Memorial Day Mayhem

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                           American Wrestling Alliance
                                 Proudly Presents
                            Memorial Day Mayhem

                         Live from the Reynolds Center
                                Tulsa, Oklahoma
                                  May 30, 2011
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[As the closing notes to the Andy Griffith Show theme fade into nothing,
it is replaced with a shot of the American flag flapping in the breeze
outside of the Arena Theatre.  The voice of Gordon Myers is heard.]

"Francis Marion Crawford once said... 'They fell, but o'er their
glorious grave floats free the banner of the cause they died to save.'

On this Memorial Day, we proudly send our thoughts and our prayers to
the memories of those who have died for their country and to the loved
ones they left behind."

[A silent moment, still holding on the flag...

...and then crossfade to a shot of Vladimir Velikov, Kolya Sudakov, and
Ivan Kostovich standing in front of a Memorial Day Mayhem backdrop that
has been hastily covered up with a Russian flag.]

IK:  Mark this day - May 30th, 2011, in your calendars as it will mark a
new beginning for the Russian people.  Today, we will walk into the
Memorial Day Rumble as humbled and humiliated warriors who have not felt
the warmth of the glow of victory for quite some time.

Today, that changes as these two men battle through twenty-eight others
to win the Rumble and move on to face the AWA National Champion.

[Kostovich claps Vladimir Velikov on the shoulder.]

VV:  That's right, Comrade.  Long has the AWA been allowed to mock the
Russian fighting spirit as weak and inferior - long has the United
States of America been allowed to do the same.

But - how you say - the time has come for a change.

Your leader speaks of change and hope as a catchphrase.

We speak of it as truth.

A change is coming to the AWA tonight and when twenty-nine other man
have gone over the top rope and down to the floor, it will be the
Russian flag raised above the ring on your nation's holiday.

[A surly Kolya Sudakov is allowed to say nothing as the shot fades...

...to another shot backstage where we find "Louisville Slugger" Tyler
Lee standing in front of an AWA backdrop. Lee is already dressed in his
wrestling attire and his Louisville Slugger bat is slung over his
shoulder.]
 
TL: Hey folks! Tonight, I step into the ring with 29 of the best
wrestlers the world has to offer... some of whom I respect and some of
whom I can't wait to get in the ring and have free reign to beat them
up!
 
And Velikov, you are first on that list! If you I meet up at any point
during the Rumble, you can bet I'm gonna come at you with fists flying
until I take you out!
 
Sudakov, you are still somebody I don't trust... I don't forget what you
did at The Main Event when you just stepped over the ropes and
eliminated yourself so the Sultan so could have number 30, so I've got
plenty of reasons to bust your chops!
 
Speaking of the Sultan, if I'm still out there when you show up, you
better believe that I'm gonna give you a hurting you won't soon forget!
 
As for the rest of you in there, there's a lot of you I can't wait to
get my hands on... people like Anton Layton, Nenshou, Ebola Zaire, Dick
Bass and other good-for-nothing punks who need to be taught lessons in
respect! Heck, I'm disappointed James Monosso was removed from the
Rumble... I understand why it was done and I respect Jim Watkins'
decision, but I would have loved nothing more than to knock Monosso
upside the head a few times for what he tried to do to Gordon Myers!
 
Now, not everyone of you is someone I just want to knock upside the head
a few times... but that being said, if you are in my way of victory,
then I gotta do what I gotta do.
 
So to every one of you who steps into that ring, you best remember that
the Louisville Slugger Tyler Lee wants to win the Rumble and that I'll
fight my way to the top no matter what it takes...  big boy!
 
[Fade from Lee...

...to a smirking, bespectacled Louis Matsui stands by with Engel
Ubelmacht by his side, dressed in a black hooded robe; the hood
partially obscuring the black executioner-style mask.]

LM: Last week, I showed the AWA faithful how the Matsui Corporation is a
mark of bonafide talent, when this man right here steps between the
ropes and unleashes Blitzkrieg. At Memorial Day Mayhem, prepare to be
wowed and then some. Because, you see, a talent manager of my calibre
knows the fans want to be entertained... 

And the fans want to be surprised... And with twenty-six other
competitors and three mystery entrants in the Rumble alongside my
client, there's room for a BIG suprise, if you know what I mean... 

[Matsui grins.]

LM:  But more importantly, when you see just what Engel here is going to
do to the competition? The mouths on you mouth-breathers and slack-jawed
yokels are going to be hanging open wider than usual... And THAT'S the
Matsui promise!

[And finally, we fade into the interior of the Reynolds Center.  A huge
crowd of of over 8,000 screaming AWA fans have jammed into this college
basketball arena and are now roaring their hearts out as the show comes
on the air to the sounds of "Timebomb" by Beck.

The camera pans across the building, first showing the fans sitting up
in the bleachers of the building, waving signs and wearing the apparel
of their favorite AWA stars.  A quick cut shows the ringside fans, all
seated in metal chairs surrounding the ring which stands on a slightly
elevated platform.  Steel barricades surround the ring to separate the
ringside area from the fans.  

Another quick cut shows the lack of an elevated entrance platform for
this show - instead a ground-level entry with metal barricades on both
sides of the entry aisle.  We can also spot a charitably-described "big
screen" at the top of the aisle for the in-arena fans to see backstage
segments on.  The shot quickly moves up the aisle, circling the ring
where we spot the timekeeper's table before reaching the announce table
where we have one more cut, revealing our announce team standing in
front of the red, white, and blue roped ring.

Dressed in a spiffy black tux and bowtie, Gordon Myers has a slight
smile on his face.  By his side is the three-time Announcer Of The Year
in a bright red sports coat, eye-scorching neon blue dress shirt, and
white pants is Bucky "Big Bucks" Wilde who is all smiles.]

GM:  Good evening, fans, and welcome to the Reynolds Center on the
campus of the University of Tulsa!  We are LIVE on WKIK for one of the
biggest events of the year for the American Wrestling Alliance -
Memorial Day Mayhem!  And Bucky, for the last two years, you've demanded
to start this show from up in the ring so I'm happy to see you down here
at ringside with me this year.

BW:  For the last two years, Gordo, I decided to steal the show with my
scoops!  Tonight, I'm gonna let guys like Mark Langseth, Rough N Ready,
and who knows who else steal it for themselves.  BUT...

GM:  Uh oh.

BW:  But I do have a bit of breaking news to shove right up in the face
of Todd Michaelson who couldn't even GET an edition of The Money Pit on
tonight's show.

GM:  And what might that be?

BW:  I have it on good authority that Raphael Rhodes has received
medical clearance from his doctor to RETURN to the ring!

GM:  What?!

BW:  That's right!  And I've also been told that the front office has
called, sent e-mails, faxes, letters, telegrams, pony express - you name
it - and they've invited Raphael Rhodes to appear RIGHT HERE TONIGHT!  

GM:  Are you saying that Raphael Rhodes will be here tonight at Memorial
Day Mayhem?

BW:  No, no, no!  That's the kicker, Gordo.  As of right now, Raphael
Rhodes has REFUSED to speak to the front office!  They don't know if
he'll be here or not!  

GM:  But we do have three mystery spots in tonight's Memorial Day Rumble
so that'll add even more speculation as to who might fill those spots. 
And did you hear Louis Matsui just moments ago?  He says there might be
a BIG surprise in the Rumble!  

BW:  Is the giant comin' to town?

GM:  That would certainly be the implication!  But is Matsui on the
level or are these just more of his mindgames?

BW:  We'll ALL know soon enough!

GM:  We certainly will.  But before we get started, on a personal level,
I would like to thank all of the fans of the AWA for all of their
letters, e-mails, and cards showing concern for my welfare over the past
week.  I assure you all that I am doing fine.  I was a little shaken up
last week by... well, I won't dignify him by saying his name... but I am
fine and I am ready for one heck of a night of AWA action, fans!  We're
about to get things started with our opening match but first, let's go
back to our own Mark Stegglet who is standing by with one of the teams
participating in that match.  Mark?

[We cut to a shot of Mark Stegglet, but an almost deafening roar can be
heard from the Reynolds Center crowd as they see hometown boy and
one-half of Violence Unlimited, Danny Morton! Standing beside him is the
other half of Violence Unlimited, the always volatile, Jackson Haynes.
Morton isn't dressed in his usual boxer's robe, instead wearing an
Oklahoma University letterman's jacket. Haynes, as always, is wearing a
floppy tri-cornered cowboy hat and Confederate flag-style wrestling
trunks.]

MS: Thanks, Gordon, and I don't need to say it, because I'm sure you
heard that crowd reaction for yourselves. Danny Morton, it must be great
to be back home!

[The most popular man in the entire state of Oklahoma steps into view,
stroking his beard and laughing.]

DM: HA! You got that right, Stegglet! I'm back home in the greatest
city, in the greatest state, in the greatest country in all the world!
Tulsa, Oklahoma!

[Another loud roar from the crowd can be heard. People just love getting
their location namedropped, don't they?]

MS: Tonight, you and Jackson Haynes have the tough task of facing The
First Family for the number one contender spot _and_ another shot at the
National Tag Team titles. Gentlemen, your thoughts?

JH: Now, me and Danny was prepared to bust up twenty-eight other
wrasslers tonight to get a shot at Vasquez, but I suppose bustin' up The
First Family will do just fine!

[Haynes grins...which is about as unsettling a sight as you'll ever see.
Some people just aren't meant to smile.]

JH: If Joe Petrow wants to suddenly start playin' manager for the rest
of the tag team division, that's fine by us. You can hide behind all the
legal mumbo-jumbo ya' want, but ya' can't protect 'yer boys forever,
Petrow! It don't matter who you set up in front of us! We'll knock'em
right back down! 

[In the background, Morton shouts, "That's right!" Suddenly, Haynes
whips off his cowboy hat and stares into the camera with a wild-eyed,
crazed look.]

JH: You want us to face The First Family? Well, I don't give a damn if
they've been blessed by the almighty or touched by the divine! There
ain't gonna' be any miracles tonight! Violence Unlimited'll keep on
fightin' and we'll keep on winnin' and there ain't nothin' changing
that!

[Morton spins Stegglet around to face him.]

DM: You wanna' talk about families, Stegglet? I got _my_ family out
there! Do you think I wanna' disappoint them? Do you think me and Jack
came here with the thought that we could possibly lose?

[He slaps himself in the head repeatedly, getting visibly fired up as he
does so.]

DM: HECK NO!

[POP!]

DM: I got sisters, brothers, aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews, cousins,
second-cousins twice-removed...they're all represented out there! I got
my family out there! I got my friends out there! We got the whole state
of Oklahoma cheering me on! No way, no how we're losing!

[Danny shakes his head furiously.]

DM: First Family? Prepare yourselves, because you're going to be taking
on the greatest tag team in the world! Say your prayers...

[The ugly mug of Jackson Haynes pops into view.]

JH: ...and kiss your butts goodbye!

[POP! Laughing, Morton pats Haynes on the shoulder and then turns to the
camera, striking a fist into the air.]

DM: BOOMER!

[From inside the arena, we hear a resounding...

"SOONER!"

...from the crowd. Cackling, Morton exits, with Haynes following behind
him, leaving Stegglet behind.]

MS: Violence Unlimited, confident and ready for their match tonight!
Back to you guys!

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

PW:  Tonight's opening contest is a tag team match scheduled for one
fall with a fifteen minute time limit and it is a NUMBER ONE CONTENDER'S
MATCH!

[Big cheer!]

PW:  Introducing first...

[“John the Revelator“ by Curtis Stigers and the Forest Rangers starts up
to a shower of boos from the fans.]

PW:  They hail from the Garden of Eden.  Weighing in tonight at a total
combined weight of 511 pounds... being accompanied to the ring by Eve...
they are the team of Adam, the First Man, and Brother Cain... together,
they are...

THE FIRRRRRRST FAAAAAAMMMILY!

[The boos intensify as Eve walks through the curtain, her platinum hair
back in a tight bun.  She's dressed in a white blouse and a black
mini-skirt as she leads her men from the entrance curtain.  

Adam is a handsome man in his early 30s with his blonde hair carefully
parted on the right side of his head.  His well-toned body is held
inside a pair of plain white wrestling boots and white wrestling tunks
and he walks behind Eve, smirking as she screams "REPENT!" at random to
the ringside fans.

Bringing up the rear is the massive hulk of a man known as Brother Cain.
 He is a heavily muscled behemoth, his body chiseled to perfection.  His
left arm is heavily tattooed as it reaches up to tug at the white
executioner's hood that covers his head.  He tugs the cloth aside,
throwing it down on the ground to reveal a black spandex mask with a
white cross spread across the eyes and down the bridge of the nose.]

GM:  What an intimidating presence this man is, Bucky.

BW:  Adam?  He's actually a pretty nice-

GM:  Not Adam.  I'm talking about Brother Cain.  The man is a beast!

BW:  That he is, Gordo.  Six foot eight, two hundred and eighty pounds. 
The boys from Violence Unlimited are big, bad, and tough but even they
may have their work cut out for them tusslin' with Brother Cain, daddy.

GM:  We're about to find out.

[Eve holds the ropes open for Adam who steps into the ring, arms and
hands clasped in front of him in a prayer.  Eve and Brother Cain mimic
his movement as the crowd jeers wildly.]

PW:  And their opponents...

[The sounds of Motley Crue's "Shout At The Devil" coming over the PA
sends the Tulsa crowd into a crazed roar!]

PW:  Fighting out of Moscow, Tennessee and right here in TULSA,
OKLAHOMA!!

[HUUUUUGE ROAR!]

PW:  At a total combined weight of a massive five hundred and
ninety-five pounds...

"The Hammer" Jackson Haynes...

[Cheer!]

PW:  Danny Morton...

[BIGGER CHEER!]

PW:  VIOOOOOLENNNNNNCE UNNNNNNNLIMITED!

[The curtain flies open as Haynes and Morton stomp into view of the
capacity crowd which roars in response.  Morton throws both muscular
arms into the air, waving his hands towards the crowd in a "keep it
comin'" gesture.  Jackson Haynes stalks back and forth across the aisle,
pointing a finger down the aisle.  He grabs his cowboy hat, winging it
off into the crowd to a big cheer...

...and the two powerhouses begin stomping their way down the aisle
towards the ring where Adam has wisely taken up a spot behind Brother
Cain.]

GM:  Here comes the hometown hero, Danny Morton, and listen to these
fans, Bucky!

BW:  WHAT?!  DID YOU SAY SOMETHING?!

[The duo hits the ring fast, Haynes diving under the ropes and popping
up to his feet.  The wild-eyed Hammer shouts something in the First
Family's direction, balling up his right hand and threatening to throw
it as the official steps in, trying to keep things under control until
the bell.  Danny Morton climbs the steps to the apron, putting his back
to the ropes and throwing his arms apart to the roar of the crowd!]

GM:  Oh yeah!  This guy is-

[Seizing an opportunity, Adam dashes out from behind the back of Brother
Cain, leaping into the air, and cracking Morton in the back of the head
with a forearm smash that sends Professor Pain sailing off the apron and
down onto the thinly-padded floor.  Haynes tries to get at Adam with
Brother Cain intervening with a right hand - forcing the official to
call for the bell to start the match!]

GM:  The bell goes "DING!" and here we go!

[Brother Cain throws a second haymaker, knocking Haynes down to a knee. 
The masked man rears back with both hands, applying a chokehold.  The
referee quickly starts counting, reaching four before Cain releases...

...and immediately gets popped on the jaw with a right hand from The
Hammer!]

GM:  Ohh!  Big shot by Haynes!

[A second one connects... and a third...]

GM:  Haynes has got the big man reeling!

[Grabbing Cain by the back of the mask, Haynes FIRES him through the
ropes to the floor...

...and then turns around to point a finger at Adam who is out on the
apron!  Big cheer!]

GM:  Haynes wants the First Man in there!  He wants to give him a lil'
bit of payback for what he did to Danny Morton a few moments ago...

[But Adam is shaking his head wildly, hands up to beg for mercy...

...when suddenly, his legs are pulled out from under him and his face
SMASHES into the ring apron!]

GM:  Ohh!  Danny Morton decided to get some payback for himself!

[The American Murder Machine grabs Adam by the arm...]


"CLAAAAAAAAAANG!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  ADAM HITS THE STEEL!  Violence Unlimited were hoping to challenge
for the National Tag Team Titles here tonight but Rough N Ready and Joe
Petrow took that away from them.  So, instead, they're in this Number
One Contender match and the First Family may get hit with the bulk of
their frustration.

BW:  Morton and Haynes have been chasing those titles for a while now. 
They believe they're the best team in the world since they're the 2010
Stampede Cup winners.

GM:  The 2011 edition of the Cup will be coming up at the end of summer
on Labor Day weekend - the end of the AWA summer tour - but as the
reigning champions, they only got one shot at the titles, Bucky!  Even
you have to admit there's some monkey business going on there.

BW:  They got one shot, they lost.  Let's move on.  The champs have
moved on for sure!

GM:  But Violence Unlimited most certainly has not, Bucky!  They're
comin' for those titles!

[The referee slides out to the floor, backing Danny Morton away from
Adam as Brother Cain rolls back into the ring...

...and DRILLS a distracted Haynes in the back of the head with a double
axehandle, knocking the Hammer down to the mat.]

GM:  Cheapshot by Cain!

BW:  Cheapshot?!  Cheapshot?!  Danny Morton delivered a cheapshot!

GM:  What about when Adam knocked Morton off the apron?!  They started
this!

[Cain lays the boots into Haynes, delivering kick after kick into the
ribs of the Hammer.  The referee slides back in, reprimanding Cain for
using the toe of the boot.  The masked man pulls Haynes to his feet,
shoving him back into the corner.  Squaring his shoulders, Cain snaps
off a hooking blow to the ribs.  The left hand follows the right,
cracking into the ribs again.]

GM:  Brother Cain is showing some of that alleged boxing background that
many believe this masked man must have.

BW:  He's a talented big man, Gordo.

GM:  That he is.

[A few more blows follow, leaving Haynes sucking wind in the corner. 
Grabbing an arm, Cain hurls Haynes across the ring...]

GM:  The masked man follows him in!  Ohh!  Big clothesline in the
corner!

[As Haynes stumbles out, Brother Cain hooks him around the throat.]

GM:  He hooks him!  He's got him by-

[Haynes fires back, throwing left hands to the ribs followed by a right
hand to the bridge of the nose, breaking Cain's grip.  Spreading his
arms wide, Haynes claps them together on the ears, stunning the big
man!]

GM:  Ohh!  He rocks him!

[Cain stumbles back as Haynes grabs him by the arm, flinging him to the
ropes.]

GM:  Irish whip and...

[Haynes' clothesline attempt comes up empty as Brother Cain leaves his
feet, knocking the Hammer flat with a flying shoulderblock!]

GM:  OHHHH!  HE FLATTENED HIM!!

[Brother Cain pops up to his feet, throwing his massive arms apart with
a roar.  From the apron, Danny Morton shouts encouragement to his
partner, sticking his arm out.]

GM:  Danny Morton wants that tag, he needs to get in there and help his
partner out...

[Brother Cain stands over the downed Haynes, slowly lifting his right
clenched hand...

...and drops down to his knees, smashing a fist into the skull!]

GM:  Ohh!  Fistdrop by Brother Cain!

[Cain applies a pressing cover, arms at full extension to hold him
down.]

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

[Haynes fires a shoulder off the mat.]

GM:  Just a two count there and- can you believe this?

BW:  Adam wants the tag!

