All Access

Archived show text

Rendered from the original legacy TXT file. The source file remains unchanged.

[Fade in to Jason Dane, dressed in a black AWA polo and jeans, standing
in front of a bank of monitors that are usually used for the big event
"Control Centers."  But this is no Control Center!]

JD:  Hello, fans, and welcome to a special edition of AWA Access!  This
is online exclusive so make sure your bandwidth is clear - stay off the
Playstation Network!  Keep Hulu in check!  And make sure your WebTV
isn't checking your e-mail!  The AWA was on the road for the past couple
nights in Tupelo, Mississippi and Huntsville, Alabama and we had our
cameras in the house for those two live events.  We've got the big, big
stars to showcase along with some talent you may not have seen on
television yet.  Down at ringside, I'm going to be joined by former
World Champion, Colt Patterson, who will help me call all the action. 
So, first, let's head down to the ring in Tupelo, Mississippi for some
early night action!

[We crossfade from the bank of monitors to a dimly-lit arena in Tupelo. 
There is no elevated walkway.  There are no fancy lights.  This is pro
wrestling at its grittiest.  Inside the ring are a pair of grapplers
already.  One has a wild red beard to match his scraggly hair.  His 260
pounds is mostly in a beer gut but he looks ready to tussle.  He is
Jagger Conroe.  His partner looks like he just came out of the corner
bar, dressed in a stained t-shirt and BADLY stained ballcap.  He is
Freddy Oates.]

JD:  And we're gonna get things started here in Tupelo, Mississippi with
some down and dirty tag team action, Colt.

CP:  Down and dirty is right.  Look at these two.  Did Masterson yank
'em out of a bar somewhere?  Maybe a truckstop?

JD:  He very well might have.  And the men that they're going to be
facing may look familiar to AWA fans...

[The crowd responds slightly as "Still Frame" by Trapt starts to play
over the PA system in Tupelo.  Kenny Stanton is out first, tagging hands
with the fans energetically. Brad Jacobs is right behind him, roaring
and flexing his arms, and emphatically fist bumping innocent bystanders.
The streamlined and athletic Stanton wears glossy midnight blue tights
with the outline of the Texas Longhorn on the back of his tights in
white, by his left hip. The jacked up Jacobs wears similar glossy
midnight blue tights, with the outline of the Miami Hurricane logo on
the back of his tights, up by his right hip. They both wear white wrist
tape, black kneepads and white boots, with black vests that have a
picture of a stallion in mid-gallop on the back.]

JD:  Here they are, Colt... Kenny Stanton... formerly Kendall Stanton to
AWA fans... and Brad Jacobs, fresh out of the Combat Corner...

CP:  There's been a whole lot of people fresh out of the Combat Corner
lately.  Michaelson must be doing something right down there at that
school.

JD:  We've see Ricky Armstrong, Jeff Jagger, the Antons... lots of top
level talent coming out of the Corner as of late and you can add these
two men to that list - together, they're known as the Southern
Stallions.  These two men have had an interesting path to the AWA tag
team division, Colt.

CP:  That's right.  From what I understand, there was a local promotion
that had booked the Rockstar Express through the AWA a few months ago
and the Rockstars couldn't make it.  The AWA sent these two in their
place - and they won that night.  And impressed a whole lot of people.

JD:  They quickly became one of the most popular tag teams available to
book through the Alliance, working many of the states throughout the
South.  And now, they've made the main roster together where I'm told
they're hoping to be invited to participate in the Stampede Cup coming
up in September.

[Jacobs steps out of the ring as Jagger Conroe does the same on the
other side of the ring leaving Kenny Stanton and Freddy Oates behind.]

JD:  This one's about to get started.  Kenny Stanton is coming off a
very good outing against the Longhorn Heritage Champion, Nenshou, on the
last Saturday Night Wrestling and now he's looking to make an impact on
the tag team division.

[As the bell rings, Stanton ties up in a collar and elbow with Freddy
Oates, quickly taking him down with an armdrag.]

JD:  Nice execution on the armdrag by Stanton... and there's another
one!  He just tosses Freddy Oates down to the mat...

[The two men go to tie up again but Oates goes right to the eyes,
battering Stanton with right hands that takes Stanton back into the
corner.  Oates hooks a side headlock, battering the skull of Stanton...

...who responds by hoisting Oates into the air, dropping him down onto a
bent knee with an atomic drop!]

JD:  High lifting atomic drop... Oates back to his feet and-

[The crowd cheers for a picture perfect dropkick that catches Oates
solidly on the chin, knocking the brawler down to the mat.  Oates falls
to his back, scampering backwards to the buckles where he slaps the hand
of Jagger Conroe.]

JD:  Tag on one side of the ring...

[Jagger Conroe steps in, tugging at his wild red beard as he shouts
across the ring at Stanton...

...and then points at Brad Jacobs.]

JD:  It looks like Conroe wants to tangle with Brad Jacobs - and I'm not
sure I understand that strategy.  

[Stanton grins, nodding as he slaps his partner's hand.]

JD:  There's the tag to Brad Jacobs... Big Brad Jacobs at that... 

CP:  Look at the size of this young man...

JD:  Six foot three, two hundred and seventy-three pounds out of Miami,
Florida.  This kid is a former three-time All American defensive tackle
at the University of Miami.  He had a real shot at the NFL but a blown
out knee in his final game killed his shot.  But Sweet Daddy Williams
discovered him at a Florida Championship Wrestling show and brought him
to the AWA where he could be the next big thing in my estimation, Colt.

[Conroe moves in slowly, shouting at Jacobs the entire time he
approaches...

...and then slaps the young man across the face!]

"OHHHHHH!"

JD:  I don't know if that's a good ide-

[Jacobs suddenly erupts with a series of right hands on the jaw that
bring the crowd to their feet.  Grabbing an arm, he flings Conroe across
the ring...

...and floors him with a running clothesline to a big cheer!]

JD:  Down goes Jagger Conroe off the clothesline!

[Jacobs steps away, nodding his head and slapping his chest as he
crouches down, waiting for Conroe to get back up...

...and floors a rising Conroe with another running clothesline!]

JD:  He goes down again off that big powerhouse of a clothesline!

[Jacobs grabs Conroe off the mat, scooping him up...

...and then muscles him up into a military press, shoving him high in
the sky!]

CP:  Look at the power, Dane.  He reminds me a little bit of me...

[Jacobs walks around the ring with the 260 pounder pressed in the air,
showing him off to the entire building before flinging him down to the
canvas to a loud thud...

...and we crossfade to later in the match where Kendall Stanton is
lacing Conroe with jabs to the jaw in the buckles.  He grabs an arm,
firing Conroe across the ring, and charges in after him, leaping into
the air for a spinning leg lariat in the buckles!]

JD:  OHHHH!  STANTON CATCHES ALL OF THAT IN THE CORNER!!

[Dragging Conroe out of the corner, Kenny Stanton slaps Brad Jacobs'
hand.  Jacobs steps through as Stanton steadies Conroe...

...and drops down into a legsweep as Jacobs CRACKS Conroe in the jaw
with a vicious standing lariat!]

JD:  OHH!  Stanton tells me they call this one the Sidewinder!

CP:  Call it what you want but Conroe might need to see a dentist after
that 'cause Jacobs caught him right in the mush.  Right in the mouth,
JD.

[We crossfade again to later in the match where Jacobs plants Conroe
with a bodyslam before slapping the hand of his partner.  Stanton rushes
across the ring, getting hoisted up by Jacobs in a military press...

...and then hurled down in a senton on the prone Conroe!]

CP:   Holy- what in the world do they call that one, Dane?

JD:  SOUTHWEST AIRLINES!!  AND THEY GOT ALL OF THAT, BROTHER!

[Stanton rolls into a lateral press as Jacobs stands guard, earning a
near fall but Conroe fires a shoulder up just before the three count
comes down.]

JD:  Just a two count... it was a close one... very close to a three
count... but not enough.

[Stanton points to the corner, pulling Conroe off the mat.  He picks him
up over a shoulder, walking him back to the corner and setting him down
on the top rope...]

JD:  This could be it here, Colt.  I've seen some of the tapes of their
matches elsewhere and- look out, Kenny!

[Freddy Oates rushes in, trying to help his partner...

...and gets DRILLED with a running shoulder tackle that knocks Oates
through the ropes and out to the floor!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


JD:  He POUNCED on him, Colt!

CP:  Period.

[With the crowd roaring their support, Jacobs approaches the corner
where Conroe is seated as a nodding Stanton races to the adjacent
buckles.  Jacobs steps up to the middle rope, hooking a front facelock
and slinging Conroe's arm over the back of his neck...]

JD:  Jacobs is setting him up!  He's got him set up on the top rope!

[With Stanton in position on the adjacent ropes, Jacobs powers Conroe
into the air...

...and holds him straight up!]

JD:  What the-?!

[The crowd ROARS at the show of power as Jacobs holds Conroe upside down
for several seconds...

...and then brings him crashing down to the canvas just as Stanton leaps
into the air, dropping a big splash down across the chest of Conroe!]

