]

RH:  His.

[Practically nose-to-nose.]

RH:  Face.

[Houston smirks.]

RH:  _Associate_. 

[BVB stares at Houston, fists clenched for a few moments.  BVB breaks
out into a smile, unclenches his fists, and backs off from Houston.]

BVB:  I ain't gonna put my hands on ya, Ron.  

[He shakes his head.]

BVB:  Already done that twice, an' y'ain't done nothin' 'bout it exept
whine ta Jim Watkins.  Yer makin' that yellow streak down yer back
brighter thinkin' ya can lure me inta hittin' ya.  I ain't gonna get
suspended an' give these fans what they want.

[He shakes his head again.]

BVB:  Y'ain't gettin' off that easy, Peach.

[BVB puts the mic down on the table and backs up the aisle, not taking
his eyes off of Ron Houston.  Houston stands his ground as Von Braun
slowly backs away. Hollering some intolerable and inaudible words at Von
Braun's sudden caution. BVB smiles.. steps back.. and disappears behind
the curtain. Leaving Houston standing in front of a crumpled up piece of
paper with clenched fists.]

GM:  A very tense situation between these two men - and I don't think
this is the end of it, Bucky.

BW:  Not at all.  BVB's gonna keep pokin' and proddin' until Houston
reacts and then he's gonna be given his walking papers, daddy.  And I
for one can't wait to see it.

GM:  Fans, it's Main Event time here on Saturday Night Wrestling so
let's go up to the ring for the Lady Luck Challenge!

[Cut to the ring where Melissa is standing.]

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit and is part of the Lady Luck Challenge!  Introducing first...

[The crowd jeers as Donna Summer's "Hot Stuff" starts up over the PA
system.]

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

"SCORCHIN"
SHAAAAAAAANE TAAAAAYLOR!

[Taylor struts through the curtain to a shower of boos.  Kandi Kane is
right behind him, applauding her man.  Kevin Slater brings up the rear,
still sporting his Stetson.  The trio makes their way down the aisle,
stopping at ringside as a particularly rowdy blonde shouts her lungs out
in their direction.]

GM:  There's that very vocal young lady again.  She got on Kandi Kane's
case earlier tonight when they were out here for Kevin Slater's match.

BW:  Kandi should just deck her one and get it over with.

GM:  That's an easy way to find yourself on the unemployment line -
striking an AWA fan.

[Taylor rolls under the ropes into the ring, settling back in the corner
as the music starts to fade.]

MC:  And his opponent...

[Led Zeppelin's "No Quarter" starts up to a big ovation.]

MC:  From Bullhead City, Arizona... weighing in at 255 pounds...

"DYING BREED"
JAAAAAAAAAACK SNYYYYYYDER!

[Snyder is all business as he marches down the aisle, rushing towards
the ring where he rolls under the ropes.  He pops up to his feet, ready
to fight if he needs to be.  Seeing Taylor holding back, Snyder grabs
Melissa's mic, moves to the center of the ring and speaks.]

JS:  For the next few minutes, this ring is my turf.  

Grant Stone... ya wanna come out here and stick your nose in my business
again, get in my way like you've been doin' since the day I first met
ya... ya go right ahead.  I'll plant your back on the mat alongside this
buffoon.

[He gestures at Taylor, his gaze not shifting from the entrance-way. 
Small chuckle from the crowd.]

JS:  Ignorant, self-destructive, fools like you, Grant?  They've been
wandering the earth, blaming others for their problems for many, many
moons.  You're not special.  You're not different.  You say you're gonna
end my career, but when the day finally comes that I get you one on one
inside this ring, and the dust clears and everything's finally settled
between us two, th-

*WHACK!*

[In the middle of his speech, Snyder's hit in the back of the head by a
big clothesline from Shane Taylor.  The bell sounds!]

GM:  Shane Taylor's heard enough!

BW:  And so have I!

GM:  And Shane Taylor IMMEDIATELY is going for the neck of Jack Snyder!

