SuperClash II

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                           American Wrestling Alliance
                                 Proudly Presents
                  				  SUPERCLASH II

                               Live From TWO Cities
                      Fair Park Coliseum in Dallas, Texas
                      Family Arena in St. Louis, Missouri
                               November 25th, 2010
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[As the end credits to "Good Times" slowly fade out, they are replaced
by a blackened screen and the soft piano opening to Guns N' Roses'
"November Rain."  The voice of Gordon Myers is heard over the start.]

"For decades, the biggest day of the calendar year for the professional
wrestling business was Thanksgiving night.  

It was the night when all the biggest stars came out.

The night when all the biggest matches were held.

The night where careers were built and legends were made.

And the night where the memories that last a lifetime were formed.

On this night, the AWA returns to those days for the biggest event of
2010.  It is SuperClash II."

[Slowly, a series of black and white shots pass by - first, Ron Houston
throwing a right hand at Brian Von Braun, then Anton Layton stomping
Vernon Riley, then the War Pigs and the Moonshiners doing battle.]

"It is SuperClash where long-held rivalries come to a head."

[The shot is replaced by a slowly fading still montage of the ten men in
the Steal The Spotlight Showdown.]

"It is SuperClash where ten men will attempt to seize the day to earn a
shot at the greatest prize in our sport."

[A photo of Violence Unlimited and the Samoan Hit Squad fades up.]

"It is SuperClash where two teams take the first step towards the
greatest tag team event in professional wrestling - the Stampede Cup."

[A shot of Kolya Sudakov and Vladimir Velikov standing side by side in
happier days for the Russians.]

"It is SuperClash where two family members collide with one man's future
in the balance."

[The Russians are replaced by Brent Maverick and Nenshou.]

"It is SuperClash where tribute is paid to one of the greatest
promotions of all time and a new title is carved out of its legacy...
where these two men do battle to live up to that legacy... or to destroy
it."

[Rough N Ready appear on the screen, a still photo of them stomping
Crusher Glenn.]

"It is SuperClash where champions set out to prove that their best days
are yet to come..."

[The Blonde Bombers' photo fades in over it.]

"...and their challengers try to show the world who rules the tag team
world."

[The Bombers fade away to be replaced by Mark Langseth and Shane Destiny
but not in your typical photos - in the form of posters showing them in
Main Events in promotions around the world.]

"It is SuperClash where two sure-fire Hall of Famers meet with the honor
of having the greatest hold in wrestling on the line..."

[They're replaced by Bobby Taylor and Kevin Slater.]

"...and two former best friends meet to end their war."

[The grizzled, bloody face of Tin Can Rust fills the screen.]

"It is SuperClash where this man attempts to get final vengeance for an
act that occurred one year ago..."

[The arrogant, smirking visage of Calisto Dufresne cuts into Rust's.]

"...and this man strives to give us all one more nightmare to relive
forever."

[And finally, to a shot of the AWA National Champion Stevie Scott and
his top challenger, Juan Vasquez.]

"It is SuperClash where one year ago, a title match sparked a war that
MUST end on this night in Dallas, Texas.  It WILL end on this night in
Dallas, Texas.  But how will it end?  Who will walk out of SuperClash
with the National Title?  And will Juan Vasquez be forced to walk out of
the AWA forever?

It is SuperClash where careers are made.

It is SuperClash where legends are built.

It is SuperClash where memories are forged in the fires of competition."

[The SuperClash logo slowly fades in.]

"It is SuperClash...

...and it has arrived."

[The logo fades away to a shot of the screaming crowd jammed inside the
Fair Park Coliseum in Dallas, Texas.  "Run This Town" by Jay-Z feat.
Rihanna is kickin' the PA as the camera pans over the fans.  We can see
the ring smackdab in the middle of it all - red, white, and blue ropes
around a white canvas.  Red aprons hang off the ring as well, dancing
down to the thin padding on the floor at ringside.  

Steel barricades are surrounding the ring, keeping the rabid AWA
faithful at bay for the moment as the patrons lean over the metal
railings, screaming and shouting at the cameras as they pan across them.
 A small entranceway leads from the locker room area - ropes on both
sides to keep the fans back along with a row of security guards.  There
is no elevated entrance ramp on this night.  Giant sets of elevated
bleachers on all sides of the ring, holding over nine thousand wild AWA
fans.

We cut to ringside where we see two wooden tables - one for the
timekeeper and ring announcer and one for our announce team.  Speaking
of which...]

GM:  Happy Thanksgiving everyone and welcome to the Fair Park Coliseum
in Dallas, Texas!  It is the biggest night of the year here in the AWA,
fans!  It is SuperClash and it has indeed arrived!

[The camera shot at ringside shows Gordon Myers, classy as always in a
black tuxedo, white dress shirt, and red bowtie.  He looks a little
stuffy actually and not quite pleased to be dressed up so much.  

And then there's Bucky.

Mr. Buckthorn Wilde is rockin' what appears to be some kind of deep
purple suede jacket over an eye-piercing hot pink dress shirt.  He spins
around, jerking a thumb to the back of his jacket where someone (his
mother, perhaps?) has bedazzled it with the words "Big Bucks, No
Whammys!"]

GM:  Bucky Wilde, a Happy Thanksgiving to you as well.

BW:  Thanks, Gordo, I know the pleasure is all yours.  When you sat down
with the family this afternoon for your Butterball, I know when you led
them in a blessing you said how grateful you are to be employed by the
AWA so you could put that Butterball on the table and so you can enjoy
my company every two weeks.  Ain't that right, Gordo?

GM:  You know me so well, Bucky.  Fans, we know you all had a lot of
things to be thankful for this year and we hope, by the end of this
night, you can add being a fan of this company to the list.  The AWA
truly is THE Major League of professional wrestling and this is going to
be something amazing.  We've got twelve HUGE matches to get through but
before we do, let's send things over to our good friends who will be
calling the action inside the Family Arena in St. Louis, Missouri for us
tonight as well - a very special treat for the AWA fans.  It is my
distinct pleasure to kick things over to St. Louis to two very dear
friends of mine and two of the best announcers of all time - Jon
Stegglet and Todd Michaelson!  

[The shot crossfades to one inside the Family Arena which has an
identical setup to what we just saw in Dallas except there are seemingly
a handful more people who've shown up for the AWA's debut in the Mound
City.  These fans are roaring - thanks to Todd Michaelson who is
standing atop the announce desk, waving them on.  A chuckling Jon
Stegglet, clad in a classic black tux, is business as usual.]

JS:  Thanks, Gordon.  And what an honor and privilege it is for me to be
a part of this show.  As many of our fans know, I have been involved
with the AWA from the start but tonight is the first time I am getting
the chance to call some of this great, great action.  It's been a long
time for me to get behind this mic but I'll try to live up to your
standards, Gordon.  And as for my broadcast partner...

[Michaelson hops down off the table, a big grin on his face as he sports
a gold sportcoat over a green polo with the AWA logo stitched in the
corner.  His blond hair is slicked back into a ponytail as he claps his
old friend on the shoulder.]

TM:  I never thought this would happen again, Jonnie.  Man, what a night
to be in St. Louis!

[A big cheer from the St. Louis crowd.]

TM:  It's SuperClash.  It's the biggest night of the year.  These fans
are ready, the guys in the locker room are ready, and Jon Stegglet, I
know you're ready!

JS:  Indeed I am, Todd, but our friends back in Dallas are going to be
kicking this night off for us so let's head back to the Lone Star State
for the opening match!

[We crossfade back to the ring in Dallas, Texas where Melissa Cannon's
temporary replacement, Phil Watson is standing in a bright white tux
that seems to be popping a bit at the seams from his ample gut.]

PW:  Hello everyone and welcome to SuperClash II!

[BIG CHEER!]

PW:  It is now time for our OPENING MATCH of the evening!

[Another big cheer!]

PW:  This is a tag team match is scheduled for one fall with a fifteen
minute time limit and will determine which team will earn the #2 seed at
the Stampede Cup!

Introducing first...

[The sounds of a growling "SSSAAAAMOOOOOAAAAA!" fill the air to the
jeers of the crowd.  The voice is replaced with tribal drumming and
shouts as three men emerge from the entrance curtain.]

PW:  From the Isle of Samoa... they are accompanied to the ring by their
manager James J. Dallas... weighing in tonight at 542 pounds... 

SCOLA...

MAFU...

THE SAAAAAAMOOOOAN HIT SQUAAAAAD!

[The jeers intensify for the trio as they make their way into full view.
 James J. Dallas leads the way, clad in his usual white suit and
chomping a cigar in the corner of his mouth.  

The 6'6 beast, Scola, trails behind him, snarling at a pair of young
ringside fans waving a, "LAY THE HAMMER ON SCOLA!" sign.  The big man is
solid as a rock, tall and hefty with his shoulder length hair cornrowed
down on his scalp.

Mafu brings up the rear, barking and frothing in the direction of anyone
who draws too close.  The wildman's hair is matching his attitude,
tangled and all over the place.]

GM:  The Samoan Hit Squad has had some trouble getting some momentum
towards a shot at the National Tag Team Titles as of late but that can
all change here tonight, Bucky.

BW:  If the Samoans knock off Violence Unlimited, the world is their raw
oyster to toss down their gullets.  They'll get a shot at the Number One
seeds, Calisto Dufresne and Adrian Freeman, in two weeks and they'll
earn a nice, high seed in the Stampede Cup tournament which is less than
a month away.  This is a big night for the Samoans.

[As they reach the ring, Dallas joins them inside the squared circle,
standing in the middle of it all.  He approaches Phil Watson, sticking
out his hand.]

GM:  It appears that Mr. James J. Dallas has something to say to the
crowd here in Dallas... unfortunately.

[Dallas is all teeth as he looks out over the crowd, his Samoans
stalking about the ring.]

JJD:  Hello there!

[Predictably, there are boos.]

JJD:  Seeing as it is Thanksgiving and I have a lot to be thankful for
this year, I thought I'd share the joy with all of you here tonight...
and especially towards Jackson Haynes and Danny Morton.

[The crowd buzzes, confused.]

JJD:  I have made the offer before and now I make it one more time.  Mr.
Haynes, you have seen what happens to you without my guidance - you fall
short to a pipsqueak punk like Brent Maverick.

[The Dallas fans jeer the insult.]

JJD:  With me in your corner, that never would have happened.  With my
Samoans by your side, that never would have happened.  So, for the last
time... sign your names on this little paper I've had my lawyers draw
up.  We'll call this one a draw and we'll sit in the back tonight
figuring out who we want to beat up first.

[Dallas nods his head, grinning to his Samoans who don't respond.]

JJD:  Come on out here, you two ragamuffins.  Let's make this a holiday
to remember!

[Dallas hands the mic back to the ring announcer who continues.]

PW:  And their opponents...

[Motley Crue's "Shout At The Devil" starts up to a huge reaction from
the crowd.]

PW:  At a total combined weight of 595 pounds...

Danny Morton...

"The Hammer" Jackson Haynes...

VIIIIIOLENCE UNNNNNLIMITED!

[Morton and Haynes emerge through the curtain to a big roar.  Haynes is
pumped, throwing both arms up in the air, shouting for the fans to get
louder.  

Danny Morton jogs in place in the aisle, pointing down towards their
waiting opponents.  He runs one hand through his shaggy brown hair and
then slaps himself across his beard-covered face before starting quickly
down the aisle.

The wild Jackson Haynes is right behind him, his long, stringy, dirty
blonde hair hanging down to his shoulders.  He whoops a few times,
throwing an arm in the air as they head towards the ring.]

GM:  Two of the biggest, toughest men I've ever seen in a wrestling
ring, Bucky.

BW:  These two made their names in Japan, fighting and beating the best
teams that they had to offer over there.  And now they're in the AWA,
looking to beat the best teams here.

GM:  It's been a little while since we've seen them in tag team action
with both men opting to compete in the Longhorn Heritage Title
tournament - Haynes actually making the semifinals before falling
short...

BW:  To that pipsqueak punk Brent Maverick.

GM:  According to James J. Dallas, yes.

[Morton rolls under the ropes while Haynes hops up on the apron, running
the length of one side of the ring, pointing to the cheering fans before
he steps through the ropes.  Morton walks out to the middle of the ring,
glaring at a grinning James J. Dallas.]

GM:  Danny Morton is eye to eye with Dallas and... what's gonna happen
here, Bucky?

[Morton slowly reaches up, taking the sheet of paper out of Dallas'
offering hands...]

BW:  Sign it, you big dummy.  Make the first good decision of your
career!

[Morton stares at the paper for a long moment...

...and then holds it up in Dallas' face, tearing it right down the
middle before throwing it down to the mat to a huge cheer!]

GM:  I think that's a no, Bucky!

BW:  What an idiot!

[And to punctutate the decision, Morton shoves Dallas hard, knocking him
down on his rear in the middle of the ring to a bigger roar from the
crowd...

...a move that brings the Samoans into the fray, throwing limbs with
great speed and high impact.]

GM:  The Samoans didn't like that! 

BW:  Can you blame them?  Who the heck does Danny Morton think he is to
put his hands on James J. Dallas like that?  

[Scola goes straight for Morton, battering him with heavy forearms to
the ears that quickly knock Morton down to a knee.  Nearby, Mafu and
Haynes are a blur of motion as they pummel one another with rights and
lefts.]

GM:  We've got a fight on our hands here in Dallas and SuperClash II is
underway!

[Haynes suddenly brings up a knee into the gut of Mafu, stopping his
offense short.  Grabbing Mafu by his wild hair, Haynes takes three steps
and HURLS Mafu over the ropes to the floor!]

GM:  The Hammer clears out Mafu!

[He spins around like a wildman, grabbing Scola from behind in tugging
the arms back to expose the body...

...which allows Morton to throw a skin-blistering chop across the
chest!]

GM:  Morton drills him!

[A few more chops connect before each man grabs an arm, firing Scola
into the ropes...

...and flattening him with a running double shoulderblock!]

GM:  DOWN GOES SCOLA!!

BW:  Anyone's going down from nearly six hundred pounds charging at you.
 I don't care who you are or how big you are, Gordo.

GM:  And look at this now!

[The crowd roars as Haynes and Morton stand over the downed Scola,
pounding down with forearm after forearm, clubbing him across the back
and the head and neck area.]

BW:  I'm lookin' but this is an illegal doubleteam, Gordo!  That referee
needs to get one of these goofs out of there and get some control over
this thing.

GM:  Well, I can't argue with that.  And the official steps right in,
trying to get- yes, Danny Morton is staying in but the Hammer is heading
to the apron.

[Morton grabs the back of Scola's full-length tights, tugging him up to
his feet.  He promptly hooks a side waistlock, sending the crowd into a
frenzy.]

GM:  BACKDROP DRIV- no!

[Scola, feeling the end of the match at hand, drives his powerful arm
down on the back of Morton's neck twice, breaking the grip.  He grabs
Morton by the wrist, flinging him across the ring.]

GM:  Whip to the corner by the 6'6 Scola... here he comes!

[The charging Samoan comes up empty as Morton sidesteps, causing Scola
to smash chestfirst into the buckles.  Morton quickly spins him around
in the buckles, turning his back into the corner before blasting him
with a right-handed chop across the chest...

...and then pops him with a closed right fist to the jaw!]

GM:  Ohh!  First the chop, then the hook and-

[The crowd roars as Morton repeats the assault, first throwing the chop
across the chest and then coming back across Scola with a right hand to
the jaw.  The referee steps in, warning against the clenched fist but
Scola eats a few more before Morton steps back, breaking the attack.]

GM:  Scola got rocked with several right hands on the jaw - look out
now...

[Morton grabs Scola by the wrist, firing him across the ring.]

GM:  The American Murder Machine charges in!

[And runs right into a raised boot to the jaw!]

GM:  OHH!  HE GOT CAUGHT!!

[Morton stumbles backwards from the impact, staggered but not fallen. 
Scola charges out of the corner, arm outstretched...

...but Morton catches him coming out, spinning and DRIVING him down to
the mat with a powerslam!]

GM:  OHHH!  WHAT A POWERSLAM!!!

[Morton pops up, jumping up and down and letting loose a roar that
drives the crowd crazy as he marches to the corner, slapping the
outstretched hand of his partner.]

GM:  And in comes the Hammer, quickly living up to his name with a
double axehandle across the back of Scola's head!

[Haynes hooks a front facelock on the rising Scola, slamming his knee up
into the face of the big Samoan three times.  He spins around, taking
Scola down with a snap mare...

...and then smashes him across the face with a high impact crossface
blow!]

GM:  Good grief!  What a shot by Haynes!

[With Scola down on the mat, Haynes dashes to the ropes...

...and tumbles over them, crashing down hard on the barely-padded floor
as Mafu tugs down the ropes!]

GM:  OHHH!  COME ON, REFEREE!

BW:  A brilliant move by Mafu!  They call him a savage, they call him a
wildman, but that was a brilliant strategic move by one-half of the
Samoan Hit Squad, Gordo.

GM:  It was blatantly illegal!

BW:  Well, sure, but that's just semantics.

[Out on the floor, Mafu puts his bare feet to work with stomps and kicks
to the torso of the downed Haynes.  The referee stands inside the ring,
reprimanding Mafu as he hauls Haynes up to his feet...

...and HURLS him chestfirst into the steel barricade!]

GM:  HARD INTO THE STEEL!

[Mafu stands behind the downed Haynes, taunting the ringside fans who
seem ready to jump the railing to get at him.  A snarling Mafu grabs the
railing with both hands, yanking Haynes up to choke him over the top of
the barricade!]

GM:  The referee needs to get out there and stop this, Bucky.  This
can't go on like this.

[Mafu finally breaks it, hauling Haynes over to the apron, chucking him
under the ropes where Scola is waiting with a big leaping elbowdrop.]

GM:  Finally, the action gets back inside the ring.

BW:  I thought Haynes liked fighting on the floor!

GM:  He does but not when he's been the victim of a sneak attack!

BW:  Sounds like an excuse to me.

[Scola drags Haynes off the mat by the hair, shoving him back into the
corner.  He marches in, simply wrapping his hands around the throat of
Haynes.]

GM:  That's a choke, ref!

BW:  Are you doubting Marty Meekly's ability to see that's a chokehold,
Gordo?

GM:  I'm not but he needs to do something about it.

BW:  He's counting!  What more do you want?

[Scola steps back, dragging Haynes into a front facelock.  He slings
Haynes' arm over his neck...

...and powers him up off the mat!]

BW:  Look at that, Gordo!  Scola just powerlifted all 310 pounds of
Jackson Haynes into the air in that suplex... and check this out!

[The crowd buzzes as Scola stands tall, holding Haynes straight up in
the air without the slightest look of effort on his face.]

GM:  Wow.  Pure power on display by Scola and- DOWN goes Haynes to the
mat!

[Scola pops back to his feet, smashing his arm across his own broad
chest with a "SAAAMOA!" before stomping over to his corner, slapping the
hand of Mafu.]

GM:  In comes the wildman, Mafu...

[And he quickly lives up to the "wildman" billing with a quick series of
stomps to the chest before dropping down on all fours and wrapping his
hands around the throat!]

GM:  That's a choke too, ref!

BW:  Would you stop crying about a choke?  If this is how this night's
gonna go, I'm moving up to St. Louis with Stegglet and Michaelson.

GM:  If someone's breaking the rules, I'm going to call them out on it,
Bucky.  If that's too much for you to bear, I'm sure we can arrange to
get you the night off.

BW:  Are you threatening me, Myers?

[Mafu breaks the chokehold, climbing back to his feet, and randomly
barking at the crowd.  He pauses for a moment, glaring down at the
gasping Haynes...

...and then deadleaps into the air, bringing a headbutt down across the
skull!]

GM:  Leaping headbutt!  Cover by Mafu!  ONE!!  TWO!!

[But Haynes fires a shoulder up at two.]

GM:  Two count only right there.  

[An angry Mafu gets back up, stomping the downed Haynes again.  The
referee steps in, forcing him a step back...

...but he moves right back in, dragging Haynes off the canvas.]

GM:  Both men to their feet now... whip by Mafu...

[Mafu throws his arm out, looking for a clothesline but Haynes ducks it,
rebounding off the far side...

...and a big collision occurs in the middle of the ring as the two men
clothesline each other, knocking themselves flat!]

GM:  Ohh!  Both men down off the double clothesli-


"FIVE MINUTES HAVE EXPIRED!  TEN MINUTES REMAIN!"


GM:  Ten minutes left in this one.

BW:  They're not going to make it ten minutes at this pace.

GM:  They certainly aren't.

[The crowd roars, cheering on Haynes as the Hammer tries to get to the
corner where his partner is waiting for him.  Across the ring, Mafu is
trying to get to his own corner where the powerful Scola has his arm
outstretched.]

GM:  Both men are going for the tag... who can get there first?

[The fans boo as Scola slaps the hand of Mafu, stepping into the ring,
charging across...

...and knocking Danny Morton clear off the apron before Haynes reaches
him!]

GM:  Ohh!  He clears out Danny Morton!

[Scola reaches down, dragging Jackson Haynes off the mat.  He hooks him
around the head and neck, powering him off the mat...

...and sending him down hard to the canvas with a uranage slam!]

GM:  OHHH!  

[Scola drops to the mat, applying a lateral press.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  TH-

[The crowd cheers as Haynes fires a shoulder off the mat at two.  Scola
grabs him by the stringy hair, drilling him with three right hands to
the skull before shoving him back down to the mat.]

GM:  Scola back to his feet, glaring down at Haynes... now what's he
doing?

BW:  He's heading to the ropes... climbing to the middle rope...

GM:  The big man's up on the second rope, looking down at Haynes as he
starts to stir...

[Scola leaps off the ropes, ready to smash a double axehandle across the
skull...

...but he gets caught in the powerful arms of Haynes and DRIVEN
spinefirst back to the corner!]

GM:  He caught him!  Haynes with a big counter there!

[Grabbing Scola by the cornrows, Haynes throws five big right haymakers
to the skull...

...and then DRILLS him between the eyes with a measured left hand that
knocks Scola back, clinging to the ropes to stay on his feet!]

GM:  Scola's got rocked!  His eyes are blurry!  He's seeing stars!

[Haynes grabs Scola by the wrist, firing him across the ring.]

GM:  Scola hits the corner hard - here comes Haynes!

[The crowd cheers a big running clothesline in the corner!]

GM:  Haynes caught him!  He hit all of that!

BW:  He always does 'em in pairs, Gordo!

GM:  Another whip across the ring... here comes the Hammer...

[Haynes comes barreling across the ring at top speed...

...and stops cold in his tracks as Scola raises his hand, grabbing
Haynes' by the throat with his right hand!]

GM:  OHH!  SAMOAN DEATH GRIP!!

[Haynes' eyes go wide at the fingers gripping his throat.  He struggles
against it, flailing his arms wildly...

...and then finds himself shoved backwards before being laid out with a
running clothesline!]

GM:  Good grief!  Scola nearly took his head clean off with that!

[The big man steps to the corner, slapping the hand of Mafu who starts
to scale the ropes as Scola pulls Haynes off the mat, powering him up
into a suplex again...

...and then Scola leaps off the ropes, catching Haynes across the torso
with a crossbody as they all come crashing down to the mat!]

GM:  OHHHH!  THAT MIGHT DO IT!!

[Mafu stays on Haynes as James J. Dallas barks at the official to
count.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE- 

[BIG CHEER!]

GM:  SHOULDER UP!!  SHOULDER UP!!

BW:  I've gotta question that one, Gordo!  That pin was applied for a
couple seconds before the referee started the count.  That's a slow
count in my book.

GM:  The referee did seem to be a little out of position there but Marty
Meekly got in there as quickly as possible.

[Mafu is all over the official as he gets up, barking and jabbering away
unintelligbly at Marty Meekly as he backs him into the corner.  James J.
Dallas screams for his man to get back in the match as Haynes tries to
elbowcrawl across the ring to Danny Morton.]

GM:  Haynes needs the tag... and this might be his chance, Bucky.

BW:  It might be 'cause Mafu is yelling at the ref!  He's out of
control!  The Colonel can't get his head back in the game.

[But the wild-haired Mafu spins around, spotting the crawling Haynes,
and charges towards him, leaping into the air with a big legdrop across
the back of the neck to cut him off.  Mafu comes up laughing, pointing
at Danny Morton...

...who spits square in the eye of the wildman!]

GM:  He spit on him!  Professor Pain spit right in the eye of Mafu!

[An enraged Mafu charges the corner, grabbing Morton around the head as
the two men tangle up, throwing blows at one another as quickly as they
can to the roars of the crowd.  A protesting Marty Meekly rushes into
the fray, trying to break up the fight.]

GM:  We've got a fight in the corner and-

[A dazed Jackson Haynes inches closer and closer to the corner behind
the back of Mafu, climbing to his feet...

...and lunges to the corner, knocking Mafu into the buckles as he slaps
the hand of Danny Morton!]

GM:  TAG!  TAG!

[Danny Morton bursts into the ring, all full of fire as he throws right
and left jabs to the jaw of the stunned Mafu.  Pulling him by the arm
out of the corner, Morton flings him across the ring.]

GM:  Whip by Morton...

[And a big running lariat sends Mafu flipping head over heels!  Morton
smashes his chest with his fists, letting loose a whoop to the crowd. 
He spins around, charging across the ring...

...and knocks Scola clear off the apron with a running dropkick to the
chin!]

GM:  WHOA!

BW:  Where did THAT come from?

GM:  A surprising dropkick by the big man and Scola got flattened!

[Morton gets back to his feet, dropping down into a three point stance
as Mafu slowly rises...

...and flips him head over heels again, this time with a running
shoulder tackle!]

GM:  DOWN GOES MAFU!!

[Morton nods his head to the cheering crowd, pulling Mafu by his wild
hair to his feet as he runs in place...

...and dashes to the ropes, rebounding off with his arm outstretched.]

GM:  CLOTHESLI- ducked by Mafu!


"WHAAAAAAAAAAP!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  THRUST KICK!  THRUST KICK UNDER THE CHIN!!

[Mafu staggers to the corner, slapping the hand of an angry Scola who
marches in, dragging Morton off the mat.  He hurls Morton to the ropes.]

GM:  Morton off the ropes... BIG BOOT!!  BIG BOOT ON TARGET!!

[Scola collapses on top of the downed Morton.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE-

[The crowd cheers Jackson Haynes as he dives atop Scola, breaking the
pin.  Mafu charges back in and the fight is on once more.]

GM:  It's breaking down again!  Mafu and Haynes!  Mafu and Haynes!

[The two wild brawlers stumble over towards the ropes, battling tooth
and nail with each other...

...and eventually take one another off the top rope to the floor where
they continue fighting on the thinly-padded floor.]

GM:  Out go the Hammer and Mafu!  Scola drags Morton back to his feet...

[The big man ducks down, hoisting Morton across his shoulders in a
fireman's carry...

...which Morton wriggles free from, landing on his feet behind Scola. 
He promptly hooks a side waistlock, powering the big man into the air,
and DUMPING him violently down on the back of his head and neck!]

GM:  BACKDROP DRIVER!  HE GOT IT ALL!!!

[A dazed Morton throws an arm across the chest of Scola as the referee
dives to the mat to count.]

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


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


PW:  Here are your winners... VIOLENCE UNNNNNLIMITED!

[The crowd roars the announcement as a weary Danny Morton pushes up to
his knees, nodding his head in triumph.  Soon, Jackson Haynes rolls back
in to join his partner, yanking him up to his feet into an embrace.]

GM:  Haynes and Morton win!  They've earned the #2 seed in the Stampede
Cup next month and in just two weeks, we'll see Morton and Haynes take
on Calisto Dufresne and Adrian Freeman and I can't wait to see that one
go down, Bucky.

BW:  It was a tough match.  A hard-fought win.  I can't complain about
the way that one went down.  Two hard-hitting teams battling it out
until one of 'em just couldn't battle no more?  Sign me up every time,
Gordo.

GM:  A big victory here for Haynes and Morton on the big stage of
SuperClash II and if that's the kind of action we can expect to see all
night, this is going to be one for the ages, fans, so don't you dare go
away because we'll be right back after this break!

[We fade away from the triumphant Violence Unlimited to black...

And then to a very long shot of the exterior of a pretty dingy looking
building.]

"Have you ever dreamed of fame?"

[Cut a little closer.]

"Of glory?"

[A little closer.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Two young students are grappling on the canvas.]

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

You want to wrestle!"

[Fade to a graphic that has all the info on the AWA Combat Corner.  We
freeze there for a moment and then fade back up to the backstage area in
the Family Arena where Mark Stegglet is standing in front of a large
SuperClash II backdrop.]

MS:  Hello, fans!  The atmosphere backstage here in St. Louis is
electrifying!  It is the AWA's first night in this city and these fans -
and the wrestlers - are super excited about it!  Plus, I'm on the same
show as my Uncle Jon!  How cool is that?

[Mark lets a goofy grin show, revealing he's still a big, dumb kid at
heart.]

MS:  Joining me at this time however is someone who isn't quite so
excited about tonight because tonight, he puts his future on the line. 
Kolya Sudakov, a loss here tonight means you're back under the thumb of
the Russian government - thanks to Ivan Kostovich.

[Kolya Sudakov steps into the frame, already dressed in a black singlet
covered up in a satin red jacket with the Russian flag splashed across
the back.]

KS:  It is dark time for Kolya Sudakov, Mark Stegglet.  Tonight, Kolya
face my own blood... my Uncle Vladimir.  The last time Uncle Vladimir
and Kolya in the ring together, Kolya was left bloody and broken -
humiliated - run out of the AWA.

But Kolya came back.  Kolya came back to become the National Champion
again.

[Sudakov shakes his head.]

KS:  But other people have other ideas.  Uncle Vladimir.  That fleabag
Bathwaite.  Sharif.  And now Comrade Kostovich.

Comrade Kostovich, you once were hero to Kolya.  You were man who
inspired Kolya to become a professional wrestler - to fight all over the
world.  You were man who gave Kolya something to dream about becoming.

And now?

[He spits.]

KS:  Now you want to crush Kolya dreams.  You want Kolya to go back to
Russia.  You want Kolya to run from the AWA again.

[He shakes his head, waggling a finger.]

KS:  Not this time, Comrade Kostovich.  Tonight, Kolya meets his own
blood... tonight, Kolya spills his own blood... and tonight, Kolya
begins to show entire world why he came back.

Uncle Vladimir... you were once great wrestler.  Now?  

You embarrass yourself.  You embarrass your country.  You embarrass your
legacy.

Tonight?  Kolya help you retire with dignity.

[Sudakov storms out of view leaving Stegglet behind.]

MS:  Now, that's a man with something to prove here tonight in St.
Louis!  Todd, Uncle Jon - back to you!

[We crossfade to the ringside area where Jon Stegglet and Todd
Michaelson are standing.]

JS:  Thanks, Mark - this is going to be very interesting, Todd.

TM:  Still can't believe that goofball is your nephew.

JS:  Easy there.  He's family... and family is exactly what this next
matchup is about.  Vladimir Velikov and Kolya Sudakov were once
practically father and son.  They were as close as that.  After Kolya
abandoned the world of MMA, after he suffered early failure as a pro
wrestler, he fell under the wing of his veteran uncle.  Vladimir
polished him, refined him, made him into a National Champion.

TM:  And when Kolya needed him the most, Vladimir buried a blade in his
back and left him lying.  Some family.

JS:  But tonight, when these two meet one-on-one, you have to believe
that as much as Kolya Sudakov wants to prove he's come back to become
the National Champion again, you also know that Vladimir Velikov has
something to prove.

TM:  Vlad's not been the same since Kolya left the AWA.  He spent a year
languishing in the bottom of the card, in a failed tag team with Baron
Von Klauss.  And he wants to prove he still belongs in the AWA here
tonight as well.  You know Ivan Kostovich will be watching him closely.

JS:  Speaking of which... let's go to the ring where Ivan Kostovich has
snatched the microphone away from our ring announcer for the night, our
old friend Ken Graham.

[We crossfade inside the ring where Ivan Kostovich is standing in a
stylish suit.  He looks out over the jeering crowd, shaking his head.]

IK:  You sicken me, St. Louis.

[Big shower of jeers!]

IK:  You are supposed to be some great mecca of pro wrestling history -
a city with true appreciation for the talent that has shaped this
industry.

But when I arrive... you boo.  When I grace your unwashed, pathetic
masses with true wrestling greatness, you boo.

It was me who stood in the middle of St. Louis over Hamilton Graham's
body, having flattened him with the Russian Hammer!  I destroyed your
hero back in Gateway Championship Wrestling!

[Kostovich smirks at the jeering crowd.]

IK:  And yet, you still boo.  

[He dismisses them with a wave of his hand.]

IK:  No matter.  Your presence here tonight is a formality as this match
will not take place for you.  This match takes place for me.  An
audience of one!  The only person watching who matters.

For Velikov, it's a chance to prove he still belongs in this business
with myself as the sole juror.

For Sudakov, it's a chance to avoid being sent back to Russia for
further... education.

And for you, it's a chance to see two former great Russian warriors do
battle.

The pleasure, of course, is all yours.

[Kostovich grins at the boos again.]

IK:  Now, Comrade Graham... if you please...

[Kostovich steps to the side, allowing Ken Graham and his pink tuxedo to
take center stage.]

KG:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a fifteen
minute time limit and will be conducted under the jurisdiction of the
Russian Athletic Federation!

[More boos!]

KG:  Introducing first... 

[The Russian National Anthem kicks in to a big explosion of jeers.]

KG:  From the former Soviet Union... weighing in tonight at 287
pounds... 

VLAAAAAADIMIIIIIIR VELLLLLIKOV!

[The jeers intensify as Velikov emerges from the locker room, heavy
steel Russian chain draped over his shoulders and the Soviet flag waving
back and forth in the air as he walks down the aisle.]

JS:  This guy certainly knows how to make friends.

TM:  Waving the Russian flag anywhere probably gets you booed but in the
heart of America like St. Louis?  Whew boy.  This guy may not get out of
the building here tonight.

[And almost immediately, the chants of "U-S-A!  U-S-A!  U-S-A!" fill the
air.]

JS:  Velikov, being announced at 287 pounds here tonight, has gotten
himself into pretty good shape for this match, Todd.

TM:  Looks like he's lost a few pounds.  He knows how important this
match is.

[Velikov steps through the ropes, waving the flag back and forth to the
jeers of the crowd.  A nodding Ivan Kostovich softly applauds the show
of Russian patriotism as he leans against the turnbuckles.]

KG:  And his opponent...

[Metallica's "Creeping Death" kicks in to a HUGE cheer!]

KG:  From Russia... weighing in tonight at 272 pounds... he is a former
National Champion... the Russian War Machine...

KOLLLLLLYAAAA SUUUUUUUDAKOV!

[Sudakov pops through the curtain, also with a steel chain wrapped
around his jacket-covered shoulders.  He points to the ring where his
Uncle is standing on the second rope, waving him towards the squared
circle.]

JS:  Kolya Sudakov is a former National Champion and that means, love
him or hate him, he's one of the best wrestlers in the world today,
Todd.

TM:  Only five men have held that title in two and a half years. -
Marcus Broussard, Ron Houston, Stevie Scott, Juan Vasquez, and Kolya
Sudakov - that's some good company to be in.  But for Sudakov to get
back to that level, he needs to start by getting rid of this old thorn
in his side here tonight, Steggs.

[As the Russian War Machine steps through the ropes, he starts towards
his Uncle...

...but Ivan Kostovich steps between the men, preventing them from going
right at it.]

JS:  Now, what in the world is this all about?

[Kostovich shakes his head at Sudakov, waving for the mic.]

IK:  Before this starts... we need to make one thing clear.  This match
is sanctioned by the Russian Athletic Federation... and this man...

[Kostovich points at referee Mickey Meekly.]

IK:  ...is not a sanctioned RAF official.

[Meekly looks confused, pointing at the AWA logo on his referee's
shirt.]

IK:  I'm sure he is a fine official but for this match, we need things
to be by the book.  Therefore, the RAF has assigned their OWN official
for this match... a man whose credentials are unquestionable... a man
who will call things right down the middle to the RAF's liking...

Please welcome the newest RAF referee...

[Kostovich gestures down the aisle with a grin.]

IK:  COUNT ADRIAN BATHWAITE!!

[The crowd EXPLODES in jeers as Adrian Bathwaite emerges from the locker
room area, cane in hand.  He grins at the reaction of the crowd as he
slowly makes his way down the aisle, gesturing at the Russian Athletic
Federation patch on his referee's shirt.]

JS:  Adrian Bathwaite?!  This hardly seems fair, Todd!

TM:  Kostovich pulled a fast one here and look at Sudakov - he realizes
exactly what just happened.  Kostovich has gotten Bathwaite involved in
this and this could be big trouble for Sudakov.

JS:  Kolya Sudakov has had his fair share of problems in recent weeks
with Sultan Azam Sharif, the charge of Count Bathwaite.  At least he
doesn't have to worry about Sharif being out here.  We're told that the
Sultan has returned to Iran where he's being treated like a conquering
hero.  But what does this do to this match, Todd?

TM:  It makes it so that Kolya has to win very, very clearly to make
this happen.  There's no chance that Bathwaite calls this down the
middle so if Sudakov wants a win, he needs to make it clear he's the
winner.  Best way to do that.  Sickle right in the middle of the ring.

[Bathwaite climbs through the ropes, quickly shaking hands with Ivan
Kostovich who exits the ring.  Bathwaite turns around, smirking at a
glaring Sudakov...

...and jabs his finger into his chest.]

JS:  Bathwaite is telling Sudakov he's the boss here... he's in charge
tonight...

[Sudakov accepts the verbal browbeating, stepping back from the middle
of the ring as Bathwaite continues to let him have it.  The Englishman
turns, signalling for the bell...

...and Sudakov rushes past him, attacking his own Uncle with a barrage
of rights and lefts, battering Vladimir Velikov back into the corner.]

JS:  This one's underway and Sudakov is right out of the chute with a
beating!

[The Russian War Machine sidesteps, snapping off kicks to the body.]

JS:  Oh my... you can hear those kicks all the way up in the cheap
seats, Todd.

TM:  The man hits and kicks very, very hard.  Trust me.

JS:  That's right.  You've been inside that ring with Kolya Sudakov,
right?

TM:  I have.  A few years ago now back in Los Angeles.  Like I said, the
man hits and kicks very hard.  I had just the one match with him but I
felt like I'd had twenty matches by the time it was over.

[Sudakov grabs his Uncle by the arm, flinging him to the opposite
corner.]

JS:  Velikov hits the buckles hard... here comes Kolya!

[Sudakov charges across the ring...

...and Count Adrian Bathwaite steps into his path, raising a hand.]

JS:  What the-?!

TM:  Bathwaite says you can't attack a cornered opponent!

JS:  Well, he's right, of course.  It's technically illegal to assault
an opponent who is in contact with the ring ropes but no one ever
enforces that!  Bathwaite knows what he's doing in there!

[Sudakov backs down, shaking his head, waiting for Velikov to emerge
from the corner.]

JS:  Sudakov had his Uncle in trouble early and now Bathwaite halted his
momentum dead in its tracks, Todd.

TM:  Who knows.  Maybe Bathwaite will be the best official ever.

JS:  I'm guessing Kolya Sudakov will disagree.

[As Velikov emerges from the buckles, Sudakov charges him again,
tangling his Uncle up in a Muay Thai clinch before throwing knees to the
body of Velikov.  He uses the clinch to throw Velikov back into the
corner.]

JS:  Back to the buckles again... Sudakov moves in on him and-

[Again, Bathwaite intervenes, this time grabbing Sudakov by the arms,
holding him back from the corner...

...which allows Vladimir Velikov to throw a big right hand of his own,
catching Sudakov on the jaw and knocking him down to a knee.]

JS:  Unbelievable.

TM:  I can't say I agree with that one.  The referee shouldn't be
putting his hands on one of the wrestlers.  That's something your buddy
Alex Martinez will do good to remember for later tonight, Steggs.

JS:  I'm sure Alex will conduct himself very fairly but that's for
later.  For now, this is about these two Russians trying to beat the
heck out of each other but getting cut off at every turn by Count Adrian
Bathwaite!

[The crowd jeers as Velikov delivers a big boot to the chest of Sudakov,
knocking him flat on the mat.  He follows up with a series of stomps to
the head and chest.]

JS:  Where is Bathwaite now?  This is illegal as well!

TM:  He's using the flat of the boot.  That could be legal.  It's
referee's discrection most of the time and I'm guessing Bathwaite will
let it go.

[Velikov drops down to his knees, wrapping his hands around his nephew's
throat in a chokehold.]

JS:  Nothing discretionary about that!  The referee needs to get in
there and stop this...

[But the "official" simply stands back and starts a verrrrrrrry slow
count.]

JS:  I could have counted to ten by the time this guy gets to two!

TM:  Sudakov needs to adjust to it though.  He's behind the eight ball
but he needs to figure out a way to adapt to it.  A true champion always
finds a way to win, Steggs.

[Velikov breaks at the count of four, earning a soft-spoken reprimand -
complete with a pat on the back - from Bathwaite.  The elder Russian
climbs to his feet, looking down at his nephew who is gasping for air. 
Measuring Sudakov, Velikov leaves his feet, connecting with a heavy
legdrop across the chest.]

JS:  BIG TIME LEGDROP BY VELIKOV!!

[The Russian hooks a leg as Bathwaite hits the mat, counting as quick as
possible.]

JS:  ONETWOTHR-shoulder up!  I've never seen a count that quick, Todd! 
It looked like he was trying to squish ants at a picnic!

TM:  He did get the shoulder up but with a count that quick, how long
can Sudakov survive near falls?

[Velikov gets up, grabbing his nephew by the back of the head and
delivers three big right hands to the temple before dragging him up to
his feet.]

JS:  Both men back to their feet now... whip to the ropes...

[Sudakov ducks under a clothesline attempt, hitting the far ropes.]

JS:  SICKL-

[But as Sudakov races towards his Uncle with his arm outstretched,
Bathwaite happens to wander in front of him, looking the other way as he
forces Sudakov to a stop.]

JS:  Oh, come on!  This is ridiculous!

TM:  That may have been an accident, Steggs.  I'm not sure Bathwaite
knew where he was.

JS:  Are you serious?  Come on, Todd... don't fall for this junk. 
You're better than this.  You're not a bad guy anymore.

TM:  Old habits die hard, Steggy.

JS:  DON'T CALL ME STEGGY!

[Sudakov complains in Bathwaite's direction who replies by jabbing his
finger into the Russian War Machine's chest again, pointing to the
Russian Athletic Federation patch on his chest.  Sudakov shakes his head
as he walks past him, snapping off a side kick to the midsection of
Velikov, sending him stumbling back to the ropes...

...where a running double clothesline sends Velikov over the ropes and
down to the floor!]

JS:  OHHHHH!  SUDAKOV SENDS HIM TO THE FLOOR!!

TM:  Now that's an interesting strategy.  Maybe outside the ring
Bathwaite won't be able to stifle his offense.

[Sudakov steps through the ropes...

...but Bathwaite grabs him by the arm, stopping his progress.]

JS:  Let him go!  This is awful!  How can the AWA let this go?  Where is
Jim Watkins?  Get the Championship Committee involved with this!

[A protesting Sudakov tries to pull away to no avail as Bathwaite holds
his ground, threatening the Russian with a DQ...

...and then kicking the middle rope, driving it straight into the groin
of Sudakov!]

JS:  OHHHH!  He caught him low!

TM:  Oh, now, I know that was a mistake.  He was trying to hold the
ropes open for him and accidentally caught the rope.  Total accident,
Steggs.

JS:  There's no way that was an accident!  

[Sudakov lies on the mat, clutching his groin as Vladimir Velikov rolls
back into the ring...

...and grabs his heavy Russian chain from the corner.]

JS:  He's got the chain!  Surely they have to stop this!  Surely someone
has to step in on this one!

[Velikov wraps the chain around his fist, ready to coldcock his downed
nephew...

...but Bathwaite does step in, softly warning Velikov not to use the
chain.]

JS:  Well, thank heavens for that but I don't understand why he-

[The crowd begins to buzz as Ivan Kostovich slides under the ropes,
shedding his suit jacket...

...and charges as Sudakov rises, smashing him squarely across the chest
with both fists!]

JS:  RUSSIAN HAMMER!  RUSSIAN HAMMER!

[The blow sends Sudakov staggering back to the ropes, stumbling off...

...and getting DRILLED between the eyes with the steel chain, knocking
him flat!]

JS:  VELIKOV HIT HIM WITH THE CHAIN!!  COME ON!!

[And as Velikov applies the lateral press, the chain still wrapped
around his fist, Bathwaite drops down to count.]

JS:  ONETWOTHREE!  Another fast count!  Tell me how that's fair, Todd! 
Tell me!

TM:  Well... uhh... that was... well, it was a unique way of... uhhh.

JS:  That's what I thought.  Sudakov just got robbed and you know it! 
Kolya Sudakov just got robbed by all three of 'em - Velikov, Kostovich,
AND Bathwaite just robbed Kolya Sudakov of his entire career!

[The bell rings as Velikov rises, Bathwaite raising his arm in victory. 
Still in the ring, Ivan Kostovich approaches...

...and falls into an embrace with both men!]

JS:  This was a setup!  This was a damn setup, Todd!

TM:  It certainly appears that way.

JS:  Ivan Kostovich is hugging Vladimir Velikov!  These two were in on
this all along!  Velikov was never under any threat of being sent back
to Russia!  They were-

[The crowd begins to cheer as a new person emerges from the back,
quickly making his way down the aisle.]

JS:  Here comes Supernova!

TM:  Why?  What business does he have out here?

JS:  Supernova's coming out here - over by us...

[The camera picks up Supernova shouting at the timekeeper, "It's not
fair!  This isn't right!" but the timekeeper shrugs his shoulders,
protesting that he has no control over the situation.  Suddenly, Ivan
Kostovich's voice rings out.]

IK:  Hey!

[Supernova doesn't react.]

IK:  Hey, pretty boy!  You with the makeup!

[This time, 	 turns, looking up into the ring.]

IK:  You want to stick your painted-up nose into our business, son?

[Kostovich is seething as he stares out at Supernova.]

IK:  What's wrong?  Is Sudakov here-

[A hard kick to the ribs is delivered by Kostovich.]

IK:  Is he your buddy?  Your pal?

[Another hard kick.]

IK:  Does seeing this happen to him make you cry?  Does it make your
makeup run down your cheek-

[The crowd cheers as Supernova hits the ring, fists flying!]

JS:  SUPERNOVA!  SUPERNOVA!!

[Two right hands knock Kostovich flat.  He spins around, catching an
incoming Velikov with a right hand as well.  Spinning again, he DRILLS
Bathwaite with a haymaker that knocks him flat!  One more spin allows
him to drill a right hand on Velikov again before he grabs him by the
wrist, flinging him to the corner.  Supernova quickly backs up, charging
across the ring...

...and leaping into the air, crushing Velikov in the corner with a
splash!]

JS:  HEAT WAVE!!  HEAT WAVE IN THE CORNER!!

[Supernova throws Velikov down to the mat.  He steps up, grabbing the
legs, looking to tie them up in the Texas Cloverleaf.]

JS:  He's trying to turn him over!  Trying to-

[But Bathwaite strikes, smacking his cane down across the back of
Supernova's neck!]

JS:  OHHH!  HE HIT HIM WITH THE CANE!!

[On the way to his feet, Kostovich grabs the fallen chain, wrapping both
hands in it...

...and SMASHES them into the chest of Supernova with a chain-wrapped
Russian Hammer!]

JS:  OHHH!  Supernova's down as well!

[Kostovich removes the chains from his hands, throwing them down on the
fallen Supernova and Sudakov.  Bathwaite helps Velikov back to his feet
and the three man stand tall over the downed Sudakov and Supernova as
the crowd jeers wildly.]

JS:  Supernova's down.  Sudakov's down.  And look at these three men -
oh so proud at what they've done.

TM:  And you know somewhere in Iran, Sultan Azam Sharif is just as
proud.

JS:  Ugh.  Makes me sick.  Fans, I don't know but I believe... I believe
we may have just seen Kolya Sudakov's last night in the AWA.  He...
under the stipulations of the match, he has to fall back under
Kostovich's control.  This... it's not fair.  It really isn't.

[The crowd jeers the trio as they make their escape from the ring,
exiting back up the aisle.]

JS:  I can't believe what we just saw.  Let's... let's go back to the
locker room where Mark Stegglet is with one of the participants in
tonight's Steal The Spotlight showcase.  Mark?

[Cut to Scott Mayhem, dressed in a red robe decorated with a repeating
motif of a blue fleur-de-lis on gold and the wavy blue and white bars
inspired by the St. Louis flag. He also has on a large pair of
sunglasses. Next to him, in a red dress, is Miss Amanda.]

SM: Saint Louis, Missouri, oh yes! Tonight's the night I get my hands on
you, Johnny Casanova. I told you I was coming for you, didn't I? Told
you I'd find a way, oh yes. You want to be the one who takes me out,
Johnny? You want to be the one who takes me out? I'll take you out! I'm
going to be the one who takes YOU out! I'd like to see you try to take
me out, Johnny, because I swear to God Almighty, you do that and I'll
drag you down along with me, oh yes!