JD:  OHHHH!  THEY CALL IT THE ROUGH RIDER!!

[Jacobs holds guard as the official drops down to count.]

JD:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREEEEEEEE!!!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


[Stanton climbs to his feet, embracing his tag team partner before they
each go to a corner to salute the cheering fans.]

JD:  The Southern Stallions with an impressive win in their debut here
on All Access in Tupelo, Mississippi.  What did you think, Colt?

CP:  They've got a lot of raw talent - a good mixture of speed and
agility in Stanton and raw power in Jacobs.  If they get into the
Stampede Cup, Dane, I think they could be a dark horse.  You'd do well
not to take them too lightly if you face 'em in September.

JD:  You can say that again.

[And as the fan favorites celebrate their victory...

...we crossfade back to the WKIK Studios where Jason Dane is standing in
front of a bank of monitors.]

JD:  The Southern Stallions are on their way here in the AWA, fans...
now, coming up next, we had a situation break down between Vladimir
Velikov and Tyler Lee.  These two were scheduled to square off in
singles action inside the ring but... well, things didn't turn out as
expected for the Louisville Slugger.  Let's take a look...

[We crossfade back to the ringside area in Tupelo where Tyler Lee is
hammering Vladimir Velikov's massive skull with right hands to the roar
of the fans.]

JD:  Fans, the Louisville Slugger is takin' it to Velikov!

CP:  Has this match even STARTED yet?!

JD:  I have no idea!  I didn't hear a bell but they're tearing into each
other and-

[Grabbing an arm, Lee HURLS Velikov spinefirst into the ringside
barricade!]


"CLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANG!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


JD:  VELIKOV GETS FIRED INTO THE STEEL!!  Good grief, Colt Patterson!

[A fired-up Lee nods to the cheering crowd as he approaches, grabbing a
loose side headlock up against the steel and hammers Velikov's skull
with right hands.  The Russian fights back though, hoisting Lee off the
mat...

...and DROPPING him groinfirst on the railing!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


JD:  A hard landing for Tyler Lee and that'll certainly change the
complexion of this one here in Tupelo!  That can turn things around in a
hurry for Vladimir Velikov.

[The Russian stumbles away, shaking his head as he tries to clear the
cobwebs.  He leans on the ring apron for a moment as Lee grimaces in
pain on top of the barricade.]

JD:  Lee stumbles down off the railing, still holding his... well, you
can see quite clearly exactly what he's holding, fans.  I don't think
you need me to spell it out for you.

[Approaching the downed Lee, Velikov lays in a series of kicks to the
chest before hauling him off the floor.  He staggers towards the
apron...

...and SLAMS Lee's skull into the canvas!]

JD:  Ohh!  He sends him facefirst into the mat!

[A few clubbing forearms to the back of the head and neck connect before
Velikov shoves Lee under the ropes, spinning him so that his head is
draped backwards off the apron.  The Russian pulls himself up on the
apron, measuring his man...

...and drops off, smashing his forearm down on the throat!]

JD:  Ohhh!  Right to the throat!

[A gasping Lee rolls from the ring, falling to the floor with his hands
around his throat.  The angry Russian stalks away towards the ringside
timekeeper's table where he promptly shoves the timekeeper aside,
folding up his wooden chair...]

JD:  Look out here, fans... Velikov's got a chair!

CP:  I'd say he's risking a disqualification but I'm still not convinced
this match has even started yet!

[The big Russian rears back with the wooden chair...]


"CRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASH!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


JD:  GOOD GOD!!  HE BROKE THE WOODEN CHAIR ACROSS TYLER LEE'S BACK!!

[Lee crumples down to the floor as Velikov stands over him, fragments of
the chair in his hands.  He glares down at the Louisville Slugger as AWA
officials pour into view, trying to get between the big Russian and his
rival.]

JD:  We've got AWA officials all over ringside, trying to keep these two
apart.  But in just about three weeks' time, we're gonna see these guys
inside the Tower of Doom, Colt!

CP:  And what a dangerous situation that is.  A typical cage match is
bad enough when you've got steel walls to slam people into... but in
this one, there are opportunities where you've got a steel FLOOR!  Plus,
you've got ten men inside there who want to maim each other!

JD:  It's gonna be a heck of a night at Wrestlerock when those ten men
climb into the Tower of Doom - the final battleground for those two
teams.  Two teams enter, only one team can prevail though.  

CP:  Heck, can Tyler Lee even MAKE it to Wrestlerock after getting hit
with that chair?

JD:  Tyler Lee's a lot tougher than anyone knows, Colt Patterson.  He'll
be there in Durham... and he's scheduled to be in Nashville for Saturday
Night Wrestling as well!  

[A sneering Velikov makes his way back up the aisle, remnants of the
wooden chair in his hand as we crossfade back to the WKIK Studios...]

JD:  A brutal attack with that chair by Vladimir Velikov - very
obviously that match ended in a no contest but that won't be the case at
Wrestlerock, fans.  It's coming up on the 4th of July and we know that
we'll be seeing the Tower of Doom.  But in addition to that, we'll also
see Robert Donovan meet Nenshou with the Longhorn Heritage Title on the
line - a title that Donovan has been chasing since its inception.  Plus,
the Unholy Alliance team of Anton Layton, Polemos, and Ebola Zaire will
meet the Lynch Brothers in six man action as well!  And I'm being told
we'll find out more matches for that big event next weekend on Saturday
Night Wrestling to boot!

[Dane grins!]

JD:  But for now, let's go back to Tupelo for more action.  It's been a
while since we've seen the Moonshiners in action but they were in the
house in Tupelo and had these comments...

[Crossfade back to Tupelo where The Moonshiners - Jug, Zeke, and their
manager Mange - are standing with Mark Stegglet.  Mange is creepily
standing with an arm around Stegglet's neck.]

MS:  Fans, we are LIVE here in Tupelo and my guests at this time have
not been around very much lately - the Moonshiners!  Gentlemen, would
you care to tell our fans where you've been?

[Mange eyes Stegglet with a smirk on his face.]

Mange:  Did you miss us, old friend?

[Stegglet does not seem prepared to answer that.]

Mange:  You're right, child.  It's been a while since my boys, Jug and
Zeke, were able to climb into that ring and dish out a beating on these
poor souls the AWA keeps sticking in front of them.

Let's just say that steel bars get in the way sometimes.

[Stegglet looks shocked.]

MS:  Steel bars?!  Are you saying you guys were in JAIL?!

[Mange smirks.]

Mange:  Hard living can sometimes have hard results, Mark.  My boys live
life very hard.  They work hard, they play hard... they drink hard...
they fight hard.  It's not their fault that the system rewards the weak
and pathetic.  If those six college boys could've stood their ground,
the police didn't even need to be involved!

MS:  SIX?!

Mange:  Hardly a fair fight, I know.  They needed a few more on their
side to stand a chance with my boys.

[Zeke nods with a big grin on his face, rubbing a fresh scar on his
heavily bearded face.]

Mange:  But that's the past, Mark... and hopefully their parole officer
keeps it there.  Right now, the boys are looking forward... and I'll
give you one guess what they're looking forward to...

MS:  The Stampede Cup?

Mange:  That's right, boy.  The Stampede Cup.  The opportunity - what's
the poster say?  The chance to show the world who the best tag team in
wrestling is...

[Mange spits as Stegglet takes a disgusted step back.]

Mange:  Anyone with two working eyes in their head - and Sweet Daddy
Williams too - knows that the Moonshiners are the meanest, toughest tag
team in the world today.

But it ain't braggin' right we want.  It's the money.

MS:  One million dollars!

Mange:  One million dollars.

[He nods.]

Mange:  The boys can buy a whole lot of Wild Turkey and pay a whole lot
of bail with that much money, Mark... and I can buy you somethin' real,
real purdy...

[He rubs the back of his hand on Stegglet's cheek, causing our
interviewer to visibly wince.]

Mange:  So, you have your little matches here tonight in Tupelo... and
tomorrow in Alabama... in then on down to Tennessee... and everywhere
else the AWA is going until September.

We're gonna get some REAL training done.

Boys, let's go find the local saloon...

[One final smirk.]

Mange:  See you at the Cup.

[And the Moonshiners walk out of view as we fade back to ringside where
we join a match already in progress - the West Memphis Assassin beating
the tar out of young Cooper Martin.]

JD:  Welcome back to Tupelo, fans, and would you take a look at this...

[The masked man delivers stomp after stomp to the ribs of Martin,
forcing him under the ropes and out to the floor.]

CP:  This guy came out of nowhere on the last Saturday Night Wrestling,
shocked us all... and then shocked Juan Vasquez even more when he dished
out a world-class beatin' to him at the end of the night.

JD:  He hit Juan Vasquez over the head with a steel chair!  Luckily, the
National Champion got his arms up to partially block it or that could
have been a serious, serious injury.  

CP:  It still could be.  We still don't know what condition Juan Vasquez
is in.