GM:  Adam is up on the apron and he's screaming for the tag.  I can't
believe-

[The masked man slowly rises, slapping the hand of his partner.]

BW:  And there it is!  Boy, Jackson Haynes is in trouble now!

GM:  Are you kidding me?

[The 231 pound Adam slinks through the ropes, shouting at the downed
Haynes to "get up!"  Reaching down, he slaps Haynes hard across the
face!]

GM:  Oh, come on!  He just slapped the man!  What excuse is there for
that?

[Measuring the downed Haynes, Adam winds up the right arm and drops an
elbow down on the back of the neck.  He climbs back to his feet,
dropping the elbow again.  Adam springs up, dropping one more to the
jeers of the fans before he rolls to a knee and bows his head.]

GM:  Adam better be praying for the Lord to give him some strength
because when Jackson Haynes gets back to his feet, Adam's going to
regret that slap, Bucky.

BW:  When do you give this man some credit, Gordo?  He just executed
three picture perfect elbowdrops!

[Popping back up to his feet, the arrogant Adam struts around the
still-down Haynes, taunting him.  Walking behind Haynes, he tangles up
the legs of Haynes around his own, reaching down and slapping the ribs
repeatedly until Haynes brings back his arms to cover up...

...and winds up getting rocked back into an elevated surfboard!]

GM:  Submission hold applied!  Look at the torque on the back!

BW:  How about now, Gordo?  Take a peek at the execution on that hold! 
Tell me this guy is not a talented pro wrestler!

GM:  I never said he wasn't, Bucky!

BW:  You give him no credit!  None!

[The referee starts a count as Adam's shoulders come to rest on the mat,
forcing Adam to break the hold just before a three count.  He rises to a
knee, slamming his forearm into the lower back over and over.  He jams a
knee into it, cupping his hand under the chin of Haynes and pulling back
hard!]

GM:  Another surfboard or bow and arrow type hold...

[The camera cuts to Danny Morton, screaming at his partner from the
corner.]

GM:  Morton wants that tag so badly and these fans want to see him make
it.  You can hear them clapping, stomping, doing everything they can to
get Jackson Haynes on his feet and to the corner...

[Adam gets to his feet, delivering a pair of stomps to the lower back of
the downed Haynes before stomping across the ring, slapping the hand of
Brother Cain who steps back into the ring...

...and DROPS his 280 pounds down across the lower back with a big
splash!]

GM:  Ohh!  What a splash!

[Cain rolls Haynes to his back, applying a lateral press.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  

[But the Hammer fires a shoulder off the mat at two.  An angry Cain
slams a few fists into the temple, shoving Haynes back down to the mat
and applying another cover but Haynes again kicks out at two.]

GM:  A pair of two counts there for Brother Cain.  The First Family
would love to walk out of here tonight the Number One Contenders -
especially if the Rockstar Express was able to win the National Tag Team
Titles here tonight.  Those two teams have had a rivalry going for quite
some time now.

[Brother Cain rises to his feet, dragging Jackson Haynes back up as
well, flinging him into the closest set of buckles...]

GM:  HERE!  COMES!  CAIN!

[But a big boot attempt comes up empty as Jackson Haynes dives to the
side, causing Brother Cain to straddle the top rope, his leg tangled up!
 Big cheer!]

GM:  HE MISSED!  HE MISSED THE BOOT!!

[The Hammer staggers to his feet...

...and rushes the corner, throwing a big boot of his own!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[The big boot to the back of the head sends Brother Cain tumbling over
the ropes and down onto the apron.  The crowd roars as Haynes hangs on
to the top turnbuckle, staying on his feet...

...and turns towards his corner, slowly approaching.]

GM:  Haynes is- 

[HUUUUUGE CHEER!]

GM:  TAG!!

[Danny Morton steps through the curtain to a thunderous hometown
ovation, stalking across the ring where Cain is out on the apron, facing
away from the ring.  Morton reaches over the ropes, pulling Cain to his
feet, and wrapping his arms around the waist...]

GM:  ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!

[The American Murder Machine POWERS Cain up into the air and DUMPS him
down with a belly-to-back suplex!  The crowd EXPLODES at the show of
strength as Morton springs to his feet, pounding his chest with his
fists...

...and Adam rushes in from behind, spinning Morton around to whap him
with a right hand!]

GM:  Big righ- NO EFFECT!

[The crowd roars as again as Morton jogs in place, sticking out his
tongue with a roar at a shocked Adam...

...and then flips him inside out with a standing clothesline!]

GM:  GOOD GRIEF!!

[Outside the ring, Eve is screaming from the floor as Morton batters his
own chest again...

...and points a finger at a rising Brother Cain!]

GM:  Now what?

[As Cain reaches his feet, Morton wraps his massive arms around him in a
loose bearhug.]

GM:  What in the world is he...?

[Popping his hips, Morton HURLS Brother Cain through the air, sending
him crashing down to the mat in a heap!]

BW:  OVERHEAD BELLY TO BELLY!!  

GM:  OH MY STARS!!  WHAT POWER!!

[Morton springs to his feet, throwing an arm into the air to the roar of
the crowd...

...and drops down in a three-point stance, kicking his rear leg as he
waits for Adam to get to his feet...]

GM:  Adam is starting to stir... starting to rise...

[Morton charges across the ring at top speed, connecting with a shoulder
block that sends Adam SAILING through the ropes, crashing down to the
thinly-padded floor below!]

GM:  MORTON SENDS ADAM OUT!!

[A fired up Morton leaps up, stomping the canvas a few times, turning to
point at a rising Brother Cain once again...]

GM:  Cain is dazed... he's-

[Morton approaches, powerfully scooping up Brother Cain and slinging him
over his shoulder.]

GM:  Oh my stars!  He's got him up, Bucky!

[Morton points to the corner and then gives a big thumbs down before
charging across the ring, smashing Cain's back into the buckles,
swinging around, sprinting across the ring to do it again...

...and then turning around to charge out to the middle of the ring,
leaping into the air, and DRIVING the air out of Brother Cain with a
thunderous powerslam!]

GM:  STAMPEDE!  THE OKLAHOMA STAMPEDE!!  THAT'LL DO IT!!

[Morton hooks the leg.  But the crowd ROARS in disapproval as Eve leaps
up on the apron, drawing the referee's attention before he can make the
count.]

GM:  Eve's on the apron!  Eve's distracting the official!

[The referee gets up, shouting at Eve, trying to get her down from her
perch...

...when suddenly Adam rolls back in, steel chair in hand!]

GM:  ADAM'S GOT A CHAIR!!  REFEREE, TURN AROUND!  TURN AROUND RIGHT-


"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  HE DRILLED HIM, BUCKY!!  HE DRILLED MORTON ACROSS THE BACK!!!

[With Jackson Haynes still dazed, Adam easily throws the chair aside,
spinning Morton around into a double underhook...

...and DRIVING him skullfirst into the canvas with a DDT!]

GM:  OHHHHH!  ADAM PLANTS HIM!!  That might be it, Bucky!  That might-

[Suddenly, the crowd begins to buzz as someone hurdles the ringside
barricade, diving headfirst under the bottom rope...]

GM:  Wait a second!  Wait a second!

[The man in the hooded sweatshirt grabs Adam, burying a boot into the
gut.  He pulls him into a double underhook of his own...

...and SPIKES him skullfirst with a double underhook DDT!]

GM:  It's Rex Summers!  It's "Red Hot" Rex Summers!

BW:  We saw him do that to one of the Lynch boys a few weeks ago!  But
why now?!  Why Adam?!

GM:  Summers just laid him out!  Adam's out!  Morton's out!  Haynes is
out on the apron and dazed... and look at this!  Are you kidding me? 
Brother Cain rolls to his knees...

[The masked man throws himself across the chest of Danny Morton.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE-

[HUUUUUGE CHEER!]

GM:  KICKOUT!  KICKOUT!  MORTON WON'T STAY DOWN!!

[An angry Brother Cain slams his fist into the canvas, pointing a
menacing finger at the official who insists it was a two count as Cain
climbs to his feet, lifting his right hand into the air...]

GM:  He's going for the chokeslam!  He's calling for the Mark of Cain!

[Dragging Morton up to his feet, Cain reaches out and grabs him around
the throat...]

GM:  If he hits this, it's over!

[With the crowd chanting "MOR-TON!  MOR-TON!  MOR-TON!", Professor Pain
slaps the gripping arm away, ducking down...

...and somehow hoisting the big man up across his shoulders, holding him
there for a split second before DRIVING him skullfirst to the canvas!]

GM:  DEATH!  VALLEY!  DRIVER!

[Morton rolls into a cover as the referee dives to the mat to count.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREEEEEE!!!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


PW:  Here are your winners... and the NUMBER ONE CONTENDERS to the
National Tag Team Titles...

VIIIIIIIOOOOLENNNNCE UNNNNLIMITED!

[Jackson Haynes stumbles in, helping Morton up and falling into an
embrace with his partner as the crowd roars.]

GM:  They did it, Bucky!  Morton and Haynes have won it and they just
won a shot at the tag team titles to boot!

BW:  I can't believe it.  What in the world is going through Joe
Petrow's mind right now, Gordo?

GM:  Fear!  Fear is exactly what's going through his mind because he
just caught a glimpse of what these two men are capable of.  He knows
they beat Rough N Ready at The Stampede Cup!  And he knows they can do
it again when the National Tag Team Titles are on the line!  Fans, we've
gotta take a quick break here on WKIK but before we do, let's go
backstage where Jason Dane is standing by!  Jason?

[Backstage, we have Jason Dane standing by with Count Adrian Bathwaite
and Sultan Azam Sharif.  

Sharif is garbed in his rust-red bisht, white kaffiyeh, and black agal. 
His neatly-groomed but weatherbeaten visage is barely visible under the
cloth draping his body, and he carries a huge Iranian flag which he
waves despite having insufficient space to do so.  The silver-haired
Bathwaite is 'resplendent' in a ruby-red sequined jacket, black
undershirt, and beige pants.  The Eurasian manager clutches his cane in
both hands and awaits Dane's intrduction with a smile on his face.]

JD: Tonight, Count Adrian Bathwaite, we will see your man, Sultan Azam
Sharif, in one-on-one action against SUpernova.  It took a long time to
get here, but the big showdown is moments away.

CAB: That's right, Dane.  I heard that mascara-wearing,
elderly-assaulting freak of nature crowing on the last show about how he
was wrestling multiple matches to prove that he was ready.  But there's
a big difference, you uneducated dirt farmer, between beating up on a
straw man and calling that a "match", and getting in the ring with the
Great And Honorable Sultan.  You know as well as I do that your real
goal tonight is keeping my man from winning the Rumble, and that fat
slob Watkins was in on it with you!

[Before Bathwaite can get too worked up, the Sultan extends his palms in
a placating gesture.]

SAS: Men fahtlek, Mistair Count Batwaite.  But you diddunt need to
voorry about dot; la taqlaq!  I am not out-of-shape AmerEcun so-call
"atelete"; I am Olympic shampwon, Ashun Gameshampwon, Battail Royal
shampwon!  Un it vasunt gonna mattair if I wrastle two motches, tree
motches, four motches.  
 
Supairnova, I come ten tousan mile from deh oldest country in deh vurld.
 I come ten tousan mile, un if I hod to I vould have VALK ten tousan
mile, because you put your honds on my managair, Mistair Count Batwaite,
who is old man who diddunt need to fight anymore.  Un Mistair Count
Batwaite, he show maircy bygiving you a shance to apologize instead of
cut off your hand, vat vould have been justice!  But den you bring in
dot cowaird Coorvax un dot jehbronie Tylair Lee, but tonight, dey vasnt
gonna help you!  Illi ma yirda bil-khookh yirda bi-sharaabu, Supairnova,
siibu 'ala hawaa lamma yiigi 'ala 'afaa.  Man hafar-a hofratan li
akheeh-i waqa'a feeha. 

Un now, in front of all deh tousan-tousan peepell in Toolsa Okailhoma,
you gonna learn vat ontollEgunt AmerEcun already know: illi tizra'u
tushudu.  Dot is vat AmerEcun mean ven dey say dot you gonna reap dot
vat you sowed.  Un oftair dot, inshallah, den I gonna go to deh Rumbail!
  Un all my fellow Iranian peepell, uhibbok, inshallah, I gunna vin it
for you!  Den all deh peepell in Toolsa Okailhoma gunna stop shanting
"USA, USA", uh dey gonna shant "IRAN, IRAN"!  IRAN, NUMBAIR VUN!

[Bathwaite and Sharif head off as Jason Dane wraps it up.]

JD: The Sultan seems to be well-focused for his tasks tonight, but so is
Supernova.  This should be a titanic clash, fans, and we'll be right
back after the break!

[Fade to black.

Cut 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 standing next to Supernova, who already has his black
and yellow face paint on and is dressed in his wrestling attire and
vest.]
 
JD: Supernova, at long last, it will be you and Sultan Azam Sharif
stepping into the ring one on one. You saw what happened when Corax
wrestled him twice before and you know what the Sultan is capable of...
what are your thoughts going into tonight's match?
 
S: Jason, first of all, it's often hard for me to understand a lot of
what comes out of the Sultan's mouth... I hear he's been training hard
in his home country, preparing for this match and for the Rumble
tonight. And while I figured Bathwaite would have been protesting the
Sultan getting double booked, I'm surprised Sultan had something to say,
because he always likes to portray himself as a man of honor.
 
[A slight laugh.]
 
S: Well, Sultan, you don't have to worry about being at a disadvantage
as I've been double booked as well and I have no problem with it!
Honestly, I wouldn't mind the chance to go one on one with your buddy
Vladimir Velikov! But who knows... I might get that chance to take him
on in the Rumble tonight!
 
But... Jason, I'm getting a little ahead of myself, aren't I? Let's keep
the focus on Sultan Azam Sharif, huh?
 
JD: Well, you heard the Sultan's remarks about how you put your hands on
Count Adrian Bathwaite and how Corax did the same.
 
S: Yeah, I keep hearing about how Bathwaite is an old man and you should
respect your elders. But the first thing is, respect is earned, not
given, no matter how old you are! Second, those elderly folks who
deserve respect are the ones who don't insist upon to begin with and who
treat those younger than they are with respect! And we all know
Bathwaite doesn't respect anyone who isn't on his wealth level, unless
they do everything he says... and the Sultan is more than happy to do
whatever he says and buy into whatever garbage comes out of Bathwaite's
mouth!
 
JD: Yet the Sultan has shown, time and again, he has no problem carrying
out Bathwaite's bidding.
 
S: Well, if the Sultan wants to stand up for that old man Bathwaite,
then he's gonna find out the hard way just how much I'm gonna stand up
to his act! He ought to know by now I don't care for what's happened to
Koyla Sudakov and for Sudakov not being willing to stand up for himself
and break away from Kostovich and Velikov... only in the Sultan's case,
he never had it forced upon him, he willingly took on that role!
 
So, tonight, first I'm going to make the Sultan regret his role in
everything he's done... at the same time, I'll make Bathwaite think
twice about demanding respect from whomever he pleases! And then, it's
on to the Rumble, and the only thing on my mind there is winning... and
friend or foe, in the Rumble, I just hope everyone is ready to feel the
heat!
 
[He then cups his hands to his mouth and howls, then walks off.]
 
JD: There you have it, fans... Supernova is ready tonight for not just
the Sultan, but the Rumble match as well!  Fans, earlier tonight, on the
Pre-Game Show, we heard from Percy Childes about tonight's Rumble as
well as the Longhorn Heritage Title match.  Now, let's hear from the
challenger in that match - let's hear from Sweet Daddy Williams!

[The shot crossfades up on Sweet Daddy Williams standing in front of an
AWA backdrop dressed in a black Vernon Riley t-shirt and jeans.  He's
wearing a pair of sunglasses as he runs a hand through his bleached
blonde hair.  The footage is marked "EARLIER TODAY!"]

SDW:  The time has come.

[He nods.]

SDW:  Percy Childes, Percy Childes - you, my friend, are the plague that
struck the world unaware.  No one saw ya comin', Childes.  No one knew
what it meant when you knocked, knocked, knocked on our doors.

But I knew.

Ya see, Percy... some people may not know it but I spent many a year in
the great state of Florida, staring you down from across the ring.  I
spent many a year fightin' all those monsters, savages, and beasts that
you dragged out of places like Africa, like the mists of Asia, like the
islands of Fiji and Samoa... I fought 'em all alongside my ol' friend
Vernon Riley and together, we beat' em back every single time.

[Williams shakes his head.]

SDW:  But when you showed up here in the AWA... I don't think we ever
dreamed it'd turn out like this.  People gettin' laid out left and right
- good men like Big Vern... not so good men like Von Braun... but men
nonetheless.  Men who deserved better than what you had in store for
'em.

And then?  Last week?  You topped even yourself, Percy.  That big
fruitball you lead around by the nose, he put his hands on Gordon Myers.

[The fan favorite rips the glasses off, throwing them violently down to
the floor as he points to the camera, one of his eyes still bright red
from the irritating green mist he was hit with weeks ago.]

SDW:  HE PUT HIS HANDS ON THE BEST ANNOUNCER THE BUSINESS HAS EVER
KNOWN!  And one of my very dear friends.

He cast a die that's comin' up craps for ya, Percy.  'Cause if I didn't
have enough reason to hurt ya at Mayhem, I just got one more.  If it
ain't enough to do it for Big Vern, whose leg you snapped like a twig. 
If it ain't enough to do it for myself - you had Nenshou spit that nasty
green stuff in my eyes and put me down like a screaming dog.

Now we add Gordon to the mix.  

[He shakes his head again.]

SDW:  This ain't 'bout me and Nenshou.  He may know what he's doin', he
may not.  I just don't know.  But you do.  And that's what matters to
me. 

And at the end of the day, I know that me beating Nenshou won't hurt
you.  It's not enough for me to smack 'im around like he owes me money. 
It ain't even enough for me to put him on the shelf next to Big Vern,
Von Braun, Ron Houston, and the rest.

That won't bother you one bit.

[A slight grin.]

SDW:  But the belt?  

[A nod.]

SDW:  The Longhorn Heritage Title belt that you hug like it was your own
mama.  That means something to you, Percy.

In fact, it means EVERYTHING to you.

And now?

[He grins, gesturing to his wide waist.]

SDW:  Now it means everything to me too.

[Crossfade back to live action to the ring where Phil Watson is
standing.]

PW:  The following contest is set for one fall with a ten minute time
limit and it is for the AWA Longhorn Heritage Championship!

[Big cheer!]

PW:  Introducing first... 

#WHO WAN' SIT ON SWEET DADDY'S LAP TANIIIIIGHT?#

[The self-made sounds of "I'm Gonna Be Your Sweet Daddy" kicks the PA as
the crowd roars.]

PW:  He is the challenger... from Atlanta, Georgia... he weighs in
tonight at 302 pounds...

SWEET!  DADDY!  WILLLLLLLLIAMS!

[The curtain breaks open to reveal Sweet Daddy Williams, still in the
Vernon Riley t-shirt but now in a royal blue set of wrestling boots and
trunks as he makes his way down the aisle swiftly.  He slaps the
outstretched hands of the ringside fans but seems to be a lot more
business-like than we're used to seeing from the lovable fan favorite.]

GM:  Sweet Daddy Williams has been waiting for this opportunity for
several montns now - and don't forget, he owns a pinfall victory over
Nenshou!

BW:  That was a fluke.  Besides, it was in a six man tag.  He hasn't
beaten Nenshou one on one yet and that's what counts.