No, Johnny, I don't think you'll be taking me out. In fact, I think your
plan is to hide... Hide behind Wade Kennedy... Hide behind "Gentleman"
Jack Holland... Hide behind Adrian Freeman... Hide behind that
seven-foot tall goof MAMMOTH Mizusawa... Because if ever there was a
support group for anti-social, insecure, inadequate men, oh yes, that
would be that team right there, with the exception, maybe, of Wade
Kennedy.

But it doesn't matter who you hide behind, Johnny, because even four
hundred pounds of stupid can't quite cover your big, yellow lard ass, oh
yes! And I'm going to do what I do best and let loose the Mayhem and God
help anyone who stands in the way. Believe that!

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

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

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

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

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

JD:  Hello, Mr. iPhone.

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

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

JD:  Well, actually I did.

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

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

[Thankfully, a voiceover starts.]

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

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

[Fade back to black...

And then we fade back to Dallas, Texas where, at the top of the aisle
stands Jason Dane, microphone in hand, addressing the cheering fans.]

JD: What a night of action we have seen already, and much more to come! 
We will see, right here in Dallas, the Main Event... "Hotshot" Stevie
Scott against Juan Vasquez, possibly for the last time, as Vasquez'
career will be on the line against the most prestigious title in the
sport, the AWA National Title!  Plus, the Texas Death Match over a year
in the making, as Tin Can Rust will one more time step in against
Calisto Dufrense with revenge in mind!  There are a lot of scores to
settle in the ring tonight, but one match that has been building for the
past several weeks is the finals of the Longhorn Heritage Championship
Tournament.  And with me at this time...

[The fans boo as the rotund shape of Percy Childes steps through the
curtain.  Bald, and bearing a dark pointed Van Dyke on his chin, Childes
has a nasty smirk on his face.  He wears a black sport coat, white
undershirt, and grey tie.]

JD: ...a man who has been absolutely offensive to the spirit of this
entire competition, Percy Childes!  Your man Nenshou faces Brent
Maverick in the ring tonight, to determine the first-ever Longhorn
Heritage Champion.

PC: How appropriate.  Another hasbeen of yesteryear... scratch that.  A
never-was.  A man whose claim to fame is riding Matthew Lee "Doc"
Holiday's coattails for years, most of which were in a dead territory
that noone cared aout THEN, let alone now.  A man who symbolizes
Longhorn heritage... an illusion!  Brent Maverick has never accomplished
anything, and I cannot wait to see the dim expression on his face when
my Nenshou exposes him for the fraud he is.

Brent Maverick: Then turn around and take a good look.

[The fans cheer as Childes' eyes bulge in shock.  Oops.  Brent Maverick,
clad in his to-ring attire (rust-red knee length trunks, laceless red
leather boots, cutoff brown leather gloves, a matching vest, and a bad
attitude) stands right behind Childes, glaring down at the pudgy bald
man.  Childes slowly turns and Maverick continues.]

BM: I hear tell that Nenshou's meditatin', Monosso's gittin' instruction
from Layton, an' that leaves you out here with nothin' ta back up yer
yap but two-hunderd fifty pounds o' Jello in a hundred-pound sack.  So
look me in the eye an' say that, Childes.  Let's see how much ya really
believe in yerself.

[A "KICK HIS @$$" chant starts up as Childes backpedals... then
recovers.]

PC: You lay one finger on me, Maverick... one finger, and I'll sue you
for whatever you have left!  And maybe I'll give Monosso your home
address!

BM: I'll give it to him myself.  I got shotguns.  Five of 'em.  Brought
one tanight just in case.  Why dontcha send that big dumb goon ta jump
me inna dressin' room an' see if I'm lyin'?

[Childes turns red with frustration as his threats have no impact, and
the fans cheer this more.]

PC: Fine.  You want to come face to face with the truth, Maverick? 
Isn't that your "catchphrase"?  "THAT'S THE DAMN TRUTH"?  Isn't it? 
Fine!  I'll tell you the truth!

The truth is, the Longhorn Heritage Championship is a slap in the face
of wrestling.  We're glorifying the long-gone failures of yesterday,
thus dooming the present.  I hear it all the time, how everything was so
much better back in the "old days", when such alleged legends as Tex
Violence, Bishop, and Thunder were failing to make any money here in
this very state that canonized them for some reason.  Ah, but I've
already covered that, haven't I, when my man Nenshou put Robert Donovan
to pasture.  Now it's your turn, so why don't we discuss YOUR heritage,
Mr. Maverick?

I can't help but notice that, as much as an utter failure as the
Longhorn Wrestling Council was, there are still between two and three
dozen human beings who still care.  And some of these subhumans we've
been blessed with in attendance tonight, of course.

[BOOOOOOO!]

PC: Ah, but I can't help but notice that there is no "Ultimate Heritage
Championship", now is there?  Tell me, Brent... does it stick in your
gut at night?  Knowing that for all the success you were part of,
clutching Holliday's coattails for dear life... you're still seen by
many as second class to men whose claim to fame are singalongs and
drinking contests?  Knowing that nothing you can do will ever change how
you're seen, because you just happened to end up on the wrong coast, and
the 'winners' re-wrote the history books without your name in it?  Then
they failed too, and now nobody remembers anything you did?  

Were all those years worth it?  You've lost your money, you told us all
that when Kevin Slater came calling.  What do you have left?  A
distorted history?  Did anything you did matter?  I thought about coming
out here with another urn and burning remnants of the New York
territory, but then I realized that it wouldn't really matter; noone
cares.  It doesn't even deserve a funeral.  So, while Robert Donovan and
company were failures... you've sunk far lower than that, Brent
Maverick.  At least a failure exists.  

You?  You're not a failure... you're a _nobody_.

[The fans boo, and Percy continues.]

PC: So go ahead, Maverick.  Fight for this homage to a dead territory
you never had anything to do with.  Fight to glorify the legacy of
others, while your legacy has faded to nothing.  It would be _amusing_
if you won it, actually.  See Brent Maverick, carrying the emblem of his
betters!  Ha ha ha.

BM: You done?

PC: Speechless?  Oh, sorry... did the truth hurt?

BM: I really only got one thing ta say ta all that dribble.

PC: Oh?  How will you defend yourself, Brent Maverick?  Will you tell us
about your 'storied' accomplishment that noone cares about anymore?

BM: Just one of 'em.

PC: And which one would that be?

[Maverick reaches into his vest, and pulls out a photo.  It is a photo
just like the ones Percy pulled out and burned last week... only the
subject matter is much more recent.]

BM: I pinned Nenshou.

[Percy's eyes fill with rage as he rips the photo out of Maverick's
hand... the photo of Maverick getting the three count on Nensou a couple
months ago.]

PC: GIVE ME THAT, YOU...

BM: My turn, rubberlips.  You peep one time while I'm talkin', an' I'll
hit ya so hard you'll roll all th' way ta Saint Louis in time ta see
Taylor whip Slater!  

Week after week, ya come out here an' run down th' past.  Droppin' names
here, spittin' on memories there... but what've YOU done, Childes?  Or
I'll put it in five simple words, so even a fool could get it!

WHO.  THE.  HELL.  ARE.  _YOU_?!

[A roar of approval fills the auditorium as Percy starts to rant... and
then is silenced by a menacing finger to the face.]

BM: I SAID SHADDAP WHEN I'M TALKIN', PUNK!

You ain't nothin' but a leech.  I looked up yer history, see.  Ya tried
ta git in as a wrassler years ago in Portland, but didn't make th' cut. 
Went ta LA, same.  Toronto, same.  Then ya went ta Laredo... an' whut
happened?  Tell 'em!  I give ya permission... tell these people whut
happened when Percy Childes tried out in Laredo?

[Percy is shaking with anger, his fists clenched... boiling mad.  The
fans love it.]

BM: OH!  NOW ya wanna be quiet!  Then I'll tell 'em what happened!  

PC: DON'T YOU D...

BM: Tex Violence broke yer leg, an' then Powell told ya ta retire,
because, an' I quote... "nobody pays ta see a fat midget who cain't
wrestle"!

[HUGE POP!  Percy's secret is out, and the "Collector Of Oddities" rages
at the fans... who start a chant.]

Fans: "FAT-MID-GET!  FAT-MID-GET!  FAT-MID-GET!  FAT-MID-GET! 
FAT-MID-GET!  FAT-MID-GET!  FAT-MID-GET!  FAT-MID-GET!"

BM: In fact, if I remember, yer last match was a tryout in New York
where ya got beat, in four minutes... by Johnny Bod.

[Crowd: "OOOOOOOOOOH!"  Percy looks like he is either about to have, or
is actually HAVING, an anyuerism.]

BM: Now fast-forward, years later, ya inherited a load of money from
some uncle who pitied yer failure at every turn of life... an' now yer
th' little picked-on kid that wants revenge on th' bullies that beat him
up fer his lunch money years ago.  Some visionary!  Some genius!  An' ya
lucked inta a kid who don't know nothin' in life but how ta wrestle. 
Nenshou... oh, he's real good.  Real gullible, real green, came from a
sheltered home an' got no world-smarts...

PC: SHUT UP!  SHUT UP!  I HAVE HEARD ENOUGH!

BM: An' ya bragged fer months about the "unbeatable future of
wrestling".  How he was so far beyond everyone, that he oughta be given
the title now.  How he was gonna succeed where everyone else failed.  Ya
built him up as this bad, dangerous killer... undefeated!  Unbeaten! 
Unbeatable!

Then I dumped him on his head, pinned him, an' walked away.   

[The fans are cheering as Childes coninues to rant.]

BM: Oh, sorry... did the truth hurt?

[A louder cheer as Childes' own words are twisted against him.  Percy
stops and composes himself, then turns to face Maverick.]

PC: Laugh at me.  Go ahead... laugh.

[A disturbingly peaceful look crosses Percy's face.  He's not afraid any
more, and his rage has dissipated into... something else.  Something
disturbng.  Or more accurately... something _disturbed_.]

PC: Laugh, Maverick.  I want to hear it.  I want to remember it.  I want
it to be ringing in my ears when Nenshou _destroys_ you tonight.  We
were content with taking the title... we were content with burying the
diseased memories of the deluded masses.  We were content with burying
the past and proceeding to the future.  We were content with restoring
the focus from what is gone to what is here.

But now?  We won't be content until you _suffer_.  So laugh!  Laugh and
see what it gets you!

[Maverick rises to the challenge, bending down to glare Percy eye to
eye.  He responds by uttering three syllables, without any trace of
mirth or irreverence.]

BM: HA.   HA.   HA.

PC: We'll see you later tonight... for the last time.  Because we're
going to see you _ruined_.

BM: You got a better chance o' seein' God.

[Cheer!]

BM: An' when ya do?  Maybe I'll see ya in Hell.  I got a feelin' though,
yer gonna get there first.  Oughta be a familiar place, ain't it?  You
an' Layton... two crybaby punks that blame everyone fer yer
shortcomin's.  Layton's Master already got what he wants from you.  You?
 You was born a loser, lived a loser, an' gonna lose whatever ya had
when ya die.  You don't know know other way.  

Maybe I never did have nothin' ta do with Laredo.  But Laredo represents
New York.  An' LA, St. Louis, Portland, an' every other place anybody
called home.  It IS the Ultimate Heritage Title, th' Extreme Heritage
Title, th' International Internet Heritage Title, th' River City
Heritage Title, an' on an' on.  I will be damned if I'm gonna let a fat,
overgrown _child_ take our heritage from us!  Ya wanna piss on our past
because ya couldn't hack it?  Don' be surprised ta learn that some
things in life jus' ain't changed much at all.

AND THAT'S THE _DAMN_ TRUTH!

[Maverick storms to the back, leaving Childes fuming to the joy of the
crowd.  Dane takes control of the segment back.]

JD: The tournament final just got a little more personal!  And back to
you, Gordon and Bucky!

GM: Thank you, Jason Dane.  And thank you, Brent Maverick, for standing
up to Percy Childes and saying what has been on the mind of every
wrestling fan!  No question who the fan favorite will be when Maverick
faces Nenshou tonight!

BW: The fan favorite?  Who cares!  I'll tell you who th' favorite will
be as far as Vegas is concerned: Nenshou!  After that FLUKE this summer
where Maverick beat Nenshou by rubbing poison in his face...

GM: Nenshou's own mist!

BW: ...he went back to Japan and trained even harder!  He got even more
serious!  That was the experience he needed to stay hungry, to focus
entirely, and tonight Brent Maverick isn't even going to think it's the
same man.  Nenshou will never lose to the likes of Maverick again, I
guarantee it!  And to punk out Percy Childes like that?!  Brent Maverick
has to be the biggest idiot I know!

GM: Why should Maverick fear anyone?!  He went through Childes' entire
retinue in one single match!  He is a storied competitor in his own
right, no matter what Percy Childes might think... and I think Maverick
may have exposed the fact that Childes' opinion doesn't hold nearly as
much weight as his suspenders do!

BW: Gordo.  Before ya make one more crack at Childes, I think ya oughta
watch tanght's match.  When Maverick brought all that up... didja see
how Percy changed?  Didja see the look in his eyes?  I only saw a look
like that from one other guy.

GM: Who?

BW: Monosso.  Laugh at Percy Childes at yer own risk.  I think he's
serious when he says he's gonna end Brent Maverick tanight.

GM: ...a disturbing thought.  But speaking of two men trying to end one
another here tonight, Ron Houston is in the building here tonight -
against doctor's orders - to try to finish this war with Brian Von Braun
once and for all.  What makes a man do it, Bucky?  What makes a man
fight against doctor's orders?

BW:  That's probably a better question for Todd Michaelson - he's been
fighting against doctor's orders for fifteen years.  But I'll tell ya
what I know.  I know that there's a certain level of pride you have to
have to get inside a wrestling ring.  There's a certain... ego... if you
will that it takes.  And when a man like Von Braun steps up and
repeatedly slaps you in the face.  When a man like Von Braun goes to
great lengths to put you on the shelf permanently... to take food off
your family's table... to take away what you love to do... that's when
things change.  That's when things become too hard to turn away from. 
And that's where Ron Houston is.  To him?  Now?  It's worth the risk of
never being able to wrestle again to get a shot to put out the guy who
has been making your life hell.

GM:  It's hard to argue with that.  And with that, let's go down to Phil
Watson for the introductions in that one!

[We crossfade to the ring where Phil Watson is standing.]

PW:  The following contest is set for one fall with a thirty minute time
limit.  Introducing first...

[But not a single word comes out of Phil Watson's mouth before Ron
Houston comes stumbling through the entrance curtain, collapsing down to
a knee just beyond the entryway.]

GM:  What in the...?

[The question is answered a moment later when an absolutely mad-looking
Brian Von Braun walks through the curtain, metal trash can in hand.]

"YOU WANT TO BE A HERO, HOUSTON?"

[The dented trash can swings down again, catching Houston squarely over
the skull and knocking him down to the floor.  Von Braun throws the
dented trash can aside, diving down to his belly and crawling right next
to Houston to talk to him.]

GM:  Ring the bell, ref!  This match isn't no DQ!

BW:  The match hasn't even started yet, Gordo!  Von Braun can do
whatever he wants right now!

[Von Braun can be seen whispering something unpicked up by the camera's
mic before pushing up off the floor.  He threatens a backhand at a
ringside fan who is screaming at him...

...and then reaches over the rope barricade lining the aisle, snatching
something off the ground.]

GM:  He just took that fan's crutch!

[The Invader walks over Houston, the wooden crutch resting across his
shoulder.  He paces around the downed Athens, Georgia Madman, shouting
at him repeatedly.]

BW:  He's begging Houston to get up!  Almost ordering him to get off the
mat!

[The East Coast Terror slowly pushes himself to a knee again, looking
dead in the eye of Von Braun who stands in front of him.  Von Braun
squares up to him, extending the crutch.  He taps Houston's injured
shoulder with it, raising it high overhead...

...and swings!]


"CRAAAAAAAAAAAAASH!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  HE JUST SHATTERED THAT CRUTCH OVER RON HOUSTON'S INJURED SHOULDER!

[Houston collapses facefirst on the floor, screaming in pain as he
clutches his shoulder.]

GM:  Brian Von Braun in recent weeks has drawn a bullseye on the
shoulder that knocked Ron Houston out of the AWA for nearly a year - the
shoulder that cost him the National Title to begin with!

BW:  Von Braun wants to knock Houston out of the AWA again - this time
once and for all and we're just moments into this one and he's reinjured
the arm!  Who knows what he'll do before this one is all said and done,
Gordo?

[Von Braun glares menacingly down at Houston, holding a piece of the
broken crutch in his hand.  He grits his teeth, grabbing Houston by the
hair from behind and slowly pulling him into a kneeling position...]

GM:  Oh my stars... don't do it... somebody stop this...

[Holding the splintered crutch in the air, Von Braun nods his head at
the jeering crowd...

...and DRIVES the sharp wooden fragments into the forehead of Ron
Houston!]

GM:  AHHHHHH!

[The crowd groans in sympathy for Houston as Von Braun digs the
splintered wood into the forehead, digging back and forth across the
forehead until a trickle of blood starts to pour down his face.]

GM:  Brian Von Braun has split Ron Houston's head open and... heck, this
match hasn't even officially started yet, Bucky!

BW:  It hasn't and that's a good thing for the Invader because if the
bell had rung, this match would be long over.  You can't drive a pointy
piece of wood into someone's head and not draw a DQ.

[The camera catches a look of satisfaction on the face of Von Braun as
he throws the broken crutch aside, stepping in front of Houston.  He
balls up his fist and drives the knuckles into the cut.]

GM:  Ohh!  He's trying to split that head even wider open!

[Smirking, Von Braun eyes his work...

...and then punches the cut again!]

GM:  Come on!  There's gotta be something that can be done about this!

[Von Braun inspects the damage...

...and then punches the cut again... and again... and again, flailing
like a rabid wild animal at the wound.]

GM:  Get him off of Ron Houston!

[Finally, the Alabama native steps back, using Houston's hair to drag
him to his feet, pulling the bloodied fan favorite down the aisle
towards the ring.  Using the hair, he hurls him under the ropes into the
ring.]

GM:  Von Braun puts Houston inside the ring... rolls in as well now...

[And now, referee Michael Meekly calls for the bell to start the match.]

GM:  Are you kidding me?  Don't even start this thing!  Throw it out!

[The bloodied Houston lies on his back in the middle of the ring,
crimson streaming down his face as he clutches his injured shoulder. 
Von Braun rises to a knee, taking some verbal abuse from the official as
he climbs to his feet...

...and then viciously stomps the injured shoulder!]

BW:  Nothing fancy about that.

GM:  But oh so effective.  That injured arm and shoulder has been a weak
spot on Ron Houston in the weeks leading up to this match and Von Braun
knows exactly what he intends to do tonight.

BW:  He intends to end the career of Ron Houston - whether he can do it
or not remains to be seen.

[Von Braun slams home a hard stomp to the midsection of Houston, forcing
him to sit up...

...and then nails a running dropkick to the injured shoulder, knocking
Houston right back down to the mat!]

GM:  A clever use of the dropkick right there to attack the shoulder...

[But as soon as he uses something with some technique, Von Braun resorts
back to his savage nature, just balling up his fist and slamming it down
in an overhead blow to the shoulder over and over and over.]

GM:  Get him off of Houston!

[The referee does exactly that, physically pulling the 215 pounder away
from Houston.  For a moment, it looks like Von Braun will punch the
referee square between the eyes...

...but he thinks better of it, driving home another stomp to the
shoulder.]

GM:  This guy is an animal, Bucky.

BW:  A dangerous animal.  One that might rip your eyes out if you get in
his way.  And right now, Ron Houston is right in the middle of his way.

GM:  He stomps him again - perfect aim too - right on the shoulder.

BW:  Don't let Von Braun's violent nature take away from the fact that
he's one of the best wrestlers in the world, Gordo.  The man is the
prize of the Von Braun wrestling family - this business is in his blood
and he's had success EVERYWHERE he's ever competed which covers some
major, major territories.

[Von Braun drags Houston to his knees, pulling him by the injured arm
towards the ropes.  Once there, he wraps the arm around the rope and
kicks it as hard as he can.]

GM:  Oof!  That'll do even more damage to that arm.

[Grabbing the top rope with both hands, Von Braun lunges forward to slam
his knee into the spot where the arm meets the shoulder.  The referee
steps in to warn him but Von Braun does it again... and again... and
again... before the referee steps in, pushing him back.]

GM:  The referee just threatened him with a DQ if he continues to ignore
his orders.

BW:  Tell the referee to just do his job and count to five and we won't
have a problem.

GM:  You think a five count will stop this maniac?

[Von Braun grabs Houston by the injured arm again, pulling him hard to
his feet, wheeling him around and hurling him into the corner.]

BW:  Oh!  He hit hard, Gordo!  He tried to turn away to keep his
shoulder from hitting the buckles and his head snapped back from the
impact.  That's a whiplash-type effect there.

[A wild-eyed Von Braun promptly climbs the ropes, pulling Houston's arm
straight out from his body and bracing his knee against it...]

GM:  Oh no!  He's gonna come off the ropes with all his weight on that
knee to the arm and-

[A desperate Houston tears his injured arm away, throwing a left hand
into the jaw of the shocked Von Braun.]

GM:  Ohh!  He caught him! 

[With Von Braun stunned up on the middle rope, Houston grabs him by the
front of the trunks and falls backwards, yanking Von Braun off the ropes
and sending him sprawling chestfirst down to the mat!]

GM:  DOWN GOES VON BRAUN!!

[Grabbing his right shoulder, Houston crawls across the ring, trying to
use the time to recover.  He leans against the buckles, seated facing
the ring so he can see Von Braun as he pushes up off the mat, checking
his nose for signs of blood.]

GM:  Houston bought himself some time here to recover...

BW:  Not much though.  The Invader's already up to a knee and he doesn't
look pleased.

GM:  Houston blocked whatever Von Braun had in mind up there on those
ropes and-

[And suddenly, Von Braun dashes across the ring, driving his knee into
the injured shoulder of the seated Houston!]

GM:  Again!  Right back to the shoulder again!

[Holding the top rope, he drives the knee in a couple more times before
pressing it against the shoulder, leaning and grinding down on the
injured limb with the protesting official shouting at him from the
rear.]

GM:  The referee is ordering him to get out of the corner but Von Braun
is completely ignoring him!  Von Braun won't back off without a fight!

[Von Braun steps back, threatening to backhand the official, a gesture
that sends Meekly scattering.  Von Braun sneers at the referee as he
leans down to pick up Houston...

...and catches a left hand under the chin!]

GM:  Whoa!  Big uppercut by Houston!

BW:  Don't count him down, Gordo.  The guy may be hurt and hurt badly
but he's still a former National Champion.  You don't get that by being
a pushover with no heart.

[Von Braun stumbles backwards, grabbing at his own chin.  He spits on
the canvas, running the back of his hand over his mouth before moving
back in on the now-kneeling Houston.]

GM:  Von Braun's right back on him though... winding up...

[But Houston blocks the thrown blow, firing a left hand of his own to
the jaw of Von Braun, sending him sprawling backwards into the corner.]

GM:  Houston rocked him with that one!

[The Athens, Georgia Madman pushes up to his feet, wincing as he grabs
his right shoulder...

...and then charging in, drilling Von Braun with a left-armed
clothesline in the corner!]

GM:  BIIIIIG CLOTHESLINE IN THE CORNER!!

BW:  But you notice he's doing all of this with the off-arm.  He doesn't
have the strength in the right arm for this so he's using the left arm. 
When someone is forced to use their off-arm, it totally changes their
approach to the match not to mention it lowers the effectiveness of
every blow thrown.

[A hurting Houston uses his left arm to apply a side headlock against
the turnbuckles, turning out to face the middle of the ring.  He rushes
forward...]

GM:  BULLDO- 

[But the loose grip applied with the left arm is easily broken by Von
Braun who shoves Houston off, sending him sailing a few feet away.  As
the former National Champion slams on the brakes, he spins around...

...and gets a thumb jabbed into his eye!]

GM:  Ohh!  To the eyes!

[With Houston blinded, Von Braun simply grabs the injured right arm and
armdrags him down to the canvas.  He quickly pins the wrist to the mat,
stretching out the arm...

...and leaps up, dropping a knee across the injured arm!]

GM:  Goodness.  Did you hear Ron Houston cry out on that one?

BW:  Are you kidding me?  I think they heard him up in St. Louis, Gordo.

[Still kneeling on the arm, Von Braun grabs the wrist, pulling up hard
on it and twisting.]

GM:  Von Braun's got some kind of an arm submission applied here,
shouting for the official to ask Houston if he wants to quit but I can't
imagine Ron Houston submitting.

BW:  He may not have a choice, Gordo.  That arm's barely held on with
bubble gum and spit right now.

[Wrapping the arm around his leg, Von Braun sits down on the forearm,
keeping the pressure on as he throws hooking left hands to the ribcage.]

GM:  Houston's having a hard time fighting this one - he's trying to
turn to his side to roll out of it but Von Braun is keeping him on his
back with those blows to the body.

[Still holding the arm, he drags Houston back to his feet, executing a
full armtwist before grabbing the wrist...

...and slams his shoulder into the injured arm!]

GM:  Ohh!  Almost like a short-arm tackle but he's pulling Houston's
injured arm and shoulder into his own shoulder.  That'll do even more
damage to that injured limb.

[He throws a few more short tackles to the arm before armdragging him
down to the mat again...

...and dropping a picture perfect elbow on the shoulder!]

GM:  I'm starting to think the referee needs to take a look at stopping
this match, Bucky.  How much of this can Ron Houston take without
risking his career?

BW:  He decided to risk his career the moment he accepted this match. 
You don't think Ron Houston knew that this was exactly what he was
getting into?  

GM:  You don't think they should stop the match?

BW:  That's a different story.  The man's career is in jeopardy so yes,
they should look at stopping it.  But Ron Houston knew the risks
involved so I have no pity for him.

[Von Braun drops three more elbows on the shoulder before rolling under
to the ropes to the floor.  He reaches back in, grabbing the wrist and
dragging Houston's upper body under the ropes.]

GM:  He's got Houston's head and neck hanging out over the apron.

BW:  And his arms!

[Grabbing the injured arm, Von Braun raises it high...

...and SLAMS it down on the hard ring apron!]

GM:  Come on, referee!  Step in there and take a look at least!

[Still holding the wrist, Von Braun steps back up on the ring apron.  He
stomps the shoulder over and over as the referee warns him.  Dropping
back to the floor, he drags Houston over near the steel ringpost.]

GM:  Oh no.

[Von Braun pulls Houston so that his right arm is on the opposite side
of the steel post from the rest of his body...

...and SLAMS the injured arm into the steel!]

GM:  AHHHHH!

[Houston promptly rolls away, clutching his injured arm as Von Braun
rolls back into the ring, finally applying a cover.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR-

[The left shoulder just barely creeps off the mat before the pin.]

GM:  You've gotta be kidding me.  Stay down, Ron.

[An angry Von Braun pushes up to his knees, balling up his fist and
driving right hands into the right shoulder.  He then moves up to the
bloodied face of Houston, smashing it with a few right hands as well.]

GM:  Repeated closed fists!  Get in there, Michael Meekly!

[Von Braun pulls Houston up by the right wrist, tugging him into a front
facelock.]

GM:  He's got the arm stretched out!  He's going for that armbreaker
DDT!

[But before the Invader can drive his rival down to the mat in an
attempt to separate his shoulder...

...Ron Houston stands up, sending Von Braun sailing through the air and
down to the mat with a thud!]

GM:  HE BACKDROPPED HIM!  HOUSTON COUNTERS THE DDT!!

[Houston immediately falls to a knee, grabbing his right shoulder.  He
smacks his palm into it a few times, trying to slap some life into it as
he climbs to his feet, waiting for Von Braun to rise...

...and charges towards him, connecting with a big boot that sends Von
Braun sailing over the ropes to the floor!]

GM:  OHHHHHHHHHH!

[Houston collapses against the ropes, wincing with every movement as he
looks over the ropes at the motionless Von Braun.]

BW:  Von Braun went all the way over the ropes to the floor and he hit
VERY hard, Gordo.  

GM:  Houston needs to take a breather, use this time to try to recover a
bit of his strength.

BW:  No way.  He needs to hit the floor hard and go after him.  For the
first time in this match, he's got Von Braun in trouble and now he needs
to take advantage of it.

[Houston bites his lip as he steps through the ropes, gingerly holding
his left arm in his right.  He drops down to the floor with a wince,
still holding the arm.  Reaching down with his left arm, he drags Von
Braun off the floor and drills him with a left hand that sends Von Braun
stumbling backwards into the ring apron.]

GM:  Both men are out on the floor now.

[The big man moves closer, pinning Von Braun against the apron as he
throws another left hand... and another... and a third that knocks Von
Braun down to a knee.]

GM:  He's battering Von Braun, trying to chop him down out there...

[Stepping back, Houston measures his man...

...and CREAMS him with a big boot to the kneeling Von Braun's face,
knocking him flat!]

GM:  Ohhh!  Big boot to the face!

[Houston uses his boot to roll Von Braun onto his back, kneeling down
over him.  He throws a left hand to the face, snapping Von Braun's head
back into the thinly-padded concrete floor.  Getting to his feet, he
leans down and grabs the seams of the padding on the floor, tearing at
it with his left hand.]

GM:  What in the world...?

BW:  He's trying to rip up the padding!  What kind of sportsmanship is
this, Gordo?

GM:  Well, he's gotta be frustrated.  Brian Von Braun is trying to end
his career here tonight at SuperClash II and you know Ron Houston has
GOT to be frustrated at that!

[Houston fails to get enough strength in just one hand to rip up the
padding and turns away from it, moving in on Von Braun who is back up to
a knee...

...and pops up off the knee, driving a boot into the gut of Houston.]

GM:  Von Braun caught him coming in!

[Grabbing a handful of hair, Von Braun tries to slam Houston's face into
the ring apron...

...but a shaking left arm blocks the smash.  The left elbow is thrown
back into the body, catching Von Braun off-guard.]

GM:  Houston with a left to the body and-

[Grabbing Von Braun by the back of the head, Houston SLAMS his face into
the ring apron to the cheers of the crowd!]

GM:  And yet again, Ron Houston is fighting back!  

[Von Braun stumbles away, pushing the timekeeper out of his chair.  He
grabs the chair off the ground, folding it up, and turning back towards
Houston...

...but the referee dives from the ring apron, stepping in between the
two with his hands raised!]

GM:  The referee's stopping Von Braun from using the chair!  Von Braun
was going to finish Houston off but the official got in the way and-


"CLAAAAAAAAANG!"


[The crowd cheers as Houston lets loose a haymaker to the chair,
knocking it out of Von Braun's hands.  He stalks towards the Alabama
native who goes scurrying backwards, hands raised.]

GM:  Run!  Run, you cur!

BW:  Okay, Wyatt.

GM:  Von Braun's backpedaling now and Ron Houston's coming for him!

[Von Braun throws the timekeeper's table down to the floor, blocking
Houston's path.  But the big man simply kicks it aside, still stomping
towards his retreating rival.]

GM:  Von Braun's trying to get away from Ron Houston!

[The Invader hurdles the barricade, shaking a finger at Ron Houston who
rushes forward and grabs Von Braun by the hair with his left hand,
dragging him back over the steel railing!]

GM:  HOUSTON'S GOT HIM!  RON HOUSTON'S GOT HIS HANDS ON VON BRAUN!!

[Pulling Von Braun up by the hair, Houston uses the leverage to throw
Von Braun backwards into the steel, sending a loud "CLANG!" throughout
the building.  With Von Braun leaning on the barricade, Houston delivers
stomp after stomp after stomp to the chest.]

GM:  Ron Houston is raining down thunder on Brian Von Braun here in
Dallas!

[He reaches down, hauling Von Braun up off the floor.  Spinning him
around, he SLAMS his face into the edge of the steel railing!]

GM:  OHH!  HEADFIRST INTO THE STEEL!!

[Von Braun stumbles backwards, falling to the floor again.  He inches
backwards, hands raised, begging for mercy from the incoming East Coast
Terror who leans down, dragging him back up...

...and getting another rake of the eyes for his efforts!]

GM:  Von Braun caught him in the eyes again!  He's blinded him!


"TEN MINUTES HAVE EXPIRED!  TWENTY MINUTES REMAIN!"


[Lunging forward, he grabs Houston around the waist, hoisting him up
into the air...

...where Houston throws fist after fist into the skull, battering his
way free.  He leans over, picking up Von Braun with only his left arm to
lift with...]

GM:  He's got him up!  What's he-


"CLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANG!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[The crowd ROARS as Houston simply turns and falls backwards, smashing
Von Braun's skull into the steel ringpost!]

GM:  My god!  My stars in heaven!  He may be out cold!

BW:  His skull hit the steel... you heard that, right?

GM:  I certainly did.  A sickening thud... maybe even a crack... that
could split a man's skull open to the bone and-

[The crowd roars again as Von Braun rolls over, revealing a gushing
wound on his forehead.]

GM:  And now both of these men have been split wide open!

[A hurting Houston reaches down, hauling Von Braun off the mat by the
hair.  He shoves him under the ropes into the ring before rolling in
after him, still trying to protect the left shoulder.]

GM:  Both men back in... and look at Von Braun!  The man is sporting a
crimson mask, fans, and now he's-

[Houston immediately pulls him up, whipping him with one arm into the
corner...

...and then barreling from corner to corner, SMASHING Von Braun against
the buckles!]

GM:  AVALANCHE!!

[Houston leans on Von Braun, not letting him fall out of the corner...

...and then steps up to the middle rope, looking through blood-covered
eyes to the roaring crowd.  He raises a fist and lets it fly.]

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

[Houston hops down off the buckles, having left Von Braun on Dream
Street.  He rears back his left hand, throwing it for a Pulse Killer...

...but it's a glancing blow as Von Braun sidesteps and immediately
throws a forearm into the shoulder.  He quickly moves behind Houston,
grabbing the back of the tights, and HURLS him shoulderfirst into the
corner!]

GM:  OHH!  INTO THE BUCKLES!!

[Von Braun drops down, pulling the injured Houston down into a
schoolboy!]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR-

[The left shoulder just barely slips off the mat in time.]

GM:  Only a two count there but-

[Von Braun springs to his feet, stomping the shoulder, trying to get
more damage in before Houston can get to his feet but the big man keeps
rising, trying to get to a standing position...

...where Von Braun grabs the arm, trying to take Houston down!]

GM:  He's going for the Endgame!  He wants the armbar!

[But a desperate Houston fights back, throwing left hands to the back of
Von Braun's skull to break the hold.  And as soon as Von Braun turns
around, Houston hooks a front facelock...

...and SPIKES him skullfirst to the canvas!]

GM:  DDT!  DDT!  HOUSTON CONNECTS WITH A DDT!!

[A hurting Houston shoves Von Braun onto his back, slumping backwards
over him in a terrible cover attempt.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!!

[Von Braun easily slips out of the pinning position, hooking Houston's
injured arm with his arms and the left arm with his legs, rolling
Houston into a crucifix!]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR-

[And suddenly, the crowd ERUPTS!]

GM:  WHAT THE-?!  WHAT THE-?!

BW:  HOUSTON STOOD UP IN THE CRUCIFIX!!

[Not exactly.  The big man pushed off the mat with his feet, rolling
through the crucifix cradle to his knees where he stood up, holding Von
Braun across his shoulders...]

GM:  HE'S GOT HIM UP!!  HE'S GONNA-

[Houston suddenly does a full spin, HURLING Von Braun off his shoulders
with his left arm!]

GM:  FADE TO BLACK!!  FADE TO BLACK!!!

[He collapses onto the downed Von Braun, reaching back with the left arm
to hook a leg.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!!  THREEEEEEE!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


PW:  Here is your winner... RONNNNN HOUUUUUSTON!

[A dazed and hurting Houston rolls to his rear end, clutching his right
arm as the referee gingerly raises his left arm, pointing to the
triumphant East Coast Terror.]

GM:  Ron Houston - I don't know how he did it but he did.  Ron Houston
has defeated Brian Von Braun.  

BW:  Von Braun DOMINATED this match, Gordo.  If he wasn't so hellbent on
ending Houston's career tonight, he would have won this a long time ago.
 But in the end, he made one mistake and it cost him everything.

GM:  But what a counter it was by Houston, rolling through the crucifix
attempt into the Fade To Black.  Incredible!

[Von Braun rolls from the ring, dropping to a knee on the floor as he
drops his head, shaking it back and forth as Houston is helped to his
feet by the referee.  The East Coast Terror raises his left arm in
victory, saluting the cheering fans, and watching up the aisle as Von
Braun leans on the rope barricade, using it to support him as he heads
back down the aisle.]

GM:  A big victory for Ron Houston and that just might be the win that
the East Coast Terror needs to get back in the National Title picture -
no matter who wins our Main Event later tonight.

BW:  Hey, but don't forget about Brian Von Braun.  He could have won
this one, Gordo.  If just one more thing went his way, we'd be talking
about Von Braun being a top challenger for the National Title.  And in
my book, that's exactly what he is!

GM:  Both of these men put out an extraordinary effort and you're right,
either man could be standing with their hand raised right now.  It just
happens to be Ron Houston but it could have been Brian Von Braun just as
easily.  Fans, we'll be right back with six man tag team action so don't
you dare go away!

[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 we come back up to the locker room area where Mark Stegglet
is standing between Jug, Zeke, and Mange - the Moonshiners.  All three
are dressed for battle which is to say they're wearing jeans and work
boots.  Their beards are unkept, their hair is wild, and their
potbellies are plentiful.]

MS:  We are live back in St. Louis where in mere moments, a feud that is
over thirty years strong.  Tonight, this finally comes to an end.  

[He holds the mic up to Mange who strokes his beard.]

Mange:  Thirty years.

[Another stroke of the beard.]

Mange:  People live and die in thirty years, puppy.  They are born, they
live, and they die... all in the time it has taken the Moonshiners and
the Dixie Fireballs to finish what they started so long ago.

Tonight, you said it comes to an end... you say it "finally" comes to an
end.

[Mange shakes his head.]

Mange:  This feud will live forever, puppy.  Two weeks ago, I said this
ends tonight but I was wrong.  Me?  The boys?  We'll never not spend
nights aching to rip Lee's limbs from his body.  And these painted-up
buffoons he's hitched his wagon to?  They're just roadkill.  They don't
matter one bit to us.

[A nod.]

Mange:  At the end of the day, we'll fight the Pigs... we'll fight
Lee... not out of some dream of ending things between us... but because
it's another day when the Fireballs and the Moonshiners need to beat
each other up.

Some things were just meant to be, puppy.

[And the wild-haired Moonshiners walk out of the interview area, heading
for the entryway as we crossfade to the ring where Ken Graham is
standing.]

KG:  The following contest is a six man tag team match scheduled for one
fall with a twenty minute time limit!  Introducing first... from
Memphis, Tennessee... Jug, Zeke, and Mange...

THE MOOOOOONSHINERS!

[Some stereotypical "Southern" music with lots of banjo plucking starts
up to the jeers of the crowd.  The curtain parts to reveal the three men
we saw moments earlier, heading down the aisle towards the ring.]

JS:  These are three of the toughest men you'll ever see inside a
wrestling ring.

TM:  Or outside one if you believe those stories of them down at the
local tavern every weekend.  I've heard they close that joint down some
nights... and not by drinking.  

JS:  There are more broken chairs and tables in that bar on a Saturday
night than on an average night in our old place of employment.

[The three wild-haired brawlers climb through the ropes, turning back
towards the entryway and shouting for Lee and the War Pigs.]

JS:  There's no use in trying to hype this as something it's not, Todd. 
This is going to be a fight.

TM:  I'm not sure how much of a fight it'll be.  I expect the 'Shiners
to beat the facepaint off those two muscleheads before putting their old
man manager out to pasture.

JS:  You seem to really be selling the War Pigs short, Todd.

TM:  The War Pigs are great... in a posedown.  But in a fight?  Give me
the hillbillies who fight every Friday night for kicks.

[The banjo music fades out to...]

#GENERALS GATHERED IN THEIR MASSES!#

[The crowd ERUPTS as Black Sabbath's "War Pigs" hits the PA.  After a
moment of rock and roll, Hammer, Sabre, and Richard E. Lee come dashing
down the aisle towards the ring.]

JS:  Here they come!

[With the two powerhouses and their equally face-painted manager
charging down the aisle, the referee signals for the bell as all three
men dive headfirst under the bottom rope, popping to their feet and
letting the fists fly as they collide with the Moonshiners in the middle
of the ring!]

JS:  WE'VE GOT A FIGHT ON OUR HANDS!!

[Zeke pairs up with Sabre, Jug with Hammer, and fittingly, Richard E.
Lee starts lighting up the chest of Mange with a series of knife-edge
chops that sends the big brawler back into the corner.]

JS:  All six men are battling it out inside the ring and-

[Zeke slips a knee into the gut of Sabre.  He grabs Sabre by the back of
the had, hurling him through the ropes to the floor.  He spins around,
smashing a double axehandle across the back of Hammer's neck, knocking
him down to a knee.]

JS:  Sabre's out to the floor.  This is down to a three-on-two now. 
This can't be good for the War Pigs.

[Jug squares up, raising both arms as Zeke does the same.  They slam
double axehandles down across Hammer's wide back in unison, knocking him
down to all fours.  The crowd jeers as they continue to batter, landing
sledge hammer blows over and over as they knock the larger member of the
War Pigs down to the canvas.]

JS:  Hammer's down!

TM:  I told you, Steggs!  Look at the Moonshiners go to work!  For the
War Pigs, this was just another match but to the Moonshiners, this was
the culmination of thirty years of bad blood!

[The hillbilly brawlers continue to lay the boots in on Hammer, kicking
him in the ribs over and over.  Suddenly, Richard E. Lee spots his man
in trouble and charges into the fray...

...where a brutal double headbutt knocks him flat!]

JS:  Lee's down as well!  The Moonshiners are beating the hell out of
everyone in there!

[An angry Mange stomps out of the corner, grabbing Lee around the throat
with both hands and yanking him first to his feet... then powers him up
into a double-handed choke!]

JS:  Choke!  He's choking the life out of Richard E. Lee!

[Lee struggles against the choke, trying to free himself...

...and ends up thrown down to the mat thanks to Mange's powerful toss.]

JS:  This can't be going the way the War Pigs expected it to.

TM:  The War Pigs?  Imagine what Richard E. Lee is thinking right now! 
This is his chance to end a thirty-year feud and his boys are blowing
it!

JS:  Are you serious?  

[Lee rolls to the floor as Jug and Zeke pull Hammer to his feet,
throwing him back into the buckles.  The two brawlers take turns
throwing heavy boots into the midsection.]

JS:  Hammer's getting beat on by all three Moonshiners and-

[Mange backs to the far corner, waving his partners to help him. 
Grabbing the arms of the manager, they fire him across the ring...

...and send Mange into a big running splash in the corner!]

JS:  The 'Shiners send Mange like a big ol' freight train into the
buckles!  Hammer's getting worked over by three men here and-

[Suddenly, Sabre gets back into the ring, firing right hands at Jug,
knocking him back into the ropes.]

JS:  Sabre's fighting back!  Listen to these fans!

[Sabre grabs the wild hair of Zeke, cracking him with a haymaker that
sends the big man falling back into the corner.  He grabs Zeke by the
arm, firing him from corner to corner...

...and SMASHING Zeke into the buckles with a big running clothesline!]

JS:  CLOTHESLINE ON ZEKE!!

[Sabre spins around, connecting with a spinning back elbow into the jaw
of an incoming Jug, knocking him down to the mat...

...and the crowd ERUPTS as Sabre points a finger right at Mange!]

JS:  SABRE'S GOING FOR MANGE!!

[Mange backpedals, hands raised in a defensive posture as Sabre
approaches.]

JS:  Mange is begging for mercy - he wants no part of Sabre!

[And Sabre replies by burying a boot into the gut of the Moonshiners'
manager.  He throws a few big right hands, knocking Mange backwards into
the corner.]

JS:  Hammer's up on his feet and-

[The big man races towards the corner, landing a big running clothesline
on Mange!]

JS:  The War Pigs are all over Mange!

[The War Pigs' powerhouse hurls Mange into the ropes, catching him on
the rebound...

...and DRIVES him into the mat with a thunderous powerslam!]

JS:  POWERSLAM!!  POWERSLAM!!

[Hammer springs to his feet, jerking a thumb to the sky.  The crowd
roars as Sabre steps through the ropes, heading to the corner.]

JS:  They're calling for it!  They're going for the WMD!

[Hammer ducks down, hoisting Mange up on his shoulders in an electric
chair lift as Sabre scales the ropes...]

JS:  If they hit this, it's over!  Sabre's gonna come off the top and-

[But before he can do it, a recovered Jug lunges forward, shoving Sabre
clear off the top rope, sending him sailing through the air and crashing
to the thinly-padded floor with a big thud!]

JS:  OHHHHHH! 

TM: Sabre got shoved off the top!  He hit the floor hard, Steggs!

JS:  He certainly did!  Jug shoved him all the way down to the floor off
the top rope - that's a ten... maybe twelve foot fall to the hard,
unforgiving concrete floor!  I'll be surprised if Sabre can get back
into this match at all.

[A shocked Hammer drops Mange harmlessly to the mat, moving to attack
Jug.  He spins the Moonshiner around, popping him with a right hand...

...but Jug buries a knee in the gut.  Grabbing the back of the head, he
slams Hammer's head into the buckles.]

JS:  Hammer's all alone in there!

[Zeke gets up to join his partner in a big double whip to the ropes...

...and drops Hammer like a rock with a big double boot to the chest!]

JS:  That might do it right there, Todd.

TM:  They're not done though.

[Zeke and Jug roll to the floor as Mange drags Hammer over to the ropes,
placing a leg on either side of the ringpost.]

JS:  Oh no.

TM:  They're gonna put this guy on the shelf, Steggs!

JS:  Each one of them... each one has got a leg!

[And at Mange's shouted order, they pull... HARD!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


JS:  THEY PULLED HIS GROIN INTO THE POST!!  INTO THE STEEL RINGPOST!!

[Hammer immediately grabs his nether regions with both hands, screaming
in pain.  Jug and Zeke grab the legs again...

...and pull him into the post a second time!]

JS:  Twice!  Twice he goes full force into the post!

[Mange drags him away from the corner, putting him in the center of the
ring.  Jug and Zeke roll back in, climbing to their feet.]

JS:  The Moonshiners have laid out Hammer and... look at this, Todd.

[A sneering Mange points directly at Richard E. Lee who is now standing
on the apron, looking to help...]

JS:  He's inviting Lee in there!  They've laid out Sabre!  They've laid
out Hammer!  But what about Richard E. Lee?

TM:  If he's smart, he'll get the heck out of town, Steggs.

JS:  No way.  There's no way!  His men are down and hurt!  He needs to
help!  He needs to-

[Shaking his head, Lee produces a white cloth from his pocket.  He
reaches up with it, wiping his face.]

JS:  What is he... what's Lee doing?

[He holds up the white towel, showing the War Pigs' trademark
facepaint...

...and flings it down to the mat.]

JS:  He just... did he just throw in the towel?

[Lee turns his back on the ring, walking back up the aisle to the
confused buzzing from the crowd as the referee calls for the bell.]

JS:  He did!  The ref just stopped this thing!

[The referee drops to the floor, conversing with Ken Graham who nods
before making it official.]

KG:  Ladies and gentlemen... the referee has ruled that Richard E. Lee,
a member of the War Pigs' team... has THROWN IN THE TOWEL!

[The crowd jeers!]

KG:  Therefore, your winners... THE MOONSHINERS!

[The boos pour down on all three Moonshiners as they raise their hands
in victory.  Mange looks on with a mixture of surprise and annoyance as
Richard E. Lee backpedals down the aisle, shaking his head.  The eldest
Moonshiner puts his hands on his hips, spitting on the canvas...]

JS:  Uh oh.


"GET 'IM UP!"


[At the barked order of their leader, Jug and Zeke yank Hammer off the
mat.  Mange leans in, slapping him a few times across the face.  He
points to the ropes so a double whip happens...

...and Jug and Zeke join hands, mowing down a rebounding Hammer with a
double clothesline!]

JS:  Oh my!  Down goes Hammer again!

TM:  What a night it's been for Hammer.  He got his bell rung there and
earlier, he got his bells rung... twice.

JS:  Classy.  Sabre's down, Hammer's down, Richard E. Lee has walked out
on his team!  What does this all mean for the future of the War Pigs,
Todd?

TM:  The future is now and it's all about the Moonshiners!

JS:  Fans, let's go backstage where another participant in tonight's
Steal The Spotlight showcase - "Playboy" Johnny Casanova - is standing
by.

[We fade to the backstage area.  Outside their locker room, the straggly
haired, pudgy "Playboy" Johnny Casanova, and his cohort Big Mama are
fired up for their match.]

JC: Tonight's the night! Tonight's the night when Johnny C finally gets
his hands on Scotty Mayhem and gets a little bitta payback for the
insults to my sweet rose here, the love of my life, this fine figure of
a lady Big Mama!

[He points to Big Mama, who curtseys rather clumsily.]

JC: Scotty, ya painted a big ol' bullseye on yourself as far as I'm
concerned the other week, and ya're gonna have to take ya punishment
like a man! The Playboy is gonna make ya wish ya had kept ya big mouth
shut, and thought better of ya little Halloween stunt. Cause Scotty, the
scariest thing ya see all year will be Johnny C putting ya down once
again!