JD:  We don't but we'll find out at the start of next weekend's show
when the National Champion will let the whole world know what his plans
are for Wrestlerock.

CP:  They may be to sit at home and watch the show from his reclining
chair.

[The Assassin rolls to the floor, pulling Martin up by the hair, and
tugging him into a front facelock...]

JD:  No, no... not on the floor!

[The crowd jeers as the masked man SNAPS Martin over in a bone-rattling
suplex on the thinly-padded floor.  He drags Martin off the mat, shoving
him under the ropes into the ring.]

JD:  The Assassin brings the action back inside... now up on the apron
himself...

[Stepping through the ropes near the corner, the Assassin promptly hops
up on the middle rope, measuring the downed Martin...

...and leaps off, driving his elbow down into the throat of Martin!]

JD:  Ohh!  The elbowsmash is driven deep into the windpipe, leaving
Cooper Martin gasping for air on the canvas!

[Climbing back to his feet, the masked man drags Martin off the mat by
the hair.  He hooks him around the waist, powering him up...

...and reaches back with his free hand, hooking the head of Martin.]

JD:  Oh, look at this!  This is a blatant message being sent to Juan
Vasquez!

[The Assassin charges out of the corner, leaping into the air, and
DRIVES the back of Martin's head into the canvas!]

JD:  That's the City of Angels!  One of the signature moves of the
National Champion!

[The Assassin rolls into a lateral press, reaching back to hook a leg.]

JD:  One.. two... and there's the easy three...

[The West Memphis Assassin quickly gets to his feet, laying in a few
more stomps to the protests of the official before exiting the ring,
walking back up the aisle without a word to anyone.]

JD:  The masked man claims another win - and just who is under that mask
this time around, Colt Patterson?

CP:  It could almost be anyone, JD.  Juan Vasquez has a lot of enemies
that he's made over the past few years.  Who WOULDN'T want a shot at
some payback?

JD:  You have a point there.  But the masked man's identity remains a
secret for at least one more night... but what will happen when Juan
Vasquez gets his hands on the masked man?

[We crossfade away from the shot of the exiting West Memphis Assassin to
a shot backstage with Mark Stegglet standing alongside a young man who
has not been seen before on AWA television.]

MS:  We are LIVE here in the locker room area in Tupelo, Mississippi -
and I'm standing here with a man who made quite a name for himself in
PCW and is now hoping to do the same thing here in the AWA - the "Big
Chief" Yuma Weaver!

[Weaver is a dark-skinned young man with his jet black hair shaved very
close to the head with a streak of blood red dyed down the center in a
quasi-mohawk.  He's wearing a black singlet over his large frame as he
speaks.]

YW:  I have fought for years for this moment, Mark Stegglet.  All the
years of difficulties and trials I've gone through in my life have led
to this - me standing here about to walk out to the AWA ring.  They say
that whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger, right?

[Stegglet nods.]

YW:  If that's true, I'm the strongest man in the entire AWA... and I
plan on using that strength to the fullest.  I plan on putting all that
strength into every chop I throw, into every slam I do, into every run,
into every jump, into every lift.  It is this strength that I will rely
on... the fighting spirit embedded on my very heart and soul by my
ancestors who went through far worse than I can ever dream of...

MS:  Tonight, you face a man you're very familiar with... "Red Hot" Rex
Summers...

[Weaver exhales slowly, seething with anger.]

YW:  Rex Summers believes he was short-changed by the world.  He likes
to stand with that piece of garbage manager of his and tell the world
how he's been mistreated.

He does not begin to understand true mistreatment.

Rex Summers, when I flatten this right hand and slash it across your
chest like a sword... you will understand mistreatment.

When I put you up on my shoulders and slam you down to the mat... you
will understand mistreatment.

When I beat you around the ring worse than you have even been beaten
before... you will understand mistreatment.

[Weaver clasps his hands in front of him in a mighty grip.]

YW:  This is MY night, Summers.  MY opportunity.  MY moment.

And I will NOT let you steal that away from me.

I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me...

[A hard stare at the camera.]

YW:  ...and not shrink back.

[Weaver lets loose something resembling a war whoop as he exits out of
the camera shot.  As we crossfade to the ring, we find Weaver already
there, waiting for his opponent who is slowly slinking down the aisle
alongside his manager, Buddy Morton.]

JD:  Tupelo, Mississippi is getting their first look at both Rex Summers
AND Yuma Weaver.

CP:  Yuma?  What kind of a name is Yuma?

JD:  He took on that name to pay tribute to his Native American
heritage, Colt.

[Weaver is crouched over, hands dangling and fingers wriggling as he
awaits his opponent who climbs the steel ringsteps.  He slips through
the ropes, Buddy Morton right behind him.  Morton snatches the mic from
the ring announcer.]

BM:  Can you people PLEEEEEEEASE shut up?!

[Predictably, more boos!]

BM:  If you can all sit down, shut up, and listen close - you might get
some insight from what a REAL MAN sounds like!

[Morton hands over the mic to Rex Summers.]

RS:  This one goes out to all you Tupelo Trash out there...

[More boos.]

RS:  Take a moment to close your mouths and open your eyes as you're
about to feast your eyes on the sexiest man aliiiiive... hit the
music...

[Summers' music starts back up as Morton grabs the back of Rex's robe,
pulling it down to reveal his amazingly-chiseled body...

...to which Yuma Weaver responds by rushing in and LASHING Summers'
across the chest with a knife-edge chop!  The blow brings the crowd to
their feet as Summers falls to the mat, arms still tangled in the robe. 
Weaver shouts at Summers to get up as the muscular man slowly slides
backwards, Buddy Morton bailing out to the floor as Weaver stalks
towards his opponent.]

JD:  Yuma Weaver's got the former PCW World Champion in troub-

CP:  Former?  He didn't lose that belt.

JD:  Yes, but PCW no longer exists!  How can he still be the champion of
a company that doesn't exist?

CP:  Until I see someone take that belt from him, he's the champ in my
book... and in the record books at that, Dane.

[The referee steps in, trying to get Weaver to give Summers a chance to
get his robe off which "Red Hot" quickly does...

...and hurls it in the face of the incoming Weaver, blinding him for a
moment and allowing Summers to bury a boot into the midsection of the
Native American warrior.]

JD:  Oh!  Cheap trick by Rex Summers!

CP:  Cheap trick?!  Like chopping someone while his arms are still
tangled up is on the up-and-up?!

JD:  I never said that.

[Summers takes the chance to hammer away at the back of Weaver's head
and neck with forearm smashes.  He delivers a perfect elbow to the back
of the neck, stunning Weaver as he grabs a handful of the short hair...

...and SMASHES Weaver's face into the top turnbuckle!]

JD:  Into the buckles goes the Big Chief...

[Summers spins him around, burying a knee into the ribs before grabbing
an arm...]

JD:  Irish whi- reversed by Weaver!

[Summers smashes hard into the buckles, stumbling out...

...and getting LAUNCHED into the air, crashing down to the canvas from a
big back body drop!]

JD:  Rex Summers could've changed a light bulb while he was up there,
Colt!

[Summers promptly rolls out to the floor, huddling up with his manager
as we crossfade to later in the match...

...where Summers has Weaver down on his back in the corner, repeatedly
stomping his upper body.]

JD:  Summers has regained control in this one after that missed high
cross body, really doing a number on the Big Chief down on the canvas.

[Reaching down, Summers hauls Weaver to his feet, pasting him with a
right hand to the jaw that knocks the Native American into the buckles. 
A few kicks to the midsection follow before Summers drags him out by the
hair, scooping him up, and slamming him down to the canvas...]

JD:  And it's a big bodyslam, right down in the center of the ring.. oh,
look at this...

[A grinning Summers strikes a single bicep pose, showing off to the
jeers of most of the fans but a few female squeals before he kisses his
own bicep and then drops an elbow down into the chest of Weaver, staying
with the one arm across the chest as he shouts, "Count 'im, ref!"]

JD:  There's a one... and a two... but that's not gonna be enough to
keep the Big Chief down.  Weaver, as he said earlier, has that ancestral
fighting spirit driving him to keep going in this, his AWA debut.

[Summers climbs back to his feet, balling up his fist in front of him
and burying a fistdrop to the skull.  He climbs back to his feet,
repeating the falling blow to the jeers of the crowd before he applies
another press, earning another two count.]

JD:  I think Rex Summers is taking this young man too lightly, Colt.

CP:  You may be right.  When you're as good as Rex Summers is, it's hard
not to think of the entire world as inferior to you.  Weaver certainly
would fit in that role.

[Summers delivers a few stomps to the skull of Weaver before hauling him
to his feet once more, firing him into the ropes...

...and dropping him with a tremendous clothesline!]

JD:  Ohhh!  Summers puts him down with a standing clothesline and
Weaver's hurting after that one.

CP:  He's hurtin' for certain, JD.

[Summers applies another press, still only earning a two count before
Weaver fires a shoulder up...

...and we crossfade to later in the match.]

JD:  Summers fires him into the ropes... charges in...