GM:  During his interview, you could hear the emotion in Sweet Daddy
Williams' voice.  This match is so important to him.  He wants to hurt
Nenshou for what he did to him.  He wants to hurt Percy Childes and the
Unholy Alliance for what they've done to so many people.  And most of
all, he wants that title belt, Bucky.

BW:  Keep dreaming, Gordo.  Nenshou is the future of this business -
Williams is the past if he's lucky!

[Williams steps through the ropes to a big cheer.  He pulls off the
skin-tight t-shirt, throwing it into the crowd to more cheers as he
dances back and forth from foot to foot, waiting for his opponent.]

PW:  And his opponent...

[The lights dim and a light mist rolls out from the entryway as
"Raijin's Drums by George Sakalis begins to play over the PA System.]

PW:  From the Land of the Rising Sun and weighing in tonight at 235
pounds... he is accompanied to the ring by his manager Percy Childes...
representing the Unholy Alliance... he is the Longhorn Heritage
Champion...

NENNNNNNSHOU!

[After a moment, the mysterious Nenshou appears, wearing a long black
robe with the hood pulled down over his painted face.  Pausing at the
entrance, he begins  to walk smoothly and unhurriedly down towards the
ring, his steely gaze locked on the squared circle.  Behind him comes
his manager Percy Childes... overweight and sweating, the piece of filth
is as loud as his charge is silent, jawing at fans and threating to
brain them with his crystal orb topped cane.]

GM:  Six feet tall, two hundred and thirty-five pounds of one of the
greatest athletes I've ever seen compete.  The man has speed, quickness,
agility, technique, high-flying skills - he's got it all, Bucky.

BW:  He is the prototype of what a professional wrestler should be in
the 21st century and beyond, Gordo.  And when Percy Childes says this
man is destined to be the AWA National Champion - can anyone doubt him?

GM:  Both of these men will compete in the Rumble later tonight for a
chance to win a shot at that title... but neither can think about that
right now, Bucky.

BW:  That's right.  If you start thinking about the Rumble, you'll find
yourself staring at the lights without that Longhorn Heritage Title. 
I'm no Sweet Daddy Williams fan but I think we all know that if you
sleep on him, he WILL put you down.

[Nenshou reaches the ring, slipping under the ropes and crawling to the
center like a serpent.  Williams starts to come towards him when the
official steps in, keeping him back.  The Asian Assassin tugs off the
cloth mask, throwing his head back to spew green mist into the air at
the same time.  The hood is tossed aside as Nenshou gets to his feet,
already ready to fight as Percy Childes grins from the apron, patting
the title belt that's over his shoulder.]

GM:  Childes is never far from that Longhorn Heritage Title. 

BW:  And that's why Williams wants it so badly.  He knows that winning
that title will hurt Childes so much.  It'll cut him to the core.

GM:  The referee's got the belt - that's what it's all about right
there.

[The official, Marty Meekly, holds the belt high in the air to the
cheers of the crowd before handing it out to the timekeeper.  He makes
sure both men are ready and then signals for the bell.]

GM:  Here we go!

[The two men come quickly from their corners, each looking for the
collar and elbow tieup.  They tangle up, Nenshou quickly applying a rear
waistlock.]

BW:  Man, his arms can barely get around the fat man's waist, Gordo.

GM:  Would you stop?

[Williams grabs the wrists, trying to pry them apart, and then somehow
swiftly reverses into a waistlock of his own.]

GM:  Would you look at that?

BW:  Shocking.  This fat goof actually knows how to wrestle?

[A surprised Nenshou walks to the ropes, grabbing the top to force the
referee to break the waistlock.  The official does so, forcing Williams
to back away, angrily waving for Nenshou to keep the fight going.]

GM:  And are you surprised to see Sweet Daddy Williams going to the
scientific wrestling game?  I think many expected him to be quite
emotional tonight, coming out fast and fighting hard.

BW:  I think surprisingly that he knows that.  He knows that's what
Childes and Nenshou would have gameplanned for.  And he also knows that
his emotions may cost him here if he lets them get ahead of him.  He
wants the belt and emotions might not get it for him.

GM:  Nenshou edging off the ropes again - you can hear Childes shouting
at him in Japanese...

[The two men tangle up once more, Nenshou swiftly applying a side
headlock, cranking on it.]

GM:  Into the headlock goes-

[The crowd cheers as Williams suddenly slips an arm between the legs of
Nenshou, dropping to the mat and pulling him into a schoolboy rollup
that earns a quick two count before the kickout.]

GM:  Nice counter by the man from Hotlanta, Georgia!

BW:  Where is he pullin' all that out from?  I've never seen him do
anything like that.

GM:  Sometimes you gotta bring something unexpected to the table to get
a win.

[Nenshou rolls out on the attempted pin, pacing around the ringside area
as Percy Childes calls him over for some discussions.]

GM:  A little bit of a huddle on the floor...

[The crowd cheers as Sweet Daddy Williams shouts at Nenshou, ordering
him back into the ring.]

GM:  Some fire on display by the challenger - he needs to keep his cool
though, Bucky.  He needs to-

BW:  So much for that.

[Williams ducks through the ropes, dropping to the floor where he
approaches Nenshou...

...who throws a back mule kick into the midsection of the big man!]

GM:  Ohh!  Nenshou caught him coming in!

[Childes gestures to the ringpost.  Nenshou nods, dragging Williams
towards it, and rearing his head back to slam it in...]

GM:  INTO THE PO-

[Big cheer!]

GM:  Blocked by the challenger!

[A back elbow to the gut breaks up the attempt, sending Nenshou
staggering away.  Williams approaches, grabbing his arm from the blind
side...]


"CLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANG!"


GM:  HE SENDS NENSHOU TO THE BARRICADE!!

[The fired-up challenger approaches the champion whose arms are draped
over the top rope.]

GM:  Nenshou has held this title for six months and five days.  He
became the first man to hold this title back at SuperClash II when he
defeated Brent Maverick in a tournament final.  Since then, he has
beaten back all challengers but could this be the night, Bucky?

BW:  It certainly could.  Sweet Daddy Williams is nowhere near the level
of athlete that Nenshou is but he does have a lot of heart and most of
all, he's lucky.

GM:  Lucky?!

BW:  Very, very lucky.

[Williams drags Nenshou off the railing, hooking a loose side headlock
to deliver a trio of stinging right hands to the skull.  With the
referee's count to seven, Williams fires Nenshou under the ropes before
climbing back up on the apron, stepping through the ropes.]

GM:  Both men back inside now...

[Williams slowly approaches the downed champion, reaching down to haul
him back to his feet...

...and getting caught with a martial arts thrust to the throat!]

GM:  Ohh!  An illegal strike to the throat - those taped fingers jammed
into the windpipe.  The AWA really needs to do something about that
attack - we've seen it far too often lately.

[With a gasping challenger stumbling into the corner, Nenshou regains
his feet and snaps off a pair of kicks to the torso.  Squaring up, the
Asian Assassin lashes out with a trio of chops across the chest of
Williams, knocking him down to a knee where Nenshou wraps his hands
around the throat.]

GM:  We've got a choke here - a blatant choke by the champion.

[The referee steps in, starting a count.  The champion steps back at
four, holding his hands up...

...and delivers a hard spinning back kick to the jaw, knocking Williams
flat!]

GM:  Ohh!  What a shot!

[The champion throws himself into a lateral press as the referee drops
down to count.]

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

[The challenger lifts his shoulder up at two.]

GM:  The educated feet of Nenshou are so dangerous, Bucky.

[Grabbing the top rope, Nenshou delivers a series of hard stomps to the
chest, forcing Williams under the ropes to the apron where he drops off
the floor.  The official backs off Nenshou...

...and allows Percy Childes time to DRIVE the edge of his crystal-topped
cane into the throat of Williams!]

GM:  Oh, come on!  Pay attention, referee!

[Williams rolls around on the floor, coughing heavily as he clutches his
throat.  His face is starting to turn red as Childes shouts a series of
instructions to his charge.  Nenshou steps though the ropes to the
apron, taking aim as he leaps off with a stomp to the chest of the
downed fan favorite!]

BW:  And this is the Sweet Daddy Williams I'm used to seeing, Gordo.
Flat on his back gettin' stomped by a better competitor.

GM:  Thanks to some illegal tactics as well as the interference of Percy
Childes!

BW:  Stop complaining just 'cause your favorite is getting worked over.

[Nenshou delivers a few more stomps to the chest of Williams on the
floor before leaning down to pull the fan favorite up, dragging him
towards the ringpost again...]

GM:  He's gonna try to put the challenger headfirst to the steel again!

[The Longhorn Heritage Champion winds up...

...and gets blocked as Williams extends both arms, grabbing the ringpost
with his hands!  The crowd cheers the block!]

GM:  He blocks it again!  He blocks it again!

[Williams spins, rocking Nenshou with a right hand to the skull!  A
second one connects as well.  The fan favorite grabs a handful of
hair...

...and HURLS Nenshou over the barricade into the front row!]

GM:  OHH!  HE THREW HIM INTO THE CROWD!!

BW:  What?!  That's illegal!  Ring the bell!

GM:  He put the champ in the front row, Bucky!

[An angry Williams points a threatening finger at Percy Childes who
backs off.  The fan favorite turns back to Nenshou, reaching over the
railing to pull him off the floor...

...and pops him with a right hand to the jaw!]

GM:  Ohh!  Big right hand!  And another!  And a third!

[Grabbing Nenshou by the hair, Williams pulls him closer, scooping him
up, and SLAMMING him down to the thinly-padded floor!]

GM:  OHHHH!  HE SLAMMED HIM ON THE FLOOR!!

[The fan favorite drags him up, firing him under the ropes to the ring.]
 

GM:  The challenger puts him back in...

[Williams slides in, crawling to his feet.  He backs into the ropes,
rebounding off...

...and drops a HEAVY elbow down into the chest!]

GM:  OHH!  ELBOW!!

[The challenger applies a lateral press, reaching back for a leg.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  TH-

[The crowd groans as Nenshou fires a shoulder off the mat.  Williams
pops up to his knees, looking at the official who nods, showing two
fingers.  The fan favorite slips his leg over the downed Nenshou,
straddling the chest as he grabs a handful of hair to batter him!]

GM:  Right hand!  And another!  And another!  And another!

[The referee steps in, counting to four which allows a few more hard
shots to the skull before Williams breaks his grip, climbing to his
feet.  He points to the downed Nenshou, swinging his right arm around in
the air.]

GM:  He's calling for the bulldog!  He wants the Riley Roundup!


"FIVE MINUTES HAVE EXPIRED!  FIVE MINUTES REMAIN!"


[Williams drags the champion off the mat, flinging him into the ropes
with the arm...

...and charges in behind him, rocking him with a big clothesline in the
buckles!]

GM:  Ohh!  Big shot by Williams!

[The fan favorite turns slightly, hooking a side headlock, and swinging
his left arm in the air...]

GM:  Here it comes!

[Williams charges out of the corner, looking for the bulldog
headlock...]

GM:  RILEY ROUNDUP!!

[But no, Nenshou throws Williams off into the buckles!]

GM:  OHHH!  INTO THE CORNER!!

[Nenshou promptly backs to the corner, charging out, tumbling across the
ring, and smashing his elbow up under the chin!]

GM:  HANDSPRING ELBOW!!  NENSHOU GOT ALL OF THAT!!!

[As Williams staggers out, Nenshou uncorks a spinning back roundhouse
that knocks Williams off his feet and down to the mat.  At a shout from
Percy Childes, Nenshou heads for the corner...]

GM:  He's going up top!  The champion's headed for the top rope!

[Nenshou steps to the second rope, then to the top...]

BW:  MOONSAUL-

[The crowd cheers and then "ooooohs!" as Williams rolls out of the way
of the moonsault but Nenshou lands on his feet safely.]

GM:  He missed the moonsault but somehow he-

[As Nenshou tries to pull Williams up, he gets dragged down to the mat.]

GM:  SMALL PACKAGE!!  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE-


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  Shoulder up!  He got the shoulder up!

[Nenshou delivers a pair of kicks to the face of the rising Williams,
knocking him back down to the mat.  The Asian Assassin leans over,
dragging Williams up and popping him with a chop across the chest,
knocking Williams back into the buckles.]

GM:  He's got the challenger stunned... wait a second...

[Percy Childes cackles loudly on the floor as Nenshou hooks a side
headlock in the corner.]

BW:  I love it!  He's gonna use the Riley Roundup on this fat goof
Williams!

[Nenshou charges from the corner, ready to drive the challenger's head
into the mat...

...but Williams pulls up short, hoisting the champion into the air, and
brings him CRASHING down tailbone first on a bent knee!]

GM:  Atomic drop!  

[Nenshou bounces off the impact, crashing facefirst into the corner
turnbuckles.  He staggers out as Williams charges past him into the
corner, racing back out...

...and CREAMS Nenshou with a running clothesline!]

GM:  HE GOT ALL OF THAT!!

[A tired challenger applies a cover.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE-

[But again, the champion pops a shoulder out before the three count.]

GM:  So close!  Sweet Daddy Williams almost got him with that
clothesline!

[An angry Williams grabs the bowl-cut hair, battering him with short
right hands to the skull to the dismay of the official.  Percy Childes
is screaming at the referee as well.]

GM:  Marty Meekly forces a break but the referee is still shouting at
the challenger.

[Williams gets to his feet, pulling Nenshou up with him.  He drags the
champion into a front facelock near the ropes...]

GM:  Look out here...

[The challenger hoists Nenshou into the air in a suplex, bringing him
down so that his legs smash the top rope, slingshotting him back up and
over to the canvas!]

GM:  SLINGSHOT SUPLEX!!

BW:  I've never seen that from him before!

[Williams rolls over into a press.]

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

[Again, the champion slips a shoulder free!]

BW:  The referee says it was two!  The ref says it was only a two!

GM:  Oh my!  I thought he had him there!  I really did!  

[Obviously, Percy Childes did as well as he's sweating heavily and
clutching his chest out on the floor.  He smacks the ropes with his
cane, trying to shout to Nenshou but having trouble catching his
breath.]


"TWO MINUTES REMAIN!"


GM:  Only two minutes left on the clock!  The challenger's gotta pick up
the pace here!

BW:  These ten minute time limit matches are so difficult for a
challenger.  It's such a quick pace to work through to win a title.

GM:  Williams is back to his feet, pointing at Childes now...

[The fan favorite shoves Nenshou back into the corner again, moving to
secure the side headlock...

...when Percy Childes pulls himself up on the apron, shouting at
Williams!]

GM:  Get him down from here!  Get him off the apron!

[The appearance of Childes distracts Williams who rushes him, grabbing
him by the head...

...and KNOCKING HIM FLAT with a right hand to the roar of the crowd!]

GM:  HE DRILLED CHILDES!!  OH YEAH!!

BW:  What right did he have to do that, Gordo?!

GM:  He was on the apron!  He was interfering in the match!

[Nenshou drills Williams with a thrust kick to the back of the head,
grabbing him by the arm...]

GM:  Irish whip!

[The Atlanta native hits the ropes, rebounding off...

...and leaves his feet, hitting a big crossbody on a stunned Nenshou!]

GM:  CROSSBODY!!  THREE HUNDRED POUNDS OF IT!!

[The challenger applies the press, reaching back for a leg.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE-

[The referee suddenly finds himself pulled from the ring!]

GM:  What the-?!

[The crowd jeers as we find Percy Childes berating the official on the
floor.]

GM:  That freak of nature Percy Childes just pulled out the referee!

BW:  I would've thought you had learned your lesson about calling people
names, Gordo.

[Williams gets back to his feet, pulling Nenshou off the mat to the
corner.  He hooks the side headlock, swinging his arm around...]

GM:  Williams out of the corner...


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  BULLDOG!  BULLDOG!!

[Williams rolls Nenshou to his back, moving to apply a press.]

GM:  Lateral pre-

[And the crowd ERUPTS in jeers as Nenshou uncorks a spray of green mist
into the eyes of the covering Sweet Daddy Williams!]

GM:  The mist!  He sprayed that mist!  Ring the bell!

BW:  The referee didn't see it!  He's tied up with Percy!

[Williams stumbles backwards, clutching his eyes, screaming in pain. 
Clutching his head, Nenshou crawls across the ring, throwing himself
into a cover as Percy points it out to the referee.]

GM:  No, no, no!

[The referee raises his hand, slapping the mat once... twice... and
three times!]

GM:  Gaaah, give me a break!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


[The crowd jeers wildly as Nenshou rolls from the ring, not waiting a
second to grab the title belt off the timekeeper's table.  Percy Childes
is right there with him, hurrying down the aisle towards the locker room
as the official finally realizes what must have happened.  He
frantically waves for medical help for Williams who is still screaming
in pain.]

GM:  Sweet Daddy Williams had it won, Bucky!  He had the title won! 
Let's look at this replay...

[The shot crossfades to slow-motion where we see Williams pulling
Nenshou out of the corner, driving him down to the mat facefirst in the
Riley Roundup.]

GM:  There's the bulldog - the Riley Roundup - it was over right there.

BW:  Williams flips him over, looks for the official... starts to
cover...

[And we catch a clear shot of green mist being spewed into the eyes from
point blank range.]

GM:  That sickening, devastating mist spat into the eyes of the
challenger... and after that, Williams has no chance when Nenshou
applies a press, hooking the legs for the one... the two... and there's
the three.

BW:  Your winner and still champ, Nenshou!

GM:  Unbelievable.  The AWA medical team is out here tending to Sweet
Daddy Williams and you can bet that- wait a second!

[The crowd explodes in jeers as Nenshou returns, this time with Polemos
and Anton Layton with him!]

BW:  They're gonna finish him off, Gordo!  He's not gonna make it to the
Rumble!  They're gonna take out one of their biggest threats in the 30
man Rumble right now!

[Layton hits the ring hard, stomping and kicking the head of the
still-blinded Williams.  A medical team member stands up, protesting...

...and Layton proceeds to drill him with a right hand!]

GM:  Oh, come on!  He's trying to help!

BW:  But Anton Layton doesn't want him helped!

[Shoving members of the medical team aside, Polemos reaches down with
his mighty arm, grabbing Williams by the throat and returning him to his
feet...]

GM:  No, no... somebody stop this!

[The God of War powers Williams up into the air and then DRIVES him down
to the canvas with a thunderous chokeslam!]

GM:  Ohhh!  My stars, he just got laid out by Polemos!

[With Williams blinded and down, Nenshou quickly scales the ropes,
backflipping off onto his prone foe.]

GM:  Sweet Daddy Williams just got hit with a blitzkrieg, fans!  These
members of the Unholy Alliance have struck so hard and they-

[The crowd ERUPTS in cheers!]

GM:  It's Robert Donovan!  It's the Lynch brothers!

[James and Travis Lynch are the first on the scene, both diving under
the bottom rope and immediately going after Layton and Nenshou.  A
moment later, Jack Lynch joins them and finally, Robert Donovan arrives
as well.]

GM:  We've got a fight on our hands!  We've got a sneak preview of the
Rumble later tonight!  All heck has broken loose here in Tulsa,
Oklahoma, fans!  We'll be right back!

[With a huge brawl raging in the ring, we fade to black.

We cut to the living room of a house, where two kids are playing with
plastic army men.  The little green army guys are spread out in attack
formations, with all kinds of objects being used as cover/sniping
positions/barricades/etc, but the kids don't seem real enthused.]

Kid #1: This is boring.  