And once I've taken down Scotty Mayhem, time for the real fun to begin.
Because this match is called Steal The Spotlight, and baby, the Playboy
IS the Spotlight! Ten men are going in there, but there's only one who's
walking out with a title shot. Like I've already said, I look good in
gold!

[And with that, we cut to another part of the building to yet another
man who will take part in Steal The Spotlight.  Raphael Rhodes is
standing outside the Family Arena, dressed in a black long-sleeved
T-shirt and jeans, sitting on a bench and staring down at his feet.]

RR: You know what inspires me?

[Rhodes looks up at the camera.]

RR: It used to be money, and fame, and recognition.  But now, whenever I
need to put things into perspective, I go home. Travelin' the world has
spoiled me... made me soft.  Bein' in the Southern Syndicate did the
same... I got used to the money, the cars, the luxury hotels.  And you
know what that did to me?

[Rhodes looks back down.]

RR: It made me forget.  It made me forget the pain I went through
growin' up... even though me dad was a famous telly wrestler, we had to
fight for everythin'.  We had to stretch every single quid that came in
because we knew just what a downturn in business would do to us.  And
somehow, somewhere, probably on a private jet goin' to God knows where,
we forgot this.

[Rhodes shifts in his seat, uncomfortably.]

RR: So people have been emailin', or textin', or askin' the AWA... where
has Raphael Rhodes been these last few weeks? I've been home.  I went
home to get some perspective.  Yeah, I want to beat the heads in of
every single last member of the Southern Syndicate, but I couldn't do it
with the mindset I was in.  So I came home.  I spent a month, sittin'
out near Wigan Pier, watchin' my city rebuild itself after years of
economic turmoil.  I trained in the old gyms I started in, tryin' to
find the Raphael Rhodes that would break someone's jaw for sayin' a bad
word.

[Rhodes' voice drops.]

RR: I saw me brother, with the vertebrae in his neck fused together,
layin' in his bed, unable to stand up and play football with his kid,
and saw the disappointment in his eyes because I ain't beat a single one
of them yet.

[Rhodes pauses, to take in a deep breath.]

RR: And that... that, Adrian Freeman, is where I found myself again. 
You're goin' to pay dearly.  See, the Southern Syndicate's one big
body... and you're just the left arm.  You can cut off the left arm and
the body can still function, it just ain't goin' to function as well as
it would.  At SuperClash II, I don't care what I have to do, I don't
care who I have to beat to get to you... I'm goin' to do it.

[Rhodes looks up again.]

RR: And you, Mizusawa... you're just the overcoat the body puts on to
keep warm.  You got used by the Southern Syndicate... but that don't
make you any less culpable.  See, the match has got ten people in it,
but you, Freeman, and you, Mizusawa... you're the only ones I care
about.  I'm gettin' two of you for the price of one.  That's why I
signed up for Steal the Spotlight, to get the two of you in the ring at
the same time.

[Rhodes smiles.]

RR: I take out the arm, and there's less to fight with.  I take out the
coat, there's no protection from the cold winter that's settin' in.  And
believe me, boys... it's goin' to be a very cold winter.

[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 in to live action where Mark Stegglet is standing
by with a dark-suited Louis Matsui and MAMMOTH Mizusawa, dressed to
compete in a black singlet, knee pads and boots are standing by. The
bespectacled Matsui is smirking characteristically next to the scowling
seven-footer.]

MS:  We are back here in St. Louis and tonight, MAMMOTH Mizusawa steps
into the ring along-

LM: [Interrupting.] Tonight, Stegglet, the San Jose Shark leads his team
of flunkies into the ring against the greatest assemblage of talent this
place has ever seen. You know what they do to a shark when they catch
one back where MAMMOTH Mizusawa comes from? They cut off its fins and
dump the rest of it back into the sea. And that's what we're going to do
tonight to the San Jose Shark; we won't be cutting fins, but everyone
knows my client is capable of ripping the very limbs off your body and
tossing you right out of that ring, bleeding and broken, to drown in
your own mediocrity.

And we have no problems doing the same to each and every one of those
men who follow you to that ring tonight... Finish what we started with
Rhodes in June... Help the Playboy put down the rabid fleabag that is
Scottt Mayhem... Wipe out whatever's left of Preston, because this time
it's not some unhinged monster he's facing... And Sone? I might have
questioned Wade Kennedy's claim to the Spotlight, but even he is
slightly more deserving of being in this match than you.

So, tonight? Tonight we take out each and every one of those men...
Broussard... Rhodes... Mayhem... Preston... Sone... Then? Then watch as
my client cements his status as Mr. Steal the Spotlight.

MS: But what about the members of your team? If it comes down to it,
MAMMOTH Mizusawa will be battling them for the title shot.

LM: And that he will! But I'm banking on the rest of the members of Team
Matsui to be smart... Smart enough not to stand between the giant and
his prize... Smart enough to realize that Louis Matsui ALWAYS returns a
favor. No offense to Waterson, but with Calisto Dufresne sitting on a
title shot, the Syndicate does not need another trump card up their
collective sleeve. They've made it clear; if they win the shot, they're
only going to use it to keep the title within the Syndicate. So, Johnny
Casanova, Jack Holland and Kennedy need to ask themselves how that
outcome will benefit any of them.

On the other hand, my client will take on all comers and if... No, WHEN
he becomes National champion, we will remember the people who made it
possible. You see, last year, I gave away money to the men who helped my
client go the distance at the first Steal the Spotlight match. This
year? This year I offer something better; help MAMMOTH Mizusawa steal
the spotlight, help my client in his quest to become the National
champion, help make that a reality, and when the time comes, we will not
hesitate to grant you your shots at the title. The way I see it, that's
a pretty sweet deal right there, especially in comparison to a
seven-foot-tall, four hundred pound beating.

[Mizusawa wraps his hand around Stegglet's and the mic, pulling it
towards his face and stooping slightly to reach it.]

MM: Spotlight... Mine... BANZAI!!!

[With a wide grin on his face, Matsui pats his client on the back
approvingly and we fade to footage marked "EARLIER THIS WEEK!"  It's
Jason Dane in the SuperClash Control Center!]

JD: Hi fans, Jason Dane here, just days away from SuperClash II, and
what a lineup we have in store for you. Of course the headliner is
perhaps the biggest match in history, the final showdown between Stevie
Scott and Juan Vasquez, the end to the feud that has defined the AWA.
But the winner of that match will no doubt be in the crosshairs of the
winner of the Steal the Spotlight match. And one of those competitors is
with me at this time, Eric Preston, SuperClash II is upon us.

[The camera turns to the left, where Eric Preston stands and nods.
Preston is relaxed but focused, wearing blue jeans and a white Nike
shirt with a sleeveless denim vest over top. Lots of denim today.]

JD: Eric, you've found yourself in line for any title shot of your
choice, if you could just make it through the Steal the Spotlight match.
What are your thoughts as match time approaches?

EP: Well Jason, SuperClash is finally here, and the whole world's
watching. There isn't a bigger match in the wrestling world then Stevie
Scott versus Juan Vasquez, and I tell you something, along with the fans
in attendance and watching at home, I'm gonna have a keen eye on that
thing.

See, far as I'm concerned it's a done deal. All good things have to come
to end, and so do all the bad ones, and Juan Vasquez is gonna walk out
of SuperClash with the AWA Heavyweight title over his shoulder. Juan's
someone who trained me, someone who I know outside the ring, and he's
someone with a lot on his plate. He's got damn near a year's worth of
pain and punishment riding on this, not to mention his career. But you
can write it in marker and underline it two times, brother, take this
one to the bank.

Juan Vasquez is going to win the match and his first challenger is going
to be yours truly.

JD: You're going to be his first challenger?

EP: Yeah baby, Eric Preston in the flesh. You see I've been able to
clear my mind, Jason, I got what I needed over Monosso to move on, and
I'm gonna do just that. One match can earn you a blank check, for any
title match you want at any time you wish. Men would kill for this, and
they may well do just that at SuperClash. And I know I'm fightin' from
underneath, and I realize that a match with ten guys can have all sorts
of possibilities, but all I can control is my own performance and I can
guarantee you that the best is yet to come from Eric Preston.

It was like a roadblock, Jason, it's like what they call a keylog in a
dam. The issue with Monosso had invaded my mind enough that it was
infecting everything I did, and yet here I was in the match I had
petitioned for getting my teeth knocked around. At that moment it was go
time or no time, Jason, I had to man up and do something about it. 

And whatever was holding me back, I broke through it. I did what I had
to do, and I got my victory. It wasn't a pretty picture, and it won't go
down in the history books, but it was a hard fought, gritty win, and
that's what I needed. To get my hands dirty, and earn a victory when all
the odds were against me. To prove to myself that all the hours I spent
and all the blood and sweat and tears that I shed... that they weren't
in vain.

They weren't for granted. James Monosso can hate the wrestling business
and give all the warnings he wants, but consider them unheeded. I've got
what I need to roll into SuperClash and roll out with that title shot,
and the only person in St. Louis who won't be surprised is me.

[Preston pounds his chest as Dane asks another question.]

JD: And your injuries?

EP: They are what they are, Jason. I paid the physical price to get that
victory, and I'd do it again. My ribs will probably hurt for the rest of
my career, and I'll probably be stockholder in Excedrin when it's all
said and done. But it's nothing I can't work through, and nothing that
can derail my momentum. Injuries are ten percent physical and ninety
percent mental, Jason, they only effect what I let 'em effect. I just
won't let 'em at SuperClash, brother, that's just how it's going to be.

I laid low for a few months, Jason, I allowed myself to become disrupted
by some stuff I shouldn't have. All learning experiences, all in the
past. SuperClash is the biggest show of the year, when the world is
watching, and SuperClash is going to be my coming out party. I'm
re-announcing myself to the wrestling world in one of the greatest
wrestling city's in the world, and when I've got the free title match in
my hand, don't say I didn't tell ya so.

[Preston pats Dane on the back and walks out with a smile as we fade to
ringside where Ken Graham is standing.]

KG:  The following contest is the STEAL THE SPOTLIGHT showcase!

[BIG CHEER!]

KG:  Two teams of five men will soon enter the ring.  These ten men will
do battle in an elimination tag team match until only one team remains. 
At that point, if more than one member of the surviving team is left,
those team members will battle it out as well until there is a SOLE
SURVIVOR!

[Another big cheer!]

KG:  And that survivor will earn a future title shot of his choice.  

And now... Team #1...

[Soul Coughing's "Super Bon Bon" starts up to a big cheer from the St.
Louis crowd.]

KG:  They are the team of...

MARRRCUS BROUUUSSARD!

[The former AWA National Champion walks into view, lifting an arm to the
cheering crowd.]

KG:  JOHNNY SONE!

[The third-generation rookie springs through the curtain with a big grin
on his face, soaking up the cheers from the crowd.]

KG:  RAPHAEL RHOOOOODES!

[A really large reaction for the former Southern Syndicate member who
rolls his neck as he walks into view, ignoring his partners.]

KG:  SCOTT MAAAAYHEM!

[Mayhem walks through the curtain followed closely by Miss Amanda.]

KG:  And ERRRRRIC PRESSSSTON!

[Preston is the final man through for his team.  He shows some signs of
leftover damage suffered in the final battle with James Monosso twelve
days prior as he raises an arm to the cheering crowd.

As he joins his team, the five men make their way down the aisle
together to big cheers from the crowd.]

JS:  Quite a team there, Todd.

TM:  An impressive group of talent.

JS:  If you had to pick one of these guys to be the sole survivor of
this match, whose your money on?

TM:  That's a tough one.  Marcus Broussard was the first man to wear the
AWA National Title around his waist and you know he'd love another crack
at it.  Raphael Rhodes never got his shot after winning the Memorial Day
Rumble and no matter if it's Stevie Scott or Juan Vasquez, Rhodes would
love to tangle with 'em.  Scotty Mayhem and Johnny Sone are the dark
horses in this one.  No one expects them to win it but that's something
the best position to be in.

JS:  I notice you don't mention your former student Eric Preston.

TM:  I've got high hopes for Eric here tonight and I'd love to see him
pull it off but there's just something about him lately.  I'm just not
sure he's got the focus to do it here tonight in St. Louis.

[The five men hit the ring, saluting the fans as the music starts to
fade and is replaced with "Battle Without Honor Or Humanity."]

KG:  And their opponents...

First, the man who won this very match one year ago... 

MAMMOTH MIZUSAWA!

[The giant strides into view, letting loose a loud bellow to the
amusement of his manager, Louis Matsui, who is right by his side.]

KG:  Representing the Southern Syndicate...

AAAAADRIAN FREEEEEMAN!

[The Australian comes into sight, Ben Waterson by his side.]

KG:  "PLAYBOY" JOHNNY CASSSSANOVA!

[Casanova is the next one through, Big Mama looking as angry as usual.]

KG:  "GENTLEMAN" JACK HOLLLLLLAND!

[Holland walks into view, looking with disdain at his own teammates.]

KG:  And finally... WAAAAAADE KENNEDY!

[There's a big cheer from the AWA faithful for young Kennedy as he trots
through, saluting his fans.  Matsui looks at Kennedy with disgust before
the group starts making their way down the aisle to the ring.]

JS:  How about this squad, Todd?  Who's your pick there?

TM:  MAMMOTH Mizusawa.

JS:  That's it?  No speculation about the rest.

TM:  I think Adrian Freeman's a target for half the guys in the ring and
he can't overcome those odds.  Casanova and Holland are dark horses but
I don't think they've got it in them.  

JS:  And Wade Kennedy?

TM:  He may not even make it to the ring.

[The crowd jeers as Matsui spins around before reaching the ring,
reading Wade Kennedy the riot act and jabbing a finger into his chest.]

JS:  Wade Kennedy certainly is the odd man out in that grouping but when
a future title shot is on the line, you'll team with anyone I'd imagine,
Todd.

TM:  I would've teamed with my worst enemy to win a shot at a title.

JS:  All ten men are in the ring now... the referee is right there in
the middle of it all, trying to keep this from breaking down right away.

TM:  This seems like it would've been a good choice for a special ref. 
Where's Alex Martinez in this one?

JS:  He's back in the locker room in Dallas, Texas trying to prepare to
have the entire balance of power in the AWA in his hands.  That's an
important role, Todd.

TM:  He certainly could change things in a big way if he decides to.

[The official manages to get some control, getting some people out of
the ring as some stay in.]

JS:  And it looks like it's going to be Marcus Broussard, the team
captain, starting things off for his team against... oh brother...

[The crowd buzzes as MAMMOTH Mizusawa shoves Wade Kennedy halfway across
the ring, pointing to the corner.  Kennedy angrily tries to push past
the official but gets persuaded to exit the ring.]

JS:  The two team captains?  Are you serious?

TM:  These guys aren't about to mess around, Steggs.  They both want
that title shot in the worst possible way so what better way to try and
land it than to be the first ones in the ring.

[The referee signals for the bell.]

JS:  We're off and running in this one...

TM:  And that's exactly what Marcus Broussard will need to be doing -
running.  He can't stand still and trade with Mizusawa.

[Mizusawa strides to the middle of the ring, smacking himself across the
chest with a meaty forearm.]

JS:  But that's exactly what Mizusawa is challenging the San Jose Shark
to do, Todd.

TM:  Of course he is.  Matsui's no dummy.  But Marcus needs to be
smarter than that.  He needs to not let his ego get to him.

[Broussard eyes Mizusawa for a bit before moving out to the middle.  The
San Jose Shark feigns going for a right hand before quickly moving
behind Mizusawa, throwing a pair of heavy forearms across the back
before the giant spins backwards with a backhand...

...a blow that Broussard narrowly avoids, diving backwards out of
reach.]

JS:  He nearly got his head taken off there, Todd!

TM:  He did a nice job there of staying out of the way though.  He'll
have to fight exactly like that to survive in there with the giant.

[An angry giant spins around, jerking a thumb at himself and glaring at
Broussard.]

TM:  Don't get suckered in, Marcus.  Stay on your game.

[The San Jose Shark edges closer from the corner again...]

JS:  The Shark lunges in- no, he fakes it!

[Broussard went high, faking a tieup attempt, and then ducked under,
moving around to the back again, throwing a pair of kicks to the upper
hamstring...

...and narrowly gets his head removed with a backhand again before
diving aside to the cheers of the crowd.]

JS:  Another nice dodge of the blow from the giant.  Broussard's
sticking and moving, just like you suggested...

[And this time, just as a fuming giant turns around, Broussard rushes
forward, popping him on the jaw with a forearm smash!]

JS:  Ohh!  Hard forearm shiver to the jaw!

[A second blow stuns the giant and a third one has him backpedaling to
the ropes as Broussard continues to throw.]

JS:  He's got him rocked!  

TM:  Get him, Marcus!

JS:  Mizusawa's on the ropes - Matsui's losing his mind!

[Broussard quickly moves to his own corner, hearing the shouts of one of
his partner - young Johnny Sone.  The Shark slaps his hand, bringing him
into the match - or more specifically, up to the top rope.  And as the
giant stumbles forward...]

JS:  SONE'S UP TOP!!

[Johnny Sone hurls himself off the top backwards, smashing his elbow up
under the chin of Mizusawa!]

JS:  Big shot!  Caught him on the chin!

[Sone scrambles to his feet, slapping the hand of Scott Mayhem who also
quickly scales the ropes...

...and leaps off, cracking the giant across the skull with a double
axehandle!]

JS:  OHHH!  AXEHANDLE OFF THE TOP!!

[Mayhem pops back to his corner, slapping the hand of Raphael Rhodes who
also scales the ropes...

...and propels himself off, catching a wobbly Mizusawa on the chin with
a dropkick!]

JS:  MIZUSAWA'S REELING!!

[Louis Matsui is absolutely beside himself at this point, practically on
the ring apron as he shouts at the giant.  Rhodes moves back to the
corner, slapping the hand of Eric Preston who scales the ropes...

...and hurls himself off the top, wiping out Mizusawa with a cross body
block!]

JS:  CROSSBODY OFF THE TOP!!  THE GIANT'S DOWN!!

[A pumped-up Preston dives atop the stunned giant.]

JS:  ONE!!  TWO!!!  TH-

[And the crowd gasps in unison as Mizusawa presses Preston off him,
throwing him through the air a few feet away.]

JS:  Whoa!  

TM:  It's gonna take more than that to keep the giant down.

JS:  Mizusawa is already back to a knee, trying to clear the cobwebs...

[Preston retreats to his corner, slapping the hand of the San Jose
Shark.]

JS:  Broussard's back in...

[And the Shark wades right back in, grabbing the kneeling Mizusawa
around the head and throwing forearms to the jaw.  Pulling down on the
back of the big man's head, Broussard rocks him with a European
uppercut!]

JS:  Ohh!  That'll rock him!

[The former champion hooks a front facelock on the giant...

...who responds by standing up, hurling Broussard through the air and
down to the mat!]

JS:  Backdrop!  I don't know what Broussard had in mind there but
Mizusawa powered his way out of it.

[The giant staggers near his corner...

...where Adrian Freeman slaps him across the shoulder, bringing himself
into the match.]

JS:  In comes Freeman - the Southern Syndicate's sole representative in
this match.

[Freeman rushes the downed Broussard, kicking and stomping his
shoulder.]

JS:  Freeman's going after the shoulder!  The same shoulder that put
Marcus Broussard on the shelf for months at the hands of Calisto
Dufresne and Adrian Freeman before!

[From the floor, we can hear Waterson shouting encouragement to his man
as he pins Broussard's wrist to the mat before leaping up, smashing a
knee down across the bicep.]

TM:  It was the summer of 2009 when Dufresne and Freeman bent, twisted,
and busted up that arm in a tag team match.  It may have been Stevie
Scott who got the final blow in to put Marcus on the shelf but that arm
was a wreck thanks to attacks just like this.

JS:  And look at the sick grin on Freeman's face as he kicks that arm. 
This guy is twisted.

TM:  All of 'em are, Steggs.  Those Southern Syndicate jackals are some
of the sickest guys I've run across in this sport and that's saying
quite a bit.

JS:  You're speaking from experience too.  We all remember what they did
to you earlier this year.

TM:  Yeah.  We do.

[Freeman pulls Broussard off the mat by the hair, firing him through the
ropes to the floor.  The referee steps in, trying to prevent Freeman
from following him which allows Ben Waterson to pull Broussard up on the
floor, grabbing him by the back of the trunks...]

JS:  No, no!  

[...and FIRE him shoulderfirst into the ringpost!]

JS:  Ohhh!  Come on!  

[A grinning Freeman looks on with glee as Waterson shoves a now-injured
Broussard under the ropes into the ring.  Measuring the downed Shark,
Freeman drops another big knee across the injured shoulder.  Out on the
apron, Wade Kennedy gives Waterson an earful for his illegal actions.]

TM:  Kennedy better watch himself.  Waterson'll turn his dogs on him
next.

[Grabbing the injured arm, Freeman executes an armtwist before slapping
the hand of "Playboy" Johnny Casanova with a shout of "Stay on 'im!" 
Casanova nods, smashing an overhead elbow across the arm, a blow that
sends Broussard down to the mat where he attempts to crawl away.]

JS:  "Playboy" Johnny C in for the first time in this one... ohh!  He
cuts off the tag attempt with an elbowdrop to the back of the head!  

[Popping back to his feet, Casanova does a full hip swivel in the
direction of the other team...

...which brings Scott Mayhem into the ring, charging his rival before
getting cut off by the referee.]

JS:  Look out here...

[Using the distraction, Freeman comes back in, kicking the armtwisted
limb before ducking back through the ropes.]

JS:  And I suppose it's no surprise that the Southern Syndicate member
is the one who takes advantage to break the rules.

[Casanova drags Broussard off the mat by the hair, shoving him back into
the neutral corner.  The Playboy steps in hard, throwing a back elbow up
into the chin before dragging him from the buckles into a front
facelock, snapping the Shark over with a suplex.]

JS:  Casanova with the vertical suplex... and you can hear Freeman
screaming for him to stay on the arm.  You'd think he's the team captain
in this.

TM:  I'm sure he thinks he is.

JS:  Casanova nods... he's going along with it...

[The Playboy executes another armtwist before reaching towards his
corner to make a tag which brings in "Gentleman" Jack Holland.]

JS:  In comes Holland... big double axehandle across the arm...

[Broussard uses the separation to move quickly towards his corner but
gets grabbed in a half nelson...]

JS:  SHOTGUN SUPL-

[But the San Jose Shark feels it coming, spinning out of the half nelson
and burying a boot in the gut of Holland that he quickly turns into a
swinging neckbreaker!]

JS:  OHH!  NECKBREAKER BY THE CAPTAIN!!

[The former National Champion quickly rolls to his chest, pushing up to
all fours as he tries to crawl across the ring, looking for a tag...

...and slapping the outstretched hand of Johnny Sone!]

JS:  In comes the rookie!

[The incoming Sone promptly steps up on the leg of the rising Holland,
popping him with a kick to the back of the head!]

JS:  ENZUGIRI!!

[The kick knocks Holland flat on his chest.  Grabbing the arm, Sone
twists the arm around his leg...

...and rolls him into a La Majistral!]

JS:  CRADLE!  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE-

[Holland fires a shoulder out, breaking the tight cradle just before the
three count comes down.  Sone scrambles to his feet, catching a rising
Holland with a kick to the chest.  A second one sends Holland back to
the ropes.]

JS:  Holland's stunned and-

[Sone rushes forward, leaping up to snare the head of Holland who
manages to block it, holding Sone up in a powerbomb position, stumbling
backwards...

...which allows Mizusawa to reach up, smashing Sone with a right hand
before Holland SLAMS him down in a powerbomb!]

JS:  POWERBOMB!!  POWERBOMB!!

[Sone lies flat on his back, motionless from the powerbomb.  An angry
Mizusawa slaps a dazed Holland on the shoulder, bringing himself back
in...

...and dropping all of his weight down on a prone Sone in a splash!]

JS:  SPLASH!!  FOUR HUNDRED PLUS POUNDS!!

[But Mizusawa does not attempt a pin, standing up...

...and pointing at Marcus Broussard!]

JS:  I don't- what is he doing?  Is he telling Broussard that this going
to happen to him next?

[The giant steps forward, reaching down with both hands to grab Sone by
the throat...

...and powers him up into the air with both hands, holding him high...]

JS:  He's got him up!  He's got him-

[The crowd roars as Scott Mayhem rushes forward, leaping up with a
kneesmash that catches the giant on the back of the head, sending him
stumbling forward, dropping Sone safely to the mat.]

TM:  Get him out of there, ref.

JS:  Mayhem tried to help out Johnny Sone.  Sone was done for there and-

[An angry giant takes a swing at Mayhem who slips back out of the ring,
having accomplished his goal for the moment.  As Mizusawa turns back to
Sone, he marches towards him...

...but Sone crawls between the legs, going into a front roll...]

JS:  TAG!

[The crowd roars as Eric Preston slingshots over the top rope into the
ring.]

JS:  In comes Preston!

[Preston rushes across, catching the giant with a leaping back elbow to
the jaw, knocking the giant back to the corner.]

JS:  Oof!  Nice shot by Preston!

[With a whoop, Preston leaps up to the middle rope, raining down punches
to the temple.]

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

[Preston leaps down from the ropes, grabbing the giant by the arm and
firing him across the ring.]

JS:  He sends Mizusawa from corner to corner... here he comes!

[A big leaping clothesline connects in the corner, squashing the big man
against the buckles.  Preston looks around at the cheering crowd,
hopping back up to the middle rope.]

TM:  Again?

[Raising his right hand, Preston starts to throw blows.]

"ONE!"
"TWO!"
"THR-

[But the count gets cut off as Mizusawa slips his arms between the legs,
hoisting Preston into the air...

...and DRIVING him down with a thunderous powerbomb!]

JS:  OHHHHH!

[The giant plants a knee in the chest, glaring across the ring almost
daring someone to try to intervene.]

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


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


KG:  Eric Preston has been ELIMINATED!

[Mizusawa pushes off the downed Preston, pointing at Marcus Broussard
again.]

JS:  The giant seems obsessed with eliminating Marcus Broussard, Todd.

TM:  Hrm?

JS:  I said, Mizusawa seems obsessed with Broussard tonight.

TM:  Oh... yeah, he does.

JS:  You okay?

TM:  Yeah... just... disappointed, I guess.  I thought Eric might prove
me wrong tonight.

[Eric Preston is helped from the ring by a pair of officials as Mizusawa
stands in the middle of the ring, arms crossed as he waits for the next
man to step up.]

JS:  We're down to five on four and-

[Johnny Sone wastes no time in charging back into the ring.  He takes
one long look at the giant, looking a bit overwhelmed...

...and then rushes forward, throwing kicks to the legs.]

JS:  Sone's going for the legs!  Trying to chop the big redwood down!

[But the giant simply reaches forward, grabbing the hair of Sone and
crushing him with a headbutt that knocks the third-generation star down
to the mat.]

JS:  The giant floors him!

[Sone gets right back up though, rushing in to throw palm strikes to the
chest of Mizusawa...

...who replies with a massive chop that knocks Sone flat!]

JS:  Down goes Sone again!  The giant is taking this kid's best shots
and he's still laying him out!

[But Sone gets right back up again, charging in, and leaving his feet
with a leaping dropkick to the chest.  The blow surprises Mizusawa,
stumbling him...]

JS:  He caught him by surprise with the dropkick!

[With the giant dazed, Sone hits the ropes, charging across...

...and catches Mizusawa under the chin with a spinning leg lariat!]

JS:  He caught him again!  The giant got rocked!

[Sone promptly rushes to the corner, leaping up to the middle rope,
spinning around, and leaping off...

...into the waiting arms of the giant!]

JS:  CAUGHT!  HE GOT CAUGHT!!

[And Mizusawa surges forward to CRUSH Sone against the buckles!]

JS:  OHHHH!

[Mizusawa ragdolls Sone around to his feet in the middle of the ring,
grabbing him by the throat...

...and powering him up and down in a Tusk Crusher!]

JS:  OHHHH!  ONE!  TWO!  THREE!

[Mizusawa pushes up off his knees, letting loose a wild bellow as the
officials drag Sone under the ropes to the floor.]

KG:  JOHNNY SONE HAS BEEN ELIMINATED!

[The crowd jeers Mizusawa as he stands tall in the middle of the ring,
holding up two fingers to the opposing team.]

JS:  That's two!  Marcus Broussard has just seen his team knocked down
to three men before his eyes thanks to MAMMOTH Mizusawa.  Broussard,
Rhodes, and Mayhem are left against a full team!

[Broussard, still shaking his shoulder on the apron, huddles up with
Scott Mayhem...

...only to see Raphael Rhodes dash through the ropes, charging the giant
who swings a wild right hand.]

JS:  Rhodes ducks the right hand!

[Balling up his fists, Rhodes throws hooking blows to the ribs of the
giant.]

JS:  He's working the body with those punches!

[Mizusawa turns around, lunging for a tieup but Rhodes ducks under it,
coming up to throw more punches to the body.]

JS:  Again to the body goes Rhodes!

[The giant spins around, throwing a chop but Rhodes somehow grabs the
wrist, blocking the blow...

...and snaps off a series of kicks to the breadbasket.  Tying up the
arm, he switches to knees to the body instead!]

JS:  Rhodes keeps going to the body, Todd!  Working the ribs... now the
stomach...

TM:  He's trying to take the wind out of him.  The big man is only going
to have so much wind in his sails and that's what Raphael Rhodes is
after right now.

JS:  Mizusawa shoves him down!

[But Rhodes pops back up...

...and SLAPS Mizusawa across the ear!]

JS:  OH MY GOD!!

[The giant's head snaps back from the impact of the blow...

...and then he spins back, eyes filled with rage.  Louis Matsui can be
heard SCREAMING in Japanese from the floor as the giant rushes forward,
trying to squash Rhodes.]

JS:  Rhodes avoids the charge!  Right hands to the ribs!  Left hands to
the ribs!

[Suddenly, Rhodes jumps up on the back of Mizusawa, wrapping his arms
around his head and neck.]

JS:  SLEEPER!!  RHODES HOOKS THE SLEEPER!!

[A dazed Mizusawa stumbles towards the corner...

...where Wade Kennedy reaches over the ropes, slapping the arm.]

JS:  TAG!  Wade Kennedy tags himself in!

[The spunky fan favorite pulls Rhodes out of the sleeperhold, popping
him with a right hand on the jaw.  And a second.  And a third.  He grabs
the arm of Rhodes.]

JS:  Whip by Kennedy... LARIAT!!!

[The big clothesline connects but the ring generalship of Rhodes comes
into play as the Wigan native rolls to the apron, avoiding a pin
attempt.  A frustrated Kennedy climbs to his feet, rushing to reach over
the ropes to grab Rhodes by the hair.]

JS:  He's gonna bring Rhodes in the hard way!  Going for the suplex...

[Rhodes throws a few punches to the ribs, forcing Kennedy to set him
back down on the apron.  He lands a headbutt to the ear, knocking
Kennedy back a step.]

JS:  Ohh!

TM:  You've gotta watch out for the headbutts of Raphael Rhodes!

[Grabbing the middle rope, Rhodes slings himself forward to drive a
shoulder into the midsection, doubling up Kennedy...]

JS:  SUNSET FLIP!!

[The crowd roars for the sunset flip by Rhodes but also cheers Wade
Kennedy grabbing the top rope, blocking the attempt.]

JS:  Rhodes is going for the sunset flip but he can't get him down!  He
can't get him down and-

[The crowd ROARS as Adrian Freeman slips down the apron and DRILLS
Kennedy with a right hand, allowing Rhodes to pull Kennedy down into the
sunset flip!]

JS:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREE!!!

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

KG:  WADE KENNEDY HAS BEEN ELIMINATED!!

[Louis Matsui screams at Adrian Freeman as he climbs into the ring,
delivers a pair of boots to the ribs of Raphael Rhodes...

...and then HURLS Wade Kennedy over the ropes to the floor!]

JS:  What in the world?!

TM:  This is payback!  Freeman's after Kennedy for Kennedy scoring the
upset in the Longhorn Heritage Title tournament!

[The Australian drags Kennedy up...

...and SMASHES his skull into the ringpost!]

JS:  Good God!

[Freeman delivers kick after kick after kick into the ribcage of Wade
Kennedy out on the floor.  Louis Matsui can be heard screaming at both
Freeman and Ben Waterson.]

JS:  We're down to four on three but listen to Matsui and Waterson! 
This team may be falling apart before our very eyes, Todd.

TM:  Matsui's livid at Freeman taking out Kennedy - can't blame him for
that, can you?  Freeman put his own personal agenda over the team's
agenda.  Just like the Southern Syndicate member these days.

[With Freeman battering Kennedy on the floor, Jack Holland gets back
into the ring, kicking Rhodes in the ribs.]

JS:  The Gentleman's all over Raphael Rhodes!

[Holland grabs Rhodes by the back of the tights, yanking him into a rear
waistlock...

...and taking him over hard with a German suplex!]

JS:  GERMAN!  ALL IMPACT, NO BRIDGE!!

[Holland rolls into a lateral press as the shot breaks into a split
screen, revealing Kennedy getting battered by Freeman on the floor as
the referee counts two inside the ring.]

JS:  Only a two count for Holland right there.

[The Gentleman shouts out "SHOTGUN!" as he hauls Rhodes back to his feet
by the hair, reaching into a half nelson...

...but Rhodes grabs the wrist, twisting away from his body to pull
Holland down to the mat, pinning the arm behind him.]

JS:  KIMURA!!  AN ARMBAR IS SUNK IN!!

[And with Rhodes' expertise at joint manipulation, Holland has no choice
but to submit!]

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

KG:  JACK HOLLAND HAS BEEN ELIMINATED!!

[The crowd roars as Rhodes scrambles to his feet, getting overwhelmed by
a charging Mizusawa who shoves him back into a neutral corner before
battering him with two heavy chops across the chest.]

JS:  We're down to three on three!  Broussard, Rhodes, and Mayhem taking
on the giant, Freeman, and Casanova.  One of these six men will steal
the spotlight here tonight and lock down a GUARANTEED shot at a title of
their choice.  Can you imagine it, Todd?  How about Marcus Broussard
winning this thing and cashing it in against the man who put him on the
shelf, Stevie Scott?

TM:  Or if Juan Vasquez wins the title later here tonight, maybe we'll
get that long-awaited rematch between him and Mizusawa!

JS:  What about if there's an upset?  How about Scott Mayhem or Johnny
Casanova REALLY stealing the spotlight here tonight?  Maybe they'd cash
it in against either Nenshou or Brent Maverick to try and win the
Longhorn Heritage Title!

[Rhodes tries to cover up as Mizusawa batters him with chops and
forearms against the buckles.  Grabbing the Brit by the wrist, the giant
flings him from corner to corner...]

JS:  LOOK OUUUUUUUT!

[The crowd roars as the giant charges from corner to corner, ready to
avalanche Rhodes through the buckles...

...but the fiesty Brit raises both feet, catching the giant on the
chin!]

JS:  OHH!  HE CAUGHT HIM COMING IN!!

[Rhodes hops up on the middle rope, leaping off with a flying tackle
that knocks the giant back another couple feet...

...which gives Rhodes a moment to slap the outstretched hand of Scott
Mayhem!]

JS:  In comes Mayhem!

[Mayhem promptly scores with a running overhead elbowsmash to the skull.
 Grabbing the giant by the hair, he rears back and drills him with a
haymaker between the eyes.]

JS:  Big shot there - and take a look, Todd.  We finally got Adrian
Freeman under control out here on the floor.  It took a handful of AWA
officials and security but they're hauling him off this kid.  What a
mess.

TM:  Kennedy took a world class beating out there at the hands of Adrian
Freeman.  This kid may be hurt pretty badly, Steggs.

[Mayhem throws a series of stiff left jabs to the jaw before throwing
another big right hand that has Mizusawa stumbling back against the
ropes.  With a twirl of his hand, Mayhem hits the ropes...

...and catches a knee to the small of the back from a sneaky Casanova!]

JS:  Cheap shot!  Casanova caught him coming off the ropes and-

[The crowd roars as Mayhem spins around and drills the Playboy with a
right hand, knocking him off the apron...

...which causes him to turn around, right into two hands around the
throat.]

JS:  Mizusawa hooks him!

[The giant powers him up into the air...

...and DRIVES him down with a Tusk Crusher!]

JS:  TUSK!  CRUSHER!  ONE!  TWO!  THREE!  This is crazy, Todd!

TM:  The giant is a one man wrecking machine!  He's eliminated Eric
Preston!  He's eliminated Johnny Sone!  He's eliminated Scott Mayhem! 
MAMMOTH Mizusawa is stealing the spotlight, baby!

JS:  He's laid out half of the other team!  He's got a body count bigger
than Ice T!

[A smirking Johnny Casanova pops back up on the apron, taunting the
downed Scott Mayhem.]

JS:  And yes, Johnny Casanova led DIRECTLY to that happening, Todd.

TM:  He did, he did.  Mayhem got under his skin with that Halloween
stunt and he may be regretting that right now because Scott Mayhem's
night is over.  

JS:  It's a three on two with Broussard and Rhodes battling the giant,
Freeman, and Casanova.

[The hurting Marcus Broussard steps into the ring, still holding his
shoulder.  He turns his body slightly, trying to keep the injured limb
away from Mizusawa.]

JS:  This could be a bad situation for Broussard.  The San Jose Shark, I
think that shoulder's been injured at the hands of Adrian Freeman, and
now he's trying to protect it.

TM:  And when you have to protect a bodypart, it makes it very difficult
to wrestle your gameplan.  Broussard may be in a panic defensive fight
now.

[From outside the ring, Casanova shouts something at Broussard, drawing
the Shark's ire.  The former champion takes a swing at him, allowing
Casanova to grab the injured limb, dropping down off the apron and
snapping the arm over the top rope!]

JS:  Ohh!  Casanova caught him!

TM:  And that was a pretty brilliant move, Steggs.  I hate to admit it
but he suckered in Marcus and made him pay for it.

[With Broussard wincing, grabbing his arm, Mizusawa grabs him around the
body, hoisting him up...

...and DRIVING him down to the mat with a side slam!]

JS:  We may need a spatula after that one!

[From outside the ring, Johnny Casanova is hollering and hooting in the
direction of Mizusawa, reaching his hand into the ring.]

JS:  Casanova wants the tag!  For the first time in this match, Johnny
Casanova wants the tag!

[Mizusawa climbs to his feet, glaring at Casanova.  From outside the
ring, an amused Louis Matsui nods his approval, allowing the tag.]

JS:  And in comes the Playboy!

[Casanova slips into the ring...

...and promptly hops up on the middle rope, hip swiveling for the
jeering crowd.]

JS:  Are you serious?  He gets tagged into the biggest match of his life
and he's taunting these fans in St. Louis?

[Hopping down off the ropes, Casanova pulls Broussard off the mat.  He
reaches down, hooking one arm...

...and then gets dragged down in a small package!]

JS:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE-

[The crowd groans as Adrian Freeman dives on the back of Marcus
Broussard, breaking up the nearfall.]

JS:  That was a close one for Casanova!  And how embarrassing would that
have been for him, Todd?

TM:  Get tagged in and get eliminated?  Yeah, that would've been a bad
night.

[An angry Freeman stomps and kicks Broussard until the referee forces
him back to the corner and out to the apron.  A grateful Casanova gets
up, shaking his head back and forth before delivering some stomps of his
own.  He reaches down, dragging Broussard up again...

...and popping him with an uppercut that knocks him back to the
buckles.]

JS:  Nice right hand by the Playboy and-

[The crowd jeers as Adrian Freeman tags himself into the match,
surprising a sad-looking Casanova as the Australian tears into him with
kicks to the body in the corner.  Pulling the hair, he yanks the Shark
into a scoop up over the shoulder...

...and drops him down across the knee in a shoulderbreaker!]

JS:  SHOULDERBREAKER ACROSS THE KNEE!!

[Broussard screams out in pain at the sudden impact...

...and then shouts out again as he gets rolled to his stomach, his arm
grabbed and yanked back into an armbar!]

JS:  He's got an armbar applied!  A straddle armbar slapped on!

[The San Jose Shark screams out in pain, holding his injured shoulder as
Freeman yanks and tugs at it.  From outside the ring, Ben Waterson leans
through the ropes, screaming "GIVE UP!!  QUIT!" at the first AWA
National Champion.]

JS:  Freeman's got the hold sunk in deep, trying to rip that shoulder
out of its socket!

[Broussard's eyes are clinched tight, screaming in pain as his shoulder
is tortured...

...when suddenly Raphael Rhodes comes in, smashing Freeman with a
headbutt to break the hold!]

JS:  Rhodes makes the save!  He saved the San Jose Shark!

[The referee forces Rhodes to make his exit as Freeman rubs his skull,
shaking his head as he glares at the former Southern Syndicate member
there.]

JS:  Rhodes and Freeman staring each other down - a lot of bad blood
there, Todd.

TM:  The Southern Syndicate believes that Rhodes abandoned them.  In
fact, from what I understand, there are some who believe that the
Southern Syndicate has never recovered since Rhodes left.

JS:  Well, he didn't really leave.

TM:  He knew he was making the choice to leave.  He knew that taking
that title shot against Stevie Scott was him leaving the group.

[An angry Freeman delivers a kick to the ribs, pointing at Rhodes.]

JS:  This just got real personal, Todd.

TM:  For Freeman, this whole match was personal.  Between Broussard and
Rhodes and Kennedy, Freeman's been out for blood the whole night. 
Except for Freeman, he doesn't want to draw blood.  He wants to break
bones.  He wants to tear ligaments.  He wants to rip tendons.  That's
Adrian Freeman, Steggs.

JS:  It certainly is.

[Kneeling on the shoulder of Broussard, Freeman yanks up hard on the
rest of the arm, stretching it against the grain.]

JS:  Look at the arm!  Look at the pressure and the torque on the arm!

[And suddenly, without warning, Broussard's free arm comes up and slaps
the canvas three times.]

JS:  Oh... oh my god.

[The crowd falls into a hush.]

JS:  Marcus Broussard just tapped out!  He tapped out to that high
pressure armbar!

[Freeman backs off, looking down in surprise.]

JS:  I can't believe it!  The San Jose Shark, the first AWA National
Champion, has just submitted to Adrian Freeman!

TM: And don't look now but we're down to a three on one!

JS:  I'm sorry, Todd, but I still can't believe we just saw that.  What
damage must have been done to that arm to get a submission out of him? 
I'm in shock.

[A frustrated Raphael Rhodes slaps the top turnbuckle.  He shakes his
head as he steps into the ring, glaring at the San Jose Shark as he's
helped from the ring.]

JS:  Raphael Rhodes, the seriousness of this situation may have just set
in.  It's a three on one... it's Mizusawa, Freeman, and Casanova against
Raphael Rhodes!  How can Rhodes get through this?

TM:  If anyone can, it might be Rhodes.  You know how badly he wants
that title shot in his pocket.  Whether it's Vasquez or Scott, he would
love to tangle with either one of them.

[Rhodes waves Freeman forward, ready to tussle...

...but the Australian slaps the hand of Casanova, pointing him towards
Rhodes.]

JS:  Johnny Casanova's going in there first...

[The two men tie up in the middle of the ring, Rhodes promptly having
his eyes raked by Casanova.  The Playboy throws a pair of chops to the
chest before grabbing the wrist, firing him across the ring...]

JS:  Big whip... right han-

[The crowd roars as Rhodes ducks the right hand...

...and hooks in the sleeper!]

JS:  SLEEPER!  THE SLEEPER IS ON!!

[Rhodes promptly places his foot on the back of the knee, pushing
Casanova down to the mat and then kneels on the back of the leg, pinning
the Playboy to the canvas.]

JS:  He's got the sleeper locked on Casanova!  He's got the leg pinned
and the Playboy is fading fast, Todd!

TM:  Raphael Rhodes came back from some time off with this sleeper in
his arsenal and it's a very dangerous hold.  The key is that breaking
down of the legs, taking the victim off their feet where they have
absolutely no leverage at all.

JS:  Casanova's arms are slowing...

[And the referee lifts the Playboy's limp arm up and drops it once...
twice...]

JS:  One more time and it's over...


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


KG:  Johnny Casanova has been ELIMINATED!!

[The crowd cheers Rhodes as he breaks the hold...

...and points right at Adrian Freeman.]

JS:  Rhodes wants Freeman!  He said he was going to start carving his
way through the Southern Syndicate here tonight and Adrian Freeman is
first on his list!

[Freeman's game for the showdown as he steps into the ring, the crowd
roaring at the sight of these two former partners staring dead into each
other's eyes in the middle of the ring...

...and then roar louder as Rhodes pops Freeman in the eyesocket with a
headbutt!]

JS:  Ohh!  No warning on that one!  Out of nowhere with the headbutt!

[Freeman stumbles backwards from the blow and then falls even further as
Rhodes whaps him with a knife-edge chop across the chest, putting
Freeman back on the ropes.]

JS:  Irish whip... sleep-

[The Australian ducks the sleeper attempt, rebounding off the far side,
and running right into a rear waistlock...

...but Freeman throws a couple sharp elbows back, breaking the hold.  He
spins out of it into a waistlock of his own, battering Rhodes across the
back of the neck.]

JS:  Hard shots to the upper back!

[Freeman quickly hooks a half nelson, hoisting Rhodes up, and bringing
him down hard across a bent knee!]

JS:  HALF NELSON BACKBREAKER!!

[Flipping Rhodes onto his stomach, Freeman drops a knee across the lower
back.  Keeping his knee pressed into the spine, Freeman grabs two hands
full of hair, pulling Rhodes' head back to stretch him out.]

JS:  Freeman with an illegal move there... come on, ref...

[The referee steps in, forcing the break.  The Australian promptly gets
up, stomping the kidneys several times, forcing Rhodes under the ropes
to the apron.  The official shouts at Freeman, backing him up...

...and allowing Ben Waterson to wrap his hands around the throat of
Rhodes, pulling down to choke him.]

JS:  Waterson's choking Rhodes on the floor!  Ref, get in there!

[But as soon as the referee turns around, Waterson is already walking
away, leaving Rhodes gasping for air on the apron.  Freeman grabs him by
the leg, hauling him away from the ropes...

...and DRIVES a bent elbow into the throat!]

JS:  Elbow DRIVEN to the windpiper - there's a cover for one... two...
but out at two!

[Freeman pops up to his knees, promptly wrapping his hands around the
throat of his former stablemate.]

JS:  Break the choke!  Come on!

TM:  I hate to admit it but he's got a five count, Steggs.  He can choke
til four.

JS:  And that's exactly what he does - choking until four and then
breaking the hold... and now he puts it back on!

TM:  Totally within the loopholes in the rulebook.

JS:  It is but the referee could disqualify him for repeated offenses,
Todd!

[After the second four count, Freeman breaks the hold, climbing to his
feet.  He grabs Rhodes by the hair, pulling him into a front facelock.]

JS:  What's this?

TM:  We've seen him use the brainbuster recently.  That may be what he's
looking for here.

[It may be but we never get to see it as Rhodes plucks him into a small
package.]

JS:  SMALL PACKAGE FOR ONE!!  TWO!!  THR-

[The crowd jeers not just the kickout but the sight of Ben Waterson
essentially halfway into the ring...]

JS:  Get Waterson out of there!

[The referee moves to do exactly that, pushing Waterson back...

...and totally missing Waterson toss something into the ring to Adrian
Freeman.]

JS:  What was that?  He threw something in there!  He threw something in
to Freeman!

[The Australian, still on the mat, slips the weapon over his knuckles.]

JS:  I think- those might be brass knuckles, Todd!

TM:  That's exactly what they are!  Freeman's got knucks!

[Freeman winds up as Rhodes gets to his feet...

...and blocks the swung right hand!]

JS:  HE BLOCKED IT!!

[And promptly buries a knee into the gut, spinning Freeman around into a
waistlock...

...and takes him up and over, holding with a picture perfect bridge.]

JS:  GERMAN!!  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREE!!!

[But just as the three count comes down...

...so does Mizusawa, all 420 pounds squarely on the chest of Raphael
Rhodes!]

JS:  Freeman's eliminated but... no!

[The referee looks at the giant who waves him down to count.]

JS:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREEEEEE!!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


KG:  Here is your winner...

MAMMOTH MIZUSAWA!

[The crowd jeers wildly as Mizusawa slowly regains his feet, glaring
down at the flattened Rhodes.]

JS:  Raphael Rhodes never saw the splash coming.  He had the German on
Freeman - he eliminated Freeman but Mizusawa was waiting.  The giant
didn't want a fair fight with Rhodes!  He hit the splash - he got the
pin- and MAMMOTH Mizusawa has won the Steal The Spotlight showcase for
the second year in a row!

TM:  And not only that, Steggs, but Mizusawa just won a shot at the
title of his choice and I'll lay you dollars to donuts, he's going after
the National Champion no matter who it is!

[Louis Matsui joins his charge in the ring, leaping up and down in
celebration of Mizusawa's victory.]

JS:  A big night for Louis Matsui and MAMMOTH Mizusawa here at
SuperClash II in St. Louis, fans.  It's time for a quick break and then
we'll be back down in Dallas, Texas.

TM:  Hey, Steggs - the Devil's comin' down to Dallas!

JS:  Indeed.  Don't go away, fans.