[And runs headlong into two raised big boots to the jaw!  Big cheer!]

JD:  OHHH!  WEAVER CAUGHT HIM DEAD TO RIGHTS ON THAT ONE!!

[Winding up, Weaver lashes out with a big knife-edge chop that puts
Summers down on the canvas.  Staggering to the ropes, Weaver looks out
at the cheering crowd and begins nodding his head.  He shakes the ropes
a few times before giving a loud whoop and spinning around...

...where he drops a rising Summers with another knife-edge chop!]

JD:  He caught him again!

[Reaching down, the Big Chief drags Summers off the mat, grabbing an arm
and firing him chestfirst into the buckles...]

JD:  Ohh!  Summers hits the corner hard!

[Stumbling back out, Weaver hooks a back suplex, bridging as he drives
Summers down on his shoulders on the mat.]

JD:  We've got one!  We've got two!

[But the resilient Summers kicks out at two, flailing his shoulder up
off the canvas.  Weaver is slow to get to his feet, reaching them around
the same time as his opponent...

...and DRILLING him with a knife-edge chop that sends Summers sailing
backwards, crashing into the buckles!]

JD:  He was going down again if it hadn't been for the corner!

[Mounting the midbuckle, Weaver holds up his right hand to the roar of
the crowd.]


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

JD:  Ten big chops from the buckles!

CP:  Those chops are in the eyes too, Dane!  The ref should be saying
something to him right now about that!

[Grabbing a handful of hair, Weaver charges from corner to corner and
SMASHES Summers' face into the buckle, sending him sailing back out of
the corner and down to the canvas!]

JD:  Weaver puts Summers down... and he's headed for the top!

[The crowd is buzzing for the Big Chief as he steps to the apron,
scaling the ropes to head up top...]

JD:  Summers is starting to stir... Weaver is perched on the top...

[And as Rex Summers regains his feet, Weaver takes flight, sailing
through a sea of flashbulbs to CRACK Summers over the skull with a
Tomahawk Chop, knocking him flat!]

JD:  HE GOT IT!!  HE GOT THE TOMAHAWK CHOP AND-

[Weaver dives across the downed Summers.]

JD:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE-

[But the referee pulls up short, pointing at Summers' foot which is
draped over the bottom rope.  Buddy Morton stands conspicuously nearby.]

JD:  Summers got a foot on the ropes - and I think Buddy Morton put it
there!

CP:  Can you PROVE that, Dane?

JD:  No, I didn't see it!

CP:  And neither did the referee so shut up about it!

[A frustrated Weaver complains to the official who shrugs him off as
Weaver backs him across the ring, shouting at him.  On the canvas, Rex
Summers is getting violently shaken by Buddy Morton who is trying to
revive him.  Summers grabs the middle rope, pulling himself to his feet
in a daze...

...and a THUNDEROUS knife-edge chop connects, knocking Summers over the
ropes and out onto the apron!]

JD:  Good grief!  He almost went all the way to the floor!

CP:  But being the ring general that he is, Rex Summers managed to
scramble onto the apron to save himself...

JD:  But I'm not sure how much good it's going to do him because Yuma
Weaver is right on top of him still...

[Reaching over the ropes, Weaver hauls Summers to his feet, hooking a
front facelock...]

JD:  He's gonna bring Rex Summers in the hard way!

[Weaver goes to hoist Summers up but on the way up, Buddy Morton reaches
in, hooking the ankle of Weaver and tripping him up, bringing Summers
crashing down on top of him...

...and Morton hangs on to the ankle, holding a flailing Weaver's leg
down as the referee dives to the mat!]

JD:  Not like this!  Not like-

CP:  ONE!!  TWO!!   THREE!!  Hahah!  I love it, Dane!

[Summers promptly - and quickly - rolls to the floor, joining his
manager as they flee together up the aisle as one angry Native American
climbs to his feet, taking a swing at Summers from inside the ring as he
shouts in his direction.]

JD:  What a robbery that was, Colt Patterson!  Rex Summers and Buddy
Morton just literally STOLE this one from Yuma Weaver.  The Big Chief
was going to make a huge impression in his AWA debut and Summers and
Morton just stole that out from under him!

CP:  It just shows this punk kid ain't got what it takes to hang in the
AWA, Dane.  If he did, he would have seen that coming... I did!

JD:  Yuma Weaver can't believe it.  He thought he was on the verge of
victory here in his AWA debut but Rex Summers just notched another win
on his belt here in Tupelo.

[As an angry Weaver continues to protest to the official, we crossfade
back to the WKIK Studios.]

JD:  It was an exciting night of action in Tupelo but the next night in
Huntsville was just as exciting.  Let's go down to ringside and see
exactly how our night started in Alabama...

[We crossfade to a scene similar to what we saw in Tupelo - gritty
throwback 'rasslin at its finest.]

JD:  Colt Patterson, it is good to be in Huntsville, Alabama!

CP:  Speak for yourself, Dane.  Never in the history of mankind have
there been so many people jammed into one place with so little brain
cells amongst them.

JD:  These fans paid their hard-earned money to see the AWA tonight,
Colt!

CP:  And as well they should.  It beats another thrilling night of
trying to count Ma's teeth... here's a hint, it's in the single digits,
folks!

JD:  Unbelievable.  Fans, it's going to be an excit-

[Dane's voice is cut off by the sounds of the Russian National Anthem, a
song that quite frankly makes the entire state of Alabama mad at all at
once.]

JD:  It's the Russians!

[Brilliant, Detective Dane.  It certainly is.  Ivan Kostovich, Vladimir
Velikov, and Kolya Sudakov - none looking exactly pleased to be in
Alabama.  The latter of which is carrying a wooden flagpole and waving
the Russian flag back and forth to more jeers.  The trio quickly make
their way to the ring, the latter two taking up spots behind Ivan
Kostovich who has the mic.]

IK:  It is good to see that the same ignorance is clung to in Alabama as
it is in the rest of the United States.

[The crowd jeers predictably.]

IK:  Just last night in Mississippi, the great Russian warrior Vladimir
Velikov showed the people of Tupelo what true Russian might is all
about.  And yet, they booed him out of the building.

Tonight, the...

[Kostovich snickers as he airquotes.]

IK:  ..."great state of Alabama" tries to do the same to all three of
us.  You attempt to frighten us... to intimidate us with your reaction.

We do not frighten easy, America.

[The crowd boos wildly.]

IK:  That is a lesson that Jim Watkins would do well to remember as he
attempts to drag his wretched carcass into the Tower of Doom on
America's birthday to try and earn some kind of false glory for this
country.

[Kostovich shakes his head.]

IK:  It is a futile gesture, Watkins.  Just like every so-called "war"
that America has engaged in since the Cold War.  

Watkins, you live in a world in your own mind.  A memory of a time when
wars had a winner and a loser.

No more, Watkins.

[Kostovich raises a clenched fist.]

IK:  In modern warfare, there are no winners... there are only
survivors.

And in the Tower of Doom, when we go to war with you, Supernova, Corax,
Lee, and whoever else you can find to team with you...

There will be no winners...

[Kostovich gestures to his charges.]

IK:  But... WE... will survive.

And on America's birthday, the combined forces of Russia and Iran will
stand tall, waving the flags of our respective nations as we show the
United States of America their NEW role in a modern soci-

[The sounds of "Stars And Stripes Forever" cuts off Kostovich.]

JD:  What's this?

[The crowd cheers as "Stars And Stripes" Clayton Shaw emerges from the
locker room.  Shaw is clad in fatigue pants and a white tanktop with the
American flag splashed across it.  He is carrying the same flag on a
wooden pole, pointing down the aisle as he stands at the top of it.]

JD:  And it looks like Clayton Shaw, one of the proudest Americans that
I know, has taken offense at what the Russians had to say here tonight
in Huntsville!

[Shaw hands off the flagpole to an attendant and comes charging down the
aisle towards the ring, diving under the ropes...

...and drilling an approaching Vladimir Velikov with a right hand before
HURLING him over the ropes to the floor!]

JD:  SHAW CLEARS OUT VELIKOV!!

[Spinning around, Shaw points a finger at a backpedaling Kostovich,
threatening him with a clenched fist.  Kostovich shakes his head,
begging off...

...and then shouts "NOW!", an order that sends Kolya Sudakov into
action, bashing Shaw in the back of the head with a forearm smash.]

IK:  Kick him!  Kick him down!

[Sudakov stomps Shaw into the canvas as Kostovich shouts encouragment.]

IK:  Comrade Shaw, you want to stand tall for your country?

[The Russian nods.]

IK:  You can face the Russian War Machine... right now.

[The crowd roars as Kostovich steps out, an official steps in, and the
bell rings as Sudakov pulls Shaw to his feet, shoving him back into the
corner.]

JD:  We've got an impromptu matchup right here!

[Grabbing the top rope, Sudakov snaps off kicks to the body of Shaw,
popping him with repeated blows to the ribs.  The Russian War Machine
grabs an arm, firing Shaw across the ring...]

JD:  Shaw hits the corner hard, staggering out...