BW:  Smart man.  That's exactly what I'd target if I were him.  And
plus, Shane Taylor is no stranger to Grant Stone.  He knows the kind of
damage Stone is capable of and now he's taking advantage of it.

[With Snyder backed into the ropes, Taylor doubles him up and smashes
his elbow down across the back of the injured neck.  Snyder suddenly
lashes out with a boot to the gut, backpedaling away from the attacking
Taylor.  Outside the ring, Slater grabs at the foot of Snyder while the
referee's attention is with Kandi Kane who is shouting at him from the
floor.]

GM:  Look at this!

[Taylor rushes forward, bashing the trapped Snyder with a double
axehandle to the skull.  A boot to the gut doubles him up where Taylor
delivers a forearm smash across the back of the neck.]

GM:  Slater grabbed the foot and Snyder got stuck against the ropes!

[The Scorchin' One grabs Snyder by the arm, firing him across the
ring...]

GM:  Clothesli- ducked by Snyder!

[Snyder rebounds hard and fast off the ropes, wincing as he hits them,
and bounces out with a clothesline of his own that takes Taylor down to
the mat.  Snyder immediately drops to a knee, grabbing Taylor by the
dirty blonde hair and opens fire with his fists.]

GM:  Right hand after right hand after right hand to the skull!

[The barrage of blows draws the ire of Kandi Kane who promptly leaps up
on the apron, screaming shrilly at the official who turns his attention
to her again... and that lovely young blonde at ringside really lets
Kandi have it from her front row seat.]

GM:  What in the world is going on now?

[With Taylor down, Snyder rushes to the ropes...

...and gets his foot grabbed by Kevin Slater once more, tripping him and
knocking him down to the mat.]

GM:  Ohh!  Come on, referee!

[But the referee didn't see anything, distracted by Kandi Kane's strong
protests.  He turns around to find Snyder down on the mat and Shane
Taylor standing over him.]

GM:  Uh oh... look out here...

[Taylor suddenly leaps up, dropping his leg down across the back of
Snyder's neck.  He promptly rolls him to his back, applying a lateral
press.]

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

[The crowd cheers as Snyder fires the shoulder off the mat at two.]

GM:  Not enough to keep him down.

[Taylor reaches down, hauling Snyder up to his feet...

...where the Dying Breed uncorks a big left hook to the jaw, stunning
Taylor for the moment.  Taylor rears back with both hands in a double
axehandle but gets caught with a boot to the gut, saving himself for the
moment.]

GM:  Snyder's trying to keep Taylor off the neck.

BW:  He's taken a clothesline and a legdrop.  Think he's doing a good
job so far?

[With Taylor stunned, Snyder grabs him by the back of the hair with his
left hand, dragging him to the corner.]

GM:  To the corner they go and...

[The crowd cheers as Snyder slams Taylor's face into the top
turnbuckle!]

GM:  HAAAARD to the buckle!

[Snyder keeps his grip on the hair, repeating the faceslam!]

GM:  Again to the buckle!

[And so it goes, Snyder repeatedly smashing Taylor's face into the top
turnbuckle over and over again.]

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

[Taylor staggers away from the repeated blows in the corner, falling
backwards towards the middle of the ring.  He takes a couple of wild
swings at the air before falling flat on his back in the center of the
squared circle.  Snyder, clutching his right shoulder, slowly edges out
of the corner and drops down to his knees next to him, again using his
left hand to grab Taylor by the hair...

...and SMASH his face into the canvas!]

GM:  Ohhh!  Facefirst to the mat!

[Snyder cracks a brief grin as he does it again.]

GM:  Again!

BW:  I'm getting a weird sense of deja vu here.

[Still holding the hair, Snyder repeats the move over and over.]

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

[As Snyder finally releases, Taylor starts rolling away, trying to
escape the beating.  He rolls right out under the ropes to the floor at
ringside, falling to a knee where he tries to recover.]