[Fade to black.

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

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

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

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

JD:  Hello, Mr. iPhone.

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

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

JD:  Well, actually I did.

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

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

[Thankfully, a voiceover starts.]

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

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

[Fade back to black...

...and then back up to black.  A completely blackened room presumably
somewhere inside the Fair Park Coliseum in Dallas, Texas.  Through the
darkness, we hear the voice of "Prince of Darkness" Anton Layton.]

AL:  The time is upon us, Working Man...

[A soft chuckling cackle is heard in the shadows.]

AL:  After all the years, the spotlight is on us - center stage at the
biggest event of the year.  Anton Layton vs Vernon Riley.  The Master's
most devoted diciple against the Working Man.  

Or to put it in terms that even the simplest creatures would
understand...

Evil versus good.

[Another chuckle.]

AL:  That's what it comes down to for you, right, Working Man?  It comes
down to you being a hero for these people who pay their last dollar in
hopes that you can inspire them to be more than their lot in life
allows.  It's you trying to show the world that you've got what it takes
to vanquish my Master and myself.

It's you trying to give these fools one more thing to be thankful for.

[A small light breaks through the shadows, partially illuminating Layton
and the hulking mass standing behind him, James Monosso.]

AL:  But their hopes are pointless.  No one is listening to their
prayers, Working Man!  This day will pass, you will fail, and they will
go on with their mundane lives as they always have, forgetting that you
ever played a role in their existance.

But they will remember the day, Working Man.  They will forget you but
they will remember the day.

Because I have a surprise for you, Working Man.  A surprise for
everyone!

[Monosso can be heard breathing sharply in the background.]

AL:  My Master has provided a grand gift on this Thanksgiving!  I have
given him my life and in return, he has provided me with his favorite
creation.

It WILL be a night to be thankful for, Working Man.

Just not how you ever dreamed it would be.

[A pause.]

AL:  Ehehehehehehhehehe...

EHEHEHEHEHHEHEHEHHEHEHEHHE...

EHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHHEHEHEHEHEHEEHEHEH!

[The light extinguishes and we fall back to black before fading back up
to live action inside the Fair Park Coliseum where Gordon and Bucky are
standing.]

GM:  There is something very, very wrong with that man.  

BW:  Ya think?

GM:  I've been watching Anton Layton for almost his entire career.  From
his days down in Florida where this war with Vernon Riley first started
until now - even when he was bouncing between every territory in the
South because he was too violent and unpredictable to stay in one place
- I was watching.  And I'm saying right here in Dallas, Texas that I
fear for Vernon Riley's safety tonight, Bucky.

BW:  And what's all this about a surprise for everyone?  What does
Layton have up his diabolical sleeve now?

GM:  We're about to find out so let's head down to Phil Watson for the
introductions!

[Crossfade to the ring where Watson is standing.]

PW:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall.  

[Danzig's "Until You Call On The Dark" starts up to jeers as the man
clad in the hooded black satin robe with a crescent moon splashed across
the back emerges from the entryway.  He pauses just beyond the curtain,
looking out from under the hood at the jeering crowd.]

PW:  On his way down the aisle... from the Darkness... weighing in at
263 pounds and being accompanied to the ring by James Monosso...

He is known the world over as the PRINCE OF DARKNESS...

ANNNNNNTON LAAAAAYTON!

[Layton walks quickly down the aisle, the hulking form of James Monosso
trailing close behind.  The Prince Of Darkness snaps back his head to
throw off his hood as he gets closer and then shrugging the robe off as
he steps
through the ropes.  Monosso climbs up on the apron, stepping through the
ropes with him.]

GM:  There he is, Bucky.  Arguably the most dangerous man I've ever seen
inside a wrestling ring.

BW:  And he's got Monosso with him!  This is a recipe for disaster for
Vernon Riley.

[The music fades and is replaced by the sound of Hank Williams Jr.'s
"You Can't Judge A Book By It's Cover" to a HUGE cheer!]

PW:  And his opponent...  fighting out of Amarillo, Texas... weighing in
tonight at 295 pounds...

VERRRRRRRRNON RIIIIIIILEY!

[The cheers continue as the Working Man himself, Vernon Riley, emerges
into the entrance aisle.  Riley is glaring right down the aisle at
Layton.  He's clad in a red satin jacket and points a lone finger at the
Prince of Darkness before he dashes down the aisle, rolling under the
ropes...

...and immediately gets assaulted by Layton who falls to his knees with
a clubbing forearm smash to the back of the head.  The Prince of
Darkness immediately hammers away at Riley's skull, trying to get an
early edge as the referee calls for the bell.]

GM:  HERE WE GO!  Layton jumps him before the bell!  He wants no part of
a fresh Vernon Riley here tonight!  Anton Layton has built a career off
sneak-attacks and assaulting those who are in no condition to fight.

[Climbing to his feet, Layton lays in three kicks to the ribs of Riley
before dropping an elbow across the back of his neck.  He promptly rolls
Riley to his back before wrapping his hands around the throat.]

GM:  That's a choke!

BW:  The referee's immediately on top of Layton, ordering a break, but
he doesn't give a damn, Gordo!  He's taking Riley straight to see his
Master tonight, daddy!

GM:  That's what I'm afraid of.

[Layton breaks at four and a half, glaring at the protesting official as
he grabs Riley by the ankle, dragging him towards the ropes.  The Prince
of Darkness promptly hops up on the middle rope, holding a taped fist
up...

...and leaps off, driving the punch down between the eyes!]

GM:  Fistdrop off the middle rope!  Layton connected with that - and
what's with the tape on the hand?  This isn't a taped fist match!  The
referee needs to step in there and take a look at that.

BW:  You gonna be the one to stop Layton from beatin' on the hick?

GM:  That's not my job but that's what these officials are required to
do!

[The referee reprimands Layton for the clenched fist, backing him away
from Riley...

...which allows Monosso to reach under the ropes, yanking Riley's torso
from the ring where he smashes a forearm down across the throat.  A
second blow lands, this time an elbow, before Monosso backs away and the
official turns around.]

GM:  Blatant interference from James Monosso right there!  This referee
needs to do a better job of staying on top of this thing, Bucky.  It's
going to get out of control in a hurry if he doesn't.

[Layton approaches the downed and gasping Riley, stepping through the
ropes to the apron.  He measures the Working Man for a moment and then
drops off the apron, smashing a forearm across the windpipe that leaves
Riley clutching his throat.]

GM:  What a shot that was!

BW:  I'd say the gameplan was to take the air away from Vernon Riley but
I just don't believe he has a gameplan.  I think Layton just wants to
punish Vernon Riley here tonight.  He wants to hurt him... he wants to
take him out of this sport.

GM:  And win the match?

BW:  Honestly, I think that's second on the list.  If he loses, he's
okay with that.  But he wants to injure Riley tonight - guaranteed,
daddy.

[Out on the floor, Layton grabs two hands full of hair to pull Riley out
to the floor with him.  He promptly grabs Riley by the arm, wheeling him
around to HURL him backfirst into the ringside barricade!]

GM:  OHHH!  INTO THE STEEL!!!

[A sneering Layton approaches, grabbing Riley by the back of the head to
pull his head back...

...and just hauls off to chop him in the throat!]

GM:  Knife-edge chop to the windpipe!  Another blatant disregard for the
rules!

[Spinning Riley around, Layton pushes his throat down against the top of
the barricade, choking him over it.]

GM:  Come on, ref!  Get in there!

[A protesting official starts a ten count, forcing Layton to roll back
into the ring...

...and allowing James Monosso to crush Riley with a double axehandle
across the back that takes him down to his knees.  Monosso steps
back...]

GM:  No!  

[...and CREAMS a kneeling Riley with a running boot to the face!]

GM:  Good grief!

[The crowd jeers Monosso as he stands over the downed Riley, glaring at
his motionless form.]

GM:  This is ridiculous!  Vernon Riley is fighting a handicap match out
there!

[The referee slides to the floor, stepping in front of Monosso and
warning him to not get involved in the match.  A stoic Monosso simply
backs away, still staring at Riley.  The official kneels down next to
Riley, trying to see if he can continue.]

BW:  This match may be over right now, Gordo.

GM:  I highly doubt that.  Vernon Riley's got too much heart to let
these two get to him that easily.  

[Proving Gordon right, Riley uses the railing to pull himself off the
floor.  He nods to the official that he can still go, rolling under the
ropes...

...where Layton is waiting with a barrage of stomps to the back of the
head.]

GM:  Come on!  Let the man get in the ring!

[The referee immediately gets on Layton's case...

...and gets shoved a few steps back for his efforts.]

GM:  Whoa!  That could have been a disqualification right there, Bucky!

BW:  But again, Gordo, I don't think Layton cares.

[The Prince of Darkness drags Riley off the mat by the hair, firing him
off the ropes, and burying a knee into the midsection on the rebound,
taking him down to the mat again...

...and Layton immediately leaps into the air, driving both feet down
into the midsection!]

GM:  Double stomp!  Right in the gut!

BW:  And if this was a normal Layton match, I'd say he might go for a
pin right there but...

[This time, Bucky gets proven right as Layton unloops a piece of tape
from his wrist, wrapping it around the throat of Riley.]

GM:  He's choking him with that tape!

[The protesting official is on the scene again but Layton doesn't listen
one bit, dragging Riley around the ring by the throat.]

GM:  Count, ref!  Count!

[The count hits four and a half before Layton lets go, allowing Riley to
slump to the canvas.]

GM:  I think the ref needs to look at stopping this.  Layton has no
regard for the rules.  He has no desire to win the match.  He just wants
to punish Vernon Riley and that's no way for a professional wrestling
match to go down!

[The referee throws the tape to the floor as Layton drags Riley to his
feet, shoving him back into the corner.  He wraps his hands around the
throat again, strangling more air out of Riley's lungs.]

GM:  Another choke!  

BW:  Riley looks like he can barely stand up!

[The referee steps in again, forcing Layton backwards.  The Prince Of
Darkness shoves past him, moving in again...

...and getting caught with a right hand to the jaw!  Big cheer!]

GM:  BIG RIGHT HAND!!

[Layton backs away, shaking off the effects of the blow as he walks back
in...

...and gets caught again with a haymaker!]

GM:  Another one!

[Layton steps back again, moving in quicker this time...

...and eating another right hand!  The crowd roars as Riley steps out of
the corner, grabbing Layton by the hair, and HURLS him bodily into the
buckles!]

GM:  Oh yeah!  Get him, Vern!

[The crowd EXPLODES as Riley lays in the blows, battering Layton's head
over and over and over in the corner, ignoring the referee's cries to
get out of the buckles.]

GM:  HE'S TAKIN' IT TO THE PRINCE OF DARKNESS!

[Riley's assault puts Layton all the way down on the mat where Riley
continues to lean down and pummel him before the official finally
physically drags him from the corner where Riley lets loose a violent
shout as he walks around the ring, soaking up the cheers.]

GM:  Vernon Riley's got Anton Layton right where he wants him!

[Riley grabs Layton by the ankle, trying to pull him out of the corner
but Layton grabs on to the top rope, refusing to be pulled out...

...so Riley grabs the other leg, lifting him off the mat.]

GM:  Oh yeah! 

[The Working Man nods to the roaring crowd...

...and then yanks hard, pulling Layton out of the corner where the back
of his head smashes down to the canvas!]

GM:  Down he goes - Riley to the ropes...

[As the Texan rebounds, he swings his right arm around and round...

...and leaps up, dropping a heavy elbow down on the chest of Layton!]

GM:  ELLLLBOW!

[Riley quickly rolls into a mount, grabbing Layton by the hair.  He
holds up a clenched fist to the roar of the crowd, driving his knuckles
into the temple of Layton over and over!]

GM:  He's beatin' the heck out of Layton!

BW:  Turnabout's fair play, I guess.

GM:  Wait a second!  Monosso!

[The big madman from Happy Valley climbs up on the apron, causing Riley
to pull out of the mount...

...and DRILLS Monosso with a right hand!  BIG CHEER!]

GM:  HE NAILED MONOSSO!!

[But the momentary distraction allows Anton Layton to roll to his knees,
digging into his boot.]

GM:  What's he... Layton's going for something in the boot and-

[The crowd EXPLODES as Layton comes out holding the Golden Spike.]

GM:  Oh my god!  Get that thing away from him!

[The sharpened metal spike is clutched close to the chest as Riley
approaches...

...and then he swings it, driving it into the throat of Riley who falls
backwards, clutching his neck!]

GM:  HE HIT HIM IN THE THROAT WITH THAT DAMNED SPIKE!!

[Riley flails about on the mat, clutching his neck with both hands. 
Layton quickly crawls over him, dropping to his knees near the head of
his hated rival...

...and slowly raises the Golden Spike!]

GM:  This is not a no DQ affair!  Ring the bell, ref!

BW:  He hasn't seen Layton use it yet!

[Layton swings the Golden Spike down hard...

...and Riley raises his hands at the last moment, blocking the blow!]

GM:  BLOCKED!!  THANK GOD!!

BW:  It's not over yet!

[Layton struggles against Riley, trying to push the spike into the
forehead.]

GM:  He's still trying!  The referee's in shock!  He doesn't know what
to do here!  Layton's trying to drive that sharpened metal spike into
the face - maybe the eye for all we know - of Vernon Riley!  The Working
Man's fighting him!  Somebody's gotta stop-

[The crowd ERUPTS as Riley swings a hefty leg up, smashing Layton in the
face with a cowboy boot.  The blow sends Layton sprawling, the Golden
Spike slipping from his hand.]

GM:  Riley got the Spike away from him and-

[With Layton dazed, Riley quickly hooks a front facelock, leaping
straight and DRIVING Layton's skull into the canvas!]

GM:  DDT!!  DDT ON LAYTON!!

[And the crowd ERUPTS as Riley reaches down to the mat, picking up
Layton's fallen weapon.]

GM:  And now Vernon Riley's got the Golden Spike!

BW:  Is he gonna use it?  Is this Boy Scout?  This hero of the people? 
This savior for the unwashed masses?  Is he gonna stoop as low as the
Devil's foot soldier?

GM:  I don't know.  Layton's tormented Vernon Riley over the years. 
What we've seen happen here in the AWA is just the cherry on top... this
is YEARS of frustration and rage that Riley wants to unleash... he just
might do it with that spike!

[Riley leans down, pulling Layton up to his knees.  He glares down at
him, Golden Spike in his free hand pulled back like he's going to stab
his most hated rival with it...]

GM:  The moment of truth for Vernon Riley!  Just how far is he willing
to go to end this war?  He said tonight would be the end of it... but
can he do this?  Can he - as you said, Bucky - stoop to the level of the
Devil's footsoldier?  Can he...?

[The crowd roars as Riley throws the spike aside, shaking his head.  He
yanks Layton up to his feet, throwing him into the nearest corner. 
Approaching the buckles, Riley hooks on a side headlock to the roar of
the crowd...]

GM:  He's got it hooked!  Here it comes!

[Riley swings his arm around to signal for his finisher and charges out
of the corner, dragging Layton with him as he leaps into the air...

...and DRIVES Layton facefirst into the canvas!]

GM:  RILEY'S ROUNDUP!!  HE GOT IT ALL!!

[Riley flips Layton to his back, applying a cover as the referee dives
to the mat to count.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE-

[But the count is broken up as James Monosso grabs the official by the
foot, violently pulling him from the ring where he smashes facefirst on
the thinly-padded floor!]

GM:  Oh my stars!  What in the world did James Monosso just do to our
official?  Vernon Riley had this match won and-

[And now, Monosso is climbing into the ring...

...but before he can get in, Riley cuts him off by kicking the middle
rope up into the madman's groin!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  That oughta keep Monosso out of this!

BW:  But there's no referee.  Riley can beat on Monosso all he wants but
he can't-

[The camera suddenly cuts to the entranceway where a large man is
emerging from the locker room area.]

GM:  Who the heck is that?

BW:  I don't know but look at the size of him!

[The crowd buzzes as the large man makes his way down the aisle.  A red
and black mask covers his face, peaking with two wild curved horns
coming out of the top.  His entire face is covered by the mask with just
holes cut for the eyes, nose, and mouth.  He's wearing a full black
bodysuit with splashes of red here and there including a set of red
gloves.  And oddly, he seems to be wearing a makeshift "cloak" made of
animal skins.]

GM:  Is this the surprise?  Is this what Anton Layton was talking about?

[The big man, obviously larger than James Monosso who is 6'7 and nearly
three hundred pounds in his own right, slings a leg over the ropes to
step into the ring behind an unsuspecting Vernon Riley.]

GM:  Turn around, Vern!  

[The Working Man slowly turns at the urging of the crowd and looks
absolutely horrified by what he sees.  His eyes go wide, his head
shaking back and forth.  The large man throws his arms back, shrugging
off the cloak with a bellow...]

BW:  This can't be good.

[Riley rushes his new attacker, throwing fists as fast as he can...

...fists that have absolutely no effect on the big man who simply
absorbs every blow before letting loose another bellow and felling Riley
with a single headbutt.]

GM:  Good god!  What a headbutt!

[The large masked man backs away, battering his own chest with his fists
as he stands in the corner...

...and as soon as Riley stirs, he rushes forward, OBLITERATING the
Working Man with a spear tackle!]

GM:  OHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

BW:  He's done.  Forget it.  Riley may never get up again.

[Oh, but he will... because the large man reaches down, grabbing Riley
by the throat...

...and physically deadlifting him off the mat straight up into a
chokeslam before THROWING him brutally down to the canvas!]

GM:  CHOKESLAM!!  GOOD GRIEF!!

[The large man pulls Layton off the mat, rolling him atop the downed
Riley before stepping back over the ropes to the floor where James
Monosso rolls in the shaken official.]

GM:  No, no - not like this!

[But the referee's hand goes up and down once... twice... and after a
long pause, three times!]

GM:  I can't believe it.


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


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

ANNNNNNTON LAAAAAAAYTON!

[Monosso rolls into the ring, lifting Layton's arm in victory as the
large masked man makes his way back up the aisle towards the locker room
as a kneeling Layton jubilantly cackles in the middle of the ring...

...and then snaps his head towards the motionless Riley, pointing at
him.]

GM:  Now what are these two doing?  He's gone through enough, damn it!

[Unable to fight back, Riley is dragged towards the corner where Layton
grabs the left ankle, pinning Riley's leg to the canvas as Monosso hops
up on the middle rope.]

GM:  No, no, no!  Somebody get in there!  Somebody stop this!

[But there is no one to help the Working Man as Monosso leaps from his
perch, driving his near three hundred pounds down in a King Kong
kneedrop across the stretched out leg!]

GM:  AHHHHH!

[Riley immediately shoots straight up to a seated position, screaming in
pain as he grabs his leg.  A smirking Layton delivers a right hand
before rolling to the floor.  Monosso quickly joins him, helping him
stay on his feet as the evil duo walks back up the aisle.]

GM:  Get those two out of here!  What have they done to Vernon Riley?

BW:  Hey, Riley's the one who said this was going to end tonight!  Anton
Layton, James Monosso, and whoever that monster was just proved him
right!  

GM:  Oh, come on, Bucky!  You can't be endorsing this!

[Riley's screaming in pain as the AWA's medicial team, including Dr. Bob
Ponavitch, hits the ring to check on the Working Man.  The cameraman
gets close as Ponavitch grabs Riley, trying to keep him still.  As the
announcers sit silent, we can very clearly hear Riley say, "It's broken!
 They broke my damn leg!"  A second later, we hear a muffled silence as
if something was audibly censored before we abruptly cut to black.

And then to a very long shot of the exterior of a pretty dingy looking
building.]

"Have you ever dreamed of fame?"

[Cut a little closer.]

"Of glory?"

[A little closer.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Two young students are grappling on the canvas.]

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

You want to wrestle!"

[Fade to a graphic that has all the info on the AWA Combat Corner.  We
freeze there for a moment and then fade back up to live action where we
find Jason Dane as he stands face to, well, chest, with the Main Event's
special guest enforcer, Alex Martinez.  Under his usual black leather
jacket, Alex Martinez wears the striped shirt of a referee.]

JD:  Welcome back, fans, and as you can see, I'm not alone.  Not long
from now, we'll see Juan Vasquez take on Stevie Scott, with you as the
special guest enforcer.  Mr. Martinez, I was wondering if we could get
your thoughts.

AM:  My thoughts?  My thought is, I'm gonna have the best seat in the
house for what might be the best damn match of the year.

JD:  But what are your plans for tonight?

AM:  Watkins hired me to do a job.  And that's all I plan on doin'.  I
want everyone to understand, I got no dog in this fight.  My job is to
make sure there's a winner, whoever it might be, and I'm not doin'
anything that violates that.

JD:  But what about Stevie Scott poking you in the eye, causing you to
give the Firebomb Chokeslam to Juan Vasquez?

AM:  As I said before, my business with Stevie is for another time and
place. Tonight, my business is doin' what I was brought here to do.  And
let me say it again, that's what I intend on doin'.

Listen, we all know the crew that Stevie Scott runs with.  And we all
know what they're capable of doin'.  They'll hit a guy from behind,
they'll drop someone in the parkin' lot.  They'll do whatever it takes
to win.

But see, I'm as far away from sainthood as a man can get.  I can enforce
the rules, 'cuz in my life, I've broken 'em all.  I know every dirty
trick there is to pull, and I know how to stop a man from pullin' 'em. 
Ain't no one interferin' in this match.  Ain't gonna be no fast ones
pulled.  One man is winnin', and one man is losin', and they're doing it
the old fashioned way.

By beatin' on a guy until he stops fightin'.

JD:  It sounds like you'll be on the lookout for underhanded tactics
from Stevie Scott and his allies.  But does that mean you'll be favoring
Juan Vasquez?

AM:  It doesn't mean that at all.  Like I told Vasquez, I'm callin' this
down the middle.  And like I told you, I got no dog in this fight.  I
ain't givin' one man any favors to the exclusion of the other.

The only thing I'm givin' Vasquez is his shot.  He's gettin' a clear
shot at Scott. But it was Juan who put his career on the line. It was
Juan who bet everythin', and its Juan who's gonna have to live with the
consequences if he loses.

Vasquez., I'm not givin' you a win.  Your shoulders go down, I count. 
You lose? And I'll wave goodbye.  You have to win this match by bein'
the better man.

Callin' things right down the middle, givin' both man their opportunity?
That's all I'm gonna promise.

[Dane nods his head.]

JD:  On a different topic, what can we expect from you in the upcoming
weeks, now that you are a part of the AWA.

[Frowning, Martinez shakes his head.]

AM:  Look Dane, tonight? It ain't about me or what I'll be doin' in the
future.  No one needs to worry 'bout me, unless they're thinkin' of
tryin' to get away with somethin'.  Tonight is about Scott and Vasquez. 
 I'll be in the ring soon enough.  But tonight, I'm just there to count
to three and raise the better man's hand.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got some enforcin' to do.

[And with that, Martinez steps away.]

JD:  No matter what that man says - he is the wild card in this one.  He
can certainly have an impact on who walks out tonight as the AWA
National Champion... as well as whether or not Juan Vasquez ever steps
foot inside an AWA ring again.  Gordon, Bucky - back to you...

[We crossfade back to ringside where Gordon Myers and Bucky Wilde are
standing.]

GM:  Thanks, Jason.  The whole world is waiting for that huge Main Event
later tonight and I think just as many people are wondering just what
Alex Martinez might do in that one.  But we're not there yet.  We've
still got a lot more action to come including our next matchup - the
finals in the tournament to crown the first-ever Longhorn Heritage
Champion!

BW:  Longhorn Heritage.  Whatever.

GM:  Don't you start in with that.  We've heard quite enough from Percy
Childes about the legacy of the Longhorn Wrestling Council - the
historic promotion that the AWA chose to pay tribute to with this title.
 He has disparaged that company and anyone who ever worked for it...
including this man...

[The camera cuts to reveal the seven-foot Robert Donovan sitting at
ringside on a steel chair, waiting for the action to begin.]

GM:  Robert Donovan has pledged to stand out here, waiting to see what
goes down and if Childes and Nenshou try to pull a fast one, I'd bet
that Donovan will step in and stop it.

BW:  You'd bet?  I'm sure you would.  Donovan being out here is a
blatant effort by Watkins and the Championship Committee to put that
belt on Brent Maverick's waist.  Period.

GM:  We shall see.  Let's go up to Phil Watson and crown a new champion.
 Phil?

[We crossfade into the ring where Phil Watson is standing.]

PW:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a twenty
minute time limit and is the finals of the tournament to crown the first
Longhorn Heritage Champion!

[Big cheer!]

PW:  Introducing first...

[Thunder rolls over the PA; the distinctive open to "Raijin's Drums" by
George Sakalis.  As the drums begin to beat, Percy Childes marches
solemly from behind the curtain.  The short, fat manager is jabbing at
the air with his crystal-tipped cane as he barks at the fans alongside
the aisleway.]

PW: He is accompanied to the ring by his manager Percy Childes... from
Parts Unknown... weighing two-hundred thirty-five pounds... 

NENSHOU!

[Childes waits for his man to arrive, draped in a red cloth mask and
matching robe.  Nenshou steps in front of Childes, completing the walk
down the aisle.  Upon reaching the ringside area, Nenshou turns to face
the seated Donovan who rises from his chair, pointing a finger at him.]

GM:  Robert Donovan just told Nenshou to keep out of his way and they
won't have an issue.

BW:  You believe that?

GM:  I'm not sure.  I'm a little bit surprised that the Championship
Committee is allowing Donovan to be out here.

BW:  See?!  I told you, Gordo!  Donovan's here to steal that title for
Maverick!

[Nenshou rolls under the ring, taking a knee and dropping into a
meditative state, focusing on his hand... his index and middle fingers
are upstretched, his ring and pinky fingers bent outwards in some
gesture that apparently has meaning to him.  Childes smirks nearby,
nodding his head with pride at his charge.  The Collector of Oddities
shouts something in Donovan's direction, stabbing the air with the cane
as he does so.]

GM:  Percy Childes is trying to get under the skin of Robert Donovan for
some reason.  If I had an angry seven footer glaring at me, I'd probably
look the other way but Childes just doesn't know when to quit, does he?

BW:  If I had an angry seven footer glaring at me and I had weapons like
Nenshou, James Monosso, Anton Layton, and that monster they had out here
a little while ago at my disposal, I'd tell Donovan to give it his best
shot.

GM:  A good point.

[The music starts to fade and is replace by the hard rock version of the
theme to "The Good, The Bad, And The Ugly" that can only mean the
arrival of one man.]

PW:  And his opponent...

[A big cheer goes up as Brent Maverick emerges from the entrance tunnel,
throwing a big fist in the air to even more cheers.]

PW:  From Tucson, Arizona... weighing in at 243 pounds...

BRENNNNNNT MAAAAAVERICK!

[Wearing his usual ring attire (rust red knee-length trunks with Arizona
Sun logo, laceless red leather Western style boots, cutoff brown leather
gloves, and a brown leather vest), Maverick's facial expression is all
focus as he marches down the aisle, ignoring the ringside fans.]

GM:  And here comes Brent Maverick.  He's a worldwide wrestling
superstar - a man that people have recently discussed as a future Hall
of Famer for his work in the legendary tag team, The Outlaws.  But to
win this Longhorn Heritage Title means so much to him, Bucky.

BW:  It sure seems to.  Maverick's held titles before but he believes
this title represents every promotion that has fallen and every man that
worked for it.  For him, this is about the legacy - the history - of
this business and that's right up his alley, Gordo.

GM:  And when he sees men like Childes and Nenshou throwing away that
legacy - actually going so far as to BURN that history in some kind of
mocking funeral - well, you can imagine just how mad he is, Bucky.

[Maverick rolls under the ropes, popping to his feet and starting
towards Nenshou and Childes before the referee steps in, forcing him
back.]

GM:  Whoa!  The ref jumped right in there... he wants to make sure this
one gets off to an even start, I suppose.

[The referee gets both men back to their respective corners.  Childes
pauses to whisper a few words into Nenshou's ear before stepping out to
the apron, walking down to the floor as the bell rings.]

GM:  And here we go!

[Nenshou comes quickly from the corner, dropping to a knee and feigning
a single-leg takedown.  Maverick quickly sprawls away from that, fists
balled up to throw down.]

GM:  Nenshou wants to use that speed obviously, Bucky.

BW:  He wants to use the speed.  He wants to use the quickness.   And
keep an eye open, he may want to get Maverick down on the mat. 
Maverick's never been known as a mat wrestler so if Nenshou can get him
down, he might punish him there, wear him down, it could open all sorts
of windows for him.

GM:  But they have to keep an eye on the time limit as well.

BW:  Twenty minutes is twice as long as they've had throughout the
tournament but for a guy like Nenshou, he may not even break a sweat at
the twenty minute mark.

GM:  I highly doubt that.

[As our announcers banter, the two men collide in the middle of the ring
in a collar and elbow tieup.  Nenshou quickly shows off his technical
skills, going into a full armtwist before yanking Maverick down to the
mat in an armdrag.]

GM:  Nicely done there.

BW:  Right to the mat... and Percy liked that.

[Nenshou strikes a defensive posture as Maverick climbs to his feet,
shaking out the right arm.  They go right back into another tieup.]

GM:  Back to the center... quick hammerlock go-behind by Nenshou...

[Maverick struggles against the hold, throwing his elbow back a few
times to try and break free but Nenshou manages to avoid it before
dropping down to the mat, pulling Maverick down to the mat in a drop
toehold.  He quickly floats to his feet and snaps off a quick elbowdrop
to the back of the head, smashing Maverick's face into the canvas!]

GM:  Ohh!  Nenshou is SO quick, Bucky.

BW:  He's so quick, he's sudden, daddy!  

[Maverick rolls to his side, pushing up to a knee.  He grabs at his
face, dipping a thumb across his nose to check for blood.  Seeing none,
he grimaces as he climbs to his feet, glaring across the ring at
Nenshou.]

GM:  Nenshou's speed is on display so far in this one.  That quickness
and ability to get an edge on-

[But this time, they don't tie up as Maverick lunges forward with a
forearm smash to the jaw on the tieup attempt.  He grabs Nenshou by the
hair, throwing two more forearms to the cheek of the face-painted
Nenshou.  He quickly grabs an arm, firing him to the ropes.]

GM:  Whip by Maverick...

[Maverick rears back a right hand but Nenshou drops into a baseball
slide, going between the legs of Maverick.  He pops up to his feet,
leaping up to catch Maverick on the chin with a leaping spinning back
kick that knocks Maverick flat.]

GM:  Down goes Maverick again!

BW:  And look at Percy Childes!  This is like a dream come true for him!

[A big grin is splashed all over the face of Percy Childes as he taps
his cane on the apron, looking on with approval.]

GM:  And you have to think Brent Maverick is getting frustrated at this.

[Maverick slowly gets back up, staring across the ring at Nenshou who is
back in a defensive posture.  The Tuscon native shakes his head as he
rises, clenching his fists.  The referee gives an order to open his
hands that Maverick ignores as he edges closer to Nenshou again.]

GM:  Back to the middle of the ring they go...

[This time, they lock up once more but Maverick swiftly delivers a
headbutt to the bridge of the nose to stun the Asian Assassin.  Grabbing
the hair, he delivers a pair of right hands before dashing to the
ropes...

...where a slick Percy Childes grabs his foot, tripping him up without
the referee noticing.]

GM:  Did you see that?!

BW:  Huh?  What?

GM:  Childes hooked the ankle and tripped Brent Maverick!  He tripped
him, Bucky!

BW:  I must have missed that.

[An angry Robert Donovan gets to his feet, shouting first at the
official and gesturing wildly at Childes.]

GM:  Robert Donovan didn't miss it and he's letting the referee know all
about it!

[Childes pleads innocence though as Maverick gets up, pointing a finger
at Childes as well.]

GM:  Percy Childes is making more enemies than I think he can handle
right now, Bucky.

[An angry Maverick shouts a few words in Childes' direction...

...and then gets popped with a double axehandle to the back of the neck,
knocking Maverick down to a knee!]

GM:  Ohh!  Nenshou caught him from behind!

[Winding up with both arms, Nenshou lashes out with a Mongolian chop,
striking both sides of Maverick's neck.  Holding Maverick's hair,
Nenshou smashes an overhead elbow down across the forehead.]

GM:  Maverick's down on a knee, taking some abuse from Nenshou here and-

[The crowd cheers as Maverick throws a blow to the body, knocking
Nenshou back.  A second one connects as well before Maverick climbs to
his feet, grabbing Nenshou by the hair.]

GM:  Back up to his feet- ohh!  Big right hand puts Nenshou down on the
mat!

[Maverick throws a big kick to the body that causes Nenshou to roll
under the ropes to the apron...]

GM:  Nenshou's out on the apron...

[Maverick approaches, reaching over the ropes to pull Nenshou to his
feet.  He reaches over with the other arm as well, scooping Nenshou
up...

...and getting his leg pulled out from under him by Percy Childes!]

GM:  Oh, come on!  Give me a break!

[Maverick crashes down to the mat, Nenshou on top of him.  Childes grabs
the leg, holding his ankles down.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  TH-

[BIG CHEER!]

GM:  DONOVAN'S GOT CHILDES!!

[The pinfall attempt was broken up by Robert Donovan wrapping his
massive hand around the throat of Percy Childes.]

GM:  He's got Childes around the throat!

[An angry Donovan screams at Childes whose wide-eyes are a dead giveaway
that he took the seven footer too lightly...

...but the assault on the manager is broken up by Nenshou grabbing the
top rope, leaping up, and swinging with both legs between the middle and
bottom ropes with both feet directly in the face!]

GM:  OHHHHH!  Nenshou nailed Donovan!  

[Donovan stumbles backwards, freeing Childes from his grasp.  Childes
quickly staggers away, coughing and sputtering as Nenshou grabs Donovan
by the back of the head...

...and SLAMS his skull into the steel ringpost!]

GM:  Good grief! 

BW:  Nenshou needs to get back on track though.  I love what he's doing
to Donovan out there but he needs to remember that it's Brent Maverick
that he needs to beat!  

[Donovan slumps down to the floor from the head to the post as Nenshou
spins around, moving to help his manager.  The two huddle up, Nenshou
checking the still-red-in-the-face Childes...

...and fail to notice Maverick grab the top rope, slingshotting himself
over the ropes onto both men!]

GM:  OHHHHHHHHHHHHH!  MAVERICK WIPES 'EM BOTH OUT!!

[Maverick slowly gets up off the floor, nodding his head at the cheering
crowd.  He grabs Nenshou by the hair, dragging him to his feet.  He
swings him around, hurling him under the ropes into the ring.  Maverick
rolls in after him, pushing up to his feet.]

GM:  Brent Maverick's on the attack now, pulling Nenshou to his feet.  

[Grabbing the arm, he fires Nenshou across the ring into the
turnbuckles.  With a pump of the arm, Maverick sprints across,
connecting with a big running clothesline in the corner...]

GM:  Big clothesline in the buckles!

[He hooks Nenshou under the arm and around the neck...

...and HURLS him high through the air before sending him crashing down
to the mat with a biel throw!]

GM:  DOWN!  GOES!  NENSHOU!

[Maverick is fired up now as he stalks towards Nenshou who buttslides
backwards, hand raised as he tries to get back to the safety of the
ropes...

...but Maverick charges forward, smashing his knee into the face of
Nenshou to knock him flat!]

GM:  Maverick with a cover for one!  For two!  

[But Nenshou simply reaches out, wrapping his hands around the bottom
rope to break up the pin.  The referee stops, shaking his head and
telling Maverick it's just a two count.  As soon as Maverick lifts out
of the press, Nenshou drags himself under the ropes with his hands...]

GM:  Nenshou's trying to escape but Maverick stopped him!

[The Tucson native grabs Nenshou by the legs, preventing his escape. 
Maverick leans down, pulling the legs up...

...and falling backwards, smashing Nenshou's throat into the bottom rope
which causes the Asian Assassin to slide from the ring to the floor.]

GM:  Nenshou's making a run for it, Bucky.

BW:  He needs to regroup.  He needs Percy to regroup and help him!

GM:  Maverick steps out on the apron... measuring him now...

[But Nenshou simply reaches up, grabbing Maverick by the ankle and YANKS
forward, sending Maverick sprawling off the apron, the back of his head
hitting the edge on the way down!]

GM:  OHHHHHH!

BW:  The back of Maverick's head smacked the hardest part of the ring,
Gordo!  That could be a concussion... it could be a cracked skull... it
could be-

[And as Maverick rolls to his stomach, we see that if nothing else, "it
could be" a split open head.]

GM:  Uh oh... the back of Maverick's head just got busted wide open on
the ring apron!  It's bleeding... my stars, it's bleeding profusely now,
Bucky.  There's a heavy stream of blood pouring out of the back of Brent
Maverick's head.

BW:  There sure is.  That's a bad cut, Gordo.

[Nenshou straightens up, lifting his leg up in a splits and driving it
down with an axe kick style stomp to the back of the head.  The man from
Parts Unknown drags Maverick off the mat, pulling him over to the
ringpost.]

GM:  I don't like the looks of this, Bucky!

[Holding the back of Maverick's head against the ringpost by the hair,
Nenshou suddenly pulls Maverick towards him...

...and SLAMS him backwards, the back of his skull smashing into the
steel!]

GM:  OHHHHHHHHHHH!

[Maverick immediately slumps down to the mat, eyes going glassy as he
grips the apron to try to stay up, failing miserably.  Nenshou pulls the
bloody Maverick off the mat, shoving him under the ropes into the ring.]

GM:  Maverick's back in - and Nenshou's up on the apron...

[Holding the top rope, Nenshou slingshots himself over the ropes,
crashing down with a legdrop across the chest.  He points to the
official who drops down to count.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR-

[Maverick wearily pushes a shoulder off the mat before the three count.]

GM:  Near fall there for Nenshou but Maverick got the shoulder up in
time.

BW:  Just barely.  There's not a lot of mustard there for Brent
Maverick, Gordo.  He's pretty worn down.

GM:  Repeated blows to the skull will do that.

[Getting to his feet, Nenshou uses his foot to roll Maverick to his
stomach and does another axe kick style stomp to the bloody back of the
head.  Reaching down, he pulls Maverick off the mat by the back of the
trunks, pulling him into a side waistlock...

...where Maverick urgently throws right hands to the head!]

GM:  MAVERICK'S FIGHTING BACK!!

[The Tucson native tries to battle out but Nenshou absorbs the blows,
hoisting Maverick into the air...

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

GM:  Belly to back suplex!  Right on the head!  

[Nenshou tugs Maverick away from the ropes, leaving a bloody streak on
the canvas before applying a lateral press.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR-

[The crowd cheers as Maverick lifts a weary shoulder off the mat,
breaking the pin attempt.  Nenshou responds by dragging Maverick up
around the neck, taking him over with a snap mare...

...and DRILLING him with a snap kick to the back of the skull, causing
Maverick to slump back down to the mat.]

GM:  OHHHH!

[Outside the ring, a dazed Robert Donovan is back on his feet, pounding
on the mat with his fists and shouting encouragement to Brent Maverick.]

GM:  Donovan's trying to fire up Maverick!  These fans are trying to
fire up Maverick!  He needs something... some kind of a second wind here
to get back into this.

[Nenshou hauls Maverick up by the hair again, shoving him back into the
corner.  A few chops splash across the chest of Maverick before Nenshou
grabs him by the arm, firing him across the ring...]

GM:  Corner to corner whip... here comes Nenshou!

[The Asian Assassin goes into a cartwheel, tumbling across the ring with
a handspring...

...but Maverick uses the top rope to push his legs up into the air at
the last moment, sending Nenshou smashing into his bent knees!]

GM:  OHHH!  BIG COUNTER BY BRENT MAVERICK!!!

[With the man from Parts Unknown stunned, Maverick grabs him by the arm,
falling to the mat as he whips Nenshou across the ring at top velocity,
sending him smashing chestfirst into the buckles...

...and as Nenshou stumbles back out, Maverick surges forward, and CREAMS
Nenshou with an enzuilariato!]

GM:  CLOTHESLINE!!  TO THE BACK OF THE HEAD!!

[Maverick grabs at the back of his own head, coming back with a bloodied
hand that he uses to push Nenshou onto his back, falling across in a
cover.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  TH-

[Nenshou fires a shoulder up at two, breaking the pin attempt.  Maverick
quickly takes the mount, grabbing Nenshou by the head and pounding him
with haymakers to the skull!]

GM:  Right hand!  Right hand!  Over and over to the head of Nenshou!

[Seeing his man in trouble, Percy Childes climbs up on the apron,
screaming at the official...

...and getting YANKED down by Robert Donovan who doesn't hesitate this
time to lay out the manager with a right hand!]

GM:  OHHH!  CHILDES GETS FLATTENED BY DONOVAN!!

[Donovan stands over the downed Childes, shouting at him, and then turns
to the ring to shout more encouragement to Brent Maverick...]

GM:  Maverick's on his feet... dragging Nenshou off the mat...

[Maverick fires Nenshou off to the ropes.]

GM:  The Asian Assassin off the ropes...

[Maverick hoists him up on the rebound, pivoting, and DRIVING Nenshou
down to the mat!]

GM:  POWERSLAM!!  POWERSLAM!!  

[Maverick hooks the leg deep, shouting at the official to count.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE-

[Nenshou just barely fires the shoulder off the mat before three.  The
crowd is buzzing from the nearfall... and the buzzing intensifies as
James Monosso comes tearing down the aisle, his eyes wide with rage.]

GM:  Uh oh!

BW:  Robert Donovan may have just made the biggest mistake of his life!

GM:  James Monosso is heading down the aisle and-

[Hitting the ringside area, Monosso immediately rushes Donovan, throwing
rights and lefts like a thunderstorm of brutality.  The referee turns
away from the ring, shouting at the two big man on the floor.]

GM:  We've got a brawl out on the floor!

[Maverick casts an eye to the floor, watching Donovan do battle with
Monosso as he pulls Nenshou up to his feet...

...and catches a stiff-fingered strike to the throat!]

GM:  Ohh!  


"TEN MINUTES HAVE EXPIRED!  TEN MINUTES REMAIN!"


[Maverick falls backwards, clutching his windpipe...

...and Nenshou falls to a knee, grabbing his own throat!]

GM:  MIST!

[As Maverick turns, Nenshou does indeed let that green mist fly...

...but Maverick is ready for it, ducking down to avoid it as it hits
empty air.  While down, he grabs Nenshou, hoisting him up across his
shoulders.]

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

[Maverick moves to the corner, looking to charge out and drive his
opponent down with the Acey Deucy...

...but Nenshou locks his legs on the ropes, blocking the move.  He also
drags his fingers across the eyes, blinding Maverick for the moment.]

GM:  Nenshou to the eyes!  Maverick can't-

[Nenshou deadleaps to the top rope, backflipping off.]

GM:  OHHHHHHH!

[He catches Maverick squarely across the chest, toppling Maverick down
to the mat as he grabs both legs tightly.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREEEEEEEEEE!!!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  He's done it!  Nenshou has done it!  

[At ringside, Monosso and Donovan continue to brawl up the aisle as the
referee grabs the title belt from ringside.]

PW:  Here is your winner... and the FIRST AWA Longhorn Heritage
Champion...

NENNNNNNSHOU!

[The title belt is handed to Nenshou who looks down at the golden title
belt, clutching it in his taped hands as he rolls from the ring, helping
his manager to his feet.]

GM:  Nenshou is the Longhorn Heritage Champion!  He's done it!  He's
beaten Brent Maverick in the middle of the ring... and you may not like
him or Percy Childes but he did it, Bucky.

BW:  I love it, Gordo!  All that talk about the history of the business
- of the legacy of the business - but in the end, it's the FUTURE of the
business that wins this title!  Percy Childes was right all along - just
admit it!

GM:  The Unholy Alliance has picked up their first AWA championship here
at SuperClash II!  Fans, we've gotta take another break but we'll be
right back in St. Louis for Outlaw Rules!

[The camera holds on Nenshou and Percy Childes draped all over each
other as they walk back up the aisle, the title belt clutched between
them, as we fade to black...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And now, it can be yours!"

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

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

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

...and then fades back up to live action in the backstage area of the
Family Arena in St. Louis, Missouri.  Mark Stegglet is standing
alongside "The Outlaw" Bobby Taylor.]

MS:  Welcome back to SuperClash II - Bobby Taylor, some have said this
might be the most difficult night of your life.  Your thoughts?

[Taylor, clad for battle in blue jeans, cowboy boots, and a black
t-shirt with the sleeves cut off nods his head.]

BT:   I don't know I can argue with that, Mark.  I've faced tougher men
that Kevin Slater.  I've faced meaner men than Kevin Slater.  Some might
even say I've faced BETTER men than Kevin Slater.

But tonight?  At SuperClash?  I have to step in there with someone I'm
closer to than anyone on this Earth.

I have to hurt him.  I have to beat him up.  I have to make him bleed. 
And in the end, I have to beat him so badly, he can't fight anymore.

I have to do that to someone I consider family.

[Taylor nods.]

BT: So, yeah... I'd say this is gonna be a tough night, Mark.

But Mark Stegglet, you've known me practically your entire life.  And
you know that the problem with this situation is that I WILL do all of
those things.  I'll hurt Kevin.  I'll make him bleed.  I'll make him beg
for mercy.  And I will beat him so badly that he can't fight anymore.

I'll do it... because it's what needs to be done.

Because I'm the Outlaw.

[Taylor shrugs.]

BT:  And it's what the Outlaw does.

It's a special night, Kevin.  

[Taylor cracks a grin.]

BT:  See, you forget that I work in the front office.  I know this is
the last night on your AWA contract.  And you know that I never wanted
any of this.  You know I wanted to sit back in a cushy office and give
the fans what they wanted - not be in the ring to do it.

[Taylor nods.]

BT:  It might not be on the marquee that way, Kev... but we both know
this might be the last time EVER that we're in the wrestling ring.  

It's a special night.

Kev, let's give 'em something to remember us by.

[Taylor pats Stegglet on the back and walks out of view.]

MS:  Did anyone else hear that?  Is this the final match for both Kevin
Slater AND Bobby Taylor?  This could indeed be one for the ages.  Let's
go down to ringside!

[We crossfade to ringside where Jon Stegglet and Todd Michaelson are
standing.]

JS:  When we were asked to be a part of this show - to come back to
announcing for one night for this show - we both knew that there was one
match that we HAD to call.  This is it, Todd.

TM:  We've both known these two men for almost their entire careers. 
And for two years, they've been on a path leading directly to this
night.  To say that I've been waiting a long time to see this would be a
horrible understatement.  And now that Taylor says this may be it...
win, lose, or draw... for BOTH of them?  This is gonna be something
else.

JS:  It's Outlaw Rules.  No pinfalls, no submissions, no countouts, no
DQs, and no referee!  This one doesn't end until one man just can't
fight no more!  I think there's nothing left to say, Todd, so let's go
up to Ken Graham for the introductions!

[We crossfade to the ring where Ken Graham is standing.]

KG:  The following contest will be conducted under OUTLAW RULES!

[HUGE CHEER!]

KG:  This match has no countouts, no disqualifications, no pinfalls, no
submissions, and no referee!  The only way to win is the render your
opponent unable of continuing!

[Another big cheer!]

KG:  Introducing first...

[The sounds of Cypress Hill's "Rock Superstar" comes over the PA to a
big shower of boos.]

KG:  From Boston, Massachusetts... weighing in tonight at 264 pounds...

"SUPERSTAR"
KEVVVVVIN SLAAAAAAATER!

[Slater struts through the curtain.  He's wearing a Boston Red Sox
hoodie with a large gold chain necklace hanging around his neck.  He
bounces back and forth from foot to foot for a moment before heading
down the aisle.  Rolling under the ropes, he pops up to his feet, going
into a full spin with his arms spread soaking up the boos from the
crowd.]

JS:  Kevin Slater has become one of the most arrogant men in pro
wrestling, Todd.

TM:  He always had a bit of an ego problem, Steggs.  But now he's
showing it off for the whole world.  He thinks he's a Main Event player
- an impact player - and he wants everyone to believe it too.

JS:  He IS a two-time former World Champion at our former place of
employment - winning one of those titles from Hall of Famer, "Crimson"
Joe Reed, so that does say something about his skills.

[Slater pulls off his sweatshirt, tossing it to a ringside attendant. 
He removes his gold chain also.  Under the sweatshirt, Slater is clad in
his standard wrestling gear of trunks and boots.  He steps up on the
middle rope, posing to more jeers as his music starts to fade.]

KG:  And his opponent...

[There's a dramatic pause.]

#You were better than the best#

[The crowd ERUPTS at the sound of Pat Benatar's "Outlaw Blues" - the
former entrance music for the legendary John Wesley Hardin.]

KG:  From Phoenix, Arizona... weighing in tonight at 272 pounds...

He is the Outlaw of professional wrestling...

BOBBY TAAAAAAYLOR!

[The cheers grow as Taylor walks through the curtain, wearing exactly
what we saw him in moments ago.  He pauses just beyond the entrance,
looking side to side at the roaring crowd.  A slight smile crosses his
face before he starts walking down the entrance aisle...]

JS:  Bobby Taylor is on his way down the aisle to the ring - perhaps for
the final time.  He didn't go as far as saying this is his retirement
match but we know Kevin Slater dragged him out of the front office for
this war.