[Sudakov rushes forward with a Sickle...

...but comes up empty as Shaw ducks under it, spinning around and
drilling Sudakov with a right hand to the jaw!]

JD:  Right hand by Shaw!  And another!  And a third!  Clayton Shaw is
rocking the Russian!

[Shaw continues to throw haymakers, battering Sudakov back into the
buckles where he grabs him by the arm.]

JD:  Shaw fires him across - HAAAAAARD to the buckles!

[And "Stars and Stripes" charges out, taking Sudakov down with a running
back elbow under the chin!  A few stomps follow, driving the Russian War
Machine out to the floor...

...and then promptly dashes to the ropes, rebounding off...]

JD:  BASEBALL SLIIIIIIIDE!

[The feet catch Sudakov squarely on the chin, sending him sprawling back
into the steel barricade!  Shaw rolls under the ropes to the floor,
threatening a nearby Ivan Kostovich with a right hand as the manager
draws too close.  The former Marine balls up his fist, blasting Sudakov
on the jaw with a right hand...

...and we crossfade to later in the match where Shaw's got Sudakov
trapped in the corner, standing on the middle rope!]

JD:  The crowd is solidly behind Clayton Shaw!  Make it rain, Clayton!

[Shaw starts to throw the big shots...

...but Sudakov ducks down between the legs, slipping free and spinning
around as Shaw does the same, leaping from his perch with a flying
double axehandle!]

JD:  AXEHANNNND-


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[The crowd ERUPTS at the sight of Kolya Sudakov throwing a huge high
kick to the skull of the soaring Clayton Shaw, knocking him out of the
sky!]

CP:  One of the craziest anti-aircraft missiles I've EVER seen, JD!

JD:  That high kick is one of the most dangerous blows in all of
wrestling and once was one of the most feared strikes in all of the
Mixed Martial Arts world, Colt!

CP:  I'm not much of an MMA guy.

JD:  Don't watch a lot of MMA International?  They're arguably the
biggest Mixed Martial Arts promotion in the world - a lot of top notch
talent coming out of there that I'd like to see here in the AWA.

[Sudakov stalks across the ring, slapping his right arm as Shaw slowly
pulls himself to his feet using the ropes...

...and runs right over Shaw with the Russian Sickle!]

JD:  SICKLE!!  SICKLE!!

[Sudakov drops down to his knees, planting both hands in the chest in a
press.]

JD:  One... two... and there's the three.

[The Russian National Anthem starts back up as Sudakov climbs to his
feet, the official raising his hand in victory as Ivan Kostovich and
Vladimir Velikov climb back into the ring.]

JD:  Kolya Sudakov is victorious over Clayton Shaw and... oh no, not
again...

[Vladimir Velikov unhooks the Russian flag from the flagpole...

...and drapes it over the prone Clayton Shaw's upper body as the crowd
jeers loudly and wildly.]

JD:  They've buried Clayton Shaw under that Russian flag!  One of the
most all-American men I've ever met in my life!  These guys make me sick
and I can't wait for Supernova, Jim Watkins, and all the rest of that
team to get their hands on the Russians at Wrestlerock!

CP:  Be careful what you wish for, Dane.  The Russians and Sharif ain't
no pushovers.  If Supernova's team wants a war, they're gonna get one
inside that Tower of Doom.

[The Russians continue to stand over the motionless Clayton Shaw as we
crossfade back to the WKIK Studios...]

JD:  We are just a few weeks away from the Tower of Doom and the two
teams heading into that thing are both on a major roll.  Both squads
have momentum on their side as they head into Wrestlerock where that
steel prison awaits them.  Now, let's lighten things up a bit with the
debut of a man that has quickly become a fan favorite on some of the
arena events... B.C. Da Mastah MC!

[We crossfade back inside the arena in Huntsville where The Cuban
Assassin #6 is pacing back and forth, ready for a fight...]

PW:  And his opponent...

[A hip hop beat, sounding kind of like Salt N' Pepa's 1988 hit "Push
It", but a bit different starts playing over the PA system. The crowd
doesn't really respond that much to the semi-recognizable tune.]

# YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!

[Emerging onto the aisleway is a heavyset young man with a high top fade
and bright green sunglasses, wearing a faux fur jacket.]

CP:  JD, WHAT in the world is this?

JD:  A rookie from the independent promotions of Georgia! He's B.C. Da
Mastah MC!

[The young man known as B.C. Da Mastah MC starts to dance down the
aisleway as the crowd doesn't quite know what to make of him. B.C,
noticing the lack of reaction, decides to try to rally the crowd behind
him.]

BC: I'M B.C.! DA MASTAH MC!
       B.C. DA MASTAH MC!!!
       YO! YO! YO! YO! YO! YO!
       GO! GO! GO! GO! GO! GO!

[Colt starts audibly groaning as the crowd starts to get into B.C.'s rap
a little bit.]

BC: YO KIDS! BC SAYS DON'T BE A FOOL!
       DON'T DO DRUGS AND STAY IN SCHOOL!
       I'M COMIN' TO DA RING, RAPPIN' TO DA BEAT!
       DIS FOOL IN THE RING GONNA FALL TO DEFEAT!

CP: 'Dis fool' better shut up, Dane.

JD: Don't be a square, Colt! Get up and dance!

[B.C. makes his way to ringside, and dances around, waving his hands in
the air like a fool. Some of the kids are waving along! The Cuban
Assassin is pointing and yelling at BC, demanding B.C. to step into the
ring.]

BC: WAVE YO HANDS IN DA AIR!
       WAVE 'EM AROUND LIKE YA JUST DON'T CARE!
       CAN I GET A YOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

CP: No.

[Some of the kids in the crowd 'yo' along with the big guy.]

BC: I CAN'T HEAR YOU!! CAN I GET A YOOOOOOOO!!!!

CP: NO!

[The kids in the crowd don't follow Colt's lead and 'yo' even louder.
B.C. bobs his head as he steps onto the apron, getting ready to enter
the ring. As B.C. enters the ring, the Assassin, tired of B.C.'s dance
party, pounces!]

JD:  Ohh!  The Assassin apparently wasn't down with Da Mastah MC!

CP:  I swear, Dane.  You're about to get dropped.

[B.C. takes a quick pounding against the ropes, repeated blows to the
hefty midsection.]

CP:  The Assassin's all over him, JD.  Beatin' the heck out of that fat
366 pound belly.

[Grabbing an arm, the Assassin muscles him across the ring into the
ropes...]

JD:  Off the ropes, ducks the clothesline and-

[The crowd ERUPTS as the 366 pounder throws a dropkick, catching the
Assassin squarely on the chest and knocking him flat!]

JD:  Did he-?!  Did I just see-?!

CP:  He dropkicked him!  That fat tub of goo just dropkicked him!

JD:  How in the world did that just happen?!

[The Assassin rolls out to the floor as we crossfade to later in the
match...

...and pick things back up with B.C. Da Mastah MC getting boot after
boot into the plump midsection of the rapper from Georgia.  Grabbing an
arm, he goes for a whip...]

JD:  Irish whi- reversed!

[The Assassin hits the corner hard and the MC rushes in after him...]

JD:  AAAAAAVAAAALANCHE IN THE BUCKLES!!

[The Assassin stumbles out of the corner, getting scooped into the air,
and SLAMMED down to the canvas.  The MC raises his right hand, swinging
it around and round to the cheers of the crowd as he steps out on the
apron...

...and then steps up to the middle rope just as his music starts to
play.]

JD:  His music is playing!

CP:  Why?!

JD:  I don't- OHHHHHH!

[The crowd ERUPTS at the sight of 366 pounds coming off the top rope and
CRASHING down on the prone form of the Cuban Assassin #6!]

JD:  Good grief!  There's one!  There's two!  There's three!  And I'm
going to try and get some words from this young man from Alpharetta,
Georgia... and... what?  Really?  Fans, I just got some VERY big news to
give to this young man from the back!

[B.C. rolls out of the ring as his music plays over the PA. Jason Dane
walks up to him, with a note in his hand.]

JD: B.C.! Welcome to the AWA!

[B.C. looks at Dane and grins.]

BC.: AY YO!

[Dane raises his eyebrow as B.C. slaps Dane's back. Dane winces.]

BC: SUP! HAHAHAAHA!

[Bucky lets out a very loud groan.]

JD: That kind of hurt, guess you don't know your own strength.

BC: Ya, I guess I don't, J.D. 

JD: I must say, B.C., that was a very impressive victory! I don't think
a lot of these people knew what to make of you, but you turned a lot of
heads.

BC: Dat's right, JD! BC Da Mastah MC is in the hizzy getting bizzy and
makin' all my opponents dizzy! So whatcha gonna ask me, JD? I know ya
gotta be out here fo' a reason, my man.

[Dane nods his head, and glances over the note he has in his hand.]

JD: B.C., I'm not just out here to congratulate you on your victory. I'm
also out here to congratulate you on getting a shot at Nenshou's
Longhorn Heritage Title!