Kid #2: I wish we had toys that could _really_ fight.

[Suddenly, a body is flung through the large front window with a loud
crash.  A hard-rock background track plays as the body gets to his
feet... wait, is that Calisto Dufrense?]

Kids: *gasp*

[And... is that Juan Vasquez running through the broken window to attack
him again?!]

Kids: Juan Vasquez!

[And... did James Monosso just kick down the front door to attack Alex
Martinez from behind while he was grappling with MAMMOTH Misuzawa in the
dining room for no apparent reason?!  And is that Nenshou leaping down
the staircase at Stevie Scott?  And why are Rough & Ready beating up the
mailman?  Oh, there's Violence Unlimited turning them around and
brawling with them on the lawn!]

Kids: WOAH!

[Yes, these two kids are about to have a very badly-acted simultaneous
cardiac arrest and orgasm.  It happens.  Especially when Supernova is
jumping off your kitchen cabinet to hit Sultan Azam Sharif with a flying
clothesline, Eric Preston is hiptossing Johnny Casanova across your
family room, and the Aces and First Family are brawling across your
driveway.  Joe Petrow takes a dish from the china cabinet and breaks it
across the back of Sweet Daddy Williams as he had Mark Langseth in a
headlock, Percy Childes and Count Adrian Bathwaite are in a shouting
match, Kolya Sudakov tries to Sickle Robert Donovan, who ducks... poor
Kolya hits the boys' father who was coming in to check out the noise. 
Then Anton Layton wanders by and double-stomps the poor guy.  Because he
can.]

AL: Ehehehehehehehe!

Kids: THIS IS AWESOME!

[And cue the sales pitch!] 

Announcer: And now you can bring the awesome home with new AWA action
figures from Hasbro!

[We cut to the product line, where action figures of all of our favorite
AWA characters stand in dramatic action figure poses~!]

Announcer: Relive the greatest matches!

[Stevie Scott Irish-Whips Juan Vasquez into the family entertainment
center!  Then we see the kids playing with the Scott and Vasquez action
figures.]

Announcer: Create new dream matches never before seen!

[Nenshou tries to blow mist at Calisto Dufrense, but he pulls the
kitchen door open to block!  Then we see the kids playing with the
Nenshou and Dufrense action figures.]

Announcer: Form brand new alliances and teams that you'd never see live!

[Danny Morton and Eric Cooper double-clothesline Vladimir Velikov in the
kitchen... then both grab for the paper towels to wipe off their hands
with disgusted 'yuck' expressions.  Then we see the kids playing with
these three action figures.]

Announcer: Perform the great signature moves of the AWA wrestlers, or
invent totally new ones!

[The magic of blue-screen editing makes it look like Alex Martinez is
doing a double-somersault chokeslam to Johnny Casanova.  Well, his body
is doing flips in the air as if someone were just spinning the footage
around (because that's exactly what it is.  Then we see the kids do the
same 'move' with the action figures.]

Announcer: The base set comes with the Crockett Colisseum ring and four
of the top stars in the AWA!

[Cut to a posed shot of Sweet Daddy, Velikov, Preston, and MAMMOTH. 
See, you have to buy the ring, and you get some
reasonably-popular-but-not-first-choice guys (plus one who is, but he's
off TV right now so this keeps him in exposure!) and then you HAVE to
spend money to get the popular guys!  Clever!]

Announcer: AWA Action Figures... get them today!  Because it's the only
way to get this close to the action... AND SURVIVE.

[With that, we cut to the post-fight devastation of the house... it
looks like a tornado went through here.  And exploded.]

Announcer: Ages 8 and up!

[And cut.  

We fade up outside to the parking lot. It's here we find AWA reporter
Jason Dane walking among the cars, a cameraman following him along.]
 
JD: Fans, I've been told to bring a cameraman out here to the parking
lot to do an interview with one of the Rumble participants... I can't
understand why he's insistent on this, but here he is right now...
 
[The camera then moves so we see who the individual is... "Dead End"
Derek Martin. He is dressed in a black T-shirt with the yellow "DEAD
END" sign on it and faded jeans. He's leaning up against one of the
cars... who knows if it's his car or not.]
 
JD: And this is "Dead End" Derek Martin... first of all, why in the
world did you insist on doing this interview in the parking lot?
 
DM: Because I'm not the one who asked for a few moments of your personal
time... you are the one who asked for a few moments of mine. So if you
want some of my personal time, you get that on my conditions, are we
clear on that?
 
JD: Well, what I'm certainly clear on is your intentions in tonight's
Rumble match... how on earth can you say, if you win the Rumble and the
National title shot, that you'll just walk out with the title belt if
you win that match?
 
DM: First of all, Jason, I believe that every man should be entitled to
his opinion. But when a man does express his opinion, he best carefully
choose the words he uses to express it. And as I recall, you were the
one saying that 29 other men would do whatever it takes to keep me from
winning the National title shot just so I can win the title walk away
from AWA with it.
 
JD: I think you know, Derek Martin, that none of those men will stand
for that.
 
DM: So you are saying that if it comes down to me and Anton Layton,
you're going to hope Layton will be the hero that saves the day for the
AWA?
 
JD: I didn't say that...
 
DM: Then you should have chosen your prior words more carefully,
Jason... because 29 men means 29 men and certainly it sounds like there
are some men you don't want to be the hero. Heck, what about the mystery
men... would you want one of them to be the hero?
 
JD: Well, I don't think any of them are threatening to win the AWA title
just to walk away from the promotion with it.
 
DM: In other words, let's say Calisto Dufrense is one of those mystery
men... now, I have no idea if he's one of them, but if he were to be one
of them, would you be willing to throw your support behind him?
 
JD: I don't think Dufrense plans to walk out of AWA with the title...
 
DM: He sure did walk out on AWA and essentially proclaim he'll wrestle
when he wants to wrestle, didn't he? Sounds close enough to what I
intend to do, doesn't it?
 
JD: I don't know about that...
 
DM: See, Jason, you are the one who didn't choose his words carefully
and now you are having to find a way to take them all back. But I am a
man who chooses his words carefully and stands by them after he says
them... I've already said what I intend to do and I stand by it all. And
I continue to do that when I say this: To the men who think they are
evil, if you truly are what you think are, you'll do just one thing when
you come face to face with me.
 
Walk away, step over that top rope and take yourself out...
 
[A sinister laugh.]
 
JD: So you aren't willing to face men like Sultan Azam Sharif...
 
DM: Jason, you better let me finish... I've got no problem facing Sharif
if he wants to stand up to me... it'll just be his mistake when he finds
out he's facing someone who has no problem dumping him on his head
straight on the concrete floor if that's what it takes to get rid of
him... and I've certainly got no problem facing the men who want to be
heroes... I know men like the Lynches and the Lees and the Sweet Daddys
and the Prestons are fond of being heroes... but it's men like the
Sharifs and the Laytons who I want to find out if they are as evil as
they believe they are.
 
Because if they don't just step out of my way... they're gonna end up
just like the heroes... broken and battered… all because they tried to
be a hero instead of just being truly evil.
 
[Another sinister laugh, then he glares at Jason.]
 
DM: Now, you've taken up enough of my personal time... you best be
going.
 
JD: [shaking his head] Gordon and Bucky, back to you.

[Crossfade back to ringside to our announce team.  Gordon looks pretty
bummed out.]

GM:  Thanks, Jason.  Fans, before the break, we witnessed a very violent
and brutal assault by members of the Unholy Alliance on Sweet Daddy
Williams - an assault that was only broken up by the arrival of Robert
Donovan and the Lynch brothers.  The AWA medical team was tending to
Sweet Daddy Williams during the break and we're being told that it is
highly unlikely that Williams will be able to compete here later tonight
in the Rumble.  

BW:  Mission accomplished!

GM:  That's just great, Bucky.  Really great.  A man's dream of possibly
becoming the National Champion someday gets cut short by the whims of a
couple of...

BW:  Watch it, Gordo.

GM:  ...people and you cheer it.  Really great example you are.

BW:  Hey, I'm no role model and I never claimed to be.  I'm about money,
victories, success, and glory in no particular order.  If taking out
your enemy gets you closer to one of those four things, you do what you
gotta do, Gordo.

GM:  I see.  Well, fans, I'm told that the Championship Committee is in
the back right now trying to find a replacement for Sweet Daddy Williams
for the Rumble later tonight but while they're working on that, we've
got a show to do.  We've still got four big matches plus the Rumble so
let's get right back up to the ring for more action!

[Crossfade to the ring where Phil Watson is standing.]

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

[The foreign sounds of "Saz O Avaz Mahdor" by Mohammed Reza Shajarian
brings the crowd to their collective feet to boo the hell out of the guy
about to walk through the curtain.]

PW:  Hailing from Shiraz, Iran... weighing in at 259 pounds... he is
accompanied to the ring tonight by his manager, Count Adrian
Bathwaite...

SULTAN!  AZAM!  SHAAAAARIF!

[Count Adrian Bathwaite wobbles through the entrance curtain first.  A
former wrestler in the 1970s, Bathwaite is in his mid-60s at this point,
sporting a shiny silk shirt and slacks.  He carries a cane, leaning on
it as he steps down the aisle.  Bathwaite turns, pointing to the curtain
with the cane as Sultan Azam Sharif steps into view into an explosion of
jeers.

Sharif has solid musculature underneath his dark reddish-brown robe as
he walks down the aisle within his gold-colored boots with the ends
curled into a point.  He's also wearing a white keffiyeh that he tears
off within just a few feet of the entrance, throwing it down on the
ground as the chants of "U-S-A!" start up.]

GM:  And Sharif's already hearing it from these fans here in Tulsa.

BW:  These fans are pathetic excuses for human beings, Gordo.

GM:  What?!

BW:  How DARE they treat a man like this - a visitor from a foreign
country!  This is why America is hated all over the world!  Because of
people like these morons here in Tulsa, Oklahoma!  Sharif has done
nothing wrong to them and they hate him anyways because of where he's
from!

GM:  He's done nothing... are you kidding me, Bucky?  Have you seen some
of the things that Sharif and Bathwaite have done since arriving here in
the AWA?  They've EARNED the ire of these fans and the people of Tulsa
should not be ashamed of that fact!

[Bathwaite stays on the floor, applauding his charge as Sharif steps
through the ropes, yanking off his robes as he steps to the middle rope,
shouting at the ringside fans.  He steps back, striking a double bicep
pose in their direction as the music starts to fade.]

PW:  And his opponent...

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

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

THIS...

IS...

SUPERNOVA!

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

GM:  And a very different reaction for this young man!

BW:  Just because he shakes hands, hugs the elderly, and kisses babies. 
These fans are a bunch of idiots, Myers!  

GM:  Only when they cast their Announcer of the Year ballots, Bucky.

[As he heads down the aisle, he is more than happy to slap the hands of
the fans whose arms are stretched over the barricade. Upon reaching the
ring, he ascends the steps, stopping on the apron to cup his hands to
his mouth and howl to the crowd, before ducking between the ropes and
then removing his vest...

...and promptly gets assaulted by Sharif!]

GM:  Here we go!

[Still trying to get his vest off, Supernova is trapped against the
ropes as Sharif batters him against the ropes with a series of forearm
smashes to the side of the head and then to the back of the neck. 
Grabbing an arm, he fires Supernova off to the ropes...

...and gets bowled over with a running clothesline!  Big cheer!]

GM:  Supernova takes him down!

[The youngster waits as Sharif gets back up...

...and gets knocked right back down!]

GM:  He floors Sharif again!

[The man from Iran is slower to get up this time but Supernova is
waiting, throwing a big dropkick to the chest that sends Sharif sailing
through the ropes and out to the floor!  Huge cheer!]

GM:  He sends Sharif to the floor!  Right out there with Bathwaite where
he belongs!

[A fired-up Supernova yanks off his vest, throwing it over the ropes to
the floor, and shouts at Sharif to get back into the ring.  Bathwaite is
right there, helping his man to his feet as Supernova paces around the
ring, shouting to the fans...

...and then spontaneously charges the ropes, HURDLING over them into a
crossbody on a stunned Sharif!  HUUUUUGE CHEER!]

GM:  OHHH MY STARS!!

BW:  That's illegal!  Give the man a chance to recover!

GM:  Would Sharif give Supernova a chance to recover?!  We've been
waiting for this match for a long time now and obviously, Supernova has
as well!  He's not about to let a chance to get an edge go to waste!

[Back on his feet on the floor, Supernova pounds his chest with his
fists before dragging Sharif off the floor, hurling him under the ropes
into the ring.]

GM:  Sharif gets put back in - both of these men are about the same
weight but Supernova's got a couple of inches on his rival.  And
remember, just like our match earlier tonight, both of these men are
scheduled to compete in the Rumble later tonight.

BW:  Remember what you said thought - they're SCHEDULED to compete in
the Rumble.  I think Nenshou and the Unholy Alliance proved earlier that
schedules are meant to be changed, daddy!

GM:  You're sick... you're truly sick.

[Supernova climbs back up on the apron, stepping through the ropes, and
approaching Sharif who is sliding backwards, hands raises as he backs
off towards the turnbuckles.  The referee steps in, ordering Supernova
to let his opponent get to his feet...]

GM:  You gotta stay on him, Supernova.  You can't let the man recover.

BW:  That's right, Gordo.  A rookie mistake made by the kid here.  He
needs to-

[Sharif lashes out with a hooked boot into the midsection.]

GM:  Oh, he gets caught there.

[Grabbing Supernova by his spiked hair, Sharif SLAMS his face into the
top turnbuckle, dazing his opponent.  He quickly hooks a side waistlock,
powering Supernova up...

...and dropping him down on the back of his head and neck with a
suplex!]

GM:  Ohh!  Hard suplex!

BW:  Sharif is the Suplexin' Superstar, daddy!  He's the master of just
about any suplex you can think of and he'll be snappin' 'em all off here
tonight in Tulsa.

[Sharif rolls into a lateral press, hooking the near leg.]

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

[But Supernova is out before the two count actually.  Sharif quickly
gets back to his feet, shouting at Supernova before he delivers a trio
of stomps to the chest.]

GM:  Sharif is putting the boots to him... maybe his plan is to keep the
young man grounded.

BW:  It might not be a bad idea.  Supernova's got a lot of explosive
moves when he's on his feet.  A lot of power, a lot of speed, a lot of
explosiveness.  Plus, if he's on his back, he can't hit the Heat Wave or
lock in the Solar Flare.

GM:  Bathwaite is shouting some orders to Sharif as he continues to lay
in those hooked boots - those things have gotta be illegal, Bucky.

BW:  You keep saying that but you've got no proof, Gordo!

[With Supernova down on the mat, Sharif leaps into the air, dropping a
big elbow down to the chest of his young rival.  Sharif rolls into
another lateral press, earning another two count before the Venice Beach
native kicks out.]

GM:  Another two count there.  Sharif seems to be going very quickly in
this one, trying to get the win before Supernova has a chance to
recover.

[Sharif is jabbering away in his native tongue to the official as he
climbs to his feet, dragging Supernova up to his feet with him.  He
promptly delivers a big double chop to the throat, sending Supernova
stumbling backwards into the buckles.]

GM:  Another illegal blow.  For someone who is allegedly so full of
honor, he sure stoops pretty low with his arsenal, Bucky.

BW:  He's from another country.  He's not very familiar with the AWA
rulebook.

[Grabbing the arm, Sharif whips Supernova across the ring.  He slaps his
chest twice before barreling across the ring after his rival...

...and lays in a big clothesline in the corner!]

GM:  Ohhh!  Big running clothesline in the buckles!

[As Supernova stumbles out, Sharif wraps his arms around the waist of
the young man, powering him up and over with a gutwrench suplex!]

BW:  Like I said, the Suplexin' Superstar!

GM:  Another cover here... one!  Two!  

[But the shoulder comes up again.  An angry Sharif gets up, stomping the
chest and ribs of the downed Supernova.  A hard boot to the ribs rolls
Supernova to his chest where Sharif promptly drops to his knee, driving
his other knee into the lower back!]

GM:  Sharif continues to target the back here... uh oh...

[Grabbing a handful of hair, Sharif pulls Supernova's torso off the mat,
shouting at him as he stretches out the back.]

GM:  Submission hold applied here but that's also an illegal hold of the
hair!

[The referee immediately starts counting, forcing Sharif to break the
hold at four.]

BW:  He had to break the hold but do you realize how much he got to wear
down the back with that hold?  All roads lead to the Camel Clutch and if
he can bust up the back a bit, when he locks it in it'll be all over,
daddy!

[Sharif climbs to his feet, driving two stomps to the kidneys as
Bathwaite shouts more instructions.  With a nod, Sharif drags Supernova
by the arm to the ropes.  He drapes the young man's neck over the middle
rope, putting his shin on the back of the neck to choke him.]

GM:  Another blatantly illegal move!  The referee's right there to count
though, forcing him to break the choke...

[But with Supernova draped over the ropes, Sharif races across the ring,
rebounding off...

...and leaping into the air!]

GM:  Sharif lea- OHHHHH!

[The crowd roars as Supernova rolls to the side, causing Sharif to sail
between the top and middle ropes, crashing down in a heap on the
thinly-padded concrete floor!  Supernova rolls to the corner, leaning
against the turnbuckles as the referee starts a ten count on the fallen
Sharif.]

GM:  Sharif's out on the floor - the referee starting his count.  But
Supernova's not able to take advantage of it.  He's pretty badly banged
up, Bucky.

BW:  The Sultan was working him over for a while there.

[Count Adrian Bathwaite hustles around the ring, shouting encouragement
to Sharif who is using the ring apron to try and drag himself to his
feet.  Inside the ring, Supernova uses the ropes to pull himself up as
well.]

GM:  Both men are getting to their feet...

[Supernova leans over the ropes, pulling Sharif back up on the apron. 
He hooks a front facelock, slinging Sharif's arm over his neck before he
powers him into the air, stepping back a few steps...

...and DROPS him down spinefirst on the canvas!]

GM:  BIG!  TIME!  SUPLEX!  He brings Sharif in the hard way!

[The popular fan favorite gets to his feet, pounding on his chest.  He
stalks towards the downed Sharif who rolls to a knee, trying to recover.
 Supernova pulls him up by the arm, firing him across the ring to the
corner.]

GM:  Sharif hits the corner hard...

[Staggering out, Sharif stumbles right into Supernova elevating him high
into the air and sending him crashing down to the canvas with a
backdrop.]

GM:  BIG BACK BODYDROP!!  RIGHT DOWN ON THE BACK!!

[Supernova grabs the top rope, shaking it a few times as he looks out at
the crowd.  Turning around, he sizes up Sharif as his rival staggers up
to his feet, clutching the small of his back as he falls back to the
corner...]

GM:  HERE COMES SUPERNOVA!!

[The fan favorite charges across the ring, leaping high into the air...

...but Sharif sidesteps!]

GM:  HEAT WAV-

[But Sharif's escape isn't enough as Supernova grabs the ropes, blocking
his smash into the buckles.  He spins around, catching a hard forearm
smash across the chest from Sharif.]

GM:  Uh oh!

[The crowd roars as Supernova absorbs the forearm smash, shaking his
head.  Sharif backpedals, throwing a second forearm to the chest.]

GM:  No effect!

BW:  What in the... those aren't soft shots, Gordo!

GM:  They certainly aren't!

[Supernova shakes off two more shots before flexing his arms in front of
him and letting loose a howl to his shocked opponent.  HUGE CHEER!]

GM:  Sharif can't believe it!