GM:  Jack Snyder's coming out after him!

[The crowd cheers as the brawler from Bullhead City rolls under the
ropes to the floor as well, again clutching his left shoulder as he does
so.  He's wincing as he approaches Taylor, pulling him to his feet by
the hair and pulling him over the announce desk...]

BW:  I'm outta here, Gordo!

[The loud "CLUNK!" does seem to imply that Bucky's heading for greener
pastures as Snyder pulls Taylor's head waaaaay back...

...and SMASHES it into the wooden table at ringside!  The crowd roars
for Snyder but the referee is all over him, shouting at him to keep the
fight in the ring.]

GM:  Jack Snyder is right here in front of us, fans, and- look!  Kevin
Slater's up on the apron!

[Slater, arguing with the official, draws his attention close to him as
Kandi Kane races up behind Snyder, reaching around to his face and
raking her fingernails across his eyes!]

GM:  OHHHH!

[The vocal young blonde at ringside is all over Kandi Kane at this
point, screaming and shouting to the official to try and rat her out. 
The official, however, still didn't see anything as a blinded Snyder
falls back into the ring apron where a very dazed Shane Taylor shoves
him under the ropes and back into the ring.]

GM:  Snyder goes back in... and here comes Taylor as well...

BW:  About time.  Can't these people leave my stuff alone?  First, it
was my car.  Now it's my seat at the desk.  

GM:  Taylor's back to his feet and... what's he going for here?

[An arrogant Taylor drags the blinded Snyder up to his feet, hooking a
front facelock...]

GM:  DDT perhaps?

[But instead, Taylor slowly turns it over, bracing Snyder's neck against
his shoulder...

...and DROPS down to the mat with a reverse neckbreaker!]

GM:  OHHHHHH!

[Taylor quickly flips Snyder to his back, applying another pin attempt.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!!  THR-

[A big cheer erupts for Snyder as he snakes the shoulder off the mat
just before the three count falls.]

GM:  So close!  And what a feather in the cap it would be for young
Shane Taylor to score a win over someone like Jack Snyder, Bucky.

BW:  The biggest win of his career so far, I'd argue.

GM:  And I'd have to agree with that.

[Taylor gets back to his feet, pulling Snyder up as well with a shout.]

GM:  Taylor's calling for the Hot Shot - his bread and butter...

[Grabbing Snyder by the arm, Taylor fires him across but quickly has it
reversed...]

GM:  Reversal by Snyder... Taylor off the far side...

[A desperate Snyder picks Taylor up by the upper thighs, attempting to
plant him with a spinebuster...

...but his injured shoulder gives way, forcing him to drop Taylor down
to the mat where Taylor quickly kicks upwards, connecting squarely on
the neck and shoulder area!]

GM:  Ohhh!  He was going for the JackBreaker but the injured neck and
shoulder wouldn't allow it to happen, Bucky.

BW:  This one could be over if Snyder can't even do that.

GM:  You may be right.

[With Snyder doubled up from the pain, Taylor grabs him by the arm
again, firing him across the ring for a Hot Shot...

...but as Snyder hits the ropes, he rebounds off with as much speed as
his body will allow, stampeding across the ring where he leaps into the
air, barreling over the ready-to-strike Taylor with a vertical body
press, knocking him down to the mat where Snyder pushes his own legs
back before pulling them up in a makeshift double leg cradle!]

GM:  What in the-

[The referee dives down to count!]

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

[Taylor kicks out of the pin attempt... just a bit too late.]

GM:  Jack Snyder wins it!  Snyder wins the-

[And outside the ring, the blonde begins celebrating a little too much
as Kandi Kane rushes over to her, screaming right up in her face over
the railing!]

GM:  Whoa!  Whoa!  What is going on here?!

[Kevin Slater quickly intervenes, dragging Kandi away from the ringside
fan as Shane Taylor looks stunned inside the ring.]