[The crowd pops as B.C. looks stunned that he's received a shot so
quickly.]

BC: Daaaaaaang, yo! I musta kicked a lot of boo-tay tonight! Wow! I'm at
a loss for words here, JD! 

JD: Your shot will take place this coming Saturday night! Good luck!

BC: Yo, JD! Thanks, bro! I'm just here t' do mah best, an' I hope I can
beat dis Nenshou guy and win da Longhorn Heritage title fo' all mah
little rappah's out there! B.C.. is outtie 5000!  YOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!

[B.C. raises his arms in the air in triumph and walks off as we
crossfade back to the WKIK Studios...]

JD:  A nice win for B.C. Da Mastah MC in his televised debut - and now
we get the news that he'll get a chance to challenge Nenshou for the
Longhorn Heritage Title next weekend!  Nenshou and Percy Childes may be
looking at this as an opportunity to face someone much larger than
Nenshou... perhaps preparing for Robert Donovan.  But Donovan is a
completely different beast than Da Mastah MC, Percy Childes... and I'm
sure you know that.  Now, coming up next, we were joined at ringside by
Todd Michaelson, the Head Trainer of the Combat Corner, for another
special matchup... let's take a look...

[Crossfade back to Huntsville where Todd Michaelson has joined Jason
Dane and Colt Patterson.]

JD:  Todd, welcome to Huntsville!

TM:  It's my pleasure to be here, Jason.  Some great fans here in
Alabama for the AWA!

JD:  There certainly is - and one of the matches we're expecting these
fans will really enjoy here tonight in Huntsville is this one coming up
next - a Combat Corner showcase!

TM:  That's right.  I've got two kids on the verge of graduation day -
ready to join the likes of Eric Preston, Jeff Jagger, Ricky Armstrong -
but they've gotta come out here and prove themselves to the fans of the
AWA... and to me.

CP:  To you?  Who the hell are you to have to them prove something to?

TM:  I'm their teacher, Colt.  I'm the one who says whether or not they
graduate.

CP:  And I'm sure you just love having that kind of power over someone's
lives.  I've heard the stories comin' out of there, Michaelson.  I know
that you've chased some good prospects out of the AWA with your
attitude.  There's a reason that one of your FORMER students now works
for another company!

[Michaelson seethes at that comment.]

JD:  Let's go up to the ring...

[Inside the ring, two competitors are already standing.  In the corner
on the right, a smaller man stands in a red and silver mask - the red
covers the bulk of the mask except for a silver star covering the face. 
His full-length tights are the same red and silver leading down to
bright red boots.  The mask has a pair of horns on the top.]

JD:  Tell us something about the man we're looking at right now, Todd.

TM:  He calls himself Angel Rojo - one of the craziest high flying
competitors I've ever seen.  This kid has no fear, Jason... absolutely
none.  And knowing the style of wrestling you like, I think this kid
will be right up your alley, Jason.

JD:  I'm intrigued!  But what about his opponent?

[The shot changes to show the mentioned opponent.  Standing about 6'1
and 220 pounds, the man in a black, red, and silver set of trunks,
kickpads, and kneepads lifts an arm to the cheering crowd.  He's lean,
well-muscled, and an athletically build African-American sporting a
mini-fro and goatee just beneath a billion-dollar smile.]

TM:  "Skywalker" Jones.

JD:  Tell us something about him.

TM:  The kid has all the potential in the world, Jason.  Athletic,
highly skilled, highly driven to be the best at what he does... but he's
got a bad attitude.  He's the kind of kid who thinks the world should've
been handed to him a long time ago and can't get over the fact that he
needs to earn it.  But at the end of the day, he's one of the best
natural athletes I've ever seen inside a ring.

[The bell rings as the two men move quickly from their respective
corners.  Jones attempts a collar and elbow but Angel Rojo uses his
smaller size to duck under it, throwing a pair of quick kicks to the
side of Jones' leg, sending him bouncing back on one foot.  Jones shakes
his head, cracking a grin as he waggles a finger in the luchador's
direction like he's saying, "Don't try that again."]

JD:  We see a little bit of a speed edge for the luchador right there.

TM:  He's blinding fast.

[The two men come together again, Jones going for another collar and
elbow...

...but Angel Rojo ducks under it, leaping back to catch Jones in the
midsection with a sole butt!]

JD:  Oho!  Another quick move by the luchador!

[Jones grabs his stomach, grimacing as he glares at the luchador who is
bouncing back and forth from foot to foot.  He waves the luchador away
from the ropes, looking for the tieup again...

...and DRILLS him with a cheapshot elbow on the move-in!]

JD:  Ohh!  He caught him!

[Grabbing the luchador by the mask, he straightens him up and hurls him
towards the ropes...]

JD:  Angel Rojo off the ropes...

[Jones plants his feet, attempting a double arm throat thrust...

...but the luchador slides between the legs, popping up behind him. 
Angel Rojo leaps straight up, hooking the head between his legs..]

JD:  RANA!

[Jones gets tossed over and down to the mat.  Rojo springs up, going for
it a second time as he mounts the shoulders...

...but Jones isn't going over this time, lowering Rojo chestfirst to the
mat and switching his grip into a half Boston Crab, kneeling down on the
back of the luchador's head!]

JD:  LOOK AT THAT!!

CP:  You gotta give the kid some credit, Michaelson.  That's how you
bend a guy in half!  That's how you break someone's back.

TM:  You'd know all about that.

JD:  Jones is shouting at the official, telling him to ask Rojo if he
wants to submit...

[Suddenly he breaks the hold, steps forward, and snaps off a standing
moonsault across the back of the downed luchador!]

JD:  Ohh!  A breathtaking standing moonsault by Skywalker Jones!

[Popping up to his feet, Jones throws his arms apart, looking out to the
crowd for a reaction...]

JD:  I see what you mean a little bit here, Todd.

CP:  The kid's got confidence.  Nothing wrong with confidence.

[Angry by the lack of reaction, Jones pulls the masked man up to his
feet, flinging him into the ropes...

...and tilt-a-whirls him all the way around until bringing Rojo down
across a bent knee!]

JD:  OHHHHH!  BACKBREAKER OFF THE TILT-A-WHIRL!!

[Breaking out of the hold, Jones points at the downed Rojo and deadleaps
straight into the air, putting his 40" vertical to good use...

...and DROPS an elbow down on the chest, rolling into a lateral press.]

JD:  We get one!  We get two!

[But the luchador fires a shoulder out at two.  Jones shouts "That was
three, ref!" at the official, holding up three fingers as he climbs back
to his feet.  He drags his opponent up by the eyeholes of the mask,
shoving him back into the corner...]

JD:  Irish whip by Jones...

[The masked man scales the ropes as Jones charges in behind him,
backflipping out of the corner as Jones hits the buckles...

...and then sprints in, throwing both feet into the face of the turning
Jones!]

JD:  OHHHH!

[The luchador promptly gets back up, throwing three quick short kicks to
the ribs before firing Jones across to the opposite corner, charging in
behind him...

...but Jones kips up, his body nearly vertical with the buckles as the
masked man hits the corner chestfirst...]

JD:  Nice counter to avoid-

[And then SWINGS back into the ring, driving both knees into the back of
the cornered luchador!]

JD:  OHHHHHH!

CP:  I've NEVER seen that done before, Michaelson!

TM:  Like I said, the kid's a natural athlete.

[He pulls Angel Rojo out of the corner by the back of the mask, dragging
him to the middle of the ring where he scoops him up, slamming him down
to the canvas...

...and points to the corner, drawing a cheer from the crowd.]

JD:  These fans want to see what else Skywalker Jones has got in his
arsenal, Todd.

[Jones grabs the top rope, easily slingshotting to the top, facing away
from the ring...

...which allows the masked man to kip up, rushing the corner, and
sweeping Jones' legs out from under him, crotching him up top!]

JD:  OHHHH!  The masked man knew what was coming and he was ready for
it!

TM:  These two have trained together quite often so they're going to
have to pull a few things out they've never showed the other competitor
before.

[The masked man quickly scales the ropes, throwing a few forearms into
the ear of the dazed Jones who is still facing away from the ring. 
Angel Rojo hooks an inverted facelock, signaling for something...]

JD:  An inverted DDT off the top rope?!

TM:  It could be.  I've seen BOTH of these guys do some pretty
spectacular high impact moves before...

[But Jones uses his flexibility to lift his left leg up, smashing the
knee into the skull of Rojo.  A second one connects as well, stunning
the luchador.  Jones uses the moment to free himself from Rojo's grip,
slamming an elbow back into the masked face, knocking the luchador down
to the canvas.  Jones quickly shakes off the effects of the fall,
stepping back up to the top rope...

...and blindly leaps off, twisting around to catch the masked man
squarely in the chest with a crossbody!]

JD:  CROSSBODY OFF THE TOP FOR ONE!! FOR TWO!!  FOR-

[But the shoulder pops up before three.]

JD:  Jones is right back up to his feet, rushing to the ropes...