[Sharif lunges forward...

...and gets hoisted all the way up into a military press!]

GM:  HE'S GOT HIM UP!  ALL THE WAY UP!!

[Supernova walks around the ring for a moment before HURLING Sharif down
to the mat to a big roar from the crowd!  Turning his head for a moment,
Supernova points to Bathwaite and shouts "What have you got to say now,
huh?!"  An angry Bathwaite slams his cane down on the apron, shouting
something unheard to Supernova in response...]

GM:  Supernova's got things going his way, pulling Sharif back to his
feet...

[He fires Sharif across the ring by the arm, backing to the corner.  He
lets loose another howl before charging across the ring, hurling himself
into the air...]

GM:  HEAT WAAAAAVE!!

[The big flying splash in the corner crushes Sharif against the
buckles!]

GM:  HE GOT ALL OF THAT!!

[Supernova steps back, throwing Sharif down to the mat.  Stepping
forward, he grabs the legs...

...and a frantic Adrian Bathwaite begins waving his arms towards the
locker room!]

GM:  Wait a second!  What's Bathwaite doing?!

[Tangling up Sharif's legs, Supernova flips him over to the roar of the
crowd!]

GM:  SOLAR FLARE!!  SOLAR FLARE!!!

[Sharif immediately screams out in pain, clawing at the canvas as
Bathwaite screams "DON'T GIVE UP!!  DON'T GIVE UP!!" at him...

...and suddenly, the crowd erupts in jeers!]

GM:  THE RUSSIANS!

BW:  I love it!  Bathwaite's trying to buy Sharif time!

[Hitting the ring, Kolya Sudakov is the first one in...

...and he shakes his head before lunging forward, DRILLING Supernova in
the back of the head with the Russian Sickle!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  SUDAKOV LAID OUT SUPERNOVA!!

[Velikov slides in as well, clutching the heavy Russian chain. 
Kostovich helps Sharif from the ring, shouting orders to his men as
Velikov drops a leg across the back of Supernova's neck.]

GM:  The Russians are taking out Supernova!  They may be trying to take
him out of the Rumble just like we saw-

[The crowd ERUPTS at the sight of Tyler Lee racing down the aisle.]

GM:  IT'S THE LOUISVILLE SLUGGER!!

[But absent the baseball bat, Lee is still outnumbered when he hits the
ring...

...and IMMEDIATELY gets dropped with a Sudakov Russian Sickle!]

GM:  Good grief!

BW:  The Sickle is being put to good use here tonight, daddy!

GM:  According to you maybe!

[Velikov grabs the Russian chain in hand, stretching it out as he shouts
an order to his nephew.]

GM:  This is... fans, if you can remember the early days of the AWA...
this is how the Russians laid out countless enemies!  

BW:  And if they hit Supernova with this, he ain't gonna make the
Rumble!

[Sudakov looks across the ring at his Uncle who is screaming at him to
grab the other end of the chain.  The Russian War Machine seems
reluctant, looking down at his fallen friend.  The fans jeer wildly,
trying to encourage Sudakov to do the right thing...

...when suddenly someone else emerges from the locker room area, a piece
of lumber in hand!]

GM:  WHAT IN THE-

[The crowd buzzes with confusion - then roars with recognition.]

GM:  THAT'S JIM WATKINS!!  "BIG" JIM WATKINS IS COMING TO THE RING!!

BW:  And he ain't comin' alone, Gordo!  He's got that enforcer with him!

[Watkins is dressed in a dress shirt and slacks, no sign of his usual
sportcoat.  He slides under the ring, board in hand as he gets to his
feet...

...and stands over the fallen Supernova, ready to take someone's head
off if they get within sight!]

GM:  JIM WATKINS IS STANDING TALL!  JIM WATKINS IS STANDING OVER
SUPERNOVA!  

BW:  If they want to get at Supernova, I think they're gonna have to go
through Jim Watkins, Gordo!

GM:  I can't believe this!  We know he felt strongly about this
situation!  We know he confronted Kolya Sudakov on the Money Pit several
weeks ago!  We know that Watkins has a history with both Ivan Kostovich
and Vladimir Velikov!

[Watkins can be seen shouting at all three Russians as they huddle up,
holding them back with the 2x4 gripped in his hands like a baseball
bat.]

GM:  Watkins is almost daring them to do something!  I think he WANTS to
take a shot at 'em with that lumber, Bucky!

[Suddenly, Adrian Bathwaite gets up on the ring apron, cane in hand and
jabs it into the back of Watkins, causing him to spin around...

...which allows Vladimir Velikov to rush forward, SMASHING the steel
chain into the back of Watkins' head!]

GM:  OHHHH!

[Velikov's blow knocks Watkins down to the mat where the big Russian
begins laying the boots into him.  Ivan Kostovich shouts something to
Sudakov who quickly exits the ring, walking back up the aisle.]

GM:  Sudakov's walking out!  Did Kostovich finally go too far?!

[Kostovich, grinning from ear to ear, joins his brethren in stomping
Watkins into the mat.  Adrian Bathwaite shouts his encouragement from
the apron.  At a shout from Kostovich, Velikov drags Watkins off the
mat, flinging him towards the ropes...

...where Kostovich CREAMS him with the Russian Hammer on the rebound,
knocking him flat!]

GM:  Good grief!  The Russians have assaulted Jim Watkins!  Ivan
Kostovich and Vladimir Velikov are beating the hell out of Jim Watkins! 
I can't believe I'm even witnessing this!

BW:  Believe it, Gordo, 'cause it's happening!  The Russians are putting
the boots to that biased no-good so and so Watkins!  He's been ruling
against them for months and now he's paying for it!  

GM:  Are you kidding me?!  How can you endorse this?!  How can you-

[Dragging Watkins to his knees, Velikov wraps his fist in the steel
chain...

...and DRIVES it into his forehead, knocking Watkins flat to the crazed
jeers of the crowd.  Kostovich drives a kick to the ribs, forcing
Watkins to roll to his back where a heavy flow of blood is pouring out
of his skull!]

GM:  They've busted open Big Jim!  We need to get some help out here! 
We need-

[The crowd explodes in a shocked reaction!]

GM:  Now what the hell is this?!

[Gordon Myers' angry reaction comes at seeing Kolya Sudakov walking down
the aisle...

...with the Russian flag on a wooden pole in his hands.]

GM:  Kolya Sudakov had walked out of here... he had left... but now he's
coming down here with that Russian flag!  What's this about, Bucky?

BW:  I have no idea.  But you heard Velikov and Kostovich earlier
tonight.  They said this was a new beginning for the true Russian
warriors - and maybe that's what we're seeing here!  Maybe this is the
new beginning!  Maybe this is the start of a new era where the Russians
are the most feared group in the entire AWA!

GM:  Sudakov is climbing the steps with that flag... handing it over to
Kostovich now...

[Velikov drags the bloodied Watkins to his feet, firing him to the
ropes...

...where a reluctant Sudakov knocks him flat with the Russian Sickle,
angrily slamming his arms down on the top rope after delivering it. 
Sudakov drops his head on the ropes, almost ashamed of himself as his
Uncle strides arrogantly around the ring, delivering a hard kick to the
ribs of a rising Supernova.]

GM:  OHH!  I can't believe it!  I can't believe what I just saw!  Kolya
Sudakov, damn him!  He just delivered a Russian Sickle to the Chairman
of the Championship Committee!

[A few more kicks follow, knocking Supernova under the ropes to the
floor as Kostovich stomps Watkins' bloodied face a few more times. 
Gesturing for a mic, Kostovich takes it.]

IK:  Are you watching, America?

[The crowd boos violently.  A partially-empty water bottle is hurled
from the crowd, splashing all over Kostovich who ignores it.]

IK:  Good!  Good!  Throw your garbage like the uneducated trash like you
all are!  You are only proving what we Russians have said all along. 
You are pathetic.  You are weak.  And you are no match for the Russian
people!

[More loud boos!  A few wads of balled-up paper cups fly into the ring.]

IK:  And this... this piece of American trash at our feet... he is the
perfect example of you all!  He is weak!  He is pathetic!  He IS
America!

[The aisles fill with AWA security as the barricades start to shift a
bit.  A rabid fan hurdles the railing from his ringside seat, making it
to the apron before Velikov kicks him squarely in the face and the young
man is swarmed by security.]

IK:  Good!  Keep coming!  We will stand here and leave all of you inbred
rednecks laying just like Watkins!  And when we are done, we will show
you - and this perfect example of an American - exactly what we think of
you!

[Kostovich spikes the mic down, waving over Velikov to help him unhook
the Russian flag from the flagpole.]

GM:  What are they doing?  My god, please don't do this!  Jim Watkins is
a proud American!  He's a man who has fought inside that ring proudly
for his country time and again!  He is one of the most patriotic men
that I know, Bucky!

BW:  I've gotta agree with you, Gordo.  This man is Stars and Stripes to
the core!

GM:  Kostovich has got that flag... he's got the Russian flag and-

[The crowd EXPLODES in jeers as Kostovich and Velikov place the Russian
flag over the barely-conscious, bloodied form of Jim Watkins, completely
covering his upper body and face.]

GM:  They've buried him, Bucky!  They've buried Big Jim with the Russian
flag!  By God, I can't believe this!  I can't believe what we're
witnessing here!  They are crushing Jim Watkins' spirit, they are
crushing his American spirit!

[Kostovich and Velikov raise their arms, walking around the
carnage-filled ring with the crowd flinging trash in their direction. 
AWA security has completely engulfed the ring, keeping the more-rabid
fans at bay as we abruptly fade to black.

And then back up on an animated Jason Dane... no, he's not just moving a
lot.  He's LITERALLY animated - like Porky Pig style.]

JD:  They say I'm the man with all the answers.

[A cut to a different angle of animated Dane.]

JD:  They say I'm the man who gets all the scoops.

[Another cut.  Another angle.]

JD:  They say I'm- is all this really necessary?  It's not like I'm
Geraldo, guys.

[A voice off camera shouts "CUT!" and animated Jason Dane walks off a
green screen set through a crowded studio.]

JD:  I'm not the "most feared man in America," fans.  What I am is a
pretty good reporter who has an eye for the stories you're gonna want to
know about.  That's why AWA Access has been one of the most downloaded
apps ever and that's why the AWA gave me permission to start my own
website!

I'll be bringing you the hot news, the big stories, and the stuff not
fit to air.

[Animated Dane strokes his animated chin.]

JD:  Maybe I AM the most feared man in America!

[A "BZZZ!" sound of electricity is heard as animated Jason Dane fades
away and a title graphic appears.]

"JASON DANE - COMING TO A BROWSER NEAR YOU!"

[Fade to black.

And then back up to live action backstage where we find Mark Stegglet
standing between the members of Rough N Ready, Dave Cooper to Stegglet's
right and Eric Matthew Somers to Stegglet's left. Dave wears a white
polo shirt and black pants and Eric wears a black T-shirt and blue
jeans. Each RnR member has a tag team belt slung over his shoulder.
Standing next to Somers is Royalty founder Joe Petrow, back in his
custom suit also wearing a pair of dark sunglasses and a sour puss]

MS: I'm here with Rough N Ready as they are set to defend their AWA
National Tag Team Titles against the Rockstar Express.  Gentlemen,
you've heard the comments from the Rockstars and they are wanting to
avenge what the two of you did to The Aces.

DC: I've heard enough from the Rockstar Express, Stegglet! Those two
pretty boys want to appoint themselves as the ones who will do the work
The Aces aren't willing to do for themselves... then that's just fine!
It'll be the Rockstars regretting they ever decided to step to the plate
once we send the two of them to the hospital, where maybe they can swap
advice with The Aces about the best rehab programs available!

[Eric and Joe both laugh at Dave's remark.]

MS: It seems to me you may be taking the Rockstars a bit lightly, Dave.

DC: If I were you, Stegglet, I'd be careful what observations you make,
lest you lose the privilege I have granted you to talk to us, despite
Petrow's insistence that Bucky Wilde get exclusive interview rights to
Royalty! Besides, this isn't about taking the Rockstars lightly... it's
about teaching them some lessons in respect, something that they and
nearly every other tag team in the AWA is sorely lacking! Standing
before you are the greatest tag team in the AWA, alongside the greatest
mind in the business today, and alongside the one and only bona fide
living legend in wrestling history, there should be no doubt in anyone's
mind why Royalty deserves nothing but unconditional respect!

MS: I think a team that would definitely take exception to that is
Violence Unlimited... earlier tonight, they defeated The First Family
and have earned another shot at the National Tag Team Titles!

DC:  That match was a big mess and a perfect example of the AWA plotting
against us.  The First Family had that match won and if it were it up to
me, Eric and I would line up the First Family as the next contenders,
but if Jim Watkins wants to play his games with us, that's just fine!
Because believe me, Violence Unlimited, now that you've got that second
opportunity at our belts... Eric and I will see to it that it is your
final opportunity and that Watkins won't have a say in the matter...
because it will be the two of you sharing that hospital room with the
Rockstars and the Aces!

JP:  And Jim Watkins!

[Another laugh from Eric, whose face only becomes more wicked as he
hears Dave talk.]

MS: I must say, Dave, you sound awfully confident and I would hope you
are not looking past-

JP: Stegglet, I'm in a bad enough mood without you blinding us with the
obvious. Of _course_ we're looking past the Rockstars!  These men first
came to me when they decided that they wanted to stand out from the
Rockstars and Aces of the world and become champions. Then they came
back to me when they decided that being champions wasn't good enough.
Lord David and Lord Eric are trying to become _legends_!  The only way
to do that is by putting your reputation on the line night after night
after night, just as the King and I have already done!

These men know that they have paid their entry dues into Royalty with
the credit that I've extended on their future status. And the collateral
is the AWA National Tag Team Championships.  To have that come to a
screeching halt at the hands of two shaggy haired goofs like Scotty
Storm and Marty Morgan is beyond the realms of even the dreams of
_their_ party addled brains!

The reason these men _will_ win is simple: they have far more to lose
than The Rockstar Express. All those guys have to lose tonight...is
their worthless, stinking careers!  C'mon guys, let's get this over
with!

[Eric nods, and with a smile punches his palm with his fist to make his
point as Petrow leads his charge into battle.]

MS:  The National Tag Team Titles are on the line in mere moments, fans,
so let's go down to the ring to see how that turns out!

[Crossfade to the ring where Phil Watson is standing.]

PW:  The following tag team match is scheduled for one fall with a
thirty minute time limit and it is for the AWA National Tag Team Titles!

[Big cheer!]

PW:  Introducing first... they are the challengers...

[The fans erupt into cheers at the sounds of KISS' "Rock And Roll All
Nite."

PW:  From Rock And Roll City, USA... at a total combined weight of 462
pounds... Scotty Storm and Marty Morgan...

THE ROCKSTAAAAAR EXPRESS!

[The cheers grow louder as Storm and Morgan burst through the curtain. 
The two men are dressed for battle in matching black and white
full-length tights with red bandanas tied around their legs randomly. 
They immediately head to the railing, embracing some fans, high-fiving
others, paying tribute to their most loyal followers as they make their
way down the aisle.]

GM:  Here they come, arguably the most popular tag team in the entire
AWA, Scotty and Marty, the Rockstar Express!

BW:  How can you call them the most popular tag team after hearing the
reaction Danny Morton got earlier tonight?

GM:  Since when are you a Danny Morton fan?

BW:  I'm not.  I'm just trying to keep you honest.

[It takes a while but eventually Storm and Morgan reach the ring,
slingshotting over the ropes in unison into the squared circle.  Scotty
Storm circles over to the apron cameraman, pointing to his t-shirt that
has been airbrushed with "For Stevie and Danny."  The fans cheer the
sight of it on the "big screen" as they settle in to get ready for
action.]

PW:  And their opponents...

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

PW:  From Albuquerque, New Mexico... weighing in at a combined weight of
615 pounds... they are led to the ring by their manager, Joe Petrow...
they are the AWA National Tag Team Champions... 

Dave Cooper and Eric Matthew Somers...

ROUGH!  N!  REAAAAADYYYYYY!!

[Dave Cooper wears black wrestling trunks, matching kneepads and white
wrestling boots, and also wears a black T-shirt that says "Rough N
Ready" in white lettering with the title belt wrapped around his waist. 
Eric Matthew Somers wears a black singlet and white wrestling boots and
has the belt slung over his shoulder.  Joe Petrow stands between the
two, beaming proudly as he claps for his men.]

GM:  The National Tag Team Champions are on their way to the ring,
Bucky!

BW:  And I don't know if I've ever seen them more confident.  Joe Petrow
has these two men believing they can beat anyone in the world. 
Rockstars, Aces, First Family, Violence Unlimited - hell, someone go dig
up the Outlaws or the Epitome of Cool!  

GM:  Now THAT I would like to see.

[Cooper and Somers ignore the jeering fans as they make their way down
the aisle towards the ring.  Petrow brings up the rear, threatening a
backhand or two on an overzealous fan.]

GM:  Fans, while the champions make their way to the ring, let's give
you a quick update on the condition of Jim Watkins.  During the break,
Watkins was helped from the ring by several AWA officials - he refused
to be taken from the ring on a stretcher... absolutely refused.  We
understand that he is currently back in the locker room getting stitched
up for that wound on the forehead and will be taken to a medical
facility shortly for further tests.  The Championship Committee is
meeting right now to determine their course of action. 

BW:  Like what?

GM:  Like any fines or suspensions or worse that should be applied to
the Russians.

BW:  Are you kidding me?  Watkins instigated the whole thing!  He got
himself involved in it!  Whatever happened to him, he had it coming,
Gordo!

[Cooper and Somers reach the ring, scaling up onto the apron as Storm
and Morgan pace back and forth, trying to stay loose.  The champions
step through the ropes, handing the title belts over to the referee, AWA
Senior Official Michael Meekly.]

GM:  Those belts are what these two teams are fighting for, Bucky. 
There are other factors involved but at the end of the day, it's the AWA
National Tag Team Titles.

BW:  Rough N Ready have held those titles since Labor Day of 2010 - just
a few months shy of a year now - but they still get no respect from the
fans of the AWA, the front office, the media - no one!  So, when they
enlisted Joe Petrow's help in making them wrestling royalty... well,
things started to change, didn't they?

GM:  I suppose they did... but all that can come crashing down here
tonight at the hands of the Rockstar Express.  The Rockstars are tag
team specialists and are sure to keep Cooper and Somers off-balance with
their fast-paced, high-flying offense.

[Cooper and Somers trade a few words before the big man pats his partner
on the shoulder, pointing to the apron.]

BW:  Oho!  And the big man's gonna start this one off for his team! 
They're going to take advantage of the biggest edge they've got over the
Rockstars... size!  Eric Matthew Somers is just about bigger than both
of them Rockstars put together!

[Michael Meekly holds a hand up, keeping Somers at bay as Morgan and
Storm converse.  A double high-five from the challengers get a cheer
from the crowd as Scotty Storm stays in the ring, tugging the top rope
as the bell sounds.]

GM:  And here we go!

[Storm jogs out of the corner, faking a lunge at the legs of Eric
Matthew Somers, a move that doesn't even make Somers budge.]

BW:  If Scotty Storm thinks Eric Matthew Somers is afraid of him going
for a double leg takedown on him, he's crazy.

[Storm grins at the lack of the reaction, nodding his head as he circles
Somers.  Somers doesn't even turn, allowing Storm to go behind him.]

GM:  Look at the arrogance of Eric Matthew Somers!  He's giving up his
back to Scotty Storm!  He's almost inviting a shot from behind!