GM:  Jack Snyder was thrown way off his game from the injuries he
suffered at the hands of Grant Stone.  You could see him constantly
trying to adapt here tonight and when the JackBreaker didn't happen, he
dipped into his playbook for a modified version of something we've seen
from him before.  What a move it was and it gives him a victory here
tonight in the Lady Luck Challenge!  Fans, don't go away, 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...

We fade back to the broadcast table at ringside where Gordon and Bucky
are standing alongside the Southern Syndicate.  The National Champion,
Stevie Scott and the Rumble winner Raphael Rhodes are standing out front
but Calisto Dufresne, Adrian Freeman, Simon Rhodes, and Brian Von Braun
are in the house as well.  Oh, so is "Agent To The Stars" Ben Waterson
who is holding the mic.]

ATTSBW:  Nobody wants to hear from you, Gordon, so just let me handle
this.

Todd Michaelson...

[Waterson chuckles.]

ATTSBW:  You just don't learn, do you?  This all seems very familiar to
me.  You come out here and challenge us, all full of fire.  You tell
everyone that Marcus Broussard is going to be your partner.  

[He turns to look back at his charges.]

ATTSBW:  Where have we heard that before?

[Everyone laughs!  Dicks.]

ATTSBW:  And speaking of people who've said over and over how they're
going to put us down yet...

[Waterson spreads his arms.]

ATTSBW:  ...here we stand.

Hello, Juan Vasquez.

[The crowd cheers at Vasquez' name.]

ATTSBW:  You'll never get another shot at the National Title.  Raph here
saw to that...

[The Agent claps Raphael Rhodes on the shoulder.]

ATTSBW:  But yet you still want a piece of the Southern Syndicate after
the living hell we've turned your life into?

[He shakes his head.]

ATTSBW:  So be it.  But don't say I never warned you!

[Waterson also finds this really funny considering his catchphrase.]

ATTSBW:  Michaelson and Vasquez want us in a six man tag and they think
Broussard is going to show up for the ride.  Well, I'm here to tell
Marcus Broussard that if he values the ability to walk home and see his
pretty little wife, he'd better not show up here in two weeks to accept
Michaelson's offer.

[He holds up a hand.]

ATTSBW:  On second thought, show up, Marcus.  Show up in Little Rock. 
Tell the fans goodbye.  Tell the AWA goodbye.  And walk on out of here. 
We'll allow that.  And I'll even kick in a cash bonus if you shove your
fist down Michaelson and Vasquez' throats on the way out the door.

[Another chuckle.]

ATTSBW:  A six man tag on the 4th of July, huh?  I like it.  I really
do.  And you know WHY I like it?  Because thanks to Raph, the National
Champion just happens to have that night off.

[Stevie Scott laughs at this, slapping the title belt hanging over his
shoulder.]

ATTSBW:  The Rumble title shot for the 4th of July is dead and buried in
the Southern Syndicate's backyard so we'd be more than happy to accept
your challenge for the 4th of July...   So, Michaelson... Vasquez... and
whoever you manage to dig up to actually team with you...

...you're on.

[Big cheer!]

ATTSBW:  And since the champ doesn't have to defend the title, he'll be
more than happy to lead us to victory that night.  Ain't that right,
champ.

RR: No. That ain't right.

[The crowd audibly gasps, as everyone in the Southern Syndicate turns
their eyes to Rhodes.]

RR: I didn't spend over fifty minutes in that ring on a busted knee to
just let this chance go.  I ain't the kind of guy to say this, right? 
Stevie... I respect you.  I think you're a great champion.  But the
chance to be the National champ, well... the last time I got that, I
weren't in the building, was I?

[Rhodes smirks.]

RR: I'm sure we've got enough people to shut down Vasquez, the old man,
and the no-show.  On July 4th, Stevie... I'm gettin' me shot.

[Raphael Rhodes walks off to a... cheer?  Stevie Scott, belt suddenly
clutched to his chest, shouts off-mic at Ben Waterson who looks
absolutely puzzled...

...and we fade to black.]