TM:  I would not be the least bit surprised to find out that this is
Taylor's final match, Steggs.  He was perfectly happy in the office
until Slater and that whole bounty mess brought him back to the ring. 
Once this is over, I'd expect Taylor will head right back to that cushy
office chair.

[Taylor reaches ringside, rolling under the ropes into the ring.  He
immediately gets to a knee, ready to fight if the moment presents itself
but Slater stays back, fists at the ready as well.  The Outlaw gets to
his feet, backing into the corner.]

JS:  Just two men inside that ring - two former best friends.  So close
that you could practically call them brothers.  But there's not a
referee in sight.

TM:  There have been many versions of the Outlaw Rules matches over the
years but this is the original - this is how it's meant to be done. 
Just sheer brutality until one man can't fight anymore.

JS:  No three counts, not even ten counts... this is gonna be something
else.

[The former Wild Thing dances out of his corner, moving from side to
side, hands up in front of his face like a boxer.  A look of amusement
on his face, Taylor strides out to the middle, his lightly-taped hands
clenching and unclenching.  A look of focus is on his face, his eyes
moving to follow Slater with every twitch...

...and Slater strikes first, snapping off a quick jab that comes nowhere
near Taylor's face.]

JS:  Slater looks like a boxer in there - throwing jabs like he's trying
to find the right distance...

TM:  He's just toying with Taylor, Steggs.  This ain't Slater's game. 
He's not a striker.

[Slater throws a few more jabs, flicking them out towards the face of
Taylor who simply turns along with Slater's sidestep, his eyes locked on
his former friend.]

JS:  You have to wonder how long Taylor's going to stand for this.

[Slater throws a few more right jabs, getting closer and closer...

...but suddenly Taylor lunges forward with a haymaker on the jaw,
knocking the Superstar flat!]

JS:  Taylor with the right hand and down goes Slater!

[Slater promptly rolls out of the ring, slamming his arms into the apron
as he gets out there.  He points with anger at Taylor, shouting in his
direction.]

TM:  Slater just said this isn't fair - something about a closed fist.

JS:  Does Kevin Slater not realize what he's gotten himself into?

TM:  He does, Steggs.  He's just trying to get into Taylor's head.

[After a bit more complaining out on the floor, Slater rolls back under
the ropes into the ring.  He slowly gets to his feet, rolling his neck
back and forth before getting back into his boxing stance, sidestepping
his way around Taylor who continues to stand in the center of the ring.]

JS:  What a jerk Kevin Slater is.  This is the perfect example of how he
went from one of the most popular men in the AWA to one of the most
hated.  His ego has just gotten too out of hand.

[He snaps off a jab, this one glancing off the jaw of Taylor who doesn't
react, simply turning to keep Slater in his gaze.]

JS:  Another jab to the jaw... anoth-

[Taylor slaps the flung fist away and throws a haymaker of his own,
catching Slater on the jaw and knocking him flat once more!]

JS:  Taylor floors him again!

[And again, Slater rolls to the floor, this time kicking the ring apron
in anger.  He shouts in the direction of Taylor who doesn't respond. 
Marching around the ring, Slater occasionally looks back in at Taylor...

...and then yanks the timekeeper out of his chair by the shirt!]

JS:  Whoa!  Slater's got the timekeeper now!

[The former Wild Thing shakes the timekeeper back and forth violently,
shouting at him.]

TM:  He's complaining about the closed fists again.  This guy is just
too much, Steggs.

[Slater shoves the timekeeper down to the floor, pointing up angrily at
Taylor.  He grabs the middle rope, pulling himself up on the apron.  He
shouts at Taylor again, screaming over the ropes at him...

...and Taylor rushes forward, grabbing the top rope, and catapulting the
Superstar over the ropes, sending him crashing down to the canvas to the
cheers of the crowd!]

JS:  Taylor brings him over the ropes the hard way!  Slater hits the mat
hard and-

[The Outlaw drops to his knees, grabbing Slater by the back of the head,
and driving his fist into the face over and over with the crowd roaring
for every blow!]

JS:  THIS IS OVER TWO YEARS IN THE MAKING!!  Two years of Kevin Slater
tormenting Bobby Taylor and it's on!  Taylor's finally getting his
payback on his former best friend!

[Taylor continues to batter him with right hands, Slater throwing his
arms over his head to try and protect himself.  He swings his own arms
at Taylor, trying to battle back and ends up with just enough separation
to roll out of the ring again...

...but this time, Taylor rolls out after him, pursuing him around the
ring!]

JS:  Slater's making a run for it! 

TM:  Get 'im, Bobby!  

JS:  Kevin Slater is quite literally running for his life here in St.
Louis because when Bobby Taylor gets his hands on him - who knows
what'll happen next?!

[Slater's speed advantage is put to good use as he gets a nice lead on
the pursuing Taylor, rolling under the ropes and scrambling to his feet
as Taylor starts to slide in...

...and gets an elbow dropped down on the back of his head on the way
in!]

JS:  Ohh!  Slater caught him coming in!

TM:  That's the kind of experience and ring generalship that you'd come
to expect from a two-time former World Champion like Kevin Slater.  

JS:  But wouldn't you expect the same thing from a veteran like Taylor?

TM:  You would.  And that's what makes a match like this so intriguing. 
Who can outplot, outplan, and outthink the other man?

[Down on his knees, Slater grabs two hands full of Bobby Taylor's
shoulder-length hair and SLAMS his face into the canvas!]

JS:  Ohh!  Facefirst into the mat goes the Outlaw!

[Pulling Taylor's head up, Slater SLAMS him down into the mat again!]

JS:  Twice!  Slater has smashed Taylor's head into the mat twice now!

[Holding the hair, the Superstar smashes his former best friend's face
into the mat over and over again as the crowd jeers.  With no referee to
stop him, only Kevin Slater can stop his assault.  He does after several
more faceslams, rolling Taylor onto his back.]

JS:  And this is where you start to see how dangerous this match is,
fans.  Kevin Slater's got no referee in there to stop him from any of
this and - look here, clenched fists driven into the face but in this
one, it's perfectly legal!

[The Superstar continues his assault from an MMA-style mount, throwing
huge right hands to the skull over and over again.  After a bit, he pops
to his feet, throwing his arms apart with a gutteral roar to the jeers
of the crowd.]

JS:  Kevin Slater is no favorite here in St. Louis tonight, Todd.

TM: If he can put down his former best friend, I don't think he cares if
they run him out of town on a rail, Steggs.

JS:  Slater's back to his feet now... what's next for the Superstar?

[Leaning down, Slater grabs the feet of his rival, tucking the shins
under his armpits.  The former two-time World Champion falls backwards,
catapulting Taylor through the air and sending him chestfirst into the
turnbuckles!]

JS:  Ohh!  Catapult to the buckles!  His head hit the turnbuckles right
there...

[Slater climbs to his feet, yanking the dazed Taylor out of the corner
by the hair.  He pulls him in, wrapping his leg through Taylor's legs,
snapping him back in a side Russian legsweep, smacking the back of
Taylor's head off the canvas!]

JS:  Taylor's head hit the mat hard there... and there's a cover?

[Kevin Slater applies a lateral press, reaching back to hook a leg.]

JS:  Slater's waiting for a count but he's not gonna get one, Todd.

TM:  There's no pinfalls in this one and I think Slater just realized
that.

[The former Wild Thing gets to his feet, glaring down at Taylor with his
hands on his hips.  He looks annoyed with himself as some ringside fans
mock him for attempting a cover.]

JS:  It's a hard habit to break when you're conditioned to get a pin
whenever you can.

TM:  It certainly is.  It's difficult enough when you're in something
like a submission match or a no DQ affair but when there's no ref at
all?  I can't even imagine what that's like.  I mean, what kind of
gameplan can you come up with to try and render someone unable to fight
back?

[Slater waves his former partner up, shouting "GET UP!" at him at the
top of his lungs.]

JS:  Kevin Slater's demanding that Taylor get off the mat...

[Grabbing the middle rope, Taylor pulls himself to his knees...

...and Slater rushes forward, slamming home a knee to the temple that
sends Taylor sailing through the ropes and out to the barely-padded
concrete floor!]

JS:  What a shot!  That's the kind of blow that can render a man
unconscious if he hits it just right.

TM:  From my point of view, it looked like Taylor got a hand in front of
it.  He may have partially blocked some of that running knee and that
might be the only thing keeping him awake right now.

JS:  Awake.  You may have just hit the nail on the head, Todd.  You
talked about what kind of strategy do you come up with for something
like this?  How about putting someone out with a sleeperhold or a cobra
clutch or something like that?

TM:  It would be a sound strategy.  Neither of these men are known much
for submissions or that type of hold but it could be a very sound
strategy if they were to employ it.

[The former Wild Thing steps out to the apron, looking down at his
hurting former friend...

...and leaps off, smashing a forearm down across the back of the skull
and knocking Taylor back down to the thin black pads.]

JS:  And there's another possible strategy - blows to the head designed
to render the opponent unconscious.  The former two-time World Champion
has plenty of those.

TM:  Slater's known all over the business for being one of the hardest
hitters inside a wrestling ring.  Forearms, elbows, clotheslines - all
can be delivered with the force needed to knock someone cold.

[Slater stares down at Taylor who is facedown on the floor, already
trying to pull himself back to his feet.  He shakes his head before
grabbing the Outlaw by the hair, yanking him to his feet.]

JS:  He pulls Taylor off the floor and- look out!

[The crowd groans as Slater hoists Bobby Taylor up in his arms, holding
him high for a moment...

...and SLAMS him down on the thinly-padded concrete floor!]

JS:  A bodyslam on the floor!  Simple but oh-so effective!

[Taylor writhes around in pain on the floor, one arm wrenched around to
grab his lower back as Slater climbs back up on the apron.  He turns,
leaning against the ropes with an arrogant grin as he looks down on the
Outlaw.]

"Had enough, hero?"

[Slater smirks at the jeering crowd, pointing to a rather-vocal young
man in the front row.]

"You want some next, punk?"

[He threatens a backhand in the young man's direction as he looks back
down to Taylor.]

"You got nothing left, old man!  Stay down before I have to really hurt
you!"

[Grabbing the ring apron with his left hand, Taylor slowly pulls himself
off the floor, wincing in pain as he reaches his feet.]

JS:  Taylor's back to his feet and-

[Slater leaps off the apron again, aiming another forearm for the
skull...

...but Taylor catches him in the gut with a right hand, blocking the
forearm smash!  Big cheer!]

JS:  Taylor caught him coming off the ropes and stopped him dead in his
tracks!

[Grabbing Slater by the hair, Taylor grabs a handful of trunks as
well...

...and HURLS his former best friend skullfirst into the ringside steel
barricade with so much force that the barricade becomes unhinged from
the other sections of railing, toppling over into the front row!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


JS:  HEADFIRST!!  HEADFIRST TO THE BARRICADE!!!

[Slater slumps over onto the downed section of railing, grabbing his
head with both hands.]

JS:  Taylor's standing over him!  THAT'S the Outlaw, Todd!  THAT'S the
man we saw grow from a wet-nosed rookie into one of the toughest men in
the business!

[The crowd roars as the Outlaw stares down at Slater, a cold look in his
eyes.]

JS:  I would not want to be standing in there with that man, Todd.

TM:  I wouldn't want to tangle with either of them anymore but Bobby
Taylor is the kind of man who ends a career with blinking.  He'll have
no remorse if he has to put his former best friend in a hospital bed
tonight.

JS:  I beg to differ.  I think if anything - the last few months have
shown that Taylor would have GREAT remorse at having to do that.  It was
very difficult to get him into this match.  He didn't want to fight his
best friend.  He didn't want to fight his own family.  He's lost too
much to this business - friends, family - to put Slater on that list. 
But tonight, he has to shove down that remorse.  He has to push it back
because he can't hold back if he wants to win this thing.

[Taylor reaches down, hauling Slater up by his hairdresser-styled
ponytail.  And in a mirror image of Slater moments earlier, Taylor
scoops him up into the air in his arms, holds him high...

...and SLAMS him down on the detatched steel barricade!]


"CLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANG!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


TM:  THIS IS OUTLAW RULES, BABY!

JS:  And parents, please be advised that this may get a little more out
of control than your usual AWA matchup.  Please be advised that parental
discretion may be needed for this one!

[The Outlaw stumbles back, leaning against the ring apron, waiting and
watching to see if his rival will get to his feet.]

JS:  This is so unique, Todd, because at a moment like this, we just
have to sit here and wait.  Will Kevin Slater get up?  Will this match
continue?

TM: He'll get up.

JS:  You sound so sure.

TM:  Steggs, we saw these guys in Los Angeles.  We know what kind of
punishment they're capable of putting their bodies through.  Now, they
may be a little bit older and in a little worse shape but there's no
chance that a bodyslam - even if it's on steel - will keep one of them
down and out for good.

[Taylor waves with both arms, demanding that his former best friend get
back up.]

JS:  Taylor wants him to get up!  He's not done with him, Todd.

TM:  Slater put him through hell, Steggs.  I wouldn't be done with him
either.

[The former Wild Thing rolls to his stomach, reaching around to grab his
back as he pushes up to his knees...

...and Taylor rushes forward, delivering a cowboy boot to the face!]

JS:  OHHH!  

TM:  He kicked him right in the mush!  And that's not a wrestling boot
on his foot, Steggs.  That's a cowboy boot to the jaw!  

JS:  That's a good point, Todd.  And as you look at these two men, you
see Kevin Slater out here in his usual ring attire - like he's in a
regular match.  But Bobby Taylor's dressed for a fight.  

TM:  Taylor looks like he'd look if he wandered into South Laredo on a
Friday night and told the local biker gang that Tex Violence was as
manly as Michelle Bailey.

[Taylor drops down to his knees on the railing, grabbing Slater by the
hair and battering his face with repeated right hands to the cheers of
the crowd - especially those a few feet away in the front row who've
scattered since the barricade collapsed.  After a moment, Taylor hauls
Slater to his feet, hurling him under the ropes into the ring.]

JS:  Taylor puts Slater back in... I'm a little surprised by that. 
Taylor would seem more at home on the floor that Slater would.  Slater
would have an edge inside the ring by my estimation, Todd.

TM:  Seems like a good guess to me, Steggs.  But Taylor must have
something in mind.

[And we quickly learn exactly what he has in mind as Taylor pulls
himself up on the apron, heading towards the corner.]

JS:  Is... is Bobby Taylor going up top?

[The crowd buzzes as the 270 pound Outlaw starts to scale the ropes.]

JS:  Taylor's going up top!  When's the last time you've seen Taylor go
up top, Todd?

TM:  I remember him breaking his tailbone on a high flying move several
years ago.  Maybe then?

JS:  Taylor to the second rope... now to the top...

[But before he can do whatever it was he had in mind, Taylor gets caught
by a charging Kevin Slater who quickly scales the ropes, throwing
haymakers to the body of the perched Outlaw.]

JS:  Slater caught him up top!  Slater's trying to smash him down!

[With Taylor dazed, Slater rakes his fingers across the eyes, blinding
the Outlaw and allowing him to sling Taylor's arm over his neck,
stepping up to the top rope...

...and hoisting him up into the air, taking him over and down to the
canvas with a thunderous superplex!]

JS:  SUPERPLEX!!  SUPERPLEX OFF THE TOP BY SLATER!!

[The crowd roars as both men hit the mat hard, staying motionless on the
canvas for several moments as they try to recover from the big fall.]

JS:  Both men are down.  Both men are hurting.

TM:  That was a long, hard way down off the top, Steggs.  Both of these
men hit the mat at top velocity and it could quite possibly be a turning
point in this match.  

JS:  What happens if neither of them can get up?

TM:  Like I said, these two can take a tremendous amount of punishment. 
I don't think that'll be an issue here - not yet anyways.  But if it
were to happen, I suppose it would be a draw.

[Slater is the first to show signs of life, rolling to his side.  He
pushes off the mat to a knee, visibly wincing and clutching his lower
back as he staggers up to his feet.  He kicks Taylor hard in the ribs
before dropping down to his knees, grabbing a handful of hair and
delivering punch after punch after punch to the temple!]

JS:  Kevin Slater has regained control in this Outlaw Rules match but
the deeper we go into this match - we're close to ten minutes in - you
have to start to wonder just what in the world they can do to make their
opponent unable to continue.  Like we've said, it's not a three count,
it's not a ten count.  You have to make your opponent unable to fight
back!

[Climbing to his feet, Slater hauls the Outlaw up by the hair.  He grabs
his left arm, going for an Irish whip.]

JS:  Whip by Sla- reversed by Taylor!

[The former Wild Thing hits the ropes, rebounding off as Taylor extends
his arm for a big running lariat...]

JS:  LARIA-

[But at the last moment, Slater leaps up, floating over across the back
of his former friend...

...and SPIKES his skull into the canvas!]

JS:  FLOATING DDT!!  A nod to their former friend, Luke Steele, a man
they were in the group known as the Cult of Personality with together!

[Slater pops up to his feet, throwing his arms out and going into a spin
to celebrate the big DDT that has laid out his opponent.]

JS:  He drove Taylor's skull into the canvas with that Floating DDT and
Todd, for the first time in this match, I have to wonder if that might
be enough to keep Bobby Taylor down.

TM:  Slater was taught that move by Luke Steele, who is the master of
it, and he just used it to great effectiveness, laying out the Outlaw of
professional wrestling!

JS:  Taylor's down - he hasn't moved a bit yet.  He's facedown on the
mat, arms over his head.  Kevin Slater thinks he's done it right
there...

[Slater mounts the middle buckle, pointing at himself with both hands to
the jeers of the crowd.  He mockingly waves at the fans in the crowd...

...who start to roar as Bobby Taylor pushes himself off the mat to a
knee.]

JS:  TAYLOR'S GETTING UP!!

[An angry Slater leaps off the second rope, marching over to the rising
Taylor.  He delivers a boot to the gut, doubling him up before yanking
him into a front facelock...]

JS:  CATTLEBUSTER!

[The crowd ERUPTS in jeers as Slater hoists Taylor off the mat, DRIVING
his skull into the canvas again!]

JS:  He just hit Bobby Taylor with his own move, Todd!

TM:  And it doesn't get more embarrassing than that.  Losing to your own
finishing move - especially in a match like this - is the ultimate slap
in the face to a man.

JS:  Kevin Slater has been taunting Taylor by using the CattleBuster DDT
for months and now he has hit it in this Outlaw Rules showdown.  And
Bobby Taylor may not get up from that, Todd.

TM:  Taylor's felt that DDT before but from the master of it, John
Wesley Hardin among others.  If Kevin Slater hopes to finish him off -
to make him unable to stand and fight - he'd better have mastered it.

JS:  It looked pretty good from here.

TM:  It certainly did.

[Slater sits up, grinning at the jeering crowd.  After a moment, he lays
flat on his back, rolling out of the ring.]

JS:  Where is he going?

TM:  He thinks it's over!  Kevin Slater thinks this match is over!

[The former Wild Thing stops in the aisleway, trying to high five a
young Taylor fan who is shouting at him.]

JS:  Now he's out here taunting fans at ringside.  Kevin Slater thinks
he's won this thing and he's walking out of here.  He's not even gonna
stick around and see if Taylor can recover.

[The arrogant Slater slowly walks down the aisle, stopping occasionally
to mock a fan as he heads towards the locker room.]

JS:  Slater's on his way out of here... wait a second here... look at
Taylor!

[Pushing up on his arms, Taylor starts to crawl, heading towards the
timekeeper's area.]

JS:  Bobby Taylor is trying to get up!  Slater's leaving and-

[Taylor snatches a mic off the timekeeper's table, dragging himself to
his feet using the ropes.]

"You..."

[The voice of his former friend makes Slater freeze in his tracks.  He
slowly turns around, looking back up the aisle at the now-standing
Taylor.]

"You get your ass back here.  This ain't over."

[Taylor spikes the mic to the mat to the cheers of the crowd.]

JS:  You heard the man!  This ain't over!

[An angry Slater spins around, hands on hips as he looks down the aisle.
 He shakes his head as he marches back down the aisle, moving quickly to
dive under the ropes as Taylor staggers towards him.]

JS:  And the fight is on once more!

[Taylor throws a right hand to the jaw of Slater, knocking him a step
back.  Slater quickly fires back with a pair of haymakers of his own,
trying to stagger him...

...but Taylor buries a knee in the gut, cutting off the attack. 
Grabbing him by the hair, he HURLS Slater over the ropes but the former
Wild Thing gets tangled up, his head becoming trapped between the
ropes!]

JS:  HE'S CAUGHT!  SLATER GOT HIS HEAD TRAPPED BETWEEN THE ROPES!

[The crowd roars as Slater struggles against the ropes, trying to free
his throat from the two twisted ropes pressing against his throat.]

JS:  Slater's being strangled by the ropes!

[Taylor quickly moves in to prevent Slater from freeing himself.  He
holds the rope, keeping it in place as he drives a right hand into the
skull of his former friend.]

JS:  Big right hand by Taylor!  Another right!

[Slater's hands are wrapped around the ropes, trying to pry them apart. 
His face is rapidly turning red as Slater continues to batter the skull
of the former two-time World Champion.]

JS:  He can't get free!  Slater's turning a bright shade of red!  Those
ropes are strangling the life out of him!

TM:  This might be a way to get a win in this one, Steggs.  Choke him
out!

[A panicked AWA official jumps up on the apron, grabbing the ropes to
try to pull them apart...

...and EATS a right hand from Taylor, knocking him off the apron!]

JS:  Ohh!  Bobby Taylor just cracked an AWA official with a right hand!

TM:  Ordinarily, I'd say he might be fined for that but... well...

[A second and third official leap up on the apron too, trying to help
Slater free himself...

...but two more right hands dispatch them, leaving Taylor to pummel the
skull of Slater once more.]

JS:  He needs help!  He needs help out of this right now and-

[Suddenly, the timekeeper leaps up on the apron, grabbing the top rope
and pulling hard...

...when suddenly Bobby Taylor rushes forward, lashing out with a big
cowboy boot to the side of the face that sends the timekeeper sailing
off the apron, crashing down to the barely-padded floor with a thud!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


JS:  DOWN GOES THE TIMEKEEPER!  HE HIT THE FLOOR HARD!

[The crowd gasps in shock at the sight of the timekeeper sailing off the
apron and crashing down to the thinly-padded floor.  Taylor leans over
the ropes, glaring at the interfering timekeeper as Slater slips free,
falling in a heap on the ring apron next to the timekeeper's table.]

JS:  Slater's gasping for air... trying to recover from being trapped
between the ropes like that...

[An angry Taylor reaches over the ropes, grabbing a prone Slater by the
hair to haul him to his feet...]


"CLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANG!"


[Taylor plummets backwards, collapsing on the mat as Slater gets to his
feet, clutching the just-used ring bell in his hands.  He tosses the
bell over the ropes into the ring...

...and then heads towards the ropes.]

JS:  Uh oh... Slater's going up top!

[The former two-time World Champion quickly scales the ropes, standing
tall with his arms raised high...

...and hurls himself off the top, burying his elbow in the heart of the
Outlaw!]

JS:  ELBOW!!

TM:  How many times have we seen that one, Steggs?

JS:  Too many to count.  The late 1990s were filled with Kevin Slater
coming off the top rope just like that, burying that elbow into a
literal Who's Who of professional wrestling.  And if you believe Bobby
Taylor's words earlier tonight, that may have been the final flying
elbow of Kevin Slater's career!

[Slater pops back up to his feet, again going into a full spin to the
jeers of the crowd.  He climbs up on the second rope, taunting the
ringside fans.]

JS:  And now, the eyes of the entire arena are on Bobby Taylor.  Can he
get up?  Can he recover?  Can he keep the fight going?  We are over
fifteen minutes into this war and Kevin Slater may have just polished
off his former best friend, Todd.

TM:  The flying elbow has hit many, many men over the year and has
finished off a lot of them.  But is it enough to finish off Bobby Taylor
in what could be his final match?

[Slater hops down off the ropes, staring down at Taylor whose right arm
is moving slightly off the mat.  The Wild Thing glares at Taylor,
shooting daggers with his eyes as he marches over to the timekeeper's
table, reaching through the ropes to grab a wireless mic off the table.]

"Hey Outlaw... you think you've got more in you?"

[Slater paces around the ring, glaring at you.]

"You think you're still the man who fought Hardin?  James?"

[The Superstar shakes his head back and forth as he walks.]

"You're wrong, Taylor.  You're not."

[Taylor pushes up off the mat, taking a knee...

...and Slater throws the mic aside, grabbing Taylor by the hair with
both hands and HURLING him over the ropes to the floor!]

JS:  Good god!  Slater just chucked him to the floor and-

[Slater steps out to the apron, dropping to the floor.  He drops to his
knees, pummeling Taylor with right hands on the thinly-padded floor.]

JS:  Slater sends im out to the floor and now he's right on top of him!

[Taylor reaches up, throwing a punch of his own from his back that
knocks Slater backwards.  A furious Slater kicks Taylor hard in the
ribs, knocking him to his stomach before stomping away.]

JS:  Where is he going now?

[The crowd begins to buzz as Slater grabs the steel chair from the
timekeeper's table, folding up the seat.  He approaches Bobby Taylor as
Taylor pushes up to all fours, climbing to his feet.]

JS:  He's got the chair and- LOOK OUT!

[Slater swings the chair hard overhead but Taylor gets both arms up,
blocking the blow.]

JS:  He blocked it!  Taylor blocked the shot to the head with the chair!

[The Outlaw responds with a cowboy boot to the gut, allowing him to rip
the chair out of his hands.  Slater tries to spin away as Taylor rears
back...]


"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


JS:  CHAIR ACROSS THE BACK!!  DOWN GOES SLATER!!

[Taylor throws the chair down to the floor, marching over to the
timekeeper's table where he sweeps everything off of it with his arm. 
The crowd begins to buzz as Taylor jerks the table away from the apron.]

JS:  Uh oh.

TM:  It looks like Taylor might be having some flashbacks to Los
Angeles, Steggs!

JS:  It certainly does!  Bobby Taylor has been in some of the most
violent, the most brutal hardcore matches in this sport and tonight,
here in St. Louis, he might be about to take the Family Arena to the
extreme!

[Taylor leans down, dragging Slater off the mat by the hair...

...and SMASHES his face into the table top!]

JS:  Ohh!  Facefirst to the wooden table!

[The Outlaw shoves Slater on top of the table, rolling him onto his
back.  Taylor delivers some clubbing blows across the chest, keeping
Slater in place before he grabs the ropes, pulling himself up onto the
apron...]

JS:  I don't like the looks of this, Todd.

TM:  Taylor's backing down the apron - Slater's laid out on the table...

[With a swing of his arm, Taylor drives the crowd into a dull roar as he
rushes down the apron, leaping off...

...and DRIVING a leg down across the throat of the laid out Slater!]

JS:  OHHHH!  BIG LEGDROP OFF THE APRON ONTO SLATER!!

TM:  The table didn't break!

JS:  It certainly didn't!  The wooden table survived that legdrop off
the apron and that causes Taylor to get a little shaken up as well.  You
mentioned that broken tailbone earlier, Todd.  That might send a jolt to
that old injury.

[Falling off the table, Taylor winces as he pushes up to his knees.  He
uses the ropes to drag himself to his feet, walking over to the
barricade.]

JS:  What is he... uh oh...

[The crowd buzzes as Taylor pulls back the thin black pads that cover up
the concrete floor.]

JS:  Taylor just exposed the floor!  Bobby Taylor just pulled back the
padding off the concrete!  The cold, hard, unforgiving concrete is
exposed, Todd!

TM:  You want to know how someone's going to get finished off in this
one?  This could do it.

[Taylor pulls Slater up to his feet, tugging him into a front facelock
standing on the concrete.]

JS:  CATTLEBUS- no!  Slater's fighting it!

[A few shots to the ribs breaks up the DDT effort and Slater simply
straightens up, backdropping Taylor flat out on the concrete floor!]

JS:  OHHH!  HARD ON THE FLOOR!

[Slater drops to a knee, breathing heavily as Taylor rolls around in
agony on the concrete floor.]

JS:  Taylor's moving - at least there's that, Todd.

TM:  As someone all-too-familiar with back injuries, I can tell you that
something like that can do a lot of damage, Steggs - a lot of damage.

[The former Wild Thing climbs to his feet, slowly moving over towards
the downed Taylor.  He shouts at his former friend.]

"STAY DOWN!"

[Slater glares at Taylor, waiting to see...

...and then slams his arms on the canvas as Taylor rolls to his stomach,
getting his arms under him to the cheers of the crowd.  A furious Slater
approaches the fallen section of barricade, dragging it away from the
crowd and into the ringside area.]

JS:  Uh oh... Slater's got the barricade... what's he got in mind here?

[The Boston native plants his feet, grabbing the steel railing to try
and get some leverage...

...and somehow powers the barricade up into the air in a makeshift
suplex, falling backwards to slam the steel down on the back of the
kneeling Taylor!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


JS:  My god!  My god in heaven!  I can't believe I just saw that!

TM:  These AWA fans are getting a taste of extreme and they're loving
it, baby!

[Slater climbs up on the apron, leaning against the ropes and shouting
at his former friend.]

"That enough, Taylor?  That enough for you?"

[The Superstar shakes his head at the cheering crowd, turning his
attention to them.]

"No!  NO!  HE'S DONE!  YOU HEAR ME?!  HE'S DONE!"

[But is he?  Because it appears the the Outlaw is trying to get up,
pushing up with his arms and legs, the barricade still lying across his
back.]

JS:  BOBBY TAYLOR'S GETTING UP!!

[Enraged, Slater kicks the bottom rope, shouting "NO!  NO!  NO!" as he
spins around, waving Taylor up, begging his former ally to climb to his
feet.]

JS:  Taylor's trying to get up and-

[The Outlaw of professional wrestling shrugs off the barricade to the
floor, staggering over to the apron where Slater throws a haymaker down
towards his skull...

...but Taylor blocks it, throwing a right hand of his own into the
midsection!  A second hooking blow snaps Slater back, sending him
falling back into the ring!]

JS:  Slater's back in - and Taylor's coming in after him!

[Rolling back into the ring, the Outlaw reaches down, tugging off his
cowboy boot.]

JS:  Taylor's got the boot off!  He's got the boot off and he's got it
in his hands!

[Bobby Taylor holds his cowboy boot high for the fans to see, listening
to the roars of the crowd.  He winds up with it...

...and BLASTS the rising Kevin Slater between the eyes with it, knocking
him flat!]

JS:  OHHH!  Big shot!

[Pulling Slater to his knees in front of him, Taylor takes the heel of
the boot, digging it into the forehead!]

JS:  AHHHH!  

[The crowd groans as Taylor digs the boot into the flesh of his former
friend's skull.  After a bit of torture, Taylor throws the boot aside to
the canvas...

...and reaches for his belt.]

JS:  Oh my god.

[The buzz of the crowd grows louder and louder as Taylor pulls the
leather belt off of his jeans.]

JS:  Taylor's got his belt off!  What's he planning on doing with that,
Todd?

TM:  I'm thinking we're about to find out.

[Taylor leans over, looping his belt around the throat of the Boston
native, dragging him around the ring with it...]

JS:  HE'S CHOKING THE LIFE OUT OF SLATER WITH THE BELT!!

[Slater's face turns a bright shade of red as Taylor drags him around
the ring, the leather belt cutting into the windpipe of the former Wild
Thing...

...who manages to get his hands on Taylor's discarded boot as they pass
it.]

JS:  Taylor's trying to choke him into unconsciousness!  That would end
this thing for sure, Todd!

TM:  It would.  If he can choke out Slater, Slater won't be able to keep
the fight up and-

[The crowd roars as Slater lashes out with the boot, drilling his former
friend with it in the head and breaking free of his grip.]

JS:  Slater hit him with the boot!  Kevin Slater got incredibly lucky
right there to get his hands on that boot and-

[Slater climbs to his feet, choking and gasping as he glares down at
Taylor.  He grabs the discarded belt, folding it over once...]


"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


JS:  He whipped him!  He whipped Taylor across the back with that belt!


"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


JS:  AGAIN!  AGAIN ACROSS THE BACK!!

[An enraged Slater rears back once more...]

"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!"
"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!"
"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!"
"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!"
"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!"
"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!"
"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!"
"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!"
"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!"
"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!"

[Taylor writhes around on the mat, screaming out in pain at the deep red
welts being put on his back.  Trickles of blood start to come from the
back of the Outlaw as he lies flat on his stomach on the canvas...

...but Slater doesn't let up, looping the leather strap around the
throat, using it to drag Slater up to his feet.]

JS:  He's got Taylor up with the belt around his throat and- OH MY GOD!

[The crowd GASPS in collective shock as Taylor's body goes sailing over
the top rope, the belt hooked around his throat.]

JS:  HE'S HANGING THE OUTLAW!!

[Slater holds tight to the leather strap with both hands, trying to
strangle the air out of Taylor whose legs and feet hang perilously above
the concrete floor.  He sways back and forth, trying to get his fingers
inside the strap to break the chokehold!]

JS:  Taylor's trying to fight it but Slater's got a tight grip on that
choke!  He's got the belt gripped in his hands!

TM:  He needs to get out of this quick, Steggs.  If he can't break this
chokehold, this hanging... this thing is over right quick.

[Taylor tries to inch his fingers under the leather strap, trying to
give himself some literal breathing room, his face rapidly turning red
as Slater plants a foot against the ropes, trying to keep Taylor's body
weight in the air...

...but failing, allowing a weakened Taylor to slump to the floor in a
heap, the belt still wrapped around his throat.]

JS:  Bobby Taylor got very, very lucky right there in my estimation,
Todd.

TM:  That could have been a lot worse.  Slater lost his grip on the
belt.  Maybe sweat?  Maybe just Taylor's 270 pounds.  He just couldn't
hold him up anymore and Taylor slipped to the floor.

JS:  But was it enough?  Bobby Taylor is down.  Bobby Taylor is hurting.
 He's having a hard time getting air into his lungs no doubt.  But is
all that enough to keep him down for a ten count?

[Kevin Slater seems to think it is, dropping to the mat and rolling out
of the ring.  He delivers a kick to the ribs before heading towards the
aisleway.]

JS:  Slater's leaving!  He's trying to walk out of here again!

[The former two-time World Champion heads back up the aisle, taunting
the aisleside fans who shout at the rulebreaker from over the rope
barricade.]

JS:  Kevin Slater is walking out of here.  He thinks he's won this
thing.  He thinks he's won this Outlaw Rules showdown - perhaps the
final match of his career.  Perhaps the final match of Bobby Taylor's
career as well!  This could be it for both of these men and is this how
it ends?  With a hanging using a leather belt?

TM:  Taylor's moving a little bit... but Slater's out of here!

[The Superstar stops to argue with a fan in the entranceway, screaming
and shouting in his direction...

...when a voice rings out over the PA.]


"This... isn't... done."


[The crowd ROARS for the weary voice of Bobby Taylor who is kneeling on
the floor, his neck covered in red welts from the belt that was wrapped
around it moments earlier.  Taylor gestures, waving for Slater to come
back...

...and his former best friend is quick to respond!]

JS:  HERE COMES SLATER!!  He's coming back!

[Slater rushes back to ringside, climbing up on the apron where Bobby
Taylor is now standing.  The two men immediately lunge at one another,
Slater connecting with a right hand...

...and getting a boot to the skull in response!]

JS:  Ohh!  Big shot with the boot!  Taylor's got both of his boots off
now!

[Standing on the apron, Taylor throws a weak left-handed clothesline
that knocks Slater over the ropes into the ring...

...and Taylor immediately reaches over it, grabbing Slater by the hair
and hauling him to his feet.]

JS:  Oh no!

[The crowd buzzes as Taylor reaches over the ropes, wrapping his arms
around the waist of Slater.  The fans react strongly, having seen this
happen over and over for fifteen years...]

JS:  He's got him hooked!  

[The Arizona native hoists Slater into the air in a belly to back
suplex...

...and simply lets go, sending Slater crashing down on the back of his
head on top of the steel barricade at ringside!]

JS:  OUTLAW'S CURSE!!  OUTLAW'S CURSE TO THE FLOOR!!

TM:  And the back of Slater's head SLAMMED into the railing!  He may be
out right there.

[Taylor slowly turns around on the apron, leaning back over the ropes to
soak up the roars of the crowd.  He slowly nods his head, pointing to
the downed Slater who is motionless on the floor.]

JS:  This might be over right now!  Bobby Taylor may have just ended
this thing with that big suplex to the floor...

TM:  I don't think he's done.

[The Outlaw shakes his head, hopping off the apron.  He grabs the
barricade off the ground, tossing it aside and rolling Slater to the
floor.  Taylor moves to the timekeeper's table, dragging it over on top
of the exposed concrete.]

JS:  What's he doing now?  He just moved that table onto the concrete. 
I don't know if he- 

[He grabs Slater by the hair, hauling his limp body off the steel
barricade, shoving him up onto the table.]

JS:  Taylor puts him on the table... where's Taylor going now?

[The Outlaw of professional wrestling steps up on the table, leaning
down to drag Slater to his feet, pulling him into a standing front
facelock.  The crowd ERUPTS!]

JS:  Oh my god!  Oh my god!  What in the world is Taylor thinking?!

TM:  He's gonna put him through the table, Steggy!

JS:  He can't!  He can't do it!  He'll snap Slater's neck!

[Taylor stands on the table, holding Slater up and keeping him from
slumping back down.  He reaches out with his free hand, raising a closed
fist.  The crowd roars, screaming and shouting for the Outlaw.  He nods
his head, pointing to the crowd with a smile on his face, and a very
skilled cameraman catches Taylor say "Thank you."]

JS:  Taylor's got him hooked!  Is he-

[Taylor suddenly hoists Slater up into the air, lifting him horizontal
to the ground...

...and swings him off the table, leaping with him to take him straight
down and DRIVING Slater skullfirst into the exposed concrete floor!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[The announcers stay silent, allowing the fans to say it all for them as
the fans react with a mixture of shock, awe, and horror at the sight of
Slater being driven skullfirst into the concrete floor with a
CattleBuster DDT off a wooden table. 

Taylor slowly sits up, arms on his knees as he listens to the fans.  He
leans over, patting Slater on the chest softly before climbing up to his
feet.

And without looking back, Bobby Taylor simply walks away, walking
straight up the aisle, ignoring the cheering fans on both sides of the
aisle, leaving a motionless Kevin Slater completely still on the
floor...

...and right back through the curtain, leaving a roaring crowd behind.

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 we fade back up to live action where Mark Stegglet is
standing alongside the AWA's Executive Consultant, a man who has been
missing for quite some time, former World Champion Joe Petrow.]

MS: Welcome back to St. Louis, fans.  I'm here with the AWA's
self-proclaimed Executive Consultant Joe Petrow, and Joe, we haven't
seen or heard from you at all since Battle on the Bayou. Have you had
trouble finding clients since then?

[Joe Petrow shoots Mark the look of a professor addressing the class
dunce.]

JP: I guess what you meant to say was, "Welcome to Superclash Mr.
Petrow, it's an honor to have you here tonight", but the stress of being
poor at your job is starting to get to you.

[Mark himself allows a brief, unprofessional change of expression that
reveals his wish to be talking with anybody but Petrow.]

JP: The truth is that every successful business undergoes changes in its
original business plan. And as much as I enjoyed seeing my plan at
Battle on the Bayou flawlessly executed beyond even _my_ expectations,
upon further review I realized that that success was the exception that
proved the rule. Because Dave Cooper and Eric Matthew Somers are two of
the very few of a dying breed of men that actually understands the
concepts of respect and honor.  Without people respecting and honoring
_my_ accomplishments in the proper manner, my services were eventually
doomed to failure.

But there is another service even more in need in the AWA.  A service to
enforce the respect earned by these wrestlers through their years and,
in some cases, _decades_ of accomplishments!  So after Superclash 2, I
will be offering my select boutique services of Respect Management to
the very few elite AWA members who deserve it!

MS: So is that why you approached Mark Langseth on the last show?  If
so, I can understand why he turned you down!

JP: Oh _really_?  Mr. Langseth is an active Hall of Fame wrestler, of
course he would be the first person I would approach!  But Mr. Langseth
still believes in the good side of people, he still believes that his
accomplishments are being acknowledged by the fans and by the AWA!  But
in the time I've been here, I have seen things differently!  I've seen
the AWA have a man of his caliber stand in a perp line at Independence
Day, making him beg for a title shot!  I've seen the AWA desecrate his
Battle at the Bayou triumph by standing back and allowing Shane Destiny
to assualt him after his match!  And now I see the AWA handicapping him
in a match where Destiny is allowed to win with an illegal chokehold!

At first I thought the AWA was clueless as to what they were doing with
a man of Mr. Langseth's prestiege, but now I know better. The AWA
_knows_ what it is doing!  They are deliberately _trying_ to make Mr.
Langseth look bad, to make themselves look better by comparison!

MS: Aw c'mon, that is ridiculous!

JP: Is it now? Let me tell you something, my manager's license allows me
to be backstage, but I bought a ticket to be ringside just so that I
could watch wrestling's living legend as closely as possible.  With his
talent, there is no way that Mr. Langseth should possibly lose this
match.  But if what I say is true, then somehow, before the night is
through, the AWA will try to find a way to make him look bad regardless.
 You just wait and see!

MS: Conspiracy theories abound in Joe Petrow's world.  But one man who
may be beyond those conspiracy theories is the man who Mark Langseth
will meet one on one here tonight.  Earlier today, I caught up with
Shane Destiny  and needless to say, describing Destiny as "tense" would
be an understatement.  Let's go to that footage.

[Petrow gives a condescending smirk and sinks back into his chair as we
crossfade to Shane Destiny sitting in a chair opposite Mark Stegglet. 
Destiny is dressed in a black suit, white shirt, and blue tie.  He seems
impatient, ready to get prepared for his match tonight.]

MS: Shane, thank you for joining me.  Tonight, you go hold for hold
against Mark Langseth.  Tell us what your mindset is going into this
match.

SD: My mindset's the same as it always is.  I'm here to win.  I'm not
here to play games and pat Mark Langseth on the back. I'm here to hurt
the man.  I'm here tonight at SuperClash II to break the man's neck. 
Same as I've done to dozens of other people in the past.

MS: You've made your feelings towards the National Title known.  If you
get past Langseth tonight...

SD: If?  IF?!

[Destiny stands up, kicking the chair over.]

SD: I _will_ beat Langseth tonight!  And then, I don't care who wins in
Dallas tonight, I _will_ win that title!

MS: Shane, please... let me ask the question.

SD: No!  No, I've had enough of this.  Everyone in the AWA doubts me. 
Everyone here doesn't believe in me.  Well, I'm going to prove tonight
that I'm everything that I say I am.  And if Mark Langseth thinks he can
stop me?  If Joe Petrow sticks his nose in my business?  Well... let's
just say what I did to Pure X was the appetizer.

[Destiny kicks the chair again.]

SD: And this interview is _finished_.

[Destiny storms off camera as we fade back to the ring where Ken Graham
is standing.]

KG:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a thirty
minute time limit and is billed as HOLD VERSUS HOLD!

[Big cheer!]

KG:  Introducing first... 

["True Faith" by New Order kicks in to a HUGE mixed reaction!]

KG:  From Las Vegas, Nevada... weighing in at 252 pounds...

SHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANE DESSSSSSSSSTINY!

[Shane Destiny walks through the curtain to a huge reaction - a strong
mixture of cheers and boos from the St. Louis fans who have followed his
career for so long.  He pauses just beyond the entrance, looking a
slight bit overwhelmed by the roar of the crowd.  His head moves in a
slight nod of respect before he begins the long walk to the ring,
ignoring the fans along the aisle who stretch out to reach for him.]

JS:  Shane Destiny is a former World Champion and a man who has - pardon
the pun - seemed destined for a shot at the AWA National Title since he
has arrived here.  Yet time and time again, he has been denied that
opportunity.  A win here tonight in Hold versus Hold would seem to
cement that title shot to me, Todd.

TM:  Destiny's one of the best wrestlers in the world, Steggs.  And
whether your name is Juan Vasquez or Stevie Scott, you want no part of
Destiny in that ring with the National Title on the line.

JS:  Todd, Destiny seems a little surprised at the reaction of this
crowd in St. Louis... and I can't say I blame him.  What is going on
here?

TM:  What's going on here?  St. Louis is Shane Destiny country, Steggs! 
The man was a regular fixture in the River City for quite some time. 
You mentioned that he's a former World Champion.  Where do you think he
won that World Title?  Right here in St. Louis.  I would be more
surprised if there WEREN'T people cheering him.

JS:  Some people at least.  It sounds like some fans here in St. Louis
have seen what Destiny's had up his sleeves in the AWA and aren't too
pleased about it.

[Destiny reaches the ring, stepping through the ropes and promptly
heading to a corner, waiting for his opponent.]

KG:  And his opponent...

[The sounds of New Order are replaced by Stabbing Westward as "Save
Yourself" starts up to an equally-mixed reaction.  A quick cut to Joe
Petrow seated in the front shows a look of irritation on his face as he
shakes his head.]

KG:  From Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania... weighing in at 233 pounds...

MARRRRRRK LAAAAAAANGSETH!

[The AWA's sole Hall of Famer walks into view through the curtain, hands
on hips.  He looks around at the crowd, almost equally split into cheers
and boos with a hint of annoyance.  Shaking his head, Langseth walks
down the aisle towards the ring, also ignoring the aisleside fans.]

JS:  Todd, I have to admit - it feels right to be seeing this man coming
to the ring for a match we're about to call.

TM:  Of course it does, Steggs.  We've called the biggest matches in
this man's career - his World Title wins, the big blood feuds, the
matches that MADE him a Hall of Famer.  This is just another one of
those big matches.

JS:  Mark Langseth has not had the most active schedule in this ring
since his AWA debut but he has promised that he wants to change that -
he wants to prove he can beat Shane Destiny and move into the Top Ten
rankings.  Make no mistake, Mark Langseth would love to wear gold again.

[Langseth climbs the ringsteps, moving through the ropes.  He has a few
words with the official, not taking his eyes off of Destiny the whole
time.  The referee goes over to speak with Destiny who nods slowly, his
eyes locked on Langseth as well.]

JS:  A lot of bad blood in this one.

TM:  You can say that again.  Destiny exposed Pure X as being Langseth's
nephew and then ran the kid out of town.  These two have been at each
others' throats for months, Steggs.

JS:  And now it comes down to this - Hold Versus Hold - the Destiny
Strangle versus the Greatness Personified.

TM:  Two of the greatest - and most feared - submission holds in the
history of our sport are coming to a head here tonight and when it's all
said and done, only one of those holds can be the best in the world.

[The referee signals for the bell, bringing the two men slowly out of
their respective corners, looking for a tieup.]

JS:  We're underway here in St. Louis and this should be something else,
Todd.

[The two men meet in the middle, tangling up in a collar and elbow.  And
Shane Destiny quickly shows off his power advantage by pushing Langseth
back into the closest set of buckles...]

JS:  Destiny powers him to the corner... the ref's looking for a clean
break here...

[Destiny steps back, hands raised...

...and then squares up, throwing a skin-blistering chop across the
chest!]

JS:  OHHH!

TM:  That's the kind of chop that makes Shane Destiny one of the most
feared strikers in our sport, Steggs.  He'll split your chest wide open
with a chop like that.

[Langseth grabs his chest with an open palm, moving to step out of the
corner...

...and gets shoved hard with both hands, knocking him back to the
buckles so he can deliver a second chop that echoes through the Family
Arena to the roars of the crowd.]

JS:  These fans here in St. Louis certainly liked that and-

[Destiny steps back again...

...and again shoves Langseth back into the corner with both hands.  He
points at him, shouting, "I'm the next champ!" as he makes a "I want the
belt" gesture with his hands before rearing back his right hand and
slapping Langseth across the face!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


JS:  I'd say the feeling out process may be over, Todd!  He just slapped
Mark Langseth across the face!  No respect for the Hall of Famer! 
Absolutely none!

[This time, Destiny backs to the middle of the ring, waving a fuming
Langseth forward.  The split crowd is cheering the action thus far,
causing Langseth to look around with an odd expression.  Shaking his
head, he marches out of the corner, stomping right into another tieup.]

JS:  Back to the collar and elbow they go... jostling for position...

[Langseth quickly pulls Destiny into a side headlock, popping his hips
to take him down to the canvas with it.]

JS:  Nice headlock takeover by Mark Langseth...

[He cranks on the head a few times down on the mat before grabbing a
flailing arm and twisting it behind Destiny into a hammerlock with
Destiny's face pushed into the mat.  Langseth kneels on the back of
Destiny's head as he cranks towards himself with the bent arm.  He
flattens out onto his stomach, spinning across the back of Destiny
before scrambling to his feet.]

JS:  Some good groundwork there for Langseth.

[And as Destiny gets to a knee, Langseth reaches down and SLAPS the
taste out of his mouth to a big mixed reaction.  This time, the Hall of
Famer is the one to step back, gesturing at his own waist in the "I want
the belt" stance as he waves Destiny up.]

JS:  Whew boy.  This one's getting hot in the River City, Todd.

TM:  I'm loving the reaction of these fans here in St. Louis.  They are
living and dying with every blow - so split between cheering for the man
who became a World Champion before their very eyes in this city and the
Hall of Famer who is so respected around the wrestling world.