BW:  That's not arrogance, Gordo - that's supreme confidence!

[Storm rushes in behind Somers, throwing a forearm to the back of the
head.  A second one connects as well before Somers turns around,
grabbing Storm by the hair, and dropping him flat with a headbutt!]

GM:  Good grief!

BW:  I love it, Gordo!  That's a perfect example of a man using his size
to his advantage.  He knows he can absorb a ton from Storm before it
affects him so he takes a couple forearms and then lays him out with a
headbutt!  He took two blows from Scotty Storm and STILL put him down!

[Somers stands over Storm, smirking at him as he shouts "UP!", waving
for the Rockstar to get to his feet...

...and delivers a hard kick to the face as Storm tries to get there.]

GM:  What a jerk this Eric Matthew Somers has turned out to be!  These
guys used to be loved by the fans and-

BW:  And what good did that do them?!  They got passed over for titles
shots for two years!  And when they did get them, they couldn't get the
job done.  But one call, Gordo... one call to Joe Petrow changed ALL of
that!

[On cue, the camera cuts to the floor where Petrow is nodding with a
grin on his face.  He walks over to Dave Cooper, pointing something out
that makes Cooper chuckle.  Somers is walking around the ring shouting
"THIS IS WHO THE AWA PUTS IN FRONT OF US?!" to the jeers of the crowd.]

BW:  He's got a point, Gordo.  The Rockstars don't seem like a real
challenge right now.

GM:  We're just moments into the match, Bucky!

BW:  I don't see things changing much.

[Somers leans against the neutral corner, arms crossed.  The official
tries to get him to go after the downed Storm but he shakes his head.]

BW:  Great sportsmanship from Somers.  He won't attacked the downed
opponent.

GM:  Are you serious?  He just kicked a kneeling man in the face!

BW:  Kneeling's not downed!

[Scotty Storm climbs to his feet, rubbing his chin as he glares across
the ring at Somers who mockingly applauds him for getting up.  He steps
out of the corner, slapping himself in the chest, and shouting "COME
ON!"]

GM:  Somers wants Storm to come at him again...

BW:  Think Storm's dumb enough to try it?

[Storm rushes forward, leaping into the air with a right hand that
coupled with the weight of Storm pushes Somers back to the corner. 
Storm throws right hand after right hand to the skull...

...and gets piefaced down to the mat by an angry Somers!]

GM:  Somers shoves him down!

[Storm gets back up...

...and ducks under a running clothesline from Somers!]

GM:  He ducks the clothesline and-

[Storm leaves his feet, catching Somers on the chin with a standing
dropkick!]

GM:  Dropkick on the button!  Somers gets rocked!

[The big man stumbles backwards towards the ropes as Storm scrambles
back up to his feet, rushing to the ropes, rebounding off...

...and baseball sliding between the legs of Somers after Somers goes for
a big right hand!]

GM:  Storm between the legs, to his feet...

[And deadleaps straight up, catching the slower Somers with a dropkick
to the back of the head, knocking him forward.  The big man stumbles
forward closer to the ropes...

...and Storm races past Somers, leaping to the middle rope, springing
back!]

GM:  CROSSBOD-

[BIG REACTION!]

GM:  CAUGHT!!

[Somers stands tall, a fierce look on his face as he walks around the
ring, holding a helpless Scotty Storm across his chest...

...and then sets him down on his feet.]

GM:  What the-?


"SLAAAAAAAAAAAP!"


GM:  OHH!  SOMERS SLAPPED HIM!!

BW:  And a slap from Eric Matthew Somers almost knocks ya out!

[Storm recoils back from the slap, grabbing the side of his head as
Somers shouts at him, "YA BETTER HAVE MORE THAN THAT, KID!"]

GM:  Somers is embarrassing Scotty Storm now!  He's-

[An angry Storm springs forward, SMASHING a right hand into the jaw!]

GM:  What a right hand!  That one caught Somers by surprise!

[Storm throws a second... and a third... all rocking Eric Matthew Somers
and sending him falling back to the ropes.  The Rockstar grabs the left
arm...]

GM:  Irish whi- reversal!

[The big man rockets Scotty Storm into the ropes where he rebounds off,
ducking under a clothesline attempt...

...and lands a running clothesline of his own across the chest of
Somers!]

GM:  Ohh!  Storm connects!

[Somers stumbles back a step or two, not leaving his feet.  Storm
reaches out, slapping the hand of his partner.]

GM:  In comes Marty Morgan!

[Grabbing the hand of his partner, Morgan rushes forward.]

GM:  DOUBLE CLOTHESLINE!!

[Somers falls back another couple steps but still doesn't drop to the
mat.]

GM:  He's still on his feet, Bucky!

BW:  Of course he is!  It's gonna take more than these two pipsqueaks to
put him down!

GM:  The Rockstars told me earlier today that they've been working on
some new double team moves for this match.  They think one of those
might be what it takes to walk out of here with the National Tag Team
Titles.

BW:  Then they're dumber than they look, Gordo.  Unless one of those
double teams involves driving a tank into the arena and shooting Somers
in the chest, they're not gonna put 'im down!

[Storm steps out to the apron as Marty Morgan stays on the attack,
battering a dazed Somers with right hands to the skull.  Stepping up on
the second rope in the middle of the ropes, he throws a few more
punches...

...and get upended over the top, dropped all the way down to the floor!]

GM:  OHHHHH!

BW:  It's over!  It's already over!

GM:  Marty Morgan just got launched over the top to the floor!  Eric
Matthew Somers with a... well, I'd call it a desperation move of sorts,
Bucky.

BW:  Desperate?  The man is 350 pounds!  Does he look like a desperate
man to you?

[A dazed Somers slaps the hand of Dave Cooper who immediately drops off
the apron, rushing over to where Morgan is down on the floor.]

GM:  Cooper's on the attack on the floor...

[Pulling Morgan to his feet, Cooper promptly hammerlocks the left arm...

...and SLAMS him shoulderfirst into the ringpost!]

GM:  OHHHH!  INTO THE STEEL!!

BW:  That's the kind of thing that Dave Cooper loves to do!  It's the
kind of thing that busts up a shoulder for Cooper to bend, break,
stretch, and snap!  And that's exactly what you can expect him to do
right now, Gordo.

GM:  Cooper rolls him in...

[The National Tag Team Champion rolls in behind him, promptly grabbing a
straddle armbar and yanking on the left arm, bending it against the
injured shoulder.]

GM:  And right to the shoulder he goes, Bucky.  You called that one.

BW:  You can take the manager out of the ring but you can't take the
ring out of the manager.  I could lead a guy to the National Title
tomorrow if I came out of retirement, Gordo.

GM:  I'd like to see that, Bucky.

[Cooper yanks on the arm, shouting "ASK HIM, REF!" as Michael Meekly
kneels down next to Marty Morgan, waving that he has not given up.]

GM:  It'll take a lot to make Morgan or Storm give up, Bucky.

BW:  Well, it's a good thing that Dave Cooper's got a lot to give him.

[Cooper pulls hard on the arm again, causing Morgan to cry out in pain
but he shakes his head, refusing to give up.  Scotty Storm is screaming
out to his partner, arm outstretched as Morgan's shoulder is put through
the wringer.  The technician pulls out of the armbar, yanking the arm as
he drags Storm to his feet.]

GM:  Irish whip by Cooper...

[Morgan rebounds off the ropes as Cooper winds up his right hand,
throwing a punch...

...but Morgan raises both arms, blocking it.  He turns his back, hooking
Cooper under the arms.]

GM:  BACKSLIDE!!

[Morgan pulls Cooper down to the mat, pinning his shoulders.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR-

[Cooper just barely manages a kickout as Joe Petrow loses his mind out
on the floor.]

GM:  Whoa!  How close was that?

BW:  Judging by Joe Petrow's reaction, it was very close!

[Coming out of the pin attempt, Morgan tries to crawl to his corner...

...and gets CREAMED with a big elbowdrop to the back of the head by
Cooper!]

GM:  Cooper cuts off the tag!

[The technician gets back to his feet...

...and promptly DRILLS Scotty Storm with a right hand, knocking him off
the apron to the floor to the jeers of the crowd.  Turning back to
Morgan, Cooper stomps the shoulder a few times before dropping a knee
down on the shoulder joint.  Pinning the arm to the mat, Cooper lifts
himself in the air and drops the knee once... twice... three times
before rolling Morgan into a lateral press.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  

[But Morgan fires the good shoulder off the mat, breaking the pin. 
Cooper promptly gets up, grabbing the foot to drag Morgan across the
ring.]

BW:  Dave Cooper just showed why he is the consummate professional
inside that ring.  He didn't get mad about the count, he didn't get
frustrated.  He just got up and made sure Marty Morgan couldn't tag out.
 There's a perfect reason why some guys in the locker room call him "The
Professional," Gordo.

GM:  You're absolutely right about that.

[Cooper stomps the injured shoulder a few more times before slapping the
hand of Eric Matthew Somers.]

GM:  The big man steps back in... Cooper pins the arm down...

[And the big man drops all 350 pounds down with an elbowdrop to the
shoulder!]

GM:  Good grief!

[Somers climbs back to a knee, smirking at the jeering crowd.  He shouts
at a ringside fan before pulling Morgan off the mat...

...where Morgan lashes out with a right hand to the jaw!]

GM:  Morgan's fighting back!

[A second right hand connects... and a third... ]

GM:  Somers is rocked!

[Dropping down on all fours, Morgan tries to crawl between the legs to
the outstretched hand of Scotty Storm...

...and Somers leaps up, bringing all of his weight down on the lower
back!]

GM:  OHHHH!

BW:  That'll cut off the tag!

[An angry Somers leans down, pulling Morgan up by the hair, and promptly
wrapping his hand around the throat.]

GM:  A chokeslam!  Somers is calling for a chokeslam!

[But as Somers hoists him up, he lifts a little too high which allows
Morgan to hook his legs around Somers' head...

...and FLINGS him down to the mat with a big time rana!  HUGE CHEER!]

GM:  HEADSCISSORS TAKEDOWN BY MORGAN!!!

[The crowd is roaring as Morgan crawls again, trying to get across the
ring...

...when Dave Cooper suddenly runs into the ring, grabbing Morgan by the
ankle!]

GM:  Cooper blocks the tag!  He's in there illegally and-

[BIG CHEER!]

GM:  HEADKICK BY MORGAN ON COOPER!!

[The leaping enzugiri stuns Cooper, knocking him flat as Morgan crawls,
crawls, crawls across the ring...

...and makes a DIVING TAG!]

GM:  TAG!  IN COMES STORM!!

[Scotty Storm quickly scales the ropes, standing atop the buckles...

...and LAUNCHES himself off the top, catching Somers across the chest
with a crossbody that knocks him down!]

GM:  CROSSBODY OFF THE TOP!!  ONE!!  TWO!!  

[But Somers powers out, throwing Storm off with ease.  Scotty Storm
quickly gets to his feet, slapping his leg as Somers gets to a knee...]


"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  THRUST KICK TO THE JAW OF THE KNEELING SOMERS!!

[The blow knocks Somers flat as Storm looks around frantically.  He
charges across the ring, hopping up to the middle buckle, and then spins
as he jumps, dropping a leg across the chest of Somers!]

GM:  Middle rope legdrop!  

[Storm throws himself across Somers' chest again.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  

[But again, Somers powerfully kicks out, breaking the pin attempt. 
Storm scrambles up, hopping up to the middle rope again... waving for
Somers to get back up...]

GM:  Somers to a knee... now to his feet...

[Storm leaps off the middle rope, catching Somers with a dropkick under
the chin.  The big man stumbles backwards as Storm tries to figure out
his next move.] 

GM:  Middle rope dropkick!  Scotty Storm's bringin' it all on Somers!

BW:  But none of it's enough!  Somers is just too big and tough, Gordo!

[Storm rushes forward, throwing a trio of right hands to the skull.  He
spins Somers around, SLAMMING his head into the buckles!]

GM:  Ohh!  That might help!

[Shouting to the crowd, Storm repeats the process, slamming Somers head
into the top turnbuckle again and again as the crowd counts along.]

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

[Somers stumbles away as Storm pumps a fist to the cheering crowd. 
Grabbing an arm, Storm fires him into the Rockstars corner.  The fan
favorite dashes in, leaping up, and smashing a forearm into the jaw!  He
slaps the hand of a waiting Marty Morgan.]

GM:  He tags in Morgan - that might be a mistake, Bucky.

BW:  Morgan can't be a fresh man yet.  He just got out of there.

GM:  Both men in... on the middle rope...

[Each man grabs two hands full of Somers' hair, leaping off...]


"THUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUD!"


GM:  DOUBLE FACESLAM OFF THE MIDDLE ROPE!!

[Morgan shoves Somers over to his back, applying a one-armed press.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  TH-

[The big man raises a shoulder!]

GM:  He kicks out but there's nowhere close to the fire he had earlier,
Bucky!

BW:  Wasn't that illegal?

GM:  They've got a five count to get in and out of there.

[Morgan gets up, immediately slapping the hand of Scotty Storm.  Storm
steps in as Morgan hooks him in a side waistlock with his good arm,
turning away from the downed Somers.]

GM:  What's this now?

[Morgan lifts Storm up for an atomic drop...

...and just flips him right over into a splash on Somers!]

GM:  OHHHH!  WHAT THE HECK WAS THAT?!

[Storm reaches back, hooking a massive leg.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR-

[Somers again fires a shoulder up to break the count!  The camera
catches Dave Cooper about to charge in but he steps back out as the pin
attempt is broken.]

GM:  The Rockstar Express is getting closer, Bucky!

BW:  That can't happen!

[Out on the floor, Joe Petrow is SCREAMING at Eric Matthew Somers as
Scotty Storm slaps the hand of Marty Morgan again.]

GM:  Another exchange by the Rockstars.

[Tagging in, Morgan quickly scales the turnbuckles, sitting down on the
top rope as Storm climbs up as well...]

GM:  It looks like another double team is coming up...

[Morgan hoists Storm up for an atomic drop lift again...

...and then DROPS him down in a legdrop across the chest of Somers!]

GM:  OHHHH!!  WHATTA MANEUVER!!!

[Storm rolls clear, pointing up to his partner...

...and Morgan leaps off the middle rope!]

GM:  SOMERSAULT DIVE!!

[A somersault senton off the middle rope crashes down across the chest
of Somers.  An injured Morgan grabs his shoulder, slowly crawling back
to throw his good arm across the chest.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE-  WHAT THE...

[The crowd reacts similarly as Dave Cooper rushes in, yanking Morgan off
his partner.]

GM:  Dave Cooper breaks up the pin!  Cooper broke it up 'cause we were
going to have new champions right there!


"TEN MINUTES HAVE EXPIRED!  TEN MINUTES!"


GM:  We're at the ten minute mark in this one and these two teams are
going at it hard!  The Rockstar Express' high-paced offensive attack is
really pushing the pace of this one.  They've got the champions playing
their game, Bucky!

BW:  And Joe Petrow is NOT happy about that!  He wants the champs in
their methodical offense.  He wants Cooper slapping on submission holds
and Somers bringing the pain with the power game!  He does NOT want them
trying to keep up with the Rockstars!

[An angry Marty Morgan gets to his feet, rushing the corner where Cooper
is standing, throwing a right hand...

...but Cooper blocks it, reaching out to grab the left arm, and dropping
off the apron, snapping the injured arm down on the rope!]

GM:  OHHH!  Cheapshot!  Cheapshot by Cooper!

BW:  What?  That was self-defense, Gordo!  Morgan came after him!

GM:  Only after Cooper broke up the pin!

[Morgan stumbles away, clutching his left arm as Cooper rolls into the
ring, moving to pursue...

...but the referee steps in his way, holding the champion back as Morgan
tries to get the corner where Scotty Storm is waiting for him!]

GM:  Get out of there, Marty!  Make that tag!

[But Joe Petrow will have none of that, grabbing Scotty Storm by the leg
and YANKING him down off the apron just as Morgan stumbles into the
buckles.]

GM:  No!  Petrow blocked the tag!  He pulled Storm down and-

[The crowd ROARS as Storm drills Petrow with a right hand, dropping
him!]

GM:  DOWN GOES PETROW!!

[Storm gets back up, trying to get back on the apron to tag his
partner...

...but before he does, Eric Matthew Somers yanks Morgan backwards by the
tights and LEVELS him with a clothesline to the back of the head and
neck!]

GM:  Good grief!  What a shot by Somers!

[Somers grabs the downed Morgan by the ankle, dragging him back all the
way across the ring where he slaps the hand of his partner.]

GM:  Somers makes the tag to Cooper...

[Somers pulls Morgan off the mat, scooping him up, and dropping him over
a bent knee in a backbreaker as Cooper hops up to the middle rope,
stands tall, and drops off the ropes with a legdrop across the chest!]

GM:  Ohh!  He nearly took Morgan's head off with that!

[Cooper rolls Morgan to his back, applying a lateral press of his own.]

GM:  We've got one!  We've got two!  We've got- that's all!

[An angry Cooper delivers a barrage of right hands to the skull, shoving
Morgan's head back down to the mat.  He grabs the wrist on the injured
arm, pinning it down to the mat, and pushes up, dropping a knee down on
the bicep!]

GM:  Another knee to the arm - look at this now...

[Kneeling on the arm, Cooper tugs the arm against it, trying to wrench
the shoulder further.  The camera cuts to Joe Petrow who is on the floor
clutching his jaw, shouting "RIP HIS ARM OFF, DAVE!"  Cooper nods,
climbing back to his feet.  He quickly hammerlocks the arm behind Marty
Morgan, scooping him into the air, and SLAMMING him down onto his own
arm!]

GM:  Ohh!

BW:  That's one of my favorite moves in the sport, daddy!

GM:  All of the man's bodyweight got put down on his own arm!  That's
gotta do some serious damage.

[With the arm still pinned under Morgan, Cooper applies another press,
earning another two count before the good shoulder pops up off the mat. 
Cooper gets up coldly and delivers a stomp right to the injured
shoulder, smirking as Morgan cries out in pain.  He grabs the injured
arm, dragging him around the ring by it, Morgan screaming all the while.
 Scotty Storm is standing on the middle rope, clapping his hands, trying
to get the crowd behind his partner.]

GM:  These fans are trying to inspire Marty Morgan, trying to get him to
that corner and make the tag...

[Cooper, still holding the arm, drops a leg across it.  He wraps the arm
around his leg, bending the wrist and forearm as he does so.  Morgan
cries out again, clawing at Cooper's hands, trying to get free.  Cooper
shouts at the referee to "check him" but does not get a submission.  An
angry Cooper gets up, glaring at the downed Morgan with his hands on his
hips.]

GM:  And you mentioned it earlier, Bucky, but Dave Cooper is now showing
a little bit of frustration.  A little bit of anger.

BW:  He needs to bottle that up.

GM:  Cooper pulls the challenger up... ohh!  Hard right hand to the jaw!

[The blow sends Morgan back into the neutral corner where Cooper grabs
the top rope, delivering kick after kick into the torso.  The referee
suddenly steps in, forcing Cooper back.  The champion backs off, arms
raised, and then shoves the referee aside, charging in...

...and hits chestfirst into the buckles as Morgan leapfrogs!]

GM:  OHHH!  INTO THE CORNER!!

[Morgan's leapfrog carries him forward where he goes into a front roll,
trying to get across the ring...]

GM:  He's gonna make it!  He's gonna get there!