[An attempting running knee to the seated Rojo comes up empty as Rojo
drops to his back, grabbing the leg as Jones runs by...

...and rolls it up into a half Crab!]

JD:  Ohhh!

TM:  He calls that the Rolling Crab Clutch!

[Angel Rojo cranks back on the leg, shouting in Spanish at the official
who is down on all fours, checking for a submission.]

JD:  Skywalker Jones cries out in pain but he's not giving up - not yet
at least...

[Rojo leans back further, causing Jones to scream out again but when he
shouts "NOOOO!" at the official, the luchador breaks the hold.  He
delivers a few kicks to the ribs before exiting the ring, stepping out
on the apron...]

JD:  And it looks like Angel Rojo is gonna fly, fans!

TM:  Hold on to your seats.

[Rojo waits and waits as Skywalker Jones struggles first to a knee and
then up to his feet.  The luchador takes flight, leaping to the top rope
where he springboards off...

...and gets CAUGHT under the chin with a superkick from Skywalker
Jones!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[Loving the crowd's reaction, Jones does the same, echoing their
"OHHHHHHHH!" as he rolls to the floor, running around ringside to high
five everyone in sight.]

JD:  Well, this is certainly a waste of time.  He should be going for
the pin right here.

CP:  The guy's got a little bit of showmanship in him.  I like that.

TM:  But at the end of the day, it's about winning matches.

CP:  He hasn't lost yet, has he?

[Jones, having done a full trek around the ring, rolls back in, and
offers a high-five to the official who refuses him.  Shaking his head,
Jones pulls a dazed Rojo off the mat by the arm, firing him towards the
ropes...

...and then pulling him back into a high-impact Yakuza kick!]

JD:  OHHH!  SHORT-ARM YAAAAKUUUUZA!  I haven't seen that since-

TM:  Yeah, I know.  Me neither.

[Jones pops back up, glaring down at the motionless luchador.  Grabbing
a foot, he drags him a bit closer to the corner and then points to the
buckles with both hands.  He heads to the corner, slingshotting up top
with ease once again.  He stands atop the ropes, poised, arms spread...

...and then leaps high into the air, rotating backwards while he sails
forward, and CRASHES down across the chest of the stunned Angel Rojo!]

JD:  SHOOTING STAR PRESS!!

TM:  He calls that Zero G!

JD:  He got all of it and there's the one... there's the two... and
there's the three!  Skywalker Jones has won this Combat Corner Showcase!

[Jones immediately pops up to his feet, arms spread wide to a mixed
reaction from the crowd.  He grabs the top rope, slingshotting all the
way to the floor where he starts to make his exit.]

JD:  An outstanding showcase for both of these young men who I hope to
see more of in the near future, Todd.  Thanks for joining us out here
tonight.

TM:  My pleasure.  Try to keep this one under control, Jason.

CP:  Very funny.

[Jones walks down the aisle, slapping hands with the ringside fans as we
fade to the WKIK Studios...]

JD:  An exciting showcase of two young competitors out of the Combat
Corner and as I said, I look forward to seeing what those two can bring
to the table in the weeks and months to come.  Another young man,
recently out of the Combat Corner, who has been very impressive so far
in his stay in the AWA is young Ricky Armstrong.  And he's in our Main
Event so let's go back down to Huntsville for the final match of the
night!

[Crossfade back to the Alabama where two men are already standing in the
ring.]

PW:  The following contest is set for one fall with a ten minute time
limit.  Introducing first... in the corner to my right... from
Hollywood, California... weighing in at 240 pounds...

RIIIIIIICKYYYY ARRRRMMMMSTRONNNNG!

[Armstrong steps out of the corner, dressed in light blue trunks and
white boots.  He wears a matching light blue nylon jacket with
"Armstrong" written across the back in white script.  He raises an arm
to the cheers of the crowd before removing his jacket to some squeals
from the women in the building.]

PW:  And his opponent in the corner to my left... from Atlanta,
Georgia... weighing in at 260 pounds...

TOMMMMMMMMY FIERRRRROOOOOOOOOO!

[Fierro steps out of the corner in black trunks and white boots, raising
a arm to the cheers of the crowd.  He grins at the reaction, clapping
his hands together before the bell rings.]

JD:  And here we go, it's Main Event time here on Access!

[Fierro and Armstrong trot out of their respective corners, exchanging a
handshake as they circle round and round one another, each looking for
an opening to jump in...

...and then they both come together in a collar and elbow, both
jockeying for position...]

JD:  Who has the edge in power and size here, Colt?

CP:  Well, Armstrong is a few inches taller than Fierro but Fierro's gut
packs about an extra twenty pounds... I call it a toss-up...

[Showing size matters not ala a certain Jedi Master, Armstrong dips down
into a DEEEEEP armdrag, flinging Fierro across the ring with ease to a
big cheer from the crowd.]

JD:  Nice execution on the armdrag.

CP:  Think Michaelson taught him that?

JD:  That very well could be the case.

[Armstrong pops back to his feet, bouncing back and forth from foot to
foot to the cheers of the crowd as he smiles at their reaction.  Fierro
gets up a little slower, shaking out his arm as he does so.  He smiles
as well, nodding in respect to Armstrong as they edge away from the
ropes, tying up once more...

...and again, Fierro gets thrown down to the mat and across the ring
with an armdrag!]

JD:  Whoo!  I love that armdrag from Ricky Armstrong!

[Fierro gets up a little quicker this time, rushing in to hook a side
headlock on Armstrong.  Armstrong tries to wriggle free, pushing his
hand between Fierro's forearm and his own skull but Fierro simply cranks
down tighter, increasing the pressure...

...so Armstrong instead opts to throw him off to the ropes.]

JD:  Armstrong shoves him off... drop down and Fierro goes over the
top... off the far side... leapfrog by Armstrong...

[And when he turns around, Tommy Fierro is there to hiptoss Armstrong
over and down to the mat!]

JD:  Whoa!  Nice hiptoss by Fierro!

[Armstrong quickly scrambles back up...

...and quickly gets taken back over with another hiptoss!  The youngster
pops back up and the two men stand, fists at the ready for a moment with
the crowd cheering...

...but Fierro quickly slaps the headlock back on, popping his hips to
take Armstrong over to the mat.]

CP:  Doesn't Fierro know that he's supposed to pose at the end of a
stand-off like that?  I think it's in the wrestling rulebook these days.

JD:  Tommy Fierro is old school, Colt Patterson.  He's not about to
stand and pose when he can push the advantage.

[Fierro cranks on the headlock on the canvas, causing Armstrong to cry
out a bit.  The referee drops in, checking on Armstrong who shouts "NO!"
before hooking his arms around Fierro's waist, rolling him onto his own
shoulders.]

JD:  Rolls him down for one!  For two!

[But Fierro kicks hard, rolling back the other way where he maintains
the headlock.  He shakes his head, shouting "I don't think so, kid!"
with a grin on his face...

...and gets rolled back to his shoulders again!]

JD:  We've got one!  We've got two!  We've got thr-

[And this time, Fierro is forced to release the headlock to get out of
the pin attempt.  Both men quickly scramble up to their feet, each
trying to get there first...]

JD:  Fierro's up first!

[The fiesty brawler throws a big right hand, ducked under by Armstrong
who catches Fierro going by, hoisting him hiiiiiiiiiigh up into the
air...

...before bringing him crashing down tailbone-first on a bent knee!]

JD:  SKY HIGH ATOMIC DROP BY RICKY ARMSTRONG!!

[The move sends Fierro staggering, clutching his rear end as he stumbles
close to the ropes...

...where a picture perfect running dropkick connects, knocking Fierro
through the ropes and out to the thinly-padded concrete floor!]

JD:  What a combination by Ricky Armstrong and that puts Tommy Fierro in
a world of hurt outside the ring on the floor.

[Armstrong approaches the ropes, shouting over them at Fierro, waving
him back to the ring.  The veteran slowly gets to his feet on the floor,
hands on hips as he looks back into the squared circle at the pacing
youngster.]

CP:  And here's the perfect example of what experience in this sport
brings you, Dane.  Inside the ring, you've got young Ricky Armstrong
using up a ton of energy as he paces back and forth impatiently.  Out on
the floor, the veteran is taking it easy, getting some air into his
lunges, not burning himself out.

[As the referee's count hits six, Fierro approaches the ropes, pulling
himself up on the apron.  He steps through the ropes into the ring,
tugging the top rope as he looks at Armstrong who strides out to the
center of the ring, fists raised for a fight.]

JD:  And we go back to the collar and elbow...

[As we do, we crossfade ahead to deeper in the match...

...where we find Tommy Fierro up on the middle rope, hammering away at
Ricky Armstrong as the crowd counts along with the clenched fists!]

"SIX!"
"SEVEN!"
"EIGHT!"
"NINE!"
"TEN!"

[Holding the back of Armstrong's head, Fierro moves his feet, falling
back into a monkey flip that tosses Armstrong halfway across the ring
before dumping him down to the canvas!]

JD:  Big monkey flip by Fierro on Armstrong!  

CP:  There's still some life in the old fossil after all.