[Destiny slowly climbs to his feet, smirking slightly as he does so.  He
nods at Langseth, mockingly applauding him before he lunges into another
tieup, immediately raking his fingers across the eyes.]

JS:  Ohh!  Cheapshot by Destiny!

[A well-placed overhead elbow smashes into the back of Langseth's neck,
dropping him to a knee.  Destiny measures him...

...and throws a BRUTAL forearm shiver right into the back of the neck,
knocking Langseth flat on his stomach on the mat.]

JS:  Good god!  

TM:  That'll send you to the hospital real quick!  

JS:  Especially for someone with a history of neck injuries like Mark
Langseth.  Don't forget - when Langseth was first forced to step away
from the ring, it was because of a neck injury... because of a spinal
injury.  And you just know that Shane Destiny hasn't forgotten that.

TM:  It's an early Christmas for Shane Destiny to know information like
that, Steggs.  That paints a big ol' bullseye right on the neck of Mark
Langseth.

[With Langseth on his chest, Destiny drops down to his knee in a
straddle, looking to hook his arm around Langseth's head and neck in an
inverted facelock...]

JS:  STRANGLE!  HE'S GOING FOR THE STRANGLE!

[But the feel of the arm slipping around is enough for a frantic
Langseth to push the arm away, wriggling free of his grip, and crawling
from the middle of the ring under the ropes to slip out to the floor.]

JS:  Wow.  Did you see Mark Langseth's desperation when he fleed that
Destiny Strangle attempt?

TM:  Like we said, it's one of the most dangerous holds in our sport. 
Of course he's running from it.  'Cause if Destiny gets that thing
locked in deep, I don't know if there's any way out.

JS:  You got that right.

[Inside the ring, Destiny moves to the ropes, sitting on the middle one
to invite Langseth back into the fray.  Langseth paces back and forth at
ringside for a bit, shoving aside a cameraman who gets a bit too close
to him as he stares up at Destiny.]

JS:  Langseth up on the apron... pointing at Destiny.. he wants the
referee to back him off...

[The official does exactly that, moving Destiny away and giving him the
chance to step through the ropes.  He rolls his neck back and forth,
staying loose as he edges to the middle of the ring, tying up once
more.]

JS:  Destiny with a forearm smash off the tieup!  Right on the jaw!

[A second forearm sends Langseth spiraling back to the corner, resting
against the buckles.  Destiny moves in, throwing another big chop across
the chest.  He grabs the wrist of Langseth, firing him across the
ring...]

JS:  Corner whip... here comes Destiny!

[The Las Vegas native charges in, arm stretched out.]

JS:  CLOTHESLI-

[But Langseth hops up, driving his feet into the face of Destiny for a
mixed roar of jeers and cheers.  Langseth moves from the corner, burying
a boot into the midsection.]

JS:  Ohh!  That doubles up Destiny!

[Langseth dashes to the closest set of ropes, rebounding off and
grabbing Destiny around the head...]

JS:  NO SWEA-

[But the swinging neckbreaker attempt is spun through by Destiny who
simply rears back and throws his arm as hard as possible, knocking
Langseth flat with a standing lariat!]

JS:  OHHHHHHHH!  SHADES OF HIS MENTOR, CHRIS COURTADE!!

TM:  And if it has the same impact as Courtade's, this match might be
over right now, Steggs.  

JS:  I don't think he got all of it though.  He threw it in mid-counter
and it might not have had the impact he wanted.  Langseth's down but
he's moving.

[Destiny promptly gets to his feet, measuring the downed Langseth, and
leaps into the air, dropping his leg across the back of the neck!]

JS:  And it's become very clear what Shane Destiny's gameplan is for
this match, Todd.

TM:  He's going for the neck - no doubt.  It's the smart thing to do.

JS:  Destiny pulls him up by the hair...

[And hurls Langseth through the ropes to the floor!]

JS:  Ohh!  Langseth goes out to the floor hard!

[Destiny steps out to the apron, measuring Langseth as he pushes up to a
knee on the floor...

...and leaps off, dropping a double axehandle smash across the back of
the neck!]

JS:  Destiny's got a gameplan in mind... and what do you think he's got
in mind out here on the floor, Todd?

TM:  Whatever it is, it can't be good for Mark Langseth.

[Dragging Langseth by the hair over near the barricade, Destiny loops
his arms around the waist in a side waistlock...]

JS:  What is he thinking of doing here?

[Destiny powers Langseth up, holding him high...

...and attempts to drop straight down, aiming to drop the back of
Langseth's neck on the barricade!]

JS:  OHHH!  ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!

TM:  That's a blatant attempt to cripple a man, Steggs!  Luckily for
Mark Langseth, Destiny had to do that blind and he didn't quite get what
he wanted out of it.  If he had, Mark Langseth might have needed a
wheelchair to get back to Pittsburgh!

JS:  He missed hitting the neck on the railing but he did get the back
of Langseth's head to graze the railing!  That couldn't have yielded a
much better result!

[Frustrated with himself, Destiny takes the MMA-style mount out on the
floor to batter Langseth over and over with right hands to the skull.]

JS:  He's beating the heck out of Langseth out there!  The referee is
ordering him back into the ring...but he's obviously not done outside
the ring with this one...

[He hauls Langseth to his feet again, again hooking that side
waistlock.]

JS:  He's going for it again!

[But before he can lift the Hall of Famer off the mat, Langseth fires
clenched fists into the face, breaking his grip.  Desperate, the
Pittsburgh native grabs Destiny by the hair, and SWINGS him back to slam
into the steel railing!]

JS:  OHHHH!  INTO THE STEEL HE GOES!!  

TM:  Destiny's spine just got shaken to the core!  Langseth with a
desperation move to save himself - no pun intended - and now it's
Destiny who is in a world of pain.

[Langseth drags Destiny to his feet, shouting at him something
including, "YOU WANT TO END ME?" before slapping him across the face
again.  Still holding the hair, he SLAMS Destiny facefirst into the ring
apron before shoving him under the ropes into the squared circle.]

JS:  Langseth puts him back in... and now he rolls in as well...

[Back to his feet, Langseth promptly grabs Destiny's foot, yanking it
towards him...

...but a frantic Destiny rolls to his back, lashing out with his free
leg twice, the second one catching Langseth in the side of the face and
breaking his grip.]

JS:  He went for the Greatness Personified but Destiny got out of it!

[Destiny scrambles to a knee...

...and Langseth floors him with a rushing knee to the side of the face!]

JS:  OHHH!  He got all of that, Todd!

[Langseth instinctively dives atop Destiny for a cover...

...but the referee waves him off, ordering him to his feet.]

JS:  No way, the ref says... this is Hold Versus Hold.  If Langseth
wants to win this, he needs to do so with the Greatness Personified.

TM: That's right.  Those are the rules in this one.  And just like in
our last match, it's hard to adjust to that.  Mark Langseth's used to
going for pins whenever he can and now he has to adapt.

[Langseth angrily gets up, barking something at the official as he
stomps the downed Destiny a few times.  He leans down, dragging Destiny
to his feet.  Grabbing the hair again, he HURLS him backwards into the
buckles, snapping Destiny's head back in a whiplash-type effect.]

JS:  Good grief.  It's such a simple move but it takes so much out of
the tank, Todd.

TM:  Sometimes it's the easiest moves that do the most damage.  How much
skill does it take to swing a steel chair at someone versus how much
damage it does?

JS:  Langseth in the corner...

[Pushing Destiny back, Langseth throws a chop of his own that doesn't do
anywhere near as much damage.  There is a buzz of laughter from the
crowd that just seems to infuriate Langseth as he throws chop after chop
after chop...

...and gets spun around, pushed back to the buckles.]

JS:  Reversed!

[Destiny rears back and lets one fly!]

JS:  Another big chop by Destiny!

[A fired-up Destiny pushes him back to the corner again, throwing
another hard chop to the chest that causes Langseth to curl up, trying
to cover up his chest...

...so Destiny simply throws his forearm down over and over and over
across the head and neck.]

JS:  He's all over him in the buckles!

[Destiny grabs the wrist, flinging Langseth across the ring.]

JS:  Here he comes!

[The charging Destiny connects with a big clothesline in the buckles!]

JS:  HE HITS THE CLOTHESLINE!!!

[A stunned Langseth stumbles from the buckles into the waiting arms of
Destiny who hoists him up, dropping him in an inverted atomic drop...

...and then rushes forward, connecting with another big clothesline that
takes Langseth down!]

JS:  Down goes Langseth!

[A series of stomps to the ribs sends Langseth rolling under the ropes
to the floor...

...where he grabs Destiny by the leg, yanking him down to the mat and
pulling him partially out of the ring.]

JS:  Wait a second!  Look out here!

[Langseth lifts Destiny's leg as high as he can...

...and SWINGS it down, smashing his ankle into the edge of the ring
apron!]

JS:  OHHH!  HE SMASHED HIS ANKLE INTO THE APRON!!

[Grabbing the foot again, Langseth lifts it high...

...and SLAMS it down into the hard edge of the apron again!]

JS:  That's the hardest part of the ring!  He smashed the ankle again
into the hardest part of the ring!

TM:  Langseth with a quick decision there to go after the leg!  He's
been waiting for the opening to do so - you know he has.  Destiny got
caught by surprise and now he's paying for it.

[Grabbing the injured leg in his left hand, Langseth smashes his right
fist down with overhead hammerfists again and again, causing Destiny to
cry out in pain.]

JS:  Langseth's going after the ankle!

[He pushes Destiny a bit back into the ring, bracing the ankle against
the top of the apron...

...and slams home an overhead elbow into the ankle!]

JS:  Good grief!

TM:  And you can hear Shane Destiny crying out in pain from a blow like
that.  Those two smashes into the apron really did some damage to the
ankle, I believe.

JS:  Langseth scampers up onto the apron now... measuring his man...

[Langseth walks down the apron, leaping into the air...

...and DROPPING all his weight down on the ankle with a kneedrop!]

JS:  OHHHHH!  ON THE ANKLE HE GOES!!  

TM:  Two hundred and thirty-three pounds down on the ankle!  Langseth
hit it all and this one might be over right there.  

[Langseth steps back into the ring, absorbing some reprimands from the
official as he gets inside.  He shoves the official aside, stepping up
on the middle rope...

...and drops a knee down on the chest of Shane Destiny, knocking him
flat once more!]

JS:  That'll take some wind out of Destiny's sails.

[Langseth grabs Destiny by the arms, hauling him away from the ropes to
the middle of the ring.  He paces around him... and delivers a
punt-style kick to the ribs to another mixed reaction.]

JS:  These fans in St. Louis are split right down in the middle, Todd.

TM:  That's what it sounds like.

JS:  Another hard kick to the ribs by Langseth...

[The Hall of Famer leans over, grabbing the injured ankle...

...and again, Shane Destiny has the presence of mind to roll to his
back, lashing out with a kick to the chest.]

JS:  Destiny's trying to get out of the anklelock but Langseth's hanging
on!

[A second kick lands in the chest but Langseth shakes his head,
continuing to try to turn the ankle...

...but a third kick catches him on the jaw, sending him falling
backwards and breaking the submission attempt.]

JS:  Langseth gets knocked back... Destiny's sliding away, trying to get
some recovery time...

[Destiny backs to the ropes, using them to pull off the mat as Langseth
charges towards him...

...and connects with a big clothesline that takes Destiny over the top
rope and down to the floor!]

JS:  OHHHHHH!  OVER THE TOP GOES DESTINY!!!

[As he hits the floor, Destiny immediately grabs his ankle with both
hands, wincing and grimacing as Langseth quickly exits the ring, moving
after his opponent.]

JS:  Destiny hit the floor hard but Mark Langseth is coming right out
after him.

[Out on the floor, Langseth grabs the injured leg of Destiny, jerking it
hard to straighten it out.  He tucks the injured ankle under his
armpit...

...and falls back in a DDT-like motion!]

JS:  My god!  That could rip out a knee... could break the leg... 

TM:  I've seen that move break a leg before, Steggs.  

JS:  As have I and we may have just seen it happen again.

[Langseth pulls and torques the ankle while down on the thin mat,
bending it against the grain as Destiny screams in pain, slapping and
smashing his arms into the padded floor.]

JS:  The referee is ordering Langseth to let go and get back in the ring
but he's got no control over this.  Out on the floor?  That's not the
referee's jurisdiction in this one.

[Langseth gets to his feet, looking up at the protesting official and
the still-split crowd showering him with a loud of mixture of jeers and
boos.  From ringside, Joe Petrow stands from his seat, shouting
something in Langseth's direction.]

JS:  I couldn't hear Petrow right there.  Joe Petrow just stood up and
yelled something to Mark Langseth but I didn't catch what it was.

[Langseth shakes his head in Petrow's direction as he hauls Destiny up
to his feet.  He reaches down, bending Destiny's leg up as he hooks him
around the waist...]

JS:  Shinbreaker perhaps?

[But Destiny throws a flurry of punches, battering his way out of the
shinbreaker attempt.  He grabs Langseth by the back of the head,
SMASHING his face into the ring apron to a loud cheer!]

JS:  Destiny's battling back!

[The former World Champion turns his back to Langseth, visibly hobbling
on one leg as he reaches back to grab Langseth around the head and neck,
bracing the neck against his own shoulder...

...and drops down to his rear, jolting Langseth's neck!]

JS:  OHHH!  NECKBREAKER!!

[Destiny stays seated on the floor for a few moments, breathing heavily
and holding his ankle with his hand.  He shakes his head as he gets to
his feet, dragging Langseth off the floor by the wrist and shoving him
under the ropes into the ring.  Destiny rolls in behind him, pushing up
to all fours.]

JS:  Both men down... Destiny's crawling towards Langseth...

[With a shove, Destiny rolls Langseth onto his stomach, and then throws
a leg over him into a straddle...]

JS:  He's going for the Strangle!

[A wincing Destiny grabs Langseth by the hair, pulling his head slowly
back...]

JS:  He's almost got it on!  He's almos-

[Langseth promptly rolls to his back, slipping away from the Strangle,
and throws a pair of right hands from his back, trying to battle away. 
But Destiny promptly stands up and stomps on Langseth's sternum to some
cheers.]

JS:  That'll cut off any offensive flurry, Todd.

TM:  A stomp to the chest.  Again, so simple but so effective.

[Destiny quickly drops an elbow to the throat.  He flips Langseth to his
stomach, raining down blows on the back of the neck again.  He again
goes into the straddle, grabbing the hair to pull the head back...]

JS:  HE'S GOT THE FACELOCK!!

[But before he can sit back into the Strangle, Langseth slams his elbow
backwards into the injured ankle twice causing Destiny to scream out and
collapse to a knee, clutching the injured limb.]

JS:  Langseth got out of it before it got sunk in deep!  He rolls to his
back and- ohhh!  Big kick to the face!

[Having knocked Destiny to his back, Langseth returns the favor by
taking the mount and pummeling his rival's face.]

JS:  The Hall of Famer is battering Destiny on the mat!

[The referee steps in, shouting at Langseth.]

JS:  The referee's trying to get Langseth off of Destiny but Langseth
won't quit!  He's beating the tar out of Shane Destiny in the middle of
St. Louis!

[Grabbing him by the arm, the official blocks the thrown punch and then
drags Langseth off the dowend Destiny.  A furious Langseth shoves the
referee, knocking him back to the corner, and threatens him with a right
hand to the jeers of the crowd.  Langseth, hands on hips, looks around
at the crowd with a disbelieving look on his face, shaking his head back
and forth.]

JS:  These fans are letting Mark Langseth have it for shoving the
official and Todd, he looks almost shocked.

TM:  Can you blame him?  The man walked into this match as a hero of the
people, a legend in this sport, and one of the most popular men in the
AWA and he's getting booed by this crowd.  I always knew there were a
bunch of idiot wrestling fans in St. Louis.

JS:  Easy, Todd.  We're not the same people we were back in LA.

[Langseth pulls Destiny to his feet by the hair, shoving him back into
the corner.  He winds up, throwing a big right hand to the temple.  A
second and third blow have the Las Vegas native seeing stars as he
clings to the ropes to stay on his feet.]

TM:  Langseth's getting hot under the collar but he needs to stay on
focus.  This isn't how you win this thing.  You can't beat your opponent
with haymakers into submission.  He has to slap on the anklelock.

JS:  We haven't seen Langseth attempt the anklelock for several minutes
now though.  It's almost like he's changed gears.

TM:  In a normal match, that would be fine.  In this one, he has to get
the anklelock sunk in and make Destiny quit.

[Langseth grabs Destiny by the arm, going for an Irish whip.]

JS:  Whip by Lang- ohh!  Destiny fell down!  He couldn't even keep
enough weight on the ankle to run across the ring there.  Mark Langseth
has REALLY done a number on that ankle, Todd.

[Destiny rolls under the ropes, trying to get a breather as Langseth
steps out to the apron, dropping down to the floor.  Grabbing Destiny by
the hair, he drags him over towards the barricade... very close to where
Joe Petrow is seated...

...and SLAMS his head into the railing!]

JS:  Ohh!  Headfirst to the barricade!

[Langseth promptly pushes Destiny's throat down on the top of the
barricade, choking the air out of him as the crowd jeers.]

JS:  That's a blatant choke and-

[Langseth backs away, glaring at Petrow...

...who grabs Destiny by the back of the head, looking to repeat what
Langseth just did.]

JS:  Wait a second!  What in the world is Petrow doing?

[Destiny suddenly slaps Petrow's arms away, drilling him across the
dress shirt-covered chest with a knife-edge chop!]

JS:  OHH!  HE NAILED PETROW!!

[Reaching over the railing, Destiny grabs Petrow by the collar, pulling
him closer and battering him with right hands...

...which allows Langseth to rush in, burying a knee into the back of
Destiny.]

JS:  Oh!  He caught Destiny from behind!

[Langseth hurls Destiny under the ropes back into the ring, turning to
look at Petrow with disgust before rolling back in on his own...]

JS:  Both men back inside the ring again... 

[Nodding his head to the crowd, Langseth grabs the foot of Destiny...

...and gets a large amount of boos for it.  Shaking his head, Langseth
pulls the leg closer, grabbing the ankle with both hands and twisting
it!]

JS:  GREATNESS PERSONIFIED!!

[Destiny immediately cries out in pain, smashing his arms into the mat,
clawing the canvas as the referee dives to the canvas, checking to see
if the former World Champion wants to submit.]

JS:  He's got the anklelock sunk in deep!  

[The Las Vegas native screams loudly as Langseth tightens up the hold
with a shout of "QUIT!  GIVE IT UP, DESTINY!"]

JS:  He's trying to get Destiny to submit to this anklelock!

TM:  Can Destiny hang on?  Can he find a way to counter this hold?

[Suddenly, Destiny pushes off the mat, tucking his head and going into a
front roll, a move that hurls Langseth off where he stumbles to the mat.
 Destiny quickly springs up, surging forward to hook the inverted
facelock!]

JS:  DESTINY STRANGLE!!

[Destiny struggles to get the inverted facelock on, trying to secure it
as Langseth wriggles and struggles and tries to free himself.]

JS:  And now it's Langseth's turn to try and avoid this!  

TM:  If the Strangle gets locked in, it's over!

[Destiny slips his arm closer to applying the hold...

...but a desperate Langseth lunges forward, wrapping his arms around the
ropes!]

JS:  He made it to the ropes!

TM:  So what?  Destiny's not letting go!

[With Langseth tied up in the ropes, Destiny secures the Destiny
Strangle, sitting down on the lower back of his rival.]

JS:  He's got the Strangle on!  The referee doesn't know what to do!  

TM:  It's Hold versus Hold!  See if he quits, ref!

[Langseth screams in pain, trying to free himself...

...and somehow manages to drag himself out of the hold, falling down to
the floor as Destiny releases the hold, slowly getting to his feet.  The
official is right in there, shouting at Destiny.]

JS:  The referee is reprimanding him for keeping the hold on in the
ropes but I'm not entirely sure that's illegal in this one, Todd.

TM:  I don't think it is, Steggs.  I think anything goes in-

[With everyone focused on Destiny arguing with the official, Langseth
reaches under the ring apron, pulling out a steel chair.]

JS:  Wait a second!  What's he doing with-?!

[Not wasting a second, Langseth shows the world EXACTLY what he's doing
with it, taking a full force swing with the chair and SMASHING the
distracted Destiny in the ankle with it, knocking him down to the mat!]

JS:  HE HIT DESTINY IN THE ANKLE WITH THE CHAIR!!

[The crowd EXPLODES in jeers as Langseth stands at ringside, still
holding the chair in his hands.  The referee is leaning over the ropes,
SCREAMING at Langseth who sneers at him before smiling at the anguished
Destiny howling in pain...

...and then winds up again!]

JS:  No, no!  Don't do this, Mark!  Don't do this!

[And Langseth lets the steel chair fly, SLAMMING it down across the
injured ankle once more!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[The crowd boos loudly as Langseth throws the chair down to the mat.  He
looks out at the jeering crowd, a look of shocked betrayal on his face.]

JS:  Langseth's being booed out of the building here in St. Louis!  He
just hit Shane Destiny in the ankle with that steel chair twice!  He
smashed the injured ankle with-

[Langseth quickly rolls under the ropes into the ring, popping up to his
feet.  Destiny crawls backwards, hands raised...]

JS:  He's trying to back away!  Destiny's trying to get away!

[But Langseth is having none of it, grabbing the injured foot off the
mat and twisting the ankle, sending moans of agony into the crowd.]

JS:  Greatness Personified is on again!  Langseth's bending that ankle! 
Twisting that ankle!  

[Destiny howls in pain, clawing the canvas with both hands, trying to
drag himself towards the ropes as Langseth grits his teeth, trying to
keep the hold applied.]

JS:  That hold is on deep, Todd!  I don't know if Destiny can get out of
this!

[Destiny again tries to roll through it but Langseth rolls with it,
dropping to his back and scissoring the leg on the roll-through!]

JS:  He's got the anklelock on and now he's got the legs grapevined as
well!  Both men are down on the mat!  There's no way out of this, Todd. 
There's absolutely no way out of this!

[Langseth nods his head wildly, screaming like a banshee as he twists
the badly-injured ankle.]

"QUUUUUUUIT!!  GIVE UP!!  QUIT, YOU SON OF A BITCH!"

JS:  Fans, I apologize for that.  Strong words can come out in the
course of a match like this.  Langseth has the hold on - he's got in
deep... can Destiny hang on?

[The Las Vegas native smashes his arms into the mat, screaming in pain. 
He tries to twist his torso, trying to get to his back to alleviate the
pressure but the legs wrapped around his lower body prevent it.  And
slowly, Destiny starts to fade.]

JS:  The Greatness Personified was taught to Mark Langseth by Gabriel
Whitecross and over the years, it's claimed more victims than we have
time to name.  Could we be about to add Shane Destiny's name to that
list, Todd?

TM:  Like you said, there's no way out of this.  Destiny's starting to
fade!  That ankle may be broken already!

[The arms slowly fade, no longer pumping the air to try and find a way
out but just flat down on the canvas, Langseth with his eyes closed as
he continue to bend and twist the ankle...]

JS:  The ref is down on the mat... the ref is checking on Destiny...

[The ref lifts one of Destiny's limp arms, watching it slump down to the
mat...

...and springs to his feet, calling for the bell.]

JS:  What the...?

TM:  The ref just stopped the match!  It's over!

JS:  Did Destiny give up?

[The referee moves to ringside, speaking with Ken Graham.]

KG:  The referee has ruled that Shane Destiny has lost consciousness and
is unable to continue.  Therefore, your winner of this Hold Versus Hold
showdown...

MAAAAAARRRRRK LAAAAAAANGSETH!

[Langseth rolls to his knees, throwing both arms in the air in triumph
as the crowd howls with boos.  He looks on in shock, shaking his head at
the jeering fans.  He slumps over, exhausted but victorious.]

JS:  Mark Langseth has won... but-

TM:  But what?  You heard the announcement.  Destiny's unable to
continue!

JS:  I heard it but...

[Langseth climbs to his feet, looking on with a mixture of puzzlement
and annoyance at the jeering crowd.  He glares at the official, his arm
held out.  The referee finally gets the hint, grasping the wrist to lift
Langseth's arm into the air.]

TM:  What's your problem, Stegglet?  Mark Langseth just won this match
fair and square - clean as a whistle - in the center of the ring.  He
won Hold Versus Hold.  He showed the whole world that the Greatness
Personified is the greatest hold on the planet.

JS:  But he didn't make the man tap out!  He didn't make Shane Destiny
submit!  I was under the impression that to win this match, you had to
make your opponent submit!

TM:  It's not an I Quit match - it's a Hold Versus Hold match and Mark
Langseth certainly just won this match WITH his hold!  He won with
Greatness Personified!

JS:  I don't know, Todd.  I think it's kind of a hollow victory.  I
think it's-

[Stegglet is interrupted by Mark Langseth who was walking behind him. 
He grabs Stegglet by the collar, jerking him to his feet to shout at
him.]

ML: He LOST! Destiny LOST! I'm the better man here! I won! I made him
pass out! I WON!

[Langseth shoves Stegglet back towards the apron, pointing a warning
finger as he marches away.]

TM:  See?  He won.

JS:  If you - and he - say so.  But I think a reaction like that just
proves that Mark Langseth wanted more than that.  He wanted more of a
victory than that.

[The Hall of Famer is still shaking his head, muttering to himself as he
walks away from Stegglet...

...and finds himself face to face with a solemn-looking Joe Petrow who
has what appears to be a business card outstretched.]

JS:  What's going on here?

[Langseth looks at Petrow long and hard...

...and then grabs the card, waving him on.  Petrow steps over the
barricade, joining Langseth at ringside.  He grabs the Hall of Famer by
the wrist, lifting his hand in victory as the crowd jeers.]

JS:  What in the... is Mark Langseth joining forces with Joe Petrow?  Is
that what we're seeing here?

TM:  That's a Dream Team, Steggs!  Two of the greatest of all time
standing side by side!  If those two are working together, we just
witnessed wrestling history going down before our eyes!

JS:  But Langseth... I thought he had changed his ways, Todd!

TM:  Oh, cry me a river.  That's real sweet, Stegglet.  But Mark
Langseth has always been one of the smartest men in our sport.  If he
thinks Joe Petrow can help him, to hell with what these whining fans
think!

JS:  Unbelievable.  Fans, we've got to take a quick break but we'll be
right back with more AWA action!

[Close on an angry Mark Langseth stomping back up the aisle, a smirking
Joe Petrow trailing close behind as we fade to black.

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

"Have you ever dreamed of fame?"

[Cut a little closer.]

"Of glory?"

[A little closer.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Two young students are grappling on the canvas.]

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

You want to wrestle!"

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

...and then come back up to ringside where Gordon Myers and Bucky Wilde
are standing.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans.  It's been a wild and exciting night of action
here at SuperClash II LIVE on WKIK but we've still got three big matches
to come, Bucky.

BW:  Two titles matches and a retirement match.

GM:  Retirement match?  This is a Texas Death Match.

BW: Yeah but when Calisto Dufresne gets done with Tin Can Rust, that old
man will be looking for the local retirement village.

GM:  Give me a break.  Fans, it was one year ago at this very event that
Calisto Dufresne threw fire in the eye of Tin Can Rust's best friend,
City Jack.  One year ago that has driven Rust into such a rage - it can
only be satiated with this Texas Death Match.  Tin Can Rust has refused
to speak to our backstage reporter tonight, pledging to do his talking
inside the ring... most likely with his clenched fists.  Jason Dane is
standing by right now, trying to get some final words from the
Ladykiller.  Jason?

[We crossfade back to the locker room area where Jason Dane is standing
by a door marked "DUFRESNE."]

JD:  Thanks, Gordon.  As you can see, I'm outside the locker room door
of Calisto Dufresne, trying to get him to come out to talk to us.  I've
been knocking on this door for several minutes now to no luck but...
well, let's give it one more shot.

[Dane turns, pounding on the door with his fist.  He waits a moment for
a reply before shrugging his shoulders, turning back to the camera.]

JD:  It appears that Calisto Dufresne wants no part of the press here
tonight at SuperClash.  Gordon, Bucky - back to-

[The door abruptly swings open.  Calisto Dufresne walks through.  He's
wearing his ring gear but it's covered by a pair of sweat pants and a
windbreaker jacket that hangs open.]

JD:  Mr. Dufresne, you're about to step into the ring against your worst
enemy in this sport, Tin Can Rust - a man who has pledged to bloody and
batter you in the middle of the ring tonight.  Your thoughts?

[Dufresne looks nervous, wild-eyed and a bit frantic.  He speaks very
quickly.]

CD:  Out there?  With him?  I don't think so.  This whole thing... all
of it... bad misunderstanding.  I'm not fighting Rust tonight... or any
night.  In fact, I refuse to ever get in the ring with Tin Can Rust
again.

JD:  But you signed a contract to face him tonight!  The Championship
Committee will-

CD:  What?  Fine me?  Suspend me?  Sue me?

[Dufresne snorts.]

CD:  Let 'em.  I'm outta here.

[The Ladykiller shoves past Dane, heading down the hallway.]

JD:  Fans, it appears as though Calisto Dufresne has opted to LEAVE the
building here tonight rather than face Tin Can Rust!  We're going to -
let's follow him, guys!

[The cameraman follows after Dane, trudging down a hallway in the back
of the Fair Park Coliseum as they try to keep up with the fleeing
Dufresne who rounds a corner...]


"CRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASH!"


[Dufresne leaps backwards, having narrowly avoided what is now a
splintered piece of plywood.]

"YOU?!  YOU'RE CRAZY!"

[Dufresne backpedals, shaking his head as Tin Can Rust emerges from
around the corner, holding a piece of broken wood in his hands.  He
throws it aside as he stalks towards the Southern Syndicate member like
a villain from a horror movie.]

JD:  Pull back... pull back...

[The cameraman freezes in his tracks, backing off to show Dufresne
walking steadily backwards.]

"Look... come on... let's be reasonable here..."

[Rust keeps on walking, stalking towards him.]

"Come on!  There's gotta be something we can do!  I'm a very rich man!"

[One-half of the first AWA National Tag Team Champions continues to
pursue, sending Dufresne looking over his shoulder as he backpedals down
the hallway.]

"I'm not doing this!  You can't make me!"

[Suddenly, a metal garbage can goes sailing through the air, smacking
Dufresne in the upper body and knocking him down to his rear.  Tin Can
Rust continues to approach, grabbing the garbage can off the floor as he
draws near...

...and SMASHES it over the head of Dufresne as he turns to flee,
knocking him forward!

Dufresne grunts and groans at the trash can to the head as Rust pulls
him up by the hair, dragging him through tbe backstage area.]

JD:  Gordon, Bucky... they're heading your way!

[A quick cut reveals Tin Can Rust walking into the Fair Park Coliseum,
dragging Dufresne by the hair into the building to the roar of the
crowd.  As they get several feet down the aisle, Dufresne buries a right
hand into the midsection.  A second one breaks Rust's grip on the hair
and a third sends Rust falling back into the rope barricade being used
to form an aisleway.]

GM:  Thanks, Jason - and they're here in Dallas, Texas for this Texas
Death Match!  Tin Can Rust and Calisto Dufresne, looking to polish off
one of the fiercest rivalries in all of the AWA.

[Rushing forward, Dufresne throws a big boot into the jaw of Rust,
toppling him over the rope barricade and into the seats.  Stepping over
the ropes, the Ladykiller moves to join his rival in the stands.  He
promptly shoves aside a couple of vocal fans who impede his progress,
throwing a haymaker down at the kneeling Rust.]

GM:  Our cameras are right in there in the crowd to make sure you don't
miss a moment of this action, fans... ohh!  Big right hand by Dufresne!

[Turning away from Rust, Dufresne grabs a fan's tray of food...

...and SLAMS it down over the head of Tin Can Rust, leaving a smear of
nacho cheese dripping down his forehead.]

GM:  Well, that won't hurt... getting hit with a cardboard tray...

BW:  No, but it'll sting the pride for sure.  And for someone like Tin
Can Rust who can't stand the thought of even being in this Texas Death
Match, it could be a major blow.

GM:  Can't stand the thought... what are you going on about now?

BW:  Hah!  I thought you were supposed to be the historian around here,
Gordo!

[A cackling Dufresne pulls Rust off the floor by the arm, jabbing a
finger in his face...

...and EATING a right hand in response that sends him stumbling
backwards!]

GM:  Big right hand!

[Rust promptly hooks Dufresne under the arm, grabbing him around the
neck with the other arm...

...and HURLS him over the row of chairs, sending him crashing spinefirst
down onto the steel seats!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  DUFRESNE'S SPINE MEETS THE STEEL AND YOU COULD HEAR THAT ONE DOWN
THE ROAD!

[The grizzled veteran reaches up, wiping his forehead as he steps over
the chairs, standing atop the seatback as he reaches down to grab
Dufresne...

...who buries a thumb in the eye!]

GM:  Ohhh!  Immediately to the eye!

BW:  That's become a trademark of Calisto Dufresne.  He wants the
National Title and he doesn't care who the heck he has to send runnin'
to the seeing eye dog shop on the way to it.  And if he can put Rust in
there too?  Whew.  He'll be walkin' on clouds come Christmas.

[Reaching up, he grabs the front of Rust's gear, yanking hard and
sending him sprawling over the chairs and into the next row of seats. 
The fans part to allow Rust to hit the steel and concrete floor before
rushing around him.]

GM:  Big leverage move by the Ladykiller!  He used Rust's tights to get
a big edge on him...

BW:  And for an old man like Rust, a fall like that can do major damage.
 He might've broken a hip there.

GM:  Nothing funny about that, Bucky.

[Dufresne sits up in the middle of the jeering crowd, smirking as he
looks down at the floored Rust.  The Avery Island native gets up,
stepping into the next row.  He reaches down, dragging Rust up by the
arm...

...and pulling him into a standing front facelock!]

BW:  WHAM, BAM-

[But Rust isn't having any part of that, shoving Dufresne backwards,
sending him sprawling into the seats.  Rust rises up, shaking his head
in disbelief as he crawls over the chairs to pull Dufrense off the floor
by the hair...

...and pastes him with a right hand to the temple!  The crowd roars as
Rust throws blow after blow after blow to the skull outside the ring.]

GM:  Tin Can Rust is all over Dufresne!  He's smackin' him around out on
the floor!

[After several more blows, Rust drags Dufresne to his feet by the hair. 
He waves an arm, asking the crowd to clear a path as he drags the
Ladykiller closer to the barricade.]

GM:  Rust is taking him towards ringside and-

[The crowd ROARS as Rust hoists Dufresne up over his shoulder into
powerslam position.]

GM:  He's got Dufresne up but what's he gonna do with him?

[Rushing forward, Rust HURLS Dufresne over the railing, slamming him
down hard on the thinly-padded floor!  The crowd ROARS at the sight of
Dufresne being thrown down on the concrete.]

GM:  Good grief!  Dufresne sounded like a hunk of meat being shoved off
the kitchen counter right there!

[Rust slings a leg over the barricade, coming after his rival.  He drags
him off the floor by the arm, dragging him towards the ropes and hurling
him under the ropes into the ring.]

GM:  Dufresne's in... and so is Rust!

[The crowd mockingly cheers the official who calls for the bell as soon
as both men step into the ring.  Rust is in no mood for jokes though as
he delivers a hard kick to the ribs, forcing Dufresne to roll under the
ropes on the opposite side of the ring, slumping to the apron.]

GM:  Dufresne's out on the apron...

[Rust leans over the ropes, dragging Dufresne to his feet...

...where Dufresne again buries a thumb in the eye, blinding Rust.  The
Ladykiller promptly grabs Rust by the back of the neck, dropping down
off the apron, snapping Rust backwards and down to the canvas!]

GM:  Nice counter by the Ladykiller!

[Dufresne quickly rolls in, diving into a cover.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!! 

[But Rust slips out of the pin attempt easily.]

GM:  And this seems like a good time to tell you the rules for this one.
 These two men will battle until one of them scores a pinfall or
submission.  After a decision, the other man has until the count of ten
to get back to his feet or the match is over.

[Dufresne quickly grabs Rust by the head, smashing closed fists into his
temple before shoving him back down to the mat and applying another
lateral press.]

GM:  One!  Two!  

[Rust powers out, throwing Dufresne off of him.]

GM:  Tin Can Rust is out at two - and I can't help but notice Ben
Waterson is absent from ringside for this one, Bucky.

BW:  He certainly is.  There's a National Title match later tonight he
has to be out here for.  I'm sure he and Stevie Scott are discussing
strategy.

GM:  Shouldn't Waterson be making time for ALL of his clients?

BW:  The National Title is the most important thing in the wrestling
world.  Without it, the Southern Syndicate loses a lot of their status
as the most elite group in the sport.  Keeping that title is the number
one goal for them here tonight at SuperClash II.

GM:  I see.

[Dufresne delivers a few stomps to the ribs before dragging Rust off the
mat, shoving him back into the corner.  He kicks at the torso a few
times before grabbing Rust by the wrist...]

GM:  Irish whip... here he comes!

[The Ladykiller charges from corner to corner, smashing home a running
clothesline across the chest.  Rust staggers out into a boot to the
gut...]

GM:  Here it comes!

[Dufresne promptly hooks a front facelock, ready to deliver his big
DDT...

...but Rust charges forward, smashing Dufresne's back against the
buckles!]

GM:  OHH!  HE SENDS HIM BACK TO THE CORNER!!

[Squaring up, Rust throws his heavy hands into the ribs of Dufresne,
first to the right side of the body then to the left.  The crowd roars
for Rust treating the Ladykiller like a heavy bag before grabbing the
wrist, firing Dufresne across...]

GM:  Oh!  He hits the corner hard!

[But as the Ladykiller staggers out, Rust rushes forward yet again and
smashing him with a running clothesline of his own.]

GM:  Down goes the Ladykiller!

[He scrambles back up, getting knocked right back down with another
clothesline.]

GM:  Down he goes again!

[But he gets right back up, Rust rushing him for a third time...

...and running RIGHT into a superkick that knocks him flat!]

GM:  SUPERKICK!  OUT OF NOWHERE!!

[Dufresne lunges into a lateral press, hooking the leg.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR-

[Rust fires a shoulder off the mat at two, sending Dufresne into a
questioning frenzy at the near fall.]

GM:  That was a lot closer than I thought it would be.  

BW:  He caught Rust off-guard with that superkick and almost stole a
pinfall.  But a pinfall's not enough in this one tonight, Gordo.  You
gotta have the ten count too.

[Pushing Rust down to the mat, Dufresne leaps skyhigh, dropping a knee
across the chest.  He re-applies the press, reaching back to grab a
leg.]

GM:  That's one!  That's two!

[But Rust is out at two again, leaving Dufresne to scream and shout at
the official who simply shrugs and holds up two fingers.  The Ladykiller
leans down, dragging Rust up to his feet where he starts to pull him
into a front facelock but Rust simply picks him up, his arms wrapped
around the waist...

...and rushes forward, DRIVING Dufresne spinefirst into the buckles!]

GM:  OHHH!  INTO THE CORNER AGAIN!!

[Leaning forward, Rust grabs the middle rope.  He slings himself
forward, smashing the shoulder into the midsection.  He holds there,
pushing the air out of Dufresne...

...and then repeats the process, driving his shoulder into the ribcage
again!]

GM:  Another shoulder to the body! 

BW:  He's trying to knock the wind out of the Ladykiller.  It's a smart
move.  Remember, Tin Can Rust made his debut in pre-historic times so he
needs to do quite a bit of work to get Dufresne down to his stamina
levels.

[Still holding the middle rope, Rust smashes his shoulder into the gut
again and again and again to the cheers of the crowd.  As he backs away
and Dufresne stumbles out of the corner, Rust hooks his arms around the
waist...]

GM:  Wait a second!

[Rust suddenly pops his hips, spinning Dufresne through the air, and
smashing him down to the mat in a belly-to-belly slam.]

GM:  METROBOOM!  A little bit of a shout-out to his old friend City
Jack!

[Rust throws himself across Dufresne, reaching back to hook a leg.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!!  THRE-

[The crowd groans as Dufresne throws a shoulder off the mat before the
three count comes down.  A frustrated Rust pushes up to his knees, hands
on his hips.  He pulls Dufresne up by the ponytail, smashing him with a
right hand near the eye before flinging him into the buckles.  With a
shout, Rust mounts the buckles...]

GM:  Listen to these fans here in Dallas!

[The capacity crowd counts along as Rust rains down blows to the skull.]

"ONE!"
"TWO!"
"THREE!"
"FOUR!"
"FIVE!"
"SIX!"
"SEV-"

"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

[The count is interrupted by Dufresne wriggling free and SLAMMING his
arm up into the groin of Tin Can Rust.  With Rust doubled up on the
middle rope, Dufresne reaches up and shoves him over the ropes, sending
Rust crashing down to a heap on the floor!]

GM:  OHHH!  A LONG WAY DOWN FOR TIN CAN RUST!!

[Sensing blood in the water, Dufresne rolls under the ropes to the
floor.  He promptly approaches the timekeeper's table, shoving the
timekeeper down to the floor and grabbing his chair.]

GM:  Uh oh.  Dufresne's got a chair!

[Folding up the chair, Dufresne approaches the on-all-fours Tin Can
Rust...]


"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  STEEL CHAIR TO THE BACK OF RUST!!

[Dufresne stands over the downed Rust, a sick sneer on his face as he
throws the chair down to the floor.  Grabbing Rust by the hair, he hurls
him under the ropes, quickly rolling in behind him to apply a cover.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREE!!

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

[The Ladykiller springs to his feet, quickly ordering the official to
start the ten count.]

GM:  A hard fall off the ropes to the floor followed by a vile shot with
that steel chair across the back... that made Tin Can Rust easy picking
for Calisto Dufresne right there and now, the question becomes - can Tin
Can Rust beat the ten count?

[The crowd roars in support as the referee's count hits four.  Rust
starts to stir, rolling to his stomach and slipping his arms under his
chin.]

GM:  He's trying to get off the mat... up to his knees at six...

[And Dufresne decides that Rust's arrival to his feet is a given,
rushing in to hook a loose side headlock where he delivers some hard
shots to the head.]

GM:  Rust was going to beat the count so Dufresne decided to beat him to
it, hooking that headlock... big shots to the face by the Southern
Syndicate member...

[Rust wraps his arms around the waist of Dufresne, trying to hoist him
off the mat...

...but a well-placed thumb to the eye stops that one short.]

GM:  Come on!  Keep him out of the eyes, ref!

BW:  The ref can't do a thing about it, Gordo.  If Dufresne wants to
take a pencil out and jab it clear through his eyeball, that's totally
legal tonight in this one.

GM:  Let's hope it doesn't come to that.

[Dufresne smirks as he pulls in the side headlock again, still throwing
blows to the head...

...until he's suddenly shoved off, smashing chestfirst into the
buckles!]

GM:  OHH!  INTO THE CORNER!!

[The Ladykiller staggers backwards into the waiting arms of Tin Can Rust
who hoists Dufresne into the air, dropping him down on the back of his
head and neck with a belly-to-back suplex!]

GM:  High impact suplex by Tin Can Rust!  And that might Dufresne ripe
for a pin attempt...

[But Rust is having none of that, kneeling down next to Dufresne where
he pulls his head off the mat by the ponytail and peppers him with
punches to the skull.]

GM:  No pins by Rust!  He's not done with Dufresne, Bucky!

BW:  Like we said, there's a lot of bad blood in this one and Rust may
be lookin' to spill a little of it out all over this ring before he's
done, Gordo.

[Climbing to his feet, Rust drags Dufresne up as well.  He grabs the
arm, firing Dufresne towards the ropes where a staggered Ladykiller
grabs the ropes, preventing the rebound.]

GM:  Dufresne hangs on to the ropes - look out!

[Rust rushes towards him, a clothesline aimed at his rival's head but
Dufresne drops down, pulling the top rope with him and sending Rust
tumbling over the ropes and down to the thinly-padded concrete floor
below!]

GM:  OHHHHH!  A HARD FALL TO THE FLOOR FOR RUST!!

BW:  And that's not the first time this match that he's hit the floor
like that.  You know those have to be taking a lot out of him, Gordo.  

GM:  They certainly do.

[Dufresne drops to the mat, rolling out to the floor to join his rival. 
He holds onto the bottom rope, delivering stomp after stomp, kick after
kick into the torso of Rust to keep him from getting back to his feet.]

GM:  Dufresne is all over Rust out on the floor... now where's he going?

[An angry Dufresne storms away from Rust, searching the ringside area,
and returning with his discarded steel chair from earlier in the match.]

GM:  He's got the chair again!

BW:  He does!  And Rust is completely laid out, Gordo!  He's down and
out and... where's he going?!

[The crowd buzzes as Tin Can Rust crawls underneath the ring, leaving
Dufresne standing with the chair overhead, completely puzzled as to
what's going on.]

GM:  Where did he go, Bucky?

BW:  He's under the damn ring, Gordo!  You saw it as well as I did!

GM:  But Dufresne didn't see it!  Dufresne is looking all over the place
for him!

[A quick camera cut reveals the wily Rust crawling out from under the
ring on the other side.  Dufresne, chair lowered, is stalking around the
ring, lifting the apron to check...

...but when he reaches Rust...]

GM:  WHOA!!

[...he gets a handful of powder right in the eyes!]

GM:  RUST!  RUST THROWS POWDER IN THE EYES!!

[A blinded Dufresne staggers away to the cheers of the fans as Rust
climbs to his feet...

...and picks up the discarded chair!]

GM:  RUST HAS GOT THE CHAIR!!

[He winds up with it...]


"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!"


GM:  RIGHT ACROSS THE BACK!!!

[He turns, shoving the chair under the ropes into the ring, and then
stalks towards the downed Dufresne, pulling him up by the ponytail.  He
grabs the arm, whipping the Ladykiller into the barricade.]

GM:  Ohh!  First the chair across the back and now Dufresne gets whipped
into the steel!  Two hard shots to the back on the Ladykiller and...
what in the world is Rust doing?

[The Kentucky native drops into a sloppy three point stance...

...and breaks into a run, as fast as his old body will carry him.]

GM:  HERE!  HE!  COMES!

[Dufresne raises up off the railing...

...just in time to eat a major spear tackle that sends him falling back
into the barricade which snaps off it's supports, toppling down and into
the front row!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  OH MY STARS, BUCKY!!

BW:  Rust puts Dufresne THROUGH the railing!

GM:  This is what a Texas Death Match is all about!  This is what the
AWA is all about!  Two men settling their differences like men do - with
one heck of a fight!

[The camera zooms in on the two men both sprawled across the steel
railing, the fans encircling them to shout their support or derision for
the two warriors.]

GM:  Both men are down... both men are hurting.  That was an absolutely
brutal moment, fans.  Tin Can Rust just delivered a hellacious spear
tackle that put Calisto Dufresne THROUGH the steel railing and into the
crowd!  I've never seen Rust do something like that!

BW:  I've never seen Rust ATTEMPT something like that.  Maybe if he'd
done that in his last Texas Death Match, he wouldn't be so afraid of
this one.

GM:  What is that all about?  What are you talking about?

BW:  Tin Can Rust has fought in only one Texas Death Match before,
Gordo... and it nearly ended his career.  In 2004, he fought Grant Stone
- yes, THAT Grant Stone - in Kentucky in a brutal brawl.  Rust won the
match... but only when Stone walked away from the match.  But Rust went
to a hospital that night for severe blood loss and a broken arm.  He
missed four months of action due to that one, Gordo, and after Calisto
Dufresne gets through with him tonight, he's gonna miss a heck of a lot
more time than that.

GM:  We'll see about that.

[Rust is the first to stir, rolling to his back, his chest heaving
quickly.]

GM:  We're closing in on fifteen minutes since these two started
fighting in the locker room area and you can see that's taking a
physical toll on Tin Can Rust.  He doesn't have the conditioning - the
stamina - of a man like Calisto Dufresne.

[But Rust sits up, bracing himself with his arms as he looks out at the
cheering crowd.  He nods his head to them, pushing up to his feet as
Dufresne rolls to his stomach...]

GM:  Rust grabs the hair... ohh!  Facefirst to the steel!

[The crowd roars as Rust pulls the head back, slamming it into the
fallen barricade again... and again... and again... before yanking
Dufresne's head back, screaming at him.]


"YOU WANT TO PUT ME IN A HOSPITAL?  YOU WANT TO TELL THE WORLD HOW BAD
YOU ARE FOR MESSIN' UP JACK?"


[He punctuates the question by smashing his face into the railing again.
 Pulling the Ladykiller up by the hair, he drags him over to the
timekeeper's table...

...and SMASHES his face into it!]

GM:  Facefirst to the table!

[Dufresne staggers away from the table, grabbing on to the steel
ringpost to stay on his feet...]

GM:  Look at Dufresne.  He can barely even stand right now, Bucky.

[Rust grabs him by the hair again, pulling him away from the post...

...but Dufresne battles out of the faceslam, throwing a few elbows back
into the ribs to escape.  Grabbing Rust by the hair, he turns the tables
and SLAMS Rust facefirst into the steel ringpost!]

GM:  OHHH!  FACEFIRST TO THE STEEL!!

[Rust slumps down to the floor to his knees, then falls facefirst to the
padded floor.  Dufresne falls back, leaning against the ring apron for a
moment...

...and then leaps up, stomping the back of Rust's skull to drive his
face into the unforgiving floor!]