[The official dives out of the way as Cooper sprints across the ring...

...and gets drop toeholded into the buckles, falling down to a knee on
impact!]

GM:  Cooper tried to cut off the tag and he paid for it!  Marty Morgan
dropped down and took Dave Cooper down with him!  Scotty Storm's in the
corner, Scotty Storm is shouting for his partner to get out of there. 
Can Marty Morgan get there?  Can he make the tag?

[Storm is leaning as far as he can over the ropes, his arm outstretched.
 A dazed Dave Cooper pushes up to a knee, swatting Storm's arm away as
he uses the ropes to pull himself to his feet in the Rockstar Express
corner.  He turns around, grabbing Morgan in a front facelock, holding
his ground to prevent the tag!]

GM:  Cooper's put himself between the two members of the Rockstar
Express!  

BW:  What a brilliant idea!

GM:  Morgan's pushing and fighting and struggling!  Can he get there? 
Can he-

[Suddenly, Eric Matthew Somers steps into the ring, drawing the referee
towards him...

...and Cooper lets up, allowing Morgan to make the tag to the cheers of
the crowd!  A fired-up Scotty Storm comes in, drilling Cooper with two
right hands.  He grabs the champion by the arm, dragging him into the
middle of the ropes and firing him across...]

GM:  Off the ropes... 

[Scotty Storm sends Dave Cooper over his head and down with a big
backdrop!]

GM:  BIG!  BACK!  BODYDROP!!

[Storm is on the warpath, clapping his hands together as he goes to pull
Cooper up off the mat, rearing back his right hand...

...when the official grabs it!]

GM:  What the-?!

BW:  The ref didn't see the tag!  Eric Matthew Somers stopped him from
seeing the tag!

[With Storm's arm trapped, Cooper blasts him with a right hand of his
own!]

GM:  Ohh!  He suckerpunched him while Meekly had the arm!

[Cooper grabs a stunned Storm by the head, throwing him through the
ropes and out on the apron.  He pushes past the protesting official to
grab Marty Morgan, flinging him into the ropes...]

GM:  Off the ropes...

[The technician scoops up Morgan by the upper thighs, rotating quickly,
and DRIVING Morgan into the canvas!]

GM:  SPINEBUSTER!  SPINEBUSTER!

[Cooper applies a lateral press on the motionless Morgan, hooking the
leg.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!! 

[But a desperate Scotty Storm slingshots up onto the top rope,
springboarding off...

...and diving onto the back of Dave Cooper with a splash before the
three count came down!]

GM:  STORM BREAKS THE PIN!  STORM BREAKS THE PIN!

[The crowd is roaring as Scotty Storm drags Dave Cooper off the mat,
throwing a haymaker... and another... and another... and another, all
battering Cooper back into the corner.  The referee steps in, trying to
force Storm out of the ring but he ignores the official as he steps to
the midbuckle.]

GM:  Storm's not the legal man but-


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


"FIFTEEN MINUTES!  FIFTEEN MINUTES!  FIFTEEN MINUTES GONE BY!"


[Storm hops down off the buckles, grabbing Cooper by the arm to fire him
into the opposite neutral corner.  The technician hits the corner hard,
stumbling back out...

...and into a picture perfect double dropkick from Storm and Morgan!]

GM:  DOUBLE DROPKICK!!!

[Storm dives atop the downed Cooper, hooking a leg.]

GM:  He's got him covered and-

[Somers steps in, takes two steps, and leaps!]

GM:  BIG SPLASH!

[HUUUUUGE CHEER!]

GM:  SOMERS MISSED THE SPLASH!  SOMERS MISSED THE SPLASH!!  HE GOT HIS
OWN MAN WITH IT!!

[Scotty Storm, having just narrowly avoided the plummeting 350 pounds of
Eric Matthew Somers, dives atop Cooper again, hooking a leg.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREE!!

BW:  The ref's not counting!

[Storm gets back to his feet, shouting at the official who is shouting
back.]

BW:  He's not the legal man!  Scotty Storm is in the ring illegally!

GM:  Who cares?!

[A furious Scotty Storm kicks the bottom rope, exiting the ring as Marty
Morgan tries to get to his corner, having exerted all his energy with
the double dropkick... a move that caused him to crash right down on his
injured shoulder.]

GM:  Storm's on the apron!  Morgan's crawling again!  Cooper is down! 
Somers is on the apron waiting for him!  This is it, fans!  This is the
moment of truth!  Can the Rockstar Express beat the odds and become the
National Tag Team Champions?!

BW:  Petrow's losing it!  He's screaming at Cooper!  He's shouting at
Somers!  Do something, Joe!

GM:  No!  You stay right where you're at, Petrow!  Let these two teams
decide this themselves!

[Morgan's inching closer and closer to the corner where Scotty Storm is
waiting for that tag as Dave Cooper gets up, clutching his ribs.  He
staggers towards the opposite side of the ring, trying to cut off the
tag...]

GM:  COOPER'S GOT THE ANKLE!  HE'S BLOCKED THE TAG AGAIN!!

[Cooper hangs on to the ankle, trying to pull Morgan back.  The Rockstar
gets to his feet, hopping on one leg...

...and hops up, lashing out with his free leg backwards right into the
chin of Cooper!  Big cheer!]

GM:  HE CAUGHT HIM!  HE CAUGHT-

[HUUUUGE CHEER!]

GM:  TAG!  TAG!

[Scotty Storm slingshots over the ropes, sprinting across, and leaping
into the air with a dropkick that knocks Eric Matthew Somers off the
apron and down to the thinly-padded floor with a thunderous thud!]

GM:  DOWN GOES SOMERS!!

[Storm pulls Cooper up off the mat, firing him across the ring, and
catching him in the gut on the rebound with a right hand.  He quickly
dashes to the adjacent ropes, rebounding off with a running kneelift
that snaps Cooper back and down to the mat!]

GM:  MILLION DOLLAR KNEELIFT BY THE CHALLENGER!!

[Storm is all fired up, pumping his fist as he pulls Cooper up again,
firing him across the ring.  He delivers a boot to the gut of the
rebounding Cooper, doubling him up...

...and leaps into the air, placing his leg behind Cooper's head and
neck, and DRIVES his face into the canvas!]

GM:  LEGDROP BULLDOG!!  

[Storm rolls Cooper to his back, hooking the leg.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!!  THRE-

[A desperate Dave Cooper fires the shoulder off just before the pinfall.
 The crowd groans at the near fall as Scotty Storm pushes up to his
knees, burying his head in his hands.]

GM:  So close!  Scotty Storm thought he had him!  Storm thought he had
him right there!

[A wild-eyed Storm drags Cooper up again, flinging him into the neutral
corner.  A staggered Cooper wobbles out, catching a back elbow under the
chin that sends him back into the corner again.]

GM:  Ohhh!  Right under the chin!

BW:  Cooper looks like he's out on his feet, Gordo!

GM:  Storm charges the corner... up on the shoulders now...

[Seated on the shoulders of Dave Cooper, Storm pushes his momentum
forward, rolling into a double leg cradle!]

GM:  VICTORY ROLL!  VICTORY ROLL!

[The referee dives to the canvas to count.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE-

"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

GM:  SHOULDER UP!!  SHOULDER UP!!  MY STARS, THIS IS CRAZY!

[Storm shakes his head as he gets to his feet, pointing to the corner.]

GM:  Storm's heading to the corner... I don't know where he's going!

[Slapping the top turnbuckle, Scotty Storm scales the ropes, quickly
reaching the top where he awaits Dave Cooper getting to his feet...

...and finds Joe Petrow hopping up on the apron, shouting at Storm!]

GM:  GET HIM DOWN!  GET HIM OFF THE APRON!!

[Scotty Storm shouts back at Petrow, pointing at him.  The official gets
involved, trying to get Petrow down...

...and Scotty Storm decides to take matters into his own hands, leaping
off the top with a double axehandle, crashing over the head of Joe
Petrow and sending him crashing down off the apron!]

GM:  OHHH!  STORM CLEARS OUT PETROW!!

[With the crowd roaring, Storm stands on the apron, shouting at the
downed Petrow...

...and gets drilled with a forearm to the back of the head by Cooper!]

GM:  Cooper caught him out on the apron!

[A few more right hands land before Cooper spins him towards the ring,
reaching to hook a front facelock...

...but Storm drops down, lunging forward to drive his shoulder into the
midsection.]

GM:  Ohh!  He caught Cooper down low!

[Slingshotting over the ropes, Storm hooks a sunset flip!]

GM:  SUNSET FLIP!!

BW:  COOPER'S HANGING ON!!  COOPER'S HANGING-

[Eric Matthew Somers rolls under the ropes, drawing the referee's
attention...

...which allows Joe Petrow to get to his feet, pull his iPhone out of
his pocket, rear waaaaaaay back...]


"CRAAAAAAAAAAASH!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  HE HIT HIM WITH THE PHONE!!  HE HIT STORM IN THE HEAD WITH THE
PHONE!!

[The blow breaks any attempt at bringing down Cooper who simply kneels
down, pinning the shoulders to the mat.]  

GM:  NO!  NO!  NOT LIKE THIS!

[The referee dives down to count as Joe Petrow reaches unseen to grab
Cooper's arm, giving him enough leverage to gain the three count!]


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  Ahhh, I can't believe it!

BW:  Rough N Ready keeps the gold!

GM:  Cooper and Somers have retained those titles by the skin of their
teeth, Bucky!  By all rights, in my book, we should have new National
Tag Team Champions right now - right here in Tulsa, Oklahoma!

BW:  Coulda, woulda, shoulda - the fact is, we don't!  Rough N Ready and
Joe Petrow are walking out of here on top of the world and you just have
to imagine that Mark Langseth is sitting in the back thinking that this
could be him as well in just a little while.

GM:  It could be a big night for Royalty here in Tulsa, fans.  The
Rockstars come oh-so-close but fall just a bit short.  We've got to take
another break but don't you dare go away, fans, because we'll be right
back with more of Memorial Day Mayhem!

[With the Rockstars protesting to the official and the champions heading
back up the ramp, we fade to black.

We fade 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 as Alex
Martinez stands on an unadorned set, in front of an AWA logo, microphone
in hand.  His leather jacket is absent, no doubt the result of Joe
Petrow's vandalism.  He wears instead a simple white t-shirt and a pair
of jeans, his eyes, covered, as always, but a pair of mirrored
sunglasses.]

AM:  Tonight, here in Oklahoma, there'll be an ending, and a somethin'
new will begin.

First, things first.  Tonight, it ends between you and I, Marky.  We've
been hatin' each other for a good, long time.  It goes back to Los
Angeles, and your jealousy.  I tried to bury the hatchet with ya.  I
came to ya like a man, and did my level best to leave the past behind
us.

But that wasn't good enough for ya, was it?  Were ya plannin' even then,
to go through this whole sick charade?  Were ya fittin' yourself for a
dragon costume while you were shakin' my hand?  Of course ya were.

So now, I'm gonna bury that hatchet right between your eyes.

Your little game ends tonight, Langseth.  Ya had your fun, but now its
over.  I've beaten ya before, and I'll be happy to do it again.  I
already took care of Petrow, and I suspect that Scotty and Marty are
gonna leave your other two pals in no shape to stick their nose into our
business.  And that means, I got a straight shot at ya Marky.  Tonight,
the Dragon gets slain.

Which brings me to my next order of business.... The Rumble.

[Martinez pulls off his sunglasses.]

AM:  See, as I said before, I came to the AWA to take my shot at
immortality.  I've been sidetracked by this business with the Dragon. 
But tonight?  The Dragon ends, and I get on with what I came here to do.

And that starts with the Rumble.

Juan is my friend, and I respect City Jack.  But I do want a shot at
that National Title.  And I think both Vasquez and Jack know that. So,
twenty nine men between me and what I want?

Sounds like a good start to me.

[With a smirk, Martinez lets the microphone go, and steps off stage as
we crossfade elsewhere to where Mark Langseth and Joe Petrow are
standing backstage with Jason Dane. Petrow has regained his custom-made
suit, but has lost his custom-made smile, and uncharacteristically hides
behind a pair of shades, while Mark's in his ring gear of a black
T-shirt with a gold King's crown - complete with four jewels on the
front - and a pair of black wrestling tights. Langseth seems a bit
agitated just being here as he eyes around with a perturbed look on his
face.]

JD: Gentlemen, we are just moments away from Mark Langseth's return to
the ring in a huge match against the determined Alex Martinez.  How you
will regroup tonight after Mr. Petrow's crushing loss to Mr. Martinez
just last week?

[Petrow turns to glare at Dane, but offers no form of physical
retaliation]

JP: Jason Dane, the only reason I'm letting you speak to me like that,
or speak to us at all, is because I am a humbled and chastened man. But
let me tell you 
something about Joe Petrow. When somebody proves to me without a shadow
of a doubt that he is a better man than I, then I am man enough to admit
it. And last week, I failed...

[Choking on his words, Petrow stops to remove his sunglasses to reveal
the anguish in his eyes.]

JP: ...I failed to take the advice of a Hall of Fame _legend_!  A man
who knows more about defeating Alex Martinez than any other man on the
planet! I let the emotion of the moment take me away from the certain
victory that the King's wisdom would have guided me to. [Turning towards
Mark.] Mr. Langseth, I apologize. You truly are the better man, and it
is an honor and a privilege that you allow me in your corner to witness
you putting that troll in his place like no one else can.

[Langseth waves off his hand.]

ML: No apologize necessary. You saw it, Dane here saw it, the fans all
saw it - a man of your caliber had Alex Martinez OUT! Gone! You took
that animal down and that was what, your second match in... a decade? Or
more?

[Langseth shakes his head.]

ML: The outcome regardless, it just shows that the NON-legend, the
NON-Hall of Famer, and the NON-Royal barked up the wrong tree. And
tonight, I'll be sure to put the "big dog" down.

JP: But you know, in some ways things are better this way. It's been so
long since the AWA has brought any suitable opposition for the King of
wrestling, that people have actually started to forget just WHY he is a
Hall of Fame Legend!  It's because of all the times in his career that
he has made the impossible seen routine!  And you know that more than
anybody Alex!  Beneath all of that pride and bravado that you hide
behind, you know that this man is your Kryptonite!  You know that the
King Mark Langseth knows you like no other!  You know that for all the
wrong reasons, but you know that just the same!

[Petrow getting worked up!  And Hopefully working his charge up as
well...]

JP:  Your whole plan has been based around the mistaken belief that if
you bully this legend long enough, that he would back down without a
fight!  Well pal, I hope that you celebrated long and hard last week,
because you've already lost EVERYTHING!  You've ALREADY lost this match!
 You've ALREADY lost your pride!  You've ALREADY lost all that you
believe in!  And the deal is sealed the second that the King of
wrestling sets his blessed foot in that ring!

Alex Martinez!  Prepare to learn what ROYALTY is all about!

[Langseth nods at Petrow with a bit of a grin on his face.]

ML: "Big Man"? You still don't get it, after all these weeks. You've
been blinded by... By jealousy!

[Langseth holds up his precious Hall of Fame ring.]

ML: Jealousy that I'm - no matter what you do - will ALWAYS be better
than you! I'm THE legend! I'm THE man! And it can't be questioned cause
I have this ring right here on my hand. And you just can't stand that.

[The Pittsburgh native shakes his head.]

ML: You couldn't handle all of that, so you concoct this whole Dragon
mess. You pin me as this nutjob tormenting you. ME? Me, Martinez? Why
would I need to play games? Why would Royalty need the smoke and mirrors
and mystery? If we wanted you destroyed, Martinez, we'd do it like that
-

[Langseth snaps his fingers.]

ML: No waiting, no mysteries, no games. You'd be on the shelf and out of
the ring forever. But you kept pushing the issue. You kept shoving the
idea that I'm your boogeyman down the throat of anyone who would listen,
like some lunatic. And because of that?

[Mark looks over to the founder of Royalty, who nods.]

ML: Because of that, I'm going to step into that ring tonight and show,
once again, that I AM still THE premier competitor in all of wrestling.
But I'm not going to just beat you AGAIN, Martinez.

[Langseth shakes his head.]

ML: No, for what you've done to Royalty? For you maligning MY good name?
I'm going to take my pound of flesh as a price for your misdeeds.
Tonight, you WILL pay for what you've done.

[And both men storm out of view as we crossfade back 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...

[The intro to Fight's "Little Crazy" brings the crowd to their feet.]

#It's alright...#
#It's alright...#
#It's alright...#

#I'm just a little crazy!#

[And as the crowd ERUPTS with the last set of lyrics, Alex Martinez
strides through the entrance curtain.]

PW:  From Los Angeles, California... weighing in at 350 pounds... he is
the Last American Badboy...

AAAAAAAAAALEX MAAAARRRTIIIIINEZ!

[The cheers intensify as Martinez throws an arm into the air, soaking up
the cheers from the aisle.  The seven footer is dressed for a fight - no
sunglasses, no leather jacket.  He's still dressed in the white t-shirt
we saw him in moments ago.  The big man stands, hands on hips as he
surveys the screaming crowd.  He nods in approval before reaching up to
rip it off his body, throwing it down to the floor to the cheers of the
crowd before he starts to walk up the aisle.]

GM:  Now that's a man who is absolutely dripping with intensity, Bucky!

BW:  Martinez means business tonight, Gordo.  He's convinced that Mark
Langseth is the man who has been haunting him as the Dragon for several
months now and he intends to put an end to it.  But the question remains
- what if he's wrong?

GM:  I don't think he is, Bucky.  Langseth has made a career out of
ducking tough challenges, out of backjumping people, and most of all,
out of having others do his dirty work for him.  You remember the
multiple factions he's been a part of over the years - Team Langseth,
The Foundation, Redemption - all have centered around protecting him. 
Now, there's Royalty but even that might not be enough for him.  He's
got guys like James Monosso and the Blonde Bombers doing his grunt work.

BW:  You've got no proof of that!

GM:  Just last week, he hired Robert Baldwin from the Blonde Bombers to
replace him in that big ten man tag!  What more evidence do you need,
Bucky?

[Having reached the ring, Martinez swings his long leg over the top
rope, stepping into the squared circle to even more cheers from the
crowd.  The music starts to fade down as Martinez settles back into the
corner.]

PW:  And his oppon-

"Tonight's story is somewhat unique and calls for a different kind of
introduction."

[Without a note of music, an angry Joe Petrow stalks down the aisle
towards the ring in his suit.  He quickly makes his way to ringside,
climbing the steel steps.  He grabs the mic out of Phil Watson's hand
without a single glance in the direction of Alex Martinez.]

JP:  No, no, no... this won't do at all!

[The crowd boos Petrow wildly.]

JP:  You are talking about a match of Main Event proportions.  This is
the kind of match that once Main Evented Pay Per Views... and that is
all thanks to MY client, Mark Langseth.

[Again, the boos sound.]

JP:  And since WKIK loves a big quarter-hour spike, we're going to make
this a momentous occasion - something to celebrate and cherish - because
AWA fans, Mark Langseth is about to wrestle here before you!

[More boos.  Petrow grins.]

JP:  I know, I know... we don't think you're worthy either.  But we do
believe that King Langseth himself IS worthy.  Therefore, we have gotten
some very special guests for this very special match.

First...

[Petrow produces an iPhone from his pocket, tapping the screen.]

JP:  Sorry.  Gotta get to my Notes app.

[He clears his throat.]

JP:  Tonight's special guest ring announcer truly is a man who needs no
introduction because... well, if he's not the man making the
introduction, it's just not worth hearing.  No disrespect to Phil Watson
or Melissa Cannon.  They are perfectly acceptable if the local
auctioneer or hog caller is not available.