"FIVE MINUTES REMAIN!  FIVE MINUTES!"


JD:  Five minutes to go in the time limit of this one here in
Huntsville.  Fierro's back on his feet, moving in on Armstrong...

[The veteran reaches down, grabbing Armstrong by the hair...

...and gets plucked into an inside cradle!]

JD:  CRADLE!  CRADLE!  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR-

[But Tommy Fierro powers out at two, just narrowly breaking up the pin
attempt.]

JD:  Ricky Armstrong almost snatched that one with the inside cradle
right there, Colt.

CP:  A professional wrestling match can change momentum just like that,
Dane.  Fierro should know that better than anyone.

JD:  The former World Champion drags Armstrong up... woooo!  Hard chop
by Fierro, knocks Armstrong back into the ropes...

[A second chop connects as well, leaving a red welt behind as Fierro
grabs the wrist of his opponent...]

JD:  Whip by Fierro sends him across...

[Fierro winds up with a big flourish, popping Armstrong with a
knife-edge chop across the chest that knocks him flat!]

JD:  What a shot that was... and look at this, Fierro's going up!

[The veteran backs to the corner, hopping up to the middle rope...]

JD:  Fierro's poised on the middle rope as Armstrong starts to
recover...

[The former World Champion leaps off the midbuckle, catching Armstrong
across the chest.]

JD:  CROSSBOD- ROLLED THROUGH BY ARMSTRONG!!

[The referee dives to the canvas!]

JD:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE- 


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


JD:  Wow!  The entire building thought Armstrong had him right there!

[We crossfade a little deeper into the match again...

...and find Ricky Armstrong with Tommy Fierro draped across his
shoulders, spinning around and around and around over and over...]

JD:  AIRPLANE SPIN BY ARMSTRONG!!!

[After a few more rotation, he dumps Fierro off to the mat and then
staggers over to the ropes himself, trying to recover...]


"THREE MINUTES REMAIN!  THREE MINUTES!"


[Hearing the time called, Armstrong stumbles away from the ropes,
dropping to his knees in a lateral press - but only gets a two as Fierro
kicks out again.]

JD:  Look at the heart of Tommy Fierro - absolutely refusing to stay
down for a three count here in Huntsville!

[Armstrong hauls Fierro off the mat, popping him in the jaw with a pair
of forearm smashes that knocks the veteran back into the corner.]

JD:  Cross-corner whip across... Fierro hits hard...

[And Armstrong LAUNCHES him into the air, tossing him high before he
crashes down to the canvas!]

JD:  BIIIIIIG BACK BODY DROP BY ARMSTRONG!!

[Armstrong turns around, waving for Fierro to get back to his feet.  The
veteran is slow to do so, causing Armstrong to march in and pull him
up...

...and get pulled down into a cradle!]

JD:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE-

[Armstrong just narrowly kicks out in time, causing a shocked Fierro to
smash his fists into the canvas in surprise!]

JD:  Fierro thought he had him there!  He tried to pull the same play
that Armstrong used earlier in the matchup!

[Fierro and Armstrong reach their feet at the same time, trading heavy
shots in the middle of the ring with the crowd roaring.]

JD:  Look at this - and listen to these fans!  They're loving this!

[But the brawling skills of Fierro gives him the edge in a slugfest,
battering Armstrong back to the ropes...]

JD:  Whip by Fierro...

[Fierro hits the ropes himself, rebounding off...

...and THROWING himself into a vertical bodypress, legs curling to hook
Armstrong's legs!]

JD:  FIERRO PRESS!!  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE-

[But again, Armstrong fires a shoulder up before the three count!]

JD:  So close!  He almost had him, fans!


"TWO MINUTES REMAIN!  TWO MINUTES!"


[Fierro brings the fire, grabbing a handful of Armstrong's hair and
smashing his face with repeated right hands for a few moments.  Still
holding the hair, he drags Armstrong off the mat.  Tucking his head
under Armstrong's armpit, he hoists the rookie up...

...and drops him with an inverted atomic drop!]

JD:  Ohhh!  

[Fierro dashes to the ropes behind him, leaping up to take down
Armstrong with a hanging clothesline!]

JD:  What a shot that was!  He might have him here!  He might be able
to- wait a second!

[Fierro climbs to his feet, throwing his arms apart in a "that's it!"
gesture.]

JD:  Fierro's headed for the corner!  He's going for that kneedrop off
the top!

[The veteran steps out to the apron, taking a few deep breaths before he
starts to scale the ropes...]

JD:  Fierro up to the middle rope...

CP:  He's taking a long time getting up there, Dane.

JD:  He certainly is.  Fierro's age may be showing a bit here.

[The veteran steadies himself on the middle rope before placing a foot
up on the top...]

JD:  Tommy Fierro has not been pushed this long and hard in a while,
Colt.  We may be seeing the limitations of his gas tank here tonight in
Huntsville, Alabama!

[Stepping up to the top rope with his right foot, Fierro looks down in
the ring...

...and finds Ricky Armstrong on his feet, staggering to the corner where
he DRILLS Fierro with a right hand!]

JD:  Armstrong caught him going up top!

[A second right hand connects!]

JD:  Another hard shot by the rookie!


"ONE MINUTE REMAINS!"


JD:  Sixty seconds left on the clock!

[Armstrong throws a third haymaker to the skull of Fierro, stunning the
veteran and giving Armstrong a chance to climb up on the second rope.]

JD:  Uh oh!  Both men on the ropes now!

[Armstrong throws a couple more right hands before pulling Fierro into a
front facelock...]

JD:  He's going for the superplex!  

[Fierro throws a right hand to the ribcage to block the lift!]

JD:  Fierro's trying to fight him off!  

[A second blow connects as well!]

JD:  Two right hands to the ribs!  There's a third!

[Armstrong straightens up from the assault to the torso...

...and gets his bell rung when Fierro slams his arms together on the
rookie's head, smashing into his ears!]

JD:  OHHHHH!

[With a shove, Fierro sends Armstrong crashing down to the canvas where
he falls to his knees.  Fierro quickly swings his legs over the ropes,
stepping up on the middle rope...

...when Armstrong charges in, leaping into the air!]

JD:  WHOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAA!

[The crowd ERUPTS as Armstrong hooks Fierro's head between his legs,
SNAPPING him off the middle rope and hurling him halfway across the ring
with a rana!]

JD:  RANA!!  RANA ACROSS THE RING!!   


"THIRTY SECONDS!!"


JD:  He needs to cover!  Armstrong needs to make the cover!

[The rookie rolls to his stomach, crawling across the ring towards his
prone opponent...]

JD:  He's a few feet away - these fans are trying to rally him closer...

[Armstrong dives across the downed Fierro!]

JD:  COVER!!  ONE!!  TWO!!!  THREEEEEEEE-

[The crowd ERUPTS as Fierro shudders at the last moment, pushing a
shoulder out of the sloppy cover.  The referee springs to his feet,
shoving two fingers into the air to an even louder roar.]

JD:  Unbelievable!  Neither one of these men will stay down for a three
count!

[Armstrong slowly pushes up to his knees, shaking his head as the
official shouts "Hurry!  Time's almost up!"  The rookie gets up, still
shaking his head as he turns towards the corner...

...and walks towards it!]

JD:  Armstrong's going up top!  He's going for the Hollywood Hangover!

CP:  If he hits that, it's over but does he have enough time?!

[Armstrong steps out on the apron, moving quickly up the ropes.  He
stands atop them, arms raises out to his sides as he balances
himself...]


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


JD:  Ohhhh, the bell rings!  The match is over!

[The official steps in front of Armstrong, waving his arms frantically.]

JD:  The match is over - the time limit has expired!

CP:  Do it anyways, kid!  Put the old man THROUGH the mat!

[Armstrong stays balanced for a moment, looking down at the prone
Fierro...

...and then hops down off the ropes, slamming an arm into the
turnbuckles in frustration.]

PW:  This match has reached the ten minute time limit and is declared a
TIME... LIMIT... DRAAAAAW!

[The official helps Tommy Fierro to his feet, walking him over the ropes
where he starts to exit...

...but Ricky Armstrong stops him.]

JD:  Uh oh... what's this about?

CP:  Waffle 'im, kid!  Here - take my chair!

JD:  Sit down!

[Armstrong stands, hands on hips for a long moment...

...and then extends his hand.  The crowd roars as Fierro quickly
accepts, the duo holding each other's arms up into the air.]

JD:  Oh yeah!  What a moment here in Huntsville!

CP:  I think I'm gonna be sick.  They're making me puke.

JD:  Tommy Fierro and Ricky Armstrong battled to a time limit draw but
they're showing the world that you don't have to score the pinfall to be
a real winner!

CP:  Oh, now YOU'RE making me puke!

JD:  Fans, that's gonna do it for All Access from Tupelo and Huntsville
- we'll see you in one week on Saturday Night Wrestling!  So long
everybody!

[As Fierro and Armstrong walk around the ring, soaking up the cheers of
the fans...

...we fade to black.]