GM:  Good grief!

[Dufresne leaps upon Rust, flipping him to his back to a loud crowd
reaction as they see a stream of blood coming from the skull of the
veteran.]

GM:  Something right there just split Tin Can Rust's head wide open.  I
don't know if it was the slam into the post or the leaping stomp on the
floor but Rust is busted open and he's bleeding profusely, fans!

[Dufresne grins as he kneels down, peppering the cut with clenched fists
to the jeers of the crowd.  With the blood really pouring from the
wound, Dufresne drags Rust off the mat, shoving him under the ropes into
the ring before rolling in after him.]

GM:  Both men are back inside the ring here in Dallas... Dufresne
quickly to his feet... measures his man...

[And a leaping kneedrop connects, Dufresne rolling through it in a front
roll.  He smirks at the crowd before crawling into a pin attempt on the
bloodied Rust.]

GM:  We've got one!  We've got two!  We've got thr- shoulder up at two!

[An angry Dufresne grabs the veteran by the hair, again pummeling the
cut forehead to increase the blood loss.]

BW:  Nothing wears a man out faster than seeing his blood pour out all
over the mat, Gordo.

GM:  Tin Can Rust is bleeding very badly now - back in Kentucky, they
used to call that the Rust Effect, Bucky.

BW:  Well, the Rust Effect is in FULL effect then, Gordo, because that
blood is pouring from his head like a faucet that got left on.

[Dufresne breaks out of the mount, dragging Rust to his feet...

...and hooking in a front facelock.]

GM:  He's going for it again!

BW:  If he hits it, it's over!

[Dufresne points to the jeering crowd, jerking a thumb at himself...

...and then gets backdropped down to the mat!  Big cheer!]

GM:  A desperation counter by Tin Can Rust to save himself...

BW:  But with the blood pouring down like that, you have to wonder for
how long, Gordo.  How long can Tin Can Rust avoid the Wham Bam Thank You
Ma'am?  How long can he avoid getting his lights turned out by the
future of this industry?

GM:  The future of this industry?  That's what Dufresne is to you?

BW:  You disagree?

GM:  Well, we can't deny that Dufresne's got a guaranteed Anywhere,
Anytime title shot in his back pocket.  We haven't even talked about
that, Bucky.  What are the odds we see that cashed in tonight?

BW:  I'd say they're about the same as the odds that Juan Vasquez wins
the National Title.

GM:  Are you saying that Dufresne wouldn't cash it in against Stevie
Scott?

BW:  The Southern Syndicate's solidarity is stronger than ever.  No way
that happens.

[As our announcers were bantering, Tin Can Rust had regained his feet. 
He grabs Dufresne's fallen ring jacket that he'd lost earlier in the
night, using it to wipe the blood from his eyes before throwing it to
the floor.  The grizzled veteran points a finger at Dufresne as he
slides backwards towards the corner, shaking his head...]

GM:  Dufresne's backing off!  I don't think he wants any more of Rust.

BW:  Or he's luring him into a trap!

GM:  I don't think- 

[But Bucky proves to be correct as Dufresne lunges forward, using his
speed advantage to hook a single leg, lifting Rust into the air,
spinning away from the buckles...

...and DROPS him facefirst on the mat!]

BW:  FLAPJACK!!  THE ONE-MAN FLAPJACK!!

[And Dufresne quickly rolls into a cover, tightly hooking a leg.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!!  THRE-

[But again Rust powers out a shoulder to the cheers of the crowd.  An
irate Dufresne springs to his feet, shouting at the official who
defiantly holds up two fingers.]

GM:  Dufresne thought he had him there but... oh no...

[The crowd's buzzing echoes Gordon's thoughts.]

GM:  Dufresne's got the chair!  He's got the steel chair!

[Standing over Rust's head, he slowly raises the chair higher and
higher...]

GM:  No, no, no!  Don't do this!

[But while he's posing with the chair back, Rust balls up his right hand
and SLAMS it into the groin!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


BW:  LOW BLOW!!  RUST CAUGHT HIM LOW!!

GM:  A desperation move by Tin Can Rust!  He saw Dufresne with that
chair!  He knew what was coming next!

[Dufresne drops the chair onto the mat, clutching his nether regions...

...and Rust pops up, hooking a front facelock, and DRIVING Dufresne's
skull into the fallen chair!]

GM:  OHHH!  DDT!!  DDT!!!

[Rust shoves Dufresne to his back...

...and grins at the sight of blood streaming from the Ladykiller's
perfect face as well.]

GM:  He's busted open Dufresne!

BW:  And he looks... satisfied?

GM:  We know he wanted to torture Dufresne tonight... he wanted to hurt
him... he wanted to punish him... and maybe just maybe, he also wanted
to split his head wide open!

[Seemingly satisfied with his work, Rust drops into a cover.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREEEEEE!!!

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

[Rust rolls off the Ladykiller, taking a seat against the ropes as the
referee starts the ten count.]

GM:  The DDT on the chair claims Dufresne as a victim but now he's got
ten long seconds to get back to his feet.

BW:  They're only long seconds if you're watching your opponent get
counted down.  If you're Calisto Dufresne trying to break the count,
it's the ten shortest seconds of all time.

GM:  The count is up to three... Rust is leaning back and watching... he
wants to win this so badly.  On the one year anniversary of his partner
being blinded, he wants to show the world that Dufresne's not going to
get away with it.

BW:  That's so sweet I just might gag, Gordo.

GM:  The count to five now... Dufresne is still flat on his back,
staring up at the lights...

BW:  And if I were the Ladykiller, I might think about taking the dive
right here, Gordo.

GM:  What?!

BW:  Well, he still might have another match tonight.  The National
Title is a MUCH bigger deal than Tin Can Rust.  So what if he loses to
Rust if he walks out of Dallas, Texas with the National Title!

GM:  I just don't think Dufresne's massive ego would allow for that.  He
wants to beat Rust... heck, I think he NEEDS to beat Rust in his own
mind, Bucky.

[At the count of eight, Dufresne pushes himself off the mat, looking
dazed but able to get to a knee where the referee signals that he's
up...

...and Rust pulls him the rest of the way up, shoving him back into the
ropes.]

GM:  Dufresne's in the ropes... in comes Rust...

[A wild-eyed Rust wraps his hands around the throat of Dufresne,
blatantly choking him to the roar of the crowd.  After a few moments of
that, he winds up a right hand that DRILLS Dufresne on the jaw, sending
him sailing over the ropes to the apron!]

GM:  TIN JAW ROCKER!!  He caught all of that!

BW:  Luckily for Dufresne, he didn't go all the way to the floor.

[Rust turns to salute the cheering crowd...

...as the camera catches Dufresne dipping into the front of his pants.]

GM:  What in the... knucks!  Dufresne's got knucks!

BW:  Not sure what you're talking about, Gordo.  I don't see anything.

GM:  Open your eyes then because Calisto Dufresne just put brass
knuckles on his hand...

[Rust approaches, completely unaware that the kneeling Dufresne is ready
to throw a knuck-covered punch.  He leans over the ropes, grabbing the
Ladykiller by the ponytail...

...but Dufresne wildly spins, throwing the biggest punch of his life to
catch Rust squarely on the jaw!]

GM:  OHHHH!  

BW:  IT'S OVER!!  IT'S OVER!!!  RING THE BELL!!

GM:  He caught all of that!  He hit Rust right on the jaw with the brass
knuckles and I think he may be out!

[Dufresne dives back into the ring, throwing himself across Tin Can
Rust.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREE!!

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

[A frantic Dufresne rolls off Rust, screaming at the official to count.]

GM:  Dufresne orders the ten count to be started.  He's trying to end
this thing as quickly as possible.

[While the referee counts, Dufresne pulls the knuckles off and tosses
them to the floor.  He crouches in the corner, looking on with
anticipation as the count gets closer and closer to ten.]

GM:  The count's up to four... now to five... Rust hasn't moved a bit
yet, Bucky.

BW:  And he's not going to!  Calisto Dufresne's got knockout power in
that right hand and he just proved it tonight in Dallas, Texas!

GM:  Knockout power?  Give me a break.  He hit the man with a loaded
fist!

[The count hits seven...

...and Rust starts to stir, rolling to his stomach.]

GM:  He's getting up!  Tin Can Rust is trying to get up!  Come on, Rust!

[The crowd rallies behind Tin Can Rust as well, urging him to get to his
feet before the ten count falls as the referee shouts "EIGHT!"]

GM:  We're up to eight - Rust is extending those arms like a push-up,
trying to-

[But before we can find out if he'll make it, Dufresne rushes forward,
shoving the referee aside.  He yanks Rust the rest of the way up to his
feet, hooking the front facelock...]

GM:  NO!

[He lifts Rust into the air, holding him horizontal to the mat for a
split second, and DRIVES him skullfirst into the canvas!]

BW:  WHAM, BAM, THANK YOU, MA'AM!  HE GOT ALL OF IT!!

[Dufresne quickly flips Rust to his back, planting a knee on the chest
as he orders a three count.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREE!!

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

GM:  He hit the DDT and Tin Can Rust went out like a light!

BW:  And as we saw twelve nights ago on Saturday Night Wrestling, that
DDT always yields a ten count, daddy!

GM:  Was it really only twelve nights ago?  Seems like a month.

[Dufresne rolls away, taking a knee as he furiously gestures for the
referee to start counting again which he obliges.]

GM:  Here we go... this could be it right here, fans.  I don't know if
Rust can get up from this.  Considering the punishment he's taken in
this match... the blood loss... can Rust get up in time?  Can he beat
the ten count?

[Dufresne is counting along with the official, demanding a quicker count
as the referee hits three.]

GM:  The count is up to three...

BW:  And Rust hasn't moved an inch.  He's flat on his back, wondering
why in the world he ever stepped up to face Calisto Dufresne.  Dufresne
was done with him, Gordo.  He could've walked away and lived out his
golden years - what's left of them - in peace.  But no, he wants Calisto
Dufresne.  Well, he got him.  How's it feel, Rust?  How's it feel to
know you let your friend and the fans down?

GM:  You're really loving this, aren't you?

BW:  As a matter of fact, I am.

GM:  The count is to five... now to six... 

[Dufresne waves his arm, trying to urge the referee to count faster.]

GM:  Tin Can Rust has been through so much in the past year -
physically, emotionally, mentally - I just don't know how much he's got
left in him.  Can he get up?  Can he keep the fight going?  Can he-

BW:  EIGHT!  THE COUNT IS AT EIGHT!!

[The Ladykiller can be heard pleading with the official as Rust slowly
lifts an arm, trying to wedge it behind him to get some leverage to push
himself off the mat...]

GM:  Come on, Rust!  Listen to these fans trying to implore Tin Can Rust
to get to his feet!  They want to see Dufresne get what he's got coming
to him.  They want to see-

BW:  NINE!!

GM:  Will you stop interrupting me?

BW:  I'm sorry but no one wants to hear your grand dramatic statements
right now.  We're about to see Calisto Dufresne defeat Tin Can Rust with
the greatest finishing move in the sport!

[Rust starts to push himself up...

...but slumps back down, sending Dufresne into a leaping celebration as
the ref counts ten.]

GM:  He's done it.  I can't believe it but he's done it.  Calisto
Dufresne, bloodied and battered, has defeated Tin Can Rust in a Texas
Death Match, fans.  It may have taken a pair of brass knuckles and a-

BW:  It doesn't matter what it took!  This was a Texas Death Match! 
Dufresne could've lived up to the name of it and fried Rust in an
electric chair and it would have been totally legal.  The fact is - at
the end of the day, it was the Wham, Bam, Thank You, Ma'am being put to
great use and showing the world who the future of this business is!

GM:  Rust is down.  He's gotta be upset with himself.  He gave it one
heck of an effort but Dufresne got the better of him on this night in
Dallas.  He's got nothing to be ashamed of but you know he wanted more
out of this one, Bucky.

BW:  Maybe this will be what Rust needs to go back to the retirement
home next to his buddy.  Step aside, old man, because the future is now!

[Dufresne pauses his celebration, looking down at the still-downed
Rust...

...and a sick grin crosses his face.]

GM:  I don't like the looks of this, Bucky.

[Suddenly, Dufresne drops to a knee, reaching down to unlace his boot...

...and pulls out something very familiar to AWA fans!]

GM:  He's got a lighter!  He's got that damn lighter!

BW:  We're about to get a re-enactment of one year ago!  He's gonna burn
up Rust and blind him in front of all these idiot fans here in Dallas! 
You people wanted a Texas Death Match?  Well, you got it!  His blood is
on your hands!

GM:  Stop that right now, Bucky!  This is not the fault of the fans in
Dallas or anywhere else.  This is Calisto Dufresne, a maniacal Calisto
Dufresne, trying to permanently injure another man.  He wants the world
to see what he's capable of and... I can't believe this...

[The official puts himself between Dufresne and Rust, shaking his head
vehemately...

...and EATS a right hand to the jaw for his efforts!]

GM:  Ohhh!  Come on!  That's gotta be a fine, Bucky!

BW:  Maybe but that leaves Dufresne all alone inside that ring with Tin
Can Rust!  It leaves Rust to his mercy and if the last year has shown us
anything, Calisto Dufresne has NO mercy, daddy!

[With a twisted smirk on his face, Dufresne ignites the lighter.  He
slowly walks towards the downed Rust who has fallen back into the
corner, an arm weakly raised in an attempt to defend himself...]

GM:  Get some officials out here!  Get some help out here right now!  We
can NOT have this happen again!  We can NOT have this kind of crap
happen two years in a row!

[Suddenly, the crowd breaks into a loud roar.]

GM:  The fans are reacting to something.. I can't see-

[And suddenly, the whole world breaks into a loud roar as one man slides
into the ring.  He rises up, standing between the fallen Tin Can Rust
and the attacking Calisto Dufresne.

The man wears a pair of blue jeans, a black t-shirt, and work boots.  In
his hand?  A Louisville Slugger pointed directly at Dufresne whose eyes
are as wide as the Grand Canyon at this point.

The look on the man's face is quite simply, murderous.  

Oh, and part of his face is obscured by a black eyepatch.]

GM:  OH MY GOD!!  OH MY GOD!!

BW:  WHAT THE HELL IS _HE_ DOING HERE?!

GM:  CITY JACK!!  CITY JACK IS IN THE RING!! 

[Dufresne shakes his head in disbelief, his arms raising up to plead
with the furious-looking fan favorite who has whipped the entire state
of Texas into a frenzy!]

GM:  CALISTO DUFRESNE LOOKS LIKE SOMEONE JUST WALKED OVER HIS GRAVE!!

[And suddenly, Jack lunges for him, the wooden baseball bat reared back
and ready to fly...

He takes a full swing at Dufresne's head, a blow narrowly avoided when
Dufresne drops down to the mat.  

Jack rears back again, swinging down like an axe... another blow
narrowly avoided when Dufresne rolls from the ring!]

GM:  GET HIM, JACK!  GET HIM!!

[A sea of AWA officials swarm the aisle in the ring, pushing Dufresne
back up the aisle and away from City Jack who is standing on the middle
rope, pointing the bat in his direction.]

GM:  My god, if that's not a threat, I don't know what is!  City Jack
has returned here in Dallas... City Jack has returned here at
SuperClash!  It's been one year since he's wrestled and... my god, he
wants Dufresne's blood, Bucky!

BW:  He wants more than his blood.  I've NEVER seen City Jack look like
that.  He's that goofy, fun-loving, playful guy... but not this City
Jack.  This City Jack wants blood.  This City Jack wants vengeance. 
This City Jack wants a year of his life back!

GM:  Calisto Dufresne is running out of here... running from the ring
like a thief in the night...

BW:  Can you blame him?  That maniac's got a baseball bat and is ready
and willing to use it, Gordo!

GM:  I can't believe it.  I can not believe that we just saw City Jack
return to the AWA!  His eye is still covered by a patch but... I can't
believe it, Bucky.

BW:  He saved his friend... he saved Tin Can Rust from suffering the
same fate as he did...

[Convinced he won't be getting his hands on Calisto Dufresne on this
night, Jack throws the bat down to the mat, moving to the corner to
check on his fallen friend.]

GM:  What a moment!  What a night!  And we're not done yet!  This is one
of the greatest moments - one of the greatest nights - in AWA history,
fans!  And we'll be right back with two big title matches right after
this!

[With Jack kneeling next to a downed Tin Can Rust and the crowd roaring
their support for the returning hero, we fade to black...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And now, it can be yours!"

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

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

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

...and then back up to live action where Mark Stegglet is standing
backstage alongside the members of Rough N Ready. Dave Cooper and Eric
Matthew Somers are already dressed in their wrestling attire, each with
a title belt slung over his shoulder.]

MS: Rough N Ready, tonight you are set to face The Blonde Bombers in
your first defense of the AWA National tag team titles. Over the past
few weeks, we've seen you come after their bodyguard Crusher Glenn and,
more recently, you confronted the Masked Menace about his contract with
Larry Doyle to provide bodyguard services. Is it possible the two of you
are a bit concerned about Doyle trying to stack the deck against you?

DC: Mark, if I were you, I wouldn't be too quick to rush to judgment
about what Eric and I are thinking about.

MS: Well, we've seen what Larry Doyle has...

DC: Yes, Mark, I am well aware of the way Larry Doyle operates... I'm
also aware that his mouth is too big for his own good. But that was the
same way we saw opponents before us who tried to stir things up, and you
don't see those teams around any longer, do you?

MS: Well, Larry and his men seem a little more... how shall you say...
persistent.

DC: Nor would I expect anyone who wants to come after our titles to be
anything less than that. But what you have to remember is this: If you
plan to be persistent, you better make you sure aren't biting off more
than you can chew. There was a team before us that kept tossing warnings
about what would happen if we kept pushing their buttons, but you know
exactly what the outcome was. And tonight, you've got a couple of
egomaniacs being led around by a loudmouth who, while certainly talented
in their own way, aren't nearly as tough as Eric and I are. We've been
through much more than the Bombers have... really, when your only
adversary has been a couple of partying pretty boys, you can't say
you've been through hard times here.

MS: It sounds like you might be underestimating the Bombers a bit.

EMS: [slight grin] Mark, Mark... I never thought I'd see the day you'd
be sticking up for the Bombers.

MS: Well, I wasn't sticking up for...

EMS: [laughing] I'm sure you weren't... and no, we aren't going to
underestimate the Bombers. What Dave is saying is... we don't really
think they know what it's like to go through the school of hard knocks,
where you've been hit in the mouth multiple times and have to find a way
to respond. Well, believe me... we are gonna hit the Bombers in the
mouth, and we just might hit Larry Doyle in the mouth if he wants to get
involved.

MS: Yet what about the Menace... after all, he is working for Doyle
and...

DC: Mark, you know what we had to say to the Menace last time... and if
he really thinks about what we said to him, I don't think he's going to
be a problem for us... but he just might be a problem for Larry Doyle.
So if anybody needs to be worried about the Menace, I'd say it's the man
who hired him in the first place.

We're done here, Mark... let's go, Eric.

[With that, Rough N Ready walk off.]

MS:  Those two men seem very determined to send a message in this, their
first defense of the National Tag Team Titles.  Todd, Uncle Jon... back
to you.

[We crossfade to ringside where Jon Stegglet and Todd Michaelson are
standing - the latter of which is chuckling softly.]

TM:  "Uncle Jon."

JS:  Quiet, you.  Professional wrestling fans all over the globe have
marveled at the greatness of the AWA's tag team divison for months,
Todd.

TM:  Some of the best tag teams in the world stand in this division -
all shooting for those golden belts that rest on the shoulders of Dave
Cooper and Eric Matthew Somers, Rough N Ready.

JS:  Cooper and Somers are the fourth team to hold those title belts
since their creation and tonight, they'll try to prevent the Blonde
Bombers led by Larry Doyle from becoming the fifth.

TM:  Were you watch Cooper and Somers right then, Steggs?  Were you
listening to them?

JS:  What are you getting at?

TM:  Those two men are determined.  They're focused.  And quite
honestly, I think the Blonde Bombers may be in for a rougher night than
anyone thought.

JS:  We're about to find out because it's title defense time here at
SuperClash II so let's go up to Ken Graham for the introductions!

[Cut to the ring to the pink-tuxedoed Graham.]

KG:  The following tag team match is set for one fall with a one hour
time limit and is for the AWA NATIONAL TAG TEAM TITLES!

[The St. Louis crowd responds with a loud roar for the title match!]

KG:  Introducing first... they are the challengers...

#REACH OUT AND TOUCH FAITH#

[The crowd explodes into jeers as Larry Doyle leads the Blonde Bombers
through the curtain accompanied by their rather large entourage of
Crusher Glenn and The Masked Menace.]

KG:  From Anywhere Larry Doyle Pleases...

[Doyle beams proudly at the new "hometown" for the Bombers.]

KG:  "Beautiful" Bobby and Love Machine Nova... 

They are the BLONNNNNNNDE BOMMMMMBERRRRRS!

[Depeche Mode's "Personal Jesus" continues to rock the PA as the five
men make their way down the aisle to the ring, soaking up jeers all the
while.  Upon reaching ringside, Doyle climbs through the ropes alongside
his tag team while Glenn and the Menace take up protective positions out
on the arena floor.]

JS:  These are some of the most unpopular men in the entire AWA, Todd.

TM:  Popularity's overrated.  Sure, it's nice to have the fans cheer
you.  Who wouldn't like that?  But at the end of the day, it's about
winning matches, making money, and winning titles.  If Larry Doyle can
lead the Bombers to the National Tag Team Titles here tonight in St.
Louis, you can bet he won't care if he gets booed out of the building.

[Doyle certainly does seem to be enjoying the boos from the crowd as the
music fades and is replaced by "Knocking At Your Back Door" from Deep
Purple to a bigger mixture of cheers and boos from the crowd.]

KG:  And their opponents... at a total combined weight of 615 pounds and
hailing from Albuquerque, New Mexico... they are the AWA National Tag
Team Champions...

Dave Cooper and Eric Matthew Somers...

ROUGH!  N!  READY!

[The crowd erupts with a mixed reaction - more cheers than boos - for
the veteran squad as they step out into the arena, a steely gaze in the
eyes of both men.  The title belts are slung over this shoulders.  The
two men turn to one another, exchanging a few final words...

...and then BOLT for the ring, rushing down the aisle past the roaring
fans.]

JS:  HERE THEY COME!  THE CHAMPS ARE HERE!!

[Cooper dives under the bottom rope, immediately cracking Baldwin with a
right hand on the jaw that knocks the Bomber flat.  The referee signals
for the bell as Somers steps up on the apron, climbing through the ropes
and promptly grabbing Nova around the throat...]

JS:  What in the-?!

[The big man hoists Nova sky high and DRIVES him down with a thunderous
chokeslam to the cheers of the crowd...

...and then turns to point at a cornered Larry Doyle who is still in the
ring!]

JS:  THE BOMBERS ARE DOWN AND DOYLE IS TRAPPED!!

[A frantic Doyle shakes his head, raising both arms to plead for mercy
as Cooper and Somers advance on him...]

TM:  Where the heck is Larry's protection?

[On cue, Glenn and the Menace leap up on the apron...

...and get knocked right back down with a running pair of shoulder
tackles!]

JS:  The protection is cleared out as well!

[But the momentary distraction was enough for Doyle to flee the ring,
leaving his men alone with the champions.  An angry Somers reaches down,
grabbing Nova by the throat and deadlifts him straight to his feet.]

JS:  Somers picks up Nova and- WHOA!

[Not wasting a moment, Somers hoists Nova overhead into a military
press...

...and rushes forward to HURL Nova over the ropes, sending him crashing
down on a shocked Glenn and Menace!  The crowd roars as Larry Doyle
loses his mind out on the floor!]

JS:  SOMERS CLEARS OUT THE PROTECTION!!

[In the meantime, Cooper is battering Baldwin with body shots in the
ropes before he grabs the wrist, firing him off to the ropes.]

JS:  Baldwin off the far side...

[Cooper scoops him up around the upper thighs, spinning and DRIVING
Baldwin down to the canvas!]

JS:  SPINEBUSTER!!

[Cooper springs up, throwing his arms apart to a big roar from the
crowd.  Leaning down, he grabs the legs of Baldwin, tying them up into a
Texas Cloverleaf, turning the Bomber over onto his stomach.]

JS:  CLOVERLEAF!!  IT'S ON IN THE MIDDLE OF THE RING!!

[A frantic Doyle dives under the ropes, grabbing the referee by the
ankle.]

TM:  Doyle's trying to save his team!

[But Eric Matthew Somers cuts that off by dropping a 350 pound elbow
down onto the back of Doyle's neck!]

JS:  OHHHHHH!

[Somers shoves Doyle back out to the floor in a heap as Baldwin
struggles and strains and screams and shouts...

...and finally taps!]


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


[The crowd ERUPTS in a roar for Cooper and Somers as they embrace in the
middle of the ring, glaring outside the ring where Nova pulls Baldwin to
the floor.  The fivesome retreats, carrying Doyle between them as the
champions celebrate.]

KG:  Your winners of the match... and STILL the AWA National Tag Team
Champions...

ROUGH!  N!  READY!

[The title belts are handed back to Cooper and Somers who stand in the
middle of the ring, clutching the belts to their chests.]

JS:  Now THAT'S a message, Todd!

TM:  With the Stampede Cup coming up in under a month - an event
designed to show us who the greatest tag team in the sport is - who is
going to tell Rough N Ready that they're not the best thing going today?

JS:  The number one contenders were just dispatched in just over a
minute!  

TM:  They got overwhelmed.  They were surprised by the aggressive start.
 Don't count the Bombers out yet, Steggs.

JS:  The Blonde Bombers have been defeated and when you look at Rough N
Ready, you are looking at the best tag team walking the Earth... but can
they retain that designation in just about a month at the Stampede Cup? 
That remains to be seen.  Fans, that's all from us in St. Louis!  Todd,
it's been a pleasure.

TM:  The pleasure was all yours, Steggy.

JS:  DON'T CALL ME- eh, never mind.  AWA fans, it's been our honor to
call some action for you here tonight at SuperClash II but we've got one
more final commercial break.  When we come back, you'll be live in
Dallas, Texas for the Main Event of the night!  Thank you all so much!

[We fade away from the celebrating National Tag Team Champions to black.

And then to a very long shot of the exterior of a pretty dingy looking
building.]

"Have you ever dreamed of fame?"

[Cut a little closer.]

"Of glory?"

[A little closer.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Two young students are grappling on the canvas.]

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

You want to wrestle!"

[Fade to a graphic that has all the info on the AWA Combat Corner.  We
freeze there for a moment and then fade back up to footage marked
"EARLIER TONIGHT" where we see Jason Dane standing by with a
somber-looking Juan Vasquez in the backstage area. The number one
contender is dressed in his trademark white tracksuit w/ black trim,
ready for tonight's bout. However, there's a less than enthusiastic look
on his face, the stipulations of the match obviously weighing heavily on
his mind.] 

JD: The stakes have never been higher than tonight, where Juan Vasquez
is putting his AWA career on the line against Stevie Scott for the
National title! Juan, any last thoughts on tonight?

[A sad sort of smile forms on Juan's face as he collects his thoughts.]

JV: Can you believe that it's already been a year? Since Raph took that
chair and smashed it right into my face? Since Stevie Scott...

...defeated me?

[That really took the wind out of his sails. Juan lowers his head and
softly says it to himself.]

JV: One year.

[He looks up and turns to Dane.]

JV: I've been dreamin' about this day for one year.

[His eyes are downcast as he says that. There's a certain bit of
tentativeness in his voice.]

JV: We've been through a lot together in those 365 days since, but I
never forgot that feeling I had deep in my heart when I left the Dallas
Memorial Auditorium that night.

[Juan shakes his head.]

JV: It was hopelessness. It was despair. It was the first and last time
I'd ever felt that I was in a battle that I couldn't win. 

[He looks up with an angry expression on his face, letting his
frustration show.]

JV: And it made me sick. Sick to my damn stomach that I felt that
way...because Juan Vasquez doesn't give up. Juan Vasquez doesn't run
from fights. Juan Vasquez faces every single challenge, conquers every
obstacle and he wills...he _wills_ his way through it all!

[A sigh.]

JV: But I wanted to turn my back. I wanted to run. I wanted to give up,
'cause I'll admit it...I was shook. I was scared. I'd never been done
like that. I had no idea how the hell I was gonna' win against those
odds. Hell, I wasn't even sure if I was gonna' survive. And comin' from
a proud bastard like me, you know that this ain't easy for me to say.

[He bites his bottom lip and shakes his head.] 

JV: So there I was, feeling like a coward, at just about my lowest,
ready to walk away and that's when it happened.

Gordon Myers asked for a hero.

[There's a short silence after Juan says that as the hurt becomes
apparent on his face.]

JV: That hurt me. That hurt worse than that chair to the face from Raph.
Worse than getting put through the WKIK studio wall. Worse than the
Firebomb chokeslam. Worse than all that combined. I hadn't just
disappointed Gordon, I hadn't just blown my shot at the National
title...I realized I'd let everyone down. 

Why couldn't I be that hero?

Why _wasn't_ I that hero?

[A determined look forms on Juan's face.]

JV: That's when I realized I couldn't just walk away. I still had too
much to do. I _knew_ I could be that hero. I _knew_ I could be the man
they thought I was. And ever since that night, I've spent every waking
moment trying to prove it. I've fought...I've fought like hell. I've
scratched, I've clawed and I've planned and I've schemed and I've raised
the stakes every time...

[He lowers his head.]

JV: ...but now I've made the biggest gamble of them all.

My career. 

[Juan goes silent for a few seconds, before continuing on.]

JV: A lot of people in this sport like to tell you that there ain't
anybody more dangerous than a man with nothing to lose.

[A soft chuckle.]

JV: That's a load of crap.

[He looks back up with steeled determination on his face.]

JV: The most dangerous man, is the one with _everything_ to lose.

[Juan looks right into the camera, making it no mystery who he's
speaking to.]

JV: Stevie, you've been able to hold onto the National title because
there ain't no doubt in my mind that it means the world to you.

Holding onto that title made you desperate. It made you dangerous. It
made you do anything and everything possible to keep that National title
around your waist.

And that was the difference between you and me. No matter how badly I
wanted that National title, no matter how much it hurt me to be without
it...your desperation always made you want it *that* much more.

[He holds his finger and thumb *that* far apart.]

JV: But if I lose tonight, if I fail...there ain't any more chances.
There ain't no hope. There ain't ever gonna' be a better and brighter
tomorrow. If I lose...

...it's all over.

[His eyes narrow as the intensity picks up slightly.]

JV: I've literally put _everything_ on the line.

[The words are measured, Juan making certain Stevie understands the
enormity of the situation.]

JV: Tonight, it ain't about the Southern Syndicate and the AWA. It ain't
about Calisto Dufrense, Adrian Freeman or even that devil, Ben Waterson.


It's about what began last year and what ends tonight.

It's about you and me, Stevie Scott.

[Juan shakes his head slowly.]

JV: It ain't a matter of wanting or needing to win.

[His eyes look down for a split second, before staring back up with
fierce determination.]

JV: I _have_ to win. 

[Juan crosses his arms across his chest and lowers his head, the weight
of the world seemingly bearing down on him now. His finals words aren't
filled with any passion or purpose, just a simple statement of fact.]

JV: And that's all there is...to it.

[The shot on the screen changes to what is obviously a television
playing the exact footage we just saw.  The camera pans back to reveal
Jason Dane standing between "Agent To The Stars" Ben Waterson and the
AWA National Champion, "Hotshot" Stevie Scott.  Being moments away from
belltime, both men are ready to head to the ring.  The title belt is
around the waist of the champion.  A soft chuckle can be heard from both
men as the shot on the screen fades out.  A slightly agitated Jason Dane
shoves the mic in front of Ben Waterson.]

JD:  Something funny?

[Waterson smirks, looking at Dane.]

ATTSBW:  Yeah, something's funny to me, Dane.  Something's real funny. 
Tell me, Jason Dane.  What are the stipulations for this match tonight -
the match just moments away - arguably the biggest match in AWA history?
 

[Dane looks puzzled.]

ATTSBW:  Please.  Enlighten us.

[An irritated Dane responds.]

JD:  If Juan Vasquez doesn't win the match tonight, his AWA career is
over.

[Waterson laughs again, joined by the Hotshot.]

ATTSBW:  Oh, Dane... you of infinite hype and bluster.  

[Waterson produces a stack of papers.]

ATTSBW:  This is the official contract for tonight's Main Event.  A
contract that was written and executed to my EXACT wording by the
Southern Syndicate's legal team.  And it most certainly does NOT say
that if Juan Vasquez doesn't win the match tonight, his AWA career is
over.  

This document very specifically says that if Juan Vasquez does not win
the AWA National Title in this match tonight - his AWA career is over.

JS:  What's the difference?

[A smirk.]

ATTSBW:  The difference, my naive roving reporter is that Stevie Scott
does not need to win this match tonight to send Juan Vasquez out of this
company and rid this irritating thorn from our sides.  He simply needs
to retain the title.

JD:  Are you saying-?!

ATTSBW:  What I'm saying is that there is a reason the championship
advantage is so very important.  Keep that in mind, Dane.

[Scott chuckles as well at this point and Dane turns the mic in his
direction.]

JD:  You find this amusing?

[Scott shakes his head.]

HSS:  No.  No, I don't.  What I do find amusing though is Juan Vasquez'
ill-conceived belief that he has ANY idea what it means to me to be the
AWA National Champion.

Juan Vasquez just told the entire world that he HAS to win this match.

[Another shake of the head.]

HSS:  Juan Vasquez doesn't have the slightest clue about what it means
to REALLY have to win a match.

You see, Dane, despite my obvious edge in raw talent over Vasquez, we
have had two truly different career paths.

Juan Vasquez is the epitome of someone who has had a silver spoon shoved
down their throat for their entire career, Dane.

[Scott points a finger towards the camera.]

HSS:  He's a man who has been welcomed with open arms by fans and
promoters alike wherever he's gone - Los Angeles, St. Louis, Canada -
you name it, he's been a top star there.

Me?  I've bounced around from territory to territory, getting the
occasional cup of coffee in the big leagues to make the idiots laugh at
the bottom of the card.  

Until now.

[Scott nods his head.]

HSS:  When I came to the AWA, I was still treated as a joke.  They
wanted me to do funny little interviews.  They wanted me to make the
people laugh.

Fine.  I played my part.  I did the interviews.  I carried a Russian
flag around and pretended I didn't understand why the people were booing
me.

Do I strike you as an idiot, Dane?

[Dane shakes his head.]

HSS:  I knew exactly why they were booing me... and it was at the exact
moment, in the worst night of my life in that double cage in Laredo,
Texas, that I knew what had to be done.  I saw it, Dane.  I saw my
ticket to not being a laughing stock anymore.

I saw the way to the big paydays, the fancy cars, the beautiful women,
the private jets, the watches, the diamonds, the thousand dollar suits,
the things a CHAMPION should get!

[He's getting a little worked up now.]

HSS:  I saw what had to be done... and I did it.  I led that pathetic
sap Sweet Daddy Williams down a primrose path... I made those fans give
a damn about me, cheering and screaming their hearts out for me... and
then I buried the knife in all of their hearts and took the National
Title.

I was big time.  I was Main Event.  I was the National Champion.  I was
the greatest wrestler in the world.

I went from being a nobody to being THE man, Juan Vasquez.

Everywhere you go... title or not... your name makes you the man.

[He slaps the title belt.]

HSS:  Here... in the AWA... in the house the Hotshot built... this belt
makes me the man.  This belt means everything to me.  It means my kids
get to go to a private school instead of some hellhole where they get
slapped around for their lunch money because their dad beat up the fans'
favorite on TV Saturday Night.  It means that I fly first class to the
next show instead of driving fourteen hours in a rental car with four
other guys.  

At the end of the day, it means I'm the best wrestler in the world,
Vasquez... and you're not.  No matter how much they tell you elsewhere
that you are.  No matter how many awards you win.  No matter how much
fan mail you open.

I'm the best.  Not you.

You tell the world you HAVE to win tonight?

[Scott shakes his head, holding the title belt up to the camera lens.]

HSS:  I NEED to win.  And that's the biggest difference between us.

[He pulls the belt back.]

HSS:  One year ago this started.  Tonight, it ends.

And it ends with me being exactly what I say I am... the AWA National
Champion... and the best wrestler in the world...

[Pause.]

HSS:  ...amigo.

[And with that, the AWA National Champion walks out of frame, leaving
Ben Waterson behind.]

JD:  You have something else to say to Juan Vasquez?

[Waterson shakes his head.]

ATTSBW:  This one's for the AWA fans.  Those kids with posters of Juan
Vasquez on their wall.  Those desperate women who hang around backstage
after the shows hoping to land a hotel room key from the "big star."

Tonight's the last night you'll ever see Juan Vasquez in an AWA ring.

[A pause.]

ATTSBW:  Consider.  Yourselves.  Warned.

[Waterson pats Dane on the shoulder before making his exit as well,
leaving Jason Dane behind.]

JD:  It is without question the biggest match in AWA history, fans.  And
it's right now.  Let's go back down to ringside because we've got one
heck of a Main Event about to take place.

[We crossfade to the ring where ring announcer Phil Watson is standing.]

PW:  DALLAS, TEXAS!

[Big cheer!]

PW:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a sixty minute
time limit, is your MAIN EVENT of the evening, and is for the AWA
NATIONAL TITLE!

[DEAFENING ROAR!]

PW:  If Juan Vasquez fails to win the National Title here tonight... he
will LEAVE the AWA forever!

[The crowd jeers the announcement of the sobering stipulation.]

PW:  Introducing first...

#It's alright...#
#It's alright...#
#It's alright... I'm just a little crazy#

[The crowd EXPLODES as Fight's "Little Crazy" starts up.]

PW:  He is the special outside-the-ring enforcer for this championship
match - ALEX MARRRRTINEZ!

[The former World Champion walks into view, all seven feet of him
towering in the aisleway as he stares out to the crowd.  He's wearing a
large striped referee's shirt and jeans as he strides down the aisle to
the ring.]

GM:  There he is, Bucky... the man who has been tasked with keeping this
thing under control tonight.  The man who has been given the large
responsibility of making sure there is a clearcut winner to this so
important match here tonight in Dallas, Texas.

BW:  Well, I may not be a big Martinez fan but I think this is a job
that even HE can't screw up, Gordo.  Big seven footer should be able to
keep the peace and make people listen to him.

[Martinez reaches the ring, stepping over the ropes to more cheers as he
settles back into the corner, shaking hands with AWA Senior Official
Michael Meekly as his music fades.  "They Reminisce Over You" by Pete
Rock & C.L. Smooth begins to play over the PA system to a DEAFENING ROAR
from the crowd!]

PW:  He is the challenger... weighing in tonight at 238 pounds... from
Los Angeles, California... he is the number one contender to the
National Title...

JUAAAAAAAAAAAAAN VASSSSSSSSSSQUEZ!

[Plug your ears.  The most popular man in the AWA bursts through the
curtain to one of the loudest reactions in the history of the company. 
He's clad in the same white tracksuit we saw earlier.  He pauses just
beyond the entrance, looking out at the roaring crowd with a dopey grin
on his face.]

BW:  Enjoy it, kid... this is the last time you'll ever hear it!

GM:  That remains to be seen, Bucky.

[Vasquez breaks into a job, slapping the hands of the fans along the
rope barricade, pausing to embrace a few as well.  He's enjoying this
walk, taking his time as he makes his way to the ring.]

GM:  It's a long, long walk to the ring knowing that this may be the
final time you make it.  Juan Vasquez has put EVERYTHING on the line
here tonight as we've mentioned over and over.  If he fails to win the
National Title, he will walk away from the AWA forever.  There are no
higher stakes thatn this.

[Vasquez finally reaches the ring, rolling under the ropes, and
springing to his feet to more cheers.  He quickly pulls off the
tracksuit, tossing it to the ringside attendant as he stands in the
corner, eyeing Alex Martinez warily.  Martinez returns the stare, not
backing down an inch from the Number One Contender.]

GM:  Some tension there between Vasquez and Martinez.  Don't forget that
it was just a few weeks ago now when Alex Martinez made his arrival here
in the AWA and ended up delivering the Firebomb chokeslam to Vasquez. 
They appeared to bury the hatchet after that but...

BW:  But you never can tell how deep bad blood runs.  Vasquez might
waffle him with a tire iron in mid-match tonight just to take him out of
the equation.  I wouldn't blame him.

GM:  I highly doubt that.  But you're right.  He does have cause to be
suspicious of the big man.

[The music fades out to nothing for a moment...

...and then is replaced by the beautiful opening of Lynyrd Skynyrd's
"Free Bird."]

GM:  New music for the champ.

BW:  It's glorious - just like him.

[After a moment, the National Champion emerges from the locker room in a
breathtaking white and silver robe that stretches all the way down to
the floor.  The robe is covered in feathers and sparkles under the arena
lights.]

BW:  Look at that robe!  I want that for Christmas, daddy!

GM:  The champion is going all out for SuperClash II!

[The Hotshot walks a few feet from the aisle, spreading his arms wide
and going into a full turn to reveal "HOTSHOT" written across the back
in silver.  As he slowly turns back around, a shower of golden sparks
begin to fall from about ten feet above the entryway.]

GM:  The champion is REALLY going all out for SuperClash II!

[The sparks fall for a few moments before a grinning Scott steps further
down the aisle.  "Agent To The Stars" Ben Waterson emerges from the
locker room at this point, joining the National Champion as they walk
down the aisle...

...but suddenly come to a stop.]

GM:  What's going on here?  Scott and Waterson are conversing in the
aisle and-

[The camera zooms in just in time to hear the Hotshot say, "Stay back
there tonight, Ben.  I got this."  Waterson's protests are unheard by
the camera but he's obviously upset by this decision.]

GM:  It sounds like the National Champion wants to do this one alone,
Bucky.

BW:  I can't say I agree with that.  These two are a team, Gordo.  Ben
Waterson and Stevie Scott founded the Southern Syndicate in the summer
of 2009 and have DOMINATED this sport since then... but they've always
done it together!  Why now?  On the biggest night of his career, why
would Stevie Scott want to do this one by himself?

GM:  Maybe the National Champion feels he's got something to prove.

BW:  I don't like this.

[Neither does Waterson but eventually he's persuaded, angrily walking
back towards the locker room as the Hotshot slowly makes his way down
the aisle, jerking his arms out of reach of the fans.]

GM:  The champion's on his way to the ring perhaps for the final time
carrying that belt that means so much to him... it means EVERYTHING to
him as we just heard him say.  

[Scott reaches the ring, slowly striding up the ringsteps before
stepping through the ropes.  He does a full spin, showing off the robe
to the popping flashbulbs in the building before he removes it, folding
it once before handing it over the ropes to the ringside attendant.  He
slowly turns, staring across the ring at Juan Vasquez who is shifting
his weight from foot to foot, clenching and unclenching his fists.]

GM:  It's a tale of two competitors right there.  Stevie Scott, the
champion, cool, calm, collected, and ready for anything.  Juan Vasquez,
the challenger, a fiery ball of energy ready to explode.  Two very
different approaches to a wrestling match, Bucky.

BW:  Scott has to keep that in mind, Gordo.  Vasquez is going to be
aggressive - very aggressive.  He needs to learn from the Blonde
Bombers' mistake and not allow that aggressiveness to overwhelm him.  We
saw earlier that a title match can be over in a minute or less so the
Hotshot needs to remember that.  Absorb the early flurry and find a way
to stop the momentum.

[Senior Official Michael Meekly calls the two men together, pointing to
the floor where Alex Martinez has taken up a position.]

GM:  Michael Meekly reminding both champion and challenger that Alex
Martinez is a licensed official for this match.  He has been empowered
to count pinfalls, check for submissions, disqualify - anything power
that an official would typically have, Martinez has got it here tonight.
 Jim Watkins wanted him to be ready for anything.

[The referee stands by the two men, giving final instructions...

...and then spins to signal for the bell.  HUGE ROAR!]

GM:  Here we go!  The Main Event of SuperClash II and you can feel the
excitement in the air from this crowd, Bucky!  Just how long have they
been waiting for this?

BW:  One whole year.  Like Vasquez said earlier, it's been one year
since he was on the verge of becoming the National Champion when Raphael
Rhodes interfered and cost him everything.

[Champion and challenger stand toe to toe in the middle of the ring, the
crowd buzzing as Scott fires words like a machine gun aimed squarely at
the chest of his number one contender.]

GM:  Wouldn't you love to be able to read lips right now?  What could he
possibly be saying to him?

[Vasquez absorbs all the verbal blows, not responding once, simply
glaring a hole straight through his hated rival...

...until he suddenly surges forward, lashing out with his skull into the
forehead of the National Champion, sending him stumbling backwards into
the corner!]

GM:  Ohh!  Headbutt!

BW:  One of the top weapons in the arsenal of Juan Vasquez.  He strikes
early, he strikes quick, and he strikes damn hard.  That headbutt has
the champion on Dream Street already.

[Approaching the corner where Scott backed into, Vasquez winds up and
throws a skin-blistering chop across the chest!]

GM:  Big knife-edge chop by Vasquez!

[The crowd roars as Scott recoiling from the chop, reaching up to grab
the rapidly-reddening welt on his chest.  But Vasquez is having none of
the champion covering up, throwing the Hotshot's arms off his chest and
firing another knife edge blow across the pectorals.]

GM:  Another one!  Good grief!

BW:  Vasquez isn't pulling any punches tonight, Gordo.  He's hitting
harder than I've ever seen him hit before!

[A few more chops follow before Vasquez grabs the wrist of the National
Champion, flinging him from corner to corner...]

GM:  The challenger sends his foe across the ring... 

[Vasquez backs into the corner before sprinting across as Scott hits the
far buckles...

...and connects with a big running clothesline!]

GM:  BIIIIIG CLOTHESLINE BY THE CHALLENGER!!

BW:  And the champ needs to be careful, Gordo.  These two men have met
in a singles match four times now and every single time, this is how
Vasquez starts the match.  A big flurry of offense that has the champion
backpedaling from the opening bell.  Stevie Scott can NOT let that
happen here tonight.  He needs to establish early that he's in control
of this match and make Vasquez play his game.

[Grabbing Scott by the arm, Vasquez fires him from corner to corner
again, sending him smashing into the buckles.]

GM:  Here he comes again!

[A second running clothesline connects but Vasquez stays on him, not
letting Scott crumple from the corner.  He pushes the Hotshot back
against the buckles, throwing big fists to the skull to the roars of the
crowd!]

GM:  Look at Vasquez!  He is a man posessed!

BW:  Posessed with the desire to save his AWA career and become the
greatest professional wrestler in the world, Gordo!  Juan Vasquez wants
to be the National Champion so badly... there's no telling what he'll do
to get it!

[The barrage of blows in the corner is interrupted first by the protests
of the official who try to get Vasquez to back off but when he refuses,
Michael Meekly physically intervenes, dragging Vasquez out of the
corner!]

GM:  Whoa!  Whoa!  He should NOT be doing that!

BW:  Juan Vasquez was NOT respecting the referee's authority right
there.  Would you prefer he disqualify the challenger?

GM:  Absolutely not.  I want to see a clear winner in this one along
with every single fan in this building and watching at home on WKIK!

BW:  Then you have to give the officials the leeway to do what needs to
be done to keep this match under control, Gordo.

[An angry Vasquez pushes past the official, grabbing Scott by the wrist
again to fire him across the ring.]

GM:  Another whip!

[Vasquez backs to the corner, barking at the official the whole time. 
He's still arguing with the referee as he charges across...

...and EATS a superkick on the chin!]

GM:  OH MY STARS!!  

BW:  HEATSEEKER!!  COVER HIM, CHAMP!!

GM:  Stevie Scott with the Heatseeker out of nowhere!  Juan Vasquez was
distracted by the official and he ran right into the Heatseeker!

[The Hotshot seems about to go for a lateral press when Vasquez wisely
manages to roll under the ropes, dropping down to the barely-padded
concrete floor.]

GM:  And look at Juan Vasquez... he knew he was in trouble there.  He
knew he was in BIG trouble but he had the presence of mind - the ring
generalship if you will - to get out of that ring to the safety of the
floor.

BW:  I don't know how safe the floor is with someone like Stevie Scott
but you've got a point, Gordo.  He may have just saved his AWA career
right there because if Stevie had gotten the cover, he'd be packing his
bags to head back to Canada right now!

[Shaking the cobwebs, Stevie Scott steps out to the apron, dropping down
to the arena floor.  He quickly pulls Vasquez up by the hair, shoving
him under the ropes into the ring.  He lunges through the top and middle
ropes, applying a cover...

...and strategically placing his feet on the middle rope for leverage!]

GM:  Not like this, no!

[The referee dives to the mat, slapping the canvas once... twice... but
a quick-moving Alex Martinez shoves Scott's feet from off the rope
before the three count, breaking the pin attempt.]

GM:  Alex Martinez makes the save!  He just saved Juan Vasquez' career! 
Stevie Scott just tried to cheat his way to victory and our ringside
enforcer just made sure that didn't happen!

BW:  This all seems too familiar to me, Gordo.  I seem to remember back
in March at The Main Event when Ron Houston was the guest enforcer, he
did the exact same thing to Stevie Scott!

GM:  And we all remember how that ended - it ended with Juan Vasquez as
the National Champion!

BW:  History ain't repeating tonight, Gordo.  Not on Stevie Scott's
watch!

[An angry National Champion pops up to his feet, screaming in the
direction of Alex Martinez who calmly walks away, leaving "Hotshot"
Stevie Scott to his personal temper tantrum.  Scott delivers a hard kick
to the ribs of the downed Juan Vasquez before reaching down to drag him
up, shoving him back into the corner.]

GM:  Now it's the Hotshot's turn...

[Winding up, the National Champion splashes a knife-edge chop across the
chest of his challenger.]

GM:  Chop by the champ...

BW:  And while Stevie may not hit as hard as Juan Vasquez,  you know
that was a damn painful thing to get hit with.  Vasquez is wincing and
grimacing off that one.

[Stevie squares up, throwing a boot to the midsection instead.  He grabs
Vasquez by the hair, throwing him backwards into the buckles.]

GM:  Ohh!  A whiplash-like effect off a move like that and Juan Vasquez
is down, seated on the mat...

[Stevie throws a few more kicks to the body of the seated Vasquez,
teeing off on the ribs and chest before reaching down to haul him off
the canvas...

...and gets pulled down in a small package!]

GM:  CRADLE!!  ONE!!  TWO!!!  TH-

[The crowd buzzes with disappointment as the National Champion kicks out
just before the three count.]

GM:  So close!  Juan Vasquez caught the champion by surprise and he
almost won this thing, Bucky.

BW:  Sure did.  Stevie needs to keep his focus.  This is the perfect
example of where not having Ben Waterson at ringside hurts him.  Ben
wouldn't have let that happen.

[Scrambling to their feet, Scott catches Vasquez with a boot to the gut
again to cut him off.  He grabs a handful of hair, smashing the
challenger's face into the buckles before he spins him around in the
corner, pushing him back.]

GM:  Back in the corner again... look out here...

[Leaning over, Scott grabs the middle rope, lunging forward to drive his
shoulder into the ribcage of the Number One Contender.]

GM:  He slams his shoulder to the body... maybe going after those
ribs...

[Still holding the middle rope, Scott lunges forward again, smashing his
shoulder into the ribcage.  The referee orders him to back off but the
Hotshot delivers three more shoulder drives to the body before he steps
away, getting verbally dressed down by the official.]

GM:  The challenger's hanging onto the ropes, trying to stay on his
feet.  He's breathing very heavily though, Bucky.

BW:  Shots to the ribs do more damage than you'd think.  You start
having trouble breathing after enough of them and that's an awful thing
to try and wrestle with.

[Moving back in, Scott shoves Vasquez' upper body back, stretching him
out and driving a knee up into the ribs.  Holding him in place, Scott
continues to throw knees to the ribs, drawing the jeers of the fans and
the ire of the official who steps in, pushing the champion back...

...but he pushes his way right back in, grabbing the challenger around
the head and under the arm, throwing him out of the corner with a big
hiptoss!]

GM:  Ohh!  He threw him halfway across the ring, Bucky!

BW:  Right down on the back... and landing on the back like that won't
help the ribs at all.  When those ribs get hurt, every jolt to the torso
hurts like someone's stabbing you.  Juan Vasquez has got to be in a lot
of pain right now.

GM:  Scott's measuring him... 

[The challenger pushes up to all fours...

...which is exactly where the champion wants him, rushing forward and
delivering a punt kick to the ribcage!  The crowd groans as Vasquez
rolls to his back, clutching his ribs, promptly rolling away to try to
get some breathing room.]

GM:  Juan Vasquez' ribcage is taking a pounding in the early goings of
this one and now he's trying to get to his feet in the corner... 

[But just as he does, the National Champion moves in, shoving his upper
body back to expose the ribs for more knee lifts to the torso.]

GM:  Another knee!  And another!  There's a third!  He's just
brutalizing the ribs right now, Bucky!

BW:  Maybe the champ had a better gameplan than we thought, Gordo.  Even
without Ben Waterson out here, he's in total control of this one.  He
cut off Vasquez' momentum first and now he's laying in the blows to the
body.

[The Hotshot grabs his foe by the arm, launching him across the ring
where he smashes into the turnbuckles, stumbling out...

...and getting sent skyhigh, up and over to the canvas with a big
backdrop!]

GM:  Ohhh!  He hit the mat hard!

[Vasquez rolls around on the mat, clutching his ribs as Scott stands
over him, arrogantly smirking.  He leans down, grabbing the challenger
by the hair and hauling him to his feet...]

GM:  He brings Juan back up... uh oh!

[The crowd begins to loudly buzz as Scott pulls Vasquez into a standing
headscissors.]

GM:  He's going for the piledriver!  He's wants to spike him on his
skull!  

BW:  If he hits this, it's hit the road, Juan!

[The Hotshot wraps his arms around Vasquez' torso, looking to pick him
up off the mat...

...but Vasquez jerks Scott's legs out from under him, holding on as he
flips forward!]

GM:  CRADLE!!  ONE!!  TWO!! 

[But the Hotshot kicks out at two, causing the crowd to buzz with
frustration.]

GM:  Scott out at two but Vasquez avoids the piledriver and that's more
important at this point, Bucky.

BW:  He HAS to avoid the piledriver.  It's the most dangerous move in
this business!  No one has ever gotten out of the piledriver.  In fact,
we've had people laid out for MONTHS when they get hit with it!  If
Scott uses it on Vasquez, you know his night - and his AWA career - is
over.

[The two competitors scramble to their feet, looking to get an edge. 
Scott throws a wild haymaker that Vasquez ducks, wrapping his arms
around the midsection of Scott.  He rushes forward with the Hotshot in
front of him, bouncing off the ropes...

...and rolling back into a rolling reverse cradle!]

GM:  ROLLING CRADLE!!

[The referee dives to the mat, slapping the canvas once... twice... and
almost a third time before Scott fires a shoulder off the mat.]

GM:  Another two count for Juan Vasquez!

BW:  From the looks of that cradle, the Assassin's Spike ain't the only
thing Adam Rogers taught Juan Vasquez!

GM:  And you can see an urgency in Juan Vasquez here tonight.  He has no
desire to hurt, to punish - he needs to win and he needs that title belt
around his waist.

BW:  Oh, there's a desire to hurt.  Make no mistake, Juan Vasquez and
Stevie Scott DESPISE each other and would like nothing more than to
bleed each other dry here in Dallas, Texas but that's not what this is
about.  This is about the biggest prize in our sport and a man's career
in this company!

[Scott quickly gets to his feet, backpedaling as Juan Vasquez comes
towards him, throwing a right hand to the jaw that sends the Hotshot
falling back to the buckles.]

GM:  Vasquez has got him in the corner!

[A wild-eyed Vasquez batters Scott with forearms to the jaw, knocking
him down to a knee where he continues to throw big pounding forearms to
the head and neck...

...but the official steps in again, trying to push Vasquez away...]

GM:  Come on, ref!  Let 'em fight!

[Reaching over the official's turned back, Scott jabs a thumb into the
eye of Vasquez, drawing boos from the crowd and causing Vasquez to
stagger away, trying to wipe his vision clear.]

GM:  Right to the eyes!  A cheap shot by Scott...

[Stepping up behind Vasquez, he threads his right leg through the
challenger's legs, snapping him back down to the mat.]

GM:  Ohh!  Side Russian legsweep!

[Scott quickly rolls over, taking a mount position where he grabs
Vasquez by the hair, pounding his skull over and over and over.]

GM:  Stevie's beating the heck out of him on the mat!

[The National Champion continues to pummel despite the referee's cries
to stop.  After a few more shots, he grabs Vasquez by the face and SLAMS
the back of his skull into the mat!]

GM:  Ohh!

[Scott spins out of the mount into a lateral press, barking "COUNT HIM!"
at the ref.]

GM:  We've got one!  We've got two!  We've got- no, just a two count
there.

BW:  Stevie needs to go back to the ribs.  He was having a lot of luck
at working the ribcage a few moments ago.  I'd go right back to it now
that you've got Vasquez down.

[Scott angrily pulls Vasquez to his feet, tugging him right into a front
facelock.  He slings Vasquez' arm over his neck, powering him up and
down with a quick vertical suplex.]

GM:  Nicely executed suplex by the champion...

[With Vasquez down on the mat, Scott gets back up and immediately drives
the flat of his foot down onto the injured ribs.]

GM:  He's stomping the ribs of the challenger!  Over and over again!  He
seems to be following your strategy, Bucky.

BW:  As any smart man who wants to keep his belt tonight would do.

[He uses his foot to shove Vasquez flat on the canvas before leaping up,
dropping his knee squarely into the ribcage of the Number One
Contender.]

GM:  Ohh!  That'll do some damage... and another cover by Scott for one!
 Two!  Just two again.

[An angry Scott pushes up to his knees and drives a hammerfist blow down
on the ribs.  Vasquez cries out as Scott delivers punch after punch into
the ribcage, working the challenger's torso with great ferocity.]

GM:  The champion's all over the ribcage!  He's trying to pick apart
that injured bodypart and soften up Juan Vasquez for the heavy
artillery.


"TEN MINUTES HAVE EXPIRED!!  TEN MINUTES!"


GM:  You can hear the voice of Phil Watson declaring ten minutes have
gone by in this match.  That means we've got fifty minutes left in the
time limit for our Main Event.

BW:  For the sake of those re-runs of Alf, we better not get there.

GM:  Seemingly as always, we want to thank WKIK for their support in
allowing us to go beyond our scheduled time here tonight to bring you
this Main Event of SuperClash II in its entirety.

[Pulling Vasquez off the mat, he tugs him into another front facelock.]

GM:  Uh oh... another suplex on the way?

[It certainly appears that way as Scott hoists Vasquez up off the mat,
holding him horizontal for a half second, and then DROPS him facefirst
on the canvas!]

GM:  GOURDBUSTER!

BW:  And it was a beauty!  This might be it, Gordo!

GM:  Another cover by Scott - one!  TWO!  

[But Vasquez again slips a shoulder out at two.  An angry Stevie Scott
glares at the official, holding up three fingers but the AWA's Senior
Official waves him off.]

GM:  Michael Meekly says it was only a two count.

BW:  Looked like a slow count to me, Gordo.

GM:  I'm sure it did to your Stevie Scott-colored glasses.

BW:  What the heck is that supposed to mean?

[Climbing to his feet now, Scott approaches Meekly, barking in his
direction.]

GM:  Leave Michael Meekly alone!  He's done a fine job so far in this
one and-

[The crowd gasps as Scott shoves Meekly hard with both hands squarely in
the chest, knocking him a couple steps back...

...and then shouts, "COME ON!  DISQUALIFY ME, YOU PIECE OF TRASH!"]

GM:  Look at this!  Scott's asking him to disqualify him!  Practically
begging him to disqualify him!  Ben Waterson made it clear - the
contract says that Juan Vasquez must win the National Title here tonight
to avoid being sent out of the AWA.  If Scott gets disqualifed, that's
not happening!

BW:  It was an egregious offense!  Do your job, ref!  Ring the bell!

GM:  He's trying to sucker Michael Meekly into ending this match in his
favor and-

[In response, Meekly musters up some courage and throws a big push of
his own, sending Scott falling back into a schoolboy rollup from Juan
Vasquez!]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE-

[The crowd deflates as a desperate Stevie Scott fires a shoulder off the
mat just before the three count comes down.]

GM:  He almost got him!

BW:  How DARE Michael Meekly lay his hands on Stevie Scott?  That man is
the AWA National Champion!  No 

GM:  And Michael Meekly is the AWA's Senior Official!  Scott had no
right to touch him either, Bucky!

[A furious Stevie Scott gets up to his feet, fist clenched, and throws
said fist right at the head of Michael Meekly who was expecting it,
ducking just barely in time...

...and SHOVES the Hotshot in the back, sending him falling into Juan
Vasquez who pulls him down in another small package!]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR-

[Scott kicks out again, just narrowly saving the title.  He swiftly
rolls under the ropes, slamming both arms down on the apron as he shouts
at Michael Meekly...

...and catches both of Juan Vasquez' feet in the face courtesy of a
baseball slide!]

GM:  Ohh!  Juan caught him in the face with both feet!

[Joining his rival on the floor, Vasquez hauls the National Champion to
his feet, grabbing him by the arm...

...and HURLS him spinefirst into the ring apron!]

GM:  OHHH!  SCOTT'S BACK HITS THE HARDEST PART OF THE RING!!

[The champion grabs the bottom rope, trying to keep himself on his feet
but Vasquez is on the attack, grabbing the arm again...

...and HURLS him spinefirst into the barricade!]

GM:  Good grief, Bucky!  From the apron to the steel!

BW:  Vasquez is trying to put something together here.  It seems like
his strategy for a quick start went nowhere and now he's trying to rally
from behind.  Can he do it?  We're about to find out, I think.

[With Scott sprawling back, his arms over the steel barricade to try to
stay on his feet, Vasquez sprints towards him...

...and connects with a running clothesline that takes them both over the
barricade and into the crowd!]

GM:  OHHHH!  INTO THE FRONT ROW HERE IN DALLAS, TEXAS!  THE NATIONAL
TITLE MATCH HAS SPILLED INTO THE CROWD IF YOU CAN BELIEVE IT, BUCKY
WILDE!

BW:  Oh, I can believe it.  I'm not even sure this building can hold
this rivalry, Gordo!

[The cameraman rushes to the railing, focusing down to show Vasquez
sprawled out on the concrete floor, both hands wrapped around his
midsection as he grimaces in pain.  Stevie Scott is laid out a couple
feet away, barely moving on the floor as the AWA fans all around them
roar their approval for the big move!]

GM:  Both of these men are laid out in the crowd and - oh no!

[The crowd begins to boo wildly as AWA Senior Official Michael Meekly
begins counting from inside the ring.]

GM:  Michael Meekly just started a double count on these men!

BW:  That's his job, Gordo.  What did you expect him to do?

GM:  This place might riot if Meekly counts them both out!  Don't let
this match end like this - please don't let this happen!  Come on, Juan!
 Get back in there!

BW:  Yeah, Juan.  Get back in there and leave Stevie in the front row! 
Hahaha!

GM:  You're right!  It can't be just Juan Vasquez to get back inside
that ring!  He's gotta get Stevie Scott back in there as well!  You've
got to be kidding me!

BW:  This is it, Gordo!  Say goodbye to Juan Vasquez' AWA career!  It's
over, daddy!

GM:  Come on, Juan!  Get up!  And get that other son of a-

BW:  Easy there, cowboy!

[At the count of five, Juan Vasquez pushes himself back to his feet,
grabbing his ribs as he gets there.  He looks to the ring, moving in
that direction...

...and then spots a grinning Stevie Scott simply sitting on the concrete
floor staring up at him.]

GM:  Get up from there, you coward!  Get back in the ring and fight like
man - like a champion!

BW:  What's in it for him?

GM:  The chance to win or lose like a man!

BW:  Hrm.  Is there a cash bonus with that?

[Vasquez quickly moves to Scott, grabbing him by the hair, dragging him
off the floor...

...but Stevie buries a short right hand in the ribs of Vasquez, breaking
his grip.  He turns to get away when Juan grabs him by the hair again,
literally dragging Stevie over the railing, and just narrowly throwing
him under the ropes before the ten count.]

GM:  Whew.  That was too close.  We almost had a double countout and not
only does the title not change hands on a countout but Juan Vasquez
would have lost his AWA career!

[Vasquez crawls on top of Scott, grabbing the hair and delivering big
punch after big punch to the temple to the roars of the crowd.  The
referee reprimands him, forcing him to break the beating on the canvas. 
He slowly rises, throwing his head back and letting loose an anguished
howl.  The crowd roars in response as Vasquez heads to the ropes,
stepping through to the apron, and starts climbing the ropes.]

GM:  Uh oh... Juan Vasquez is heading up top, fans.

BW:  The man is an idiot!  His ribs could be cracked, bruised, broken -
who knows?  And he's going to try to come off the top?  Are you kidding
me?

[Vasquez steps up to the second rope, wincing with each step.  He steps
one foot onto the top rope, waiting for the Hotshot to rise and as he
does...]

GM:  VASQUEZ OFF THE TOP!!!

[In the move that cost him the National Title back in April, Vasquez
connects squarely on the chest of the champion with a high cross body...

...but just like in April, Scott rolls through the move, grabbing a
handful of tights just out of the official's view as he dives to the mat
to count.]

GM:  THIS IS HOW HE LOST THE TITLE!! 

BW:  COUNT!  COUNT!

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE-

[But loud shouts from a desperate Alex Martinez outside the ring grabs
the referee's attention...

...and at Martinez' urging, he spots the hooked tights and waves off the
pin count, shouting at Stevie Scott!]

GM:  Yeah!  Martinez saw the tights being pulled and he made sure that
Michael Meekly saw it too!  Stevie Scott's not gonna pull a fast one to
win this one, Bucky!

BW:  That Martinez better watch where he sticks his seven foot nose or
Stevie might just kick it square off his face!

GM:  Stevie Scott had the trunks hooked - just how he won the National
Title for the second time back in April - but Alex Martinez got the
referee to stop counting - oh, and Stevie's hot!

[The pissed-off National Champion approaches the ropes near Martinez,
leaning over to scream and shout at him...

...and a well-placed high knee to the back by Vasquez sends the Hotshot
tumbling over the ropes to the floor!]

GM:  OUT TO THE FLOOR AGAIN!!

[Vasquez backs off to the far ropes, waving an arm - a sign for Stevie
Scott to get to his feet and an equal sign for the crowd to go crazy. 
As the National Champion staggers up, Vasquez propels himself across the
ring at top speed...

...and TORPEDOES himself between the top and middle rope, diving atop a
stunned Stevie Scott!  HUUUUUGE ROAR!]

GM:  WHAT A DIVE!!  ONE HELL OF A DIVE BY JUAN VASQUEZ TO THE FLOOR!


"FIFTEEN MINUTES!  FIFTEEN MINUTES!  FIFTEEN MINUTES GONE BY!"


GM:  You heard Phil Watson right there.  Fifteen minutes gone in this
one... a whopping forty-five minutes left in the time limit but I don't
think there's any possible way these two men will make it that far,
Bucky.

BW:  Not with moves like we just saw.  Vasquez put it ALL on the line
right there.  If he'd missed that, this thing would be over right now
but he hit it, he hit it big, and Stevie Scott got wiped out by a Juan
Vasquez-sized cruise missile!

[Vasquez slowly gets to his feet, again throwing his arms back with a
roar to the crowd.  He leans down, dragging the Hotshot back to his
feet, pulling him towards the timekeeper's table...

...and SMASHES Scott's face into the wooden table!]

GM:  OHHH!  FACEFIRST TO THE TABLE!!

[Vasquez seems about to put the Hotshot back into the ring when
inspiration appears to strike him.  He pulls Scott towards him, ducking
down to hoist the Hotshot up on his shoulders...]

GM:  We've seen this before, Bucky!

BW:  Yeah, but it's usually Stevie doing it!  

GM:  He's got Stevie Scott across his shoulders... standing over the
wooden table and-


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[The crowd's reaction comes as Vasquez shrugs off Scott, dropping him
facefirst on the table!]

GM:  Good grief, Bucky!  Facefirst on that table!

[Pulling Scott up, Vasquez fires him under the ropes.  He rolls in as
well, throwing an arm across the chest.]

GM:  Cover!  He's got one!  He's got two!  

[But Scott fires a shoulder off the mat in plenty of time.  A frustrated
Juan Vasquez kneels, hands on hips for a moment, before climbing to his
feet.  He leans down, dragging Scott to his feet again...]

GM:  SCOOP!

[The crowd cheers as Vasquez slams him down with authority near the
middle of the ring...

...and then ROARS as the challenger points to the corner turnbuckles!]

GM:  Are you kidding me?

BW:  What an idiot!  He already blew it once coming off the top!  Why
would you try it again?  

GM:  Juan Vasquez is heading for the corner... he's heading for the top
rope...

[Vasquez again exits the ring, heading to the corner where he puts a
foot on the second rope, pausing for a moment before stepping up to put
a foot on the top rope...]

GM:  What does he have in mind here, Bucky?  Scott's still down!

[The challenger steps up, both feet on the top rope now.  He pauses for
a moment...

...and then hurls himself into the air, tucking his arms and legs
once...]

GM:  FROG SPLASH!!

[The crowd EXPLODES as Vasquez crashes down...

...on completely empty canvas as the wily Hotshot just narrowly rolled
out of the way in time!]

GM:  HE MISSED!  HE MISSED THE FROG SPLASH!!

BW:  What a stupid move to attempt right there.  Why would you risk that
with the injured ribs?  Even if you hit it, you might do as much damage
to yourself as your opponent!

GM:  I think Juan Vasquez was running on instinct there, Bucky.  He may
not have even realized what he was doing...

[And a weary Stevie Scott crawls back towards Vasquez, shoving him onto
his back before collapsing across him in a pin attempt.]

GM:  That's a cover!  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE-

[The crowd ERUPTS as a defiant Juan Vasquez throws a shoulder off the
mat before the three count comes down.]

GM:  No!  No!  Vasquez gets the shoulder up!  Juan Vasquez will not go
down!

[Shaking his head in disbelief, Scott pushes up to his knees.  He glares
at the official who holds up two fingers.  The National Champion climbs
to his feet, reaching down to haul Vasquez up by the hair.]

GM:  Big right hand by the champ! 

BW:  Look at this - he's holding Vasquez up so he doesn't fall down. 
Scott's trying to punish him a little right here...

GM:  Another right hand!

[And as the Hotshot winds up for the third punch, Vasquez ducks
underneath it as Scott's momentum spins him around...

...and the challenger hooks him around the neck with his left arm,
jamming his right thumb into the side of the throat!]

GM:  SPIKE!  THE ASSASSIN'S SPIKE IS ON!!

[The crowd erupts at the sight of the hold that has defeated Stevie
Scott on two occasions being applied.  Vasquez grits his teeth, pushing
hard on the thumb as Scott struggles against the hold, his arms pumping
and flailing as he tries to find his way free.]

GM:  He's got him trapped in the Assassin's Spike!  Can he hold on to
it?

BW:  Get to the ropes, champ!  Get out of it!

GM:  And once again, you have to wonder about the decision to send Ben
Waterson away from ringside.  If Waterson was here, he'd almost
certainly try to get this hold broken by hook or by crook!

[Scott moves slowly step by step across the ring...

...and wraps his arms around the top rope, screaming for a break.]

GM:  He made it to the ropes!  

BW:  Vasquez isn't breaking it!  Get him off the champ, ref!

[The referee tries to do exactly that, screaming at Vasquez to back off
- counting up to four and then simply grabbing Vasquez by the arms,
trying to break his grip...

...which allows a desperate (but brilliant) Stevie Scott to lash out
backwards with a mulekick to the groin!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  LOW BLOW!!  STEVIE GOES LOW ON VASQUEZ!!

BW:  You're damn right he did!

GM:  What?!

BW:  He didn't have a choice!  Vasquez had him trapped in that damn
Spike - that thing should be illegal!  It should be banned!  And Stevie
made it to the ropes.  He should have broken it and he didn't so what
choice did Stevie Scott have?!

[Outside the ring, Alex Martinez loudly protests, explaining to Michael
Meekly exactly what happened but Meekly shakes it off.]

GM:  The referee says he can't do anything since he didn't see it.  Alex
Martinez is insisting to him what happened but Michael Meekly won't-

[The National Champion spins around, rubbing his neck, trying to shake
off the effects of the Spike.  He grabs the doubled-up Vasquez in a
double under hook, hoisting him into the air...

...and drops him down across a bent knee!]

GM:  BACKBREAKER!!  

BW:  He calls that the Spinal Tap!  

GM:  That might do it and... wait a second...

[The Hotshot climbs to his feet...

...and points to the corner with a shout of "STEVIESAULT!"]

GM:  He just called for it, Bucky!  He just called for the Steviesault!

BW:  This could be real, real bad.  One year ago, he wanted to do this
and got talked down by his corner... but now there's no one here. 
There's no one to stop him, Gordo!

GM:  There's certainly not!  

[Before heading to the corner, he pulls Vasquez up off the mat, ducking
down to scoop him up...

...and gets pulled down in an inside cradle!]

GM:  THIS IS HOW VASQUEZ WON THE TITLE!!

[The referee dives to the canvas, slapping his arm down once...
twice...]

GM:  THRE- OHHHH!  SHOULDER UP!!  STEVIE GOT THE SHOULDER UP!!

BW:  Whew.  That was too close.

GM:  Juan Vasquez was a half a count away from becoming the National
Champion for the second time!

[The two men scramble, each trying to reach their feet first...]

GM:  Who can get there first?  Who can get to-


"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[The crowd ERUPTS as Vasquez reaches his feet and UNCORKS a right cross
to the jaw that snaps Scott's head back, sending him falling back onto
his rear in the corner.]

GM:  Down goes the champ!  The champion got rocked with that right and
he's down in the corner!

[A fired-up Vasquez approaches the corner, lifting his boot to place it
against the face of the Hotshot...

...and rakes the leather of his boot across the face!]

GM:  OHHHH!

BW:  That's illegal too!  This Vasquez is the worst cheater I've ever
seen!

GM:  Another one!  He's ripping the skin right off Stevie Scott's face
with those.

[Vasquez scrapes his boot across the face of the Hotshot over and over
again, ripping into the flesh of Stevie Scott.  With the National
Champion dazed and in agony in the corner, Vasquez backs off across the
ring...

...and points right at the waiting Scott with both hands before breaking
into a full sprint!]

GM:  HERE!  HE!  COMES!

[At the "COMES!", Vasquez launches himself into the air, DRIVING both
feet squarely into the face of his rival!]

GM:  OHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!  HE DROVE HIS FEET INTO THE FACE OF THE
CHAMPION!!!

[Vasquez rolls to his feet, leaning down to drag his opponent a few feet
out of the corner.  He quickly steps to the bottom rope, leaping
backwards with a quick moonsault!]

GM:  Ohh!  Bottom rope backflip!

[The Number One Contender grabs his ribs, wincing as he gets to his
feet.  Shaking off the pain, he steps up to the middle rope, leaping
backwards again...

...and crashing down across the chest of his rival!]

GM:  That's two!

[Vasquez slowly pulls himself to his feet using the ropes.  He points to
the crowd who roar as he steps up to the second rope, visibly in pain as
he places a foot on the top rope...

...and springs off, backflipping onto the Hotshot's chest!]

GM:  BACKFLIP OFF THE TOP!!  HE GOT IT ALL!!

[The challenger pops up off the moonsault, grabbing his ribs with both
arms, and then lunges forward to apply a lateral press.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE-

[HUUUUGE ROAR OF SHOCK!]

GM:  MY STARS, HE GOT THE SHOULDER UP!  HE GOT HIS SHOULDER UP!

[A frustrated Vasquez pushes up to his knees, shaking his head back and
forth.  He shouts at the official who holds up two fingers.  Vasquez
again shakes his head as he climbs to his feet, watching Stevie Scott
roll under the ropes to the floor...

...where he grabs his title belt off the timekeeper's table, throwing it
over his shoulder and heading towards the aisle.]

GM:  Wait a second!

BW:  Yeah!  Great idea!  Get out of here, champ!

GM:  Stevie Scott's trying to walk out on this match!  He's trying to
take the easy way out and STILL get rid of Juan Vasquez forever! 
Somebody stop this guy!

[Vasquez steps out to the apron, dropping down to the floor.  He walks
up, grabbing Scott from behind and spinning him around...

...apparently exactly what Scott was expecting as he buries a thumb into
the eye!]

GM:  Oh, come on!  To the eyes again?!  Scott's turning into Calisto
Dufresne in front of our very eyes, Bucky!

[Dropping the title belt, Scott grabs Vasquez by the back of the
hair...]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[...and SLAMS him facefirst into the steel ringpost, causing him to
crumple in a heap on the floor!]

GM:  VASQUEZ GETS PUT INTO THE POST!!

[And that gives the Hotshot the chance to pick up the title belt,
walking back down the aisle towards the locker room.]

GM:  He's leaving!  Stevie Scott is leaving!

BW:  And there's no one to stop him now!  See ya, Vasquez!  Don't let
the door hit you on the tail on the way out, daddy!

GM:  This can't happen.  This can not happen like this, Bucky!

BW:  It's happening!  Keep your eyes open and see the end of Juan
Vasquez in the AWA!

[The cameraman jogging down the aisle to catch up with Stevie Scott gets
a few feet behind him, following his path...

...and as the crowd starts to buzz, Stevie Scott stops still in his
tracks.]

GM:  He stopped!  Stevie Scott just stopped in the aisle!

BW:  Why?!  Get out of here, champ!  Get the heck back to the limo and-

[And as Stevie Scott backpedals a few feet, we see exactly why he
stopped...

...and the crowd ERUPTS in cheers!]

GM:  SWEET DADDY WILLIAMS!  SWEET DADDY WILLIAMS IS IN THE AISLE
BLOCKING HIS PATH!

[The crowd's roars grow louder as the trash-talking fan favorite slowly
backs Stevie Scott back down the aisle.  Not wanting to tangle with his
former best friend, the Hotshot retreats, heading back towards the
ring...

...where Juan Vasquez spins him around in the aisle, dropping him with a
big right hand!]

GM:  Oh yeah!  This one's not over yet, Bucky!

BW:  That guy... get him out of here!  Who the hell - where did he come
from?!  I thought he was done!

GM:  You HOPED he was done!  But Sweet Daddy Williams is back here in
Dallas, Texas, and Stevie Scott looks like he's seen a ghost!  

[Vasquez pulls Scott off the floor, firing him back under the ropes into
the ring.  The Number One Contender points in tribute to Sweet Daddy
Williams who gives a quick nod, returning the point as Vasquez rolls
back into the ring as well.]

GM:  Both men are back in - and Sweet Daddy Williams has taken a seat at
ringside!  He wants to make sure this goes down the right way!  He wants
to make sure his friend Juan Vasquez gets a fair shot at the National
Title!

[The challenger pulls his opponent to his feet, delivering a thunderous
headbutt that knocks Scott back into the buckles.]

GM:  Back into the corner goes the champ...

[A fired-up Vasquez quickly approaches, grabbing the champ by the side
of the head with his left hand, throwing a big forearm to the jaw.]

GM:  Ohh!  What a shot!

[The crowd roars as Vasquez continues to throw forearms to the jaw,
battering the National Champion in the corner, chopping him all the way
down to a seated position in the corner...]

GM:  VASQUEZ IS PUMMELING THE CHAMPION!!

[Grabbing the top rope, Vasquez lunges forward to slam a knee into the
face of his rival.]

GM:  Big knee to the face!

BW:  Ref, get in there!

[Michael Meekly is on the scene, shouting at Vasquez to back off as he
repeatedly lunges in to drive knee after knee to the face before finally
breaking away, shoving the official aside.]

GM:  Whoa!  Vasquez needs to watch himself!

BW:  Ring the bell!  DQ him, ref!

[The challenger spins around, charging back in...

...and SMASHES his knee into the face with a running knee!]

GM:  OHHHHHHH!

[Grabbing Scott by the foot, Vasquez yanks him out of the corner and
collapses on top of him in a cover.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE-


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  MY STARS!!  I thought he had him!  He thought he had him!  The
whole world thought he had him!  I thought we had a new National
Champion, Bucky Wilde!

BW:  But we don't!  You, these idiots in the crowd, and that moron
Vasquez were all wrong!  Stevie Scott is still alive and that National
Title is still around his waist!

GM:  But for how long?  Juan Vasquez can't believe it!

[Vasquez kneels in the middle of the ring, head buried in his hands as
he pulls at his own hair.  He shakes his head back and forth as the
crowd roars, encouraging him to keep going.  After a few moments, he
slowly gets to his feet, again grabbing his injured ribs as he leans
down to drag a dazed Stevie Scott to his feet.]

GM:  Juan Vasquez smells blood in the water.  He knows that the right
move here could put him over the top.  He knows he may be moments away
from becoming the AWA National Champion!


"THIRTY MINUTES HAVE EXPIRED!!  THIRTY MINUTES REMAIN!"


GM:  We're at the halfway point in the time limit!  We're over a half
hour into this match and these two men are giving the entire world
everything they've got because the greatest prize in our industry is on
the line - the AWA National Title!

[Vasquez shoves Scott facefirst into the closest set of buckles.  Slowly
approaching, he wraps his arms around the Hotshot's waist, powering him
into the air with great effort and then setting him down on the top
turnbuckle.]

GM:  Vasquez puts him down on the top rope... I don't know what he's got
in mind here...

[The fan favorite from Los Angeles takes a few steps back, grabbing his
ribs.  He shakes it off, heading towards the corner where he steps up
onto the second rope, wrapping his arms around the waist of the
Hotshot...]

GM:  Are you kidding me?

BW:  He's trying to take him off the top!  He's going for a superplex!

[Vasquez braces himself, trying to lift Scott into the air again but
after a bit of a struggle, he sets him back down, clutching his
midsection...

...and getting a hard back elbow to the bridge of the nose, sending him
sailing off the ropes, crashing down in a heap on the canvas!]

GM:  Ohh!  He floors Vasquez and-

[Without a second of pause, Scott steps up to the top rope...

...and leaps backwards, flipping through the air and CRASHING down
across the torso of a stunned Vasquez!]

BW:  STEVIESAULT!!  HE NAILED HIM!!

[Scott reaches back, hooking both legs with his arms.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREEEEEEEE- NO!  NO!  NO!!

[The crowd ERUPTS with relief as the referee springs to his feet,
holding up two fingers.]

GM:  It's only a two count!  Stevie Scott hit the Steviesault but he
only gets a two count for it!  I don't know how... I don't know how in
the world Juan Vasquez got his shoulder off the mat in time!  

BW:  This should be over, damn it!  That idiot Meekly can't count to
save his life!

GM:  That looked like a perfectly fine count to me, Bucky!  Michael
Meekly is doing a good job of officiating this match no matter what you
and Stevie Scott think!

[Speaking of which, the National Champion is throwing quite the temper
tantrum in the ring, shouting at the official, kicking the ropes,
threatening to backhand the referee.  Instead, he spins away, pulling
the challenger off the mat, scooping him into the air...

...and SLAMS him down to the mat!]

GM:  Big slam by the champ...

[The Southern Syndicate member backs to the ropes, pointing a finger at
the official.  He runs towards the downed challenger, leaping into the
air and dropping all his weight backfirst down on Vasquez' chest!]

GM:  Ohh!  Backsplash!

BW:  SHADES OF TOMMY STEPHENS!

[Scott pops back to his feet, hitting the far ropes, and dropping all
his weight down across the chest again!]

GM:  Another big backsplash!  

[The Hotshot rolls to his feet again, spitting on the downed Vasquez...

...and then leaps into the air one more time, dropping a third senton
down across the chest!]

GM:  THREE BACKSPLASHES!!

[Scott rolls over into a lateral press, reaching back to hook a leg.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE-

[The crowd ERUPTS at a big kickout by Vasquez!]

BW:  WHAT THE-?!

[As Scott rolls to his feet, Vasquez lunges forward, taking the
Hotshot's legs out from under him!]

GM:  TAKEDOWN!!

[With the Hotshot down, Vasquez takes the mount and starts throwing
heavy right hands down on him to the roar of the crowd!]

GM:  I think Stevie Scott might have gotten under Vasquez' skin with
those backsplashes - one of the trademark moves of the Number One
Contender!

[The Hotshot gets battered with right hand after right hand after right
hand until the protesting Michael Meekly physically grabs Vasquez around
the arm, dragging him off the downed National Champion.]

GM:  The referee pulled him off!  He pulled Vasquez off the downed Scott
and-

[With Vasquez backed away, the National Champion rolls towards the
ropes, looking for an escape...

...and finds Alex Martinez staring right at him, arms crossed.  BIG
CHEER!]

GM:  MARTINEZ WON'T LET HIM OUT!

BW:  Wait!  Wait!  What business is it of Alex Martinez if Stevie Scott
wants to get out of the ring to regroup?!  This is a plot by the
Championship Committee to take that title off Stevie Scott!  How obvious
can it be, Gordo?

GM:  I don't know what you're talking about.

[An angry Scott gets to his feet, waving off Martinez as he turns to
exit the other side of the ring...

...and finds Sweet Daddy Williams staring dead at him.]

GM:  He can't get out there either!  Martinez on one side!  Williams on
the other!  Stevie Scott is-

[The angry National Champion turns again...

...and finds himself being hiptossed through the air by Juan Vasquez!]

GM:  HIPTOSS!!

[Vasquez falls back to the ropes, bouncing off with a charge and leaping
into the air, dropping his weight down across the chest of a stunned
Stevie Scott!]

GM:  Now THAT'S Shades of Tommy Stephens!

[The challenger rolls to his side, applying a lateral press on the dazed
champion.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREEEEEE- NO!  NO!!  

BW:  HELL NO!  STEVIE GOT A SHOULDER UP!

[The crowd jeers wildly at what appeared to be a slightly off count. 
Juan Vasquez is quickly to his feet, backing the official down to the
corner with some harsh words.]

BW:  And it looks like Vasquez isn't pleased with the officiating
either, Gordo!

GM:  Apparently not.  That count looked... well, it looked a little off.
 Maybe fatigue on the part of Michael Meekly?  It's been a long night
for everyone.

[With Vasquez shouting at the referee, Stevie Scott rolls to all fours,
dipping his hand down into the front of his trunks.]

GM:  What in the world is he...?

[After a moment, he pulls out a silver chain that is easily visible to
the camera as he wraps it around his right hand, clenching his fist as
he hides it under his body.]

GM:  He's got a chain!  Stevie Scott's got a chain!

BW:  And Vasquez didn't see it, Gordo!  He's too busy yelling at Meekly
- he totally missed all of that!

GM:  I'm not sure anyone saw it except our cameras.  Excellent
camerawork, guys, to catch that.  

[Vasquez finally peels away from Meekly, moving over to the downed
Hotshot and pulling his head up...

...and EATING a chain-wrapped fist to the jaw!]

GM:  OHHHH!  DOWN GOES VASQUEZ!!

[Scott hides his chain-wrapped hand as he dives into a lateral press.]

GM:  We've got a cover!  ONE!!  TWO!!!  THRE-

[HUUUUUUUGE ROAR!]

BW:  That fat goof Williams just put Vasquez' foot on the bottom rope! 
He broke the pin! 

GM:  He... well, he certainly did that.  I saw it, I have to admit.

[Scott pushes up to his knees, looking outside the ring in shock at
Sweet Daddy Williams who waggles a finger Dikembe Mutombo style at
Stevie Scott and shouts, "Not like that!  Not tonight!"]

GM:  Sweet Daddy Williams was not about to let things go down like that!
 He wants to see a decisive win in this one as much as we do.  Whether
it's Vasquez or Scott winning, we want a winner!

[The National Champion slowly climbs to his feet, glaring at Sweet Daddy
Williams who is getting a warning from Alex Martinez out on the floor...

...and LASHES OUT with a Heatseeker under the chin of Michael Meekly,
knocking him flat!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  HE SUPERKICKED THE REF!  THAT SON OF A-

[Scott smirks as the crowd jeers wildly at his actions.]

GM:  He did that intentionally - a blatant assault on an official!  This
guy wants to be disqualified!  He knows the title is in jeopardy and he
wants out, Bucky!

BW:  Intentional or not - this match is over.  Ring the bell and pack
Vasquez' bags... don't forget his passport.

[The crowd roars as Alex Martinez pulls himself up on the apron,
stepping over the ropes into the ring...

...and points right at Stevie Scott who grins in response.  Martinez
lifts an arm, ready to call for the bell.]

GM:  No... no, don't do it, Alex.  Not like this.  Don't let this guy
out of this match like this - and more importantly, don't take Juan
Vasquez away from the AWA like this!

[Martinez pauses for a moment, listening to the crowd before calling for
the bell...

...and then looks down as someone grabs his leg.]

GM:  Vasquez!  Juan Vasquez is- what's he doing, Bucky?

BW:  I have no idea.

[Vasquez pushes himself up to his knees, looking up at Martinez.]

GM:  He's... my stars, he's begging Alex Martinez!  He's begging Alex
Martinez not to call for the bell!  He's begging him not to disqualify
Stevie Scott!

[The Hotshot glares at Vasquez and then turns his gaze to Martinez.]

"DON'T LISTEN TO HIM!  DO YOU JOB, MARTINEZ!"

[The seven footer stares at the Hotshot for a moment... then out to the
roaring crowd... then down to Vasquez...

...and then waves his arms, calling for the match to continue!]

GM:  YES!  YES!  YES!  

BW:  He can't do that!  What kind of a crooked decision is that?!

[A furious Stevie Scott spins away, slamming his arms into the top rope
as Vasquez pulls himself up using the ropes across the ring.  Scott
spins around, lashing out with another Heatseeker...

...this one aimed for Alex Martinez!]

GM:  HEATSEEK-

[But at the last possible moment, Vasquez shoves Martinez aside,
allowing Scott to airball on the superkick.]

GM:  HE MISSED!  HE MISSED!

[HUUUUUGE CHEER!]

GM:  SPIKE!  VASQUEZ HOOKS THE SPIKE!!

[The National Champion struggles against the dangerous hold again,
trying to escape as Alex Martinez leans in, asking for the submission.]

GM:  Stevie Scott's fighting it!  Stevie Scott's trying to hang on to
the National Title but he's gotta feel it slipping away from him at this
point.  Can he escape the Spike?  Can he-

[And a desperate Scott simply reaches out, jamming his thumb into the
eye of Alex Martinez!]

GM:  Ohh!  He raked the eyes of the referee!

BW:  That man is NOT the referee!

GM:  With Michael Meekly laid out thanks to Stevie Scott, he most
certainly is!

[With Martinez blinded and Vasquez stunned, Scott lunges bacwards,
smashing the Number One Contender into the corner!]

GM:  Ohh!  He DRIVES him back to the corner!

[Vasquez is pressed against the buckles, trying to keep the hold on as
Scott slams back elbow after elbow to the face, breaking the Assassin's
Spike!]

GM:  He breaks free!  He's free of the Spike and-

[Spinning around, Scott grabs Vasquez by the arm and FIRES him across
the ring, knocking him into a blinded Alex Martinez, a blow that knocks
the seven footer down to a knee.  Vasquez hits the mat to a knee as
well...

...and Stevie Scott starts waving his arms like a wildman.]

GM:  What in the...

[The crowd ERUPTS in jeers as Ben Waterson comes charging down the aisle
to the ring...

...carrying a very familiar steel briefcase.]

GM:  What the HELL is he doing out here?!

BW:  I knew it!  I knew these two would have a plan!  I knew Ben
Waterson and Stevie Scott weren't going down without a plan!

[Waterson swiftly gets up on the apron, case in hand.  A grinning Stevie
Scott nods, lifting his hands to receive it...]

GM:  I can't believe this!  The officials are down... Waterson's here...
not again!  This son of a- they're going to steal Juan Vasquez' career
from him, damn it!

[Waterson tosses the steel case into the air towards Stevie Scott whose
hands are raised to catch it...

...but he watches helplessly as the case sails over him, landing in the
waiting hands of Juan Vasquez.]

GM:  WHAT?!

[Scott's eyes go wide as Vasquez stands before him with the briefcase. 
The National Champion turns around, looking at Ben Waterson who
smirks...

...and nods.]

GM:  NO!


"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[The metal briefcase is SMASHED down over the skull of a shocked Stevie
Scott, a blow that knocks the National Champion flat on his back. 
Vasquez quickly tosses the briefcase back to Waterson who drops down to
the floor, hiding below the level of the squared circle as a
still-hurting Martinez drops down on all fours to count.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


[The crowd responds with a major mixed reaction as Juan Vasquez pops to
his knees, head bowed as he throws his arms into the air in triumph.]

GM:  Juan Vasquez... my god, Juan Vasquez is the AWA National Champion
but... but what did we just see?

BW:  I have no idea!

GM:  Ben Waterson came out here... it looked like... well, we all
thought he was going to throw that case to Stevie Scott to finish off
Juan Vasquez but he threw it OVER him, Bucky.

BW:  It looked like he threw it RIGHT to Juan Vasquez but that can't
be... that couldn't have happened, right?

GM:  I... in all honesty, Bucky, I don't know what to think right now.

[The referee grabs the title belt from ringside.]

PW:  Here is your winner...

...and NEW AWA NATIONAL CHAMPION...

JUAAAAAAAAAAAAAN VASSSSSQUEZ!

[The belt is handed over to Vasquez who clutches it, hugging it tightly
to his chest as he kneels on the canvas.  After a moment, Ben Waterson
climbs into the ring, steel briefcase in hand and moves to stand next to
Vasquez.]

GM:  He's... he's standing next to him.  Ben Waterson is standing
alongside Juan Vasquez and I don't- what in the world is happening here,
Bucky?  I feel like this is some kind of a Bizarro world!

[Vasquez slowly climbs to his feet, nodding his head to the crowd that
is split between cheering and jeering him.  He takes the title belt,
slinging it over his shoulder as he stands in the middle of the ring,
newly crowned as the AWA National Champion...

...and soon finds himself face to face with Sweet Daddy Williams.]

GM:  Uh oh.

BW:  I feel like I've seen this before, Gordo.

[Williams shakes his head, pointing at Waterson.  He jabs a finger into
Juan Vasquez' chest, then points at Waterson again.]

GM:  Sweet Daddy Williams is in shock!  Could this have happened to him
again?  Could he have been betrayed for the second time in two years -
both times engineered by Ben Waterson?

BW:  Wait... are we really saying that Waterson and Vasquez are working
together?  Is that what we're saying?

GM:  What else can we say, Bucky?  Look at them standing side by side!

[Waterson pats Vasquez on the shoulder with a big grin on his face,
shouting something in the direction of Williams.]

GM:  He wants Vasquez to waffle him with that case - just like Stevie
Scott did when he joined up with Waterson!  He wants him to-

[Vasquez takes the case from Waterson, clutching it in both hands as he
glares at a shocked Sweet Daddy Williams who is slowly shaking his head
in disbelief.]

GM:  What in the world is going to happen here?  What is Juan Vasquez -
what's going through his mind right now?  What's-

[And suddenly, Vasquez wheels around...

...and BASHES Ben Waterson over the head with the briefcase!]

GM:  OHHHHHHH!  HE HIT WATERSON!  HE HIT BEN WATERSON!!

[The crowd ERUPTS in cheers as Vasquez throws the case aside, grinning
widely and falling into an embrace with Sweet Daddy Williams who hoists
his arm into the air in victory.]

GM:  Juan Vasquez has done it!  Juan Vasquez is the new National
Champion!  And I don't know what happened with Waterson but it's very
clear that Juan Vasquez and Ben Waterson are NOT allies!  They're not-


"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[The crowd reacts strongly as a rising Stevie Scott grabs the discarded
briefcase and SMASHES Sweet Daddy Williams in the back of the head with
it before spinning...]


"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[...and drilling Juan Vasquez with it as well, laying him out!]

GM:  STEVIE SCOTT JUST NAILED THEM BOTH WITH THE CASE!!

[A furious Scott throws the case down right on the back of a downed Ben
Waterson.  He marches back to Vasquez, pulling him off the mat...

...and into a standing headscissors!]

GM:  No, no!  You've gotta be kidding me!

BW:  Stevie's not done!  You want his belt?  You may have to kill him to
keep it!

GM:  He's going for the piledriver!  He's gonna try to cripple the new
champ!

[But before he can lift Vasquez off the mat, he finds himself with a
hand wrapped around his throat courtesy of Alex Martinez.  A gasping
Scott releases Vasquez...

...and finds himself hoisted into the air by the throat before being
brutally powerbombed down to the canvas!]

GM:  FIREBOMB!!  FIREBOMB!!

[The crowd roars for Martinez as he smirks at the downed Hotshot before
turning away, stepping over the ropes and making his exit back up the
aisle.]

GM:  Martinez is leaving!  Stevie Scott is down!  Ben Waterson is...
well, I don't know what!  And Juan Vasquez is the new National Champion!
 My god, what a night, Bucky!

BW:  I've never seen anything like it.

GM:  We're waaaaay out of time!  We've gotta go!  For Jon Stegglet, Todd
Michaelson, Bucky Wilde, and all the rest of our team, I'm Gordon Myers
wishing you good night from Dallas, Texas where SuperClash II is-

[Myers is interrupted by the sight of Juan Vasquez suddenly back on his
feet...

...and pulling Stevie Scott back to his.]

GM:  It looks like the new champion is not done with Stevie Scott yet!

[With Scott back to his feet, Vasquez pulls him into a standing
headscissors to a roar from the crowd.]

GM:  Oh no.

BW:  No, no!  Stop him!  Somebody stop him!

GM:  Think of all the people we've seen Stevie Scott do this to!  Think
of all the times he threatened to do this to Juan Vasquez!  Think of the
careers he's shortened and-

[Vasquez hoists Scott off the mat, holding him upside down in his
arms...

...and then leaps up, DRIVING the Hotshot's skull into the canvas to the
roar of the crowd!]

GM:  PILEDRIVER!  HE DELIVERED THE PILEDRIVER ON STEVIE SCOTT!

[The crowd is deafening for Vasquez as he slowly gets to his feet,
retrieving his title belt from the canvas.  He looks down at the
motionless Stevie Scott, nodding his head...

...and slowly raises the AWA National Title belt over his head, soaking
up the roar from the AWA faithful as we fade to black.]