[A cut to Watson who looks annoyed.]

JP:  But this man... this man is an announcing great!  He's so good at
ring announcing, he once contended for Announcer Of The Year!

Ladies and gentlemen... a longtime friend of King Langseth and loyal
subject to Royalty...

The Ace Of Announcing...

[Pause.]

JP:  KEN GRAHAM!

[The long-time EMWC ring announcer emerges from a ringside seat,
climbing the steps in his trademark pink tuxedo.  He smiles broadly as
he shakes the hand of Joe Petrow and takes the offered mic.]

KG:  Hello, Tulsa!

[The crowd erupts in a mixed reaction.]

KG:  It is my distinct pleasure to be here tonight to introduce...

...our special guest timekeeper!

[The fans boo what seems to be a blatant attempt to stall.  An irritated
Alex Martinez is pacing back and forth, glaring at Graham.]

KG:  This man is himself a former World Heavyweight Champion and is
widely considered one of the greatest wrestlers of all time.  On a night
when the great - 

[Graham consults his cards.]

KG:  Pardon me, the greatly OVERRATED Hamilton Graham will be
appearing...

[More boos!]

KG:  ...it seemed only fitting that we include one of his greatest
rivals in tonight's event as well.  Ladies and gentlemen, with the very
important job of making sure someone rings the bell at the beginning and
end of the match, please welcome...

CAMERON O'CONNOR!

[The crowd cheers for O'Connor who looks innocent to all this stuff
going on.  He rises from the timekeeper's table, waving to the crowd
before settling back in to his seat.]

KG:  And of course... you can't have a very special match without a very
special GUEST REFEREE!

[More boos!  At this point, we're wondering if he'll ever shut up.]

KG:  A match with royal implications can only be refereed by the KING of
officiating.  Please welcome a man who is so old, he may have been
present when Judas turned on Jesus.  His first Main Event he refereed
featured a T-Rex.  And when he comes out here, he'll be sure to smile...

...only if he remembered to bring his teeth tonight.

My dear friend... the AWA's Head of Officiating...

MAX "MOLDY" MEEKLY!

[Max Meekly trots up the ringsteps, dressed to referee.]

KG:  Now, ladies and gentlemen... the moment you have all been waiting
for...

[Dramatic pause.]

KG:  He is the manager of King Langseth...

[More boos!]

KG:  He is the current reigning Eternal World Champion... one of the
most charismatic and controversial stars in the history of our sport...
a man who took a former World Champion to his limit just ONE WEEK AGO...

He is... SYCHO JOE... JOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOE PETROOOOOOOOOW!

[The boos are earsplittingly loud at this point.]

KG:  And finally... the reason we are all here in this building
tonight... he is the man, the myth, the legend, the icon, the
showstopper, the Main Event, the heartbreaker, the love taker, the
phenomenon, the franchise, the institution, the impact player...

He is a former EMWC North American, Tag Team, and World Heavyweight
Champion...

He is the greatest scientific wrestler in the history of our sport.  He
has outbrawled The Gremlin, outkicked Tiger Claw, outflown Devon Case,
and outsmarted Chris Blue.

He is Pure X's uncle - and taught him everything the disloyal little
punk knows...

He is the reason that people have heard of Stabbing Westward...

He is the former leader of Team Langseth, The Foundation, and
Redemption...

He is the crown jewel of Royalty...

Ladies and gentlemen...

THE KING OF WRESTLING...

[Super dramatic pause.]

KG:  MAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRK LAAAAAAAAAAANGSETH!

[The sounds of Stabbing Westward's "Save Yourself" blasts over the PA as
we pan up the aisle to find a bright red carpet has been laid down.  Joe
Petrow is at the top of the aisle, nodding his approval as Mark Langseth
walks into view.]

GM:  Wow.

BW:  I know.  He's an impressive sight, right?

GM:  Not exactly what I was thinking.]

[Mark Langseth walks down the aisle, his feet on the red carpet that has
been rolled out for him.  Joe Petrow is by his side, applauding the
self-proclaimed King of Wrestling.  Petrow can be heard shouting "BOW! 
BOW, YOU COMMONERS!" as they pass the booing fans.  Martinez is pacing
back and forth in the ring now, waiting for the man he believes is The
Dragon to get to the ring.]

GM:  After that introduction, the man is STILL out there trying to rile
up these fans.  Absolutely ridiculous.

BW:  This is a big moment, Gordo!  Take it all in!

GM:  The first Langseth versus Martinez match in years?

BW:  No, no... forget Martinez.  Mark Langseth has graced us with his
presence!  It's a big deal!  Look at all the special guests the AWA has
brought in for this moment.  A guest referee... a guest timekeeper... a
guest ring announcer!  This is a huge night!

GM:  Well, we won't argue that it's a big night but I think we'll differ
on the reasons why.  Mark Langseth has raised himself up... like he some
kind of a wrestling god... over the past few months.  The man has barely
competed at all here in the AWA.  What kind of contract does he have
anyways?!

BW:  When you have a Hall of Fame athlete the caliber of a Mark Langseth
willing to work for you, you make all the concessions necessary, Gordo. 
You're just lucky he's willing to let you call his matches still
otherwise we'd have a guest Play By Play guy too!  Stegglet's kickin'
around the back, right?  

GM:  I'm guessing Jon Stegglet wouldn't want a single thing to do with
this sham.

[Langseth and Petrow draw near the ring, huddling up for a moment as
they eye Martinez who is still pacing back and forth, ready to strike. 
Langseth nods as Petrow pats him on the back, stepping up on the apron. 
Referee Max Meekly steps in front of Martinez, holding up a hand to keep
him at bay as Langseth wipes his feet on the apron, stepping through the
ropes to the roaring jeers of the fans.]

GM:  Finally, he gets into the ring... and finally, we may be getting
close to the start of this match, Bucky.

[The Hall of Famer points a finger at Martinez, backing to the corner
where Max Meekly checks him for weapons.  Giving a thumbs up, Meekly
backs off, holding his arms spread apart...

...and then signals for the bell!]

GM:  Here we go!

[Langseth promptly strides arrogantly out of the corner, stopping in the
middle of the ring when he walks right into the seven footer - his
long-time rival and enemy.]

BW:  And we've got ourselves a little staredown, Gordo.

[The seven footer looks down at Langseth who is jabbering away, spewing
all sorts of venom in the direction of Martinez...

...and then slams his hands into the chest with a shove!]

GM:  Whoa!  This is getting testy in a hurry, Bucky.

[Martinez smirks at Langseth's bravado before replying with a shove of
his own that sends Langseth tumbling end over end across the mat,
winding up in the corner with the crowd roaring.  Petrow rushes around
the corner, huddling up with the kneeling Langseth as Martinez waves for
him to get back to his feet.]

GM:  Well, I guess it's obvious who has the power edge.

BW:  Power, size, strength, intimidation, intensity.  Those are the keys
to this match for Martinez... plus he needs to keep Langseth off that
injured shoulder.  We saw Joe Petrow use that injured shoulder to great
advantage a week ago and he may have formed the perfect gameplan for
Mark Langseth to follow here tonight in Tulsa.

[Langseth slowly climbs to his feet, leaning against the buckles as Max
Meekly waves him forward to battle.  The Hall of Famer glares at his
special guest referee as he eases out of the corner...]

GM:  Look at the caution on Langseth's face.  He knows how dangerous
this man is.

BW:  Absolutely.  Martinez can turn your lights out with one move - the
Firebomb - and believe me that Mark Langseth knows that all too well.

[Drawing near, Langseth throws a boot into the gut of Martinez.  A
haymaker to the ear sends the big man stumbling back as Langseth grabs
the arm.]

GM:  Irish whi- reversed!

[Martinez lifts his leg for a big boot...

...but Langseth hangs on to the ropes, preventing the rebound.  He
stares across at Martinez, pointing to his head as he smirks and struts
alongside the ropes.]

GM:  Oh, this guy thinks he's so smart, Bucky.

BW:  He is, Gordo!  Mark Langseth is one of the most brilliant minds in
the history of our sport.  When you think of some of the plots, some of
the plans, some of the strategies he's put in place over the years, you
have got to be impressed.

GM:  You said it yourself - plots, plans - how does that NOT sound like
the Dragon to you?

BW:  Are you calling a Hall of Famer a liar?!

GM:  I guess I am.

[Langseth edges away from the ropes again as Martinez waves him forward,
looking for a tieup.  The King of Wrestling moves out to the center as
the big man lunges...

...but Langseth ducks under it, pointing to his head again as he avoids
the tieup!  The crowd jeers loudly.]

GM:  Langseth's playing a game of cat and mouse here.  Trying to avoid
contact for as long as he can.

BW:  He's just looking for the right opening, Gordo.  He knows it's best
not to tangle up with a giant unless it's on your terms!

[Langseth leans against the ropes, grinning at Martinez who is glaring
angrily across the ring at him.  Martinez loudly questions Langseth's
manhood, drawing a big cheer from the crowd and annoyance from the Hall
of Famer who kicks the bottom rope, demanding a tieup of his own now.]

GM:  Here we go now... they're finally gonna get down to it...

[Martinez lunges for another tieup...

...but Langseth again ducks under it, coming up unscathed on the other
side.  Joe Petrow loudly applauds from the floor, shouting "Make him
play your game, champ!" as Langseth nods, grinning from ear to ear.  The
fans continue to let him have it as Martinez slams an arm onto the top
turnbuckle in frustration.]

BW:  Martinez is just too slow to catch up with him, Gordo.

GM:  I don't believe that for a second but I think the past few months
have shown that the injuries of Alex Martinez are starting to wear him
down a bit.  I have a hard time imagining that Joe Petrow would have had
so much success against him last weekend if Martinez was operating at a
hundred percent.

BW:  But he's not, Gordo!  He's nowhere near a hundred percent!  And
he's too proud - too arrogant - to take time off and let himself heal. 
That's why the Dragon - whoever he is - is executing the perfect
gameplan on him.

[Martinez turns to find Langseth arrogantly smirking at him.  The big
man slams an arm across his chest, shouting at Langseth to hit him.  The
Hall of Famer looks a bit nervous as he edges out of the corner...]

GM:  Let's see if Langseth will actually do something this time...

[The seven footer goes for another tieup, Langseth ducking underneath
again...

...but gets caught by Martinez hooking him around the torso in a
gutwrench!]

BW:  Wait!  No!

[The camera cuts to show a panicked Langeth trying to escape just before
the big man powers him up, hurling him down to the mat with a massive
crash!  Big cheer!]

GM:  GUTWRENCH SUPLEX!!  He threw him halfway across the ring, Bucky!

[Flailing about on the mat, Langseth rolls under the ropes to the floor
where Joe Petrow races to meet him.  The Eternal World Champion takes a
knee next to Langseth, advising him as Martinez paces back and forth
inside the ring...

...and then leans between the ropes, grabbing Langseth and Petrow by the
heads!]

GM:  Oh yeah!  Do it!

[But before he can clash their heads together, Petrow shoots out a right
hand, punching the injured shoulder hard.  Martinez winces, still
holding his grip...

...until Langseth rakes the eyes!]

GM:  Oh, come on!

BW:  Hey, Martinez had that coming!  He went after them first!

[With Martinez blinded and hanging through the ropes, Langseth pulls
himself up on the apron...

...and POPS the big man with a running kneelift to the jaw!]

GM:  Ohh!  What a shot!

[The seven footer slips back through the ropes, reeling from the
kneelift.  Langseth steps in behind him, wheeling Martinez around and
down to his knees by the ropes.  The Hall of Famer pushes the big man's
throat down on the rope, jamming his knee and shin into the back of the
neck.]

GM:  He's choking Martinez on the middle rope!

[Langseth hangs on, pushing down with all his weight on the throat as
the referee starts a count.]

BW:  As old as Meekly is, this five count may take a half hour!

[But the AWA's VP of Officiating gets there pretty quickly, forcing
Langseth to back off.  The Hall of Famer does more than that though,
racing to the ropes, rebounding off...

...and leaping up, driving his knee down onto the back of the head and
neck!]

GM:  Ohhh!  He drives the throat into the middle rope!

[The referee backs Langseth off, leaving Martinez gasping for air over
the middle rope...

...which is where Joe Petrow CRACKS him with a right hand to the jaw,
knocking Martinez back to his back inside the ring.  Langseth grins as
he approaches, dropping to his knees for a cover.]

GM:  Langseth with the lateral press for on- whoa!

[The crowd roars as Martinez powers out of the pin attempt before a one
count even comes down.  Langseth looks shocked before grabbing the big
man by the long black hair, peppering him with short right hands to the
skull.  The Hall of Famer gets to his feet, measuring the downed
Martinez...

...and leaps up, dropping a leg across the throat!]

GM:  Big legdrop by Langseth!

[Still seated with his leg across the throat, he orders the official to
count.]

GM:  The referee down for a-

[But Martinez kicks out again before the first count comes down.  The
crowd roars as Langseth scampers to his feet, delivering a kick to the
ribs of the rising Martinez.  The giant keeps getting up though, even
through a rain of haymakers to the skull...

...and finally reaches his feet, staring dead in the eyes of his
long-time rival!]

GM:  Martinez is up!  The big man is up!

[Langseth rears back a right hand again, letting it fly...

...but Martinez blocks it before throwing a right hand of his own,
knocking Langseth flat on his back on the canvas!]

GM:  The Los Angeles native is fighting back!

[Langseth quickly gets up...

...and gets popped again, a heavy blow to the jaw that sends him sailing
back a few feet before collapsing to the mat.  The big man shouts "GET
UP!" to Langseth who opts not to, instead scooting back to the corner,
lifting his right hand to beg for some mercy.]

GM:  You will get no mercy from this man, sir!

[Martinez reaches down with both hands, physically pulling Langseth to
his feet where he throws him back into the buckles.  Holding him there,
he throws right hand after right hand after right hand until Max Meekly
steps in, forcing him back.  Martinez marches away, turns, and charges
back in...

...WRECKING the stunned Langseth with a running clothesline!]

GM:  OHHH!  HE GOT ALL OF THAT!!

[As the Hall of Famer staggers out, Martinez plants a boot into his
midsection, doubling him up.  Martinez spins around, his back to the
corner as he pulls Langseth into a standing headscissors...]

GM:  What's this?

[With a shout, Martinez hoists Langseth up over his head, moving his
hands so that they're under the armpits of the Royalty leader.]

GM:  He's got him up, Bucky!

BW:  Up in crucifix position... I don't know what he's thinking here!

[Martinez charges out of the corner, ready to launch Langseth across the
ring...

...but Langseth manages to wriggle free, dropping to a knee behind the
big man.  The giant turns around, stalking his prey...]

GM:  Martinez coming for him agai-

[And Langseth pops up, jamming a thumb into the eye of Martinez!]

GM:  To the eyes!  Again, he goes to the eyes!

[Grabbing two hand fulls of hair, Langseth turns him around and SLAMS
his head into the top turnbuckle.  He turns Martinez around, his back
against the buckles as he starts hammering the big man's head.  Stepping
back, he switches to kicks to the midsection, laying in enough blows to
have Martinez covering up, trying to protect himself as the official
steps in to force Langseth back a few steps.]

GM:  Mark Langseth is showing a lot of aggression here tonight in this
one, Bucky.

BW:  He has to.  He knows what Martinez brings to the table and he knows
he's gotta bring it hard if he wants to stand a chance.

[Langseth grabs the arm of the dazed big man, hurling him across the
ring as he backs to the corner...]

GM:  Martinez hits the corner hard... here comes Langseth!

[The Hall of Famer sprints at top speed...

...RIGHT into a raised big boot!]

GM:  OHHHH!  THE BIG MAN CAUGHT HIM COMING IN!!!

[The impact of the boot to the jaw knocks Langseth flat on his back. 
The camera cuts to Joe Petrow who is slamming his hand into the canvas,
screaming for Langseth to get back to his feet.  We cut back to Martinez
who is shaking his head, trying to clear the cobwebs as he stalks
towards the downed Langseth.]

GM:  Martinez is trying to get his head clear.  He took quite a bit of
punishment there in the past few minutes.

[Martinez reaches down with his right hand, grabbing Langseth by the
throat and pulling him bodily up to his feet.  The crowd roars as
Martinez gives a thumb up with his left hand...]

GM:  Mark Langseth is about to go for a ride, Bucky!

BW:  He needs to get out of that!

[And predictably, Langseth goes back to the well, raking his fingers
across the eyes!]

GM:  Oh, come on!  That's three times to the eyes in this match already
and we're not even ten minutes in yet!

[Grabbing a handful of Martinez' tights, Langseth swings him all the way
around once and then HURLS him shoulderfirst into the steel ringpost,
sending a wail of pain from Martinez' throat into the air!]

GM:  Oh my stars.

BW:  That might do it right there, Gordo!

GM:  That injured shoulder just got DRIVEN into the steel ringpost!

[Langseth gets backed off, being reprimanded by the referee as Joe
Petrow grabs Martinez' arm, pulling hard into it to drive the shoulder
into the steel post again!  The crowd jeers as Petrow dances away,
leaving the injured Martinez biting his lip in pain as the referee turns
back completely unaware of what just happened.]

GM:  Martinez is fighting a two on one battle out here!  How in the
world is this fair, Bucky?

BW:  Everything's fair if you don't get caught, daddy!

GM:  Words to live by from Bucky Wilde, fans.

[Langseth slowly approaches, pulling Martinez out of the corner by the
back of the tights...

...and then HURLS him back into the corner, his shoulder slamming into
the turnbuckles!]

GM:  Come on, referee!

BW:  That wasn't illegal at all!  What are you complaining about?

GM:  The man has an injured shoulder!

BW:  Then he should say "I Quit" and call it a night like we all know he
needs to do!  He is clearly inside that ring with a superior competitor
that has the ability to hurt him and hurt him badly!

[Langseth spins Martinez around in the corner and lights him up with a
chop across the chest!]

GM:  Oh my... hard chop by Langseth...

[Winding up, Langseth lays in a second one, cracking him across the
pectorals with it.]

GM:  Good grief!

BW:  And look at the red welts that Langseth is leaving behind on the
big man's chest!

[The Hall of Famer quickly mounts the middle rope, grabbing a handful of
hair and doing a little bit of trash talking before he throws his right
hand down into the skull.  Joe Petrow tries to lead a count at ringside
to no response other than his own voice.]


"ONE!"
"TWO!"
"THREE!"
"FOUR!"
"FI-"


[The crowd roars as Martinez reaches up and shoves Langseth off of him,
sending his rival crashing down on the mat.  Langseth quickly gets up,
charging back in, hopping to the midbuckle...]


"ONE!"
"TWO!"
"THR-"


[A second shove sends Langseth down to the mat and as he rises, Martinez
surges out of the corner, blasting him with a clothesline...

...but immediately falling to the mat, screaming in pain as he grabs his
injured arm!]

BW:  What an idiot!

GM:  He clotheslined Langseth with his bad arm!  Purely on instinct I'm
sure but he certainly paid for that one!  Both men are down but it's
obvious that Martinez got the worst of that.

[The big man rolls back and forth on the mat, clutching his shoulder and
screaming in pain as Joe Petrow shouts encouragement to his man from the
floor.]

GM:  Bucky, the more I see Alex Martinez out here, trying to wrestle
with that bad shoulder, the more I start to believe you're right.  He
DOES need to take time off.  He DOES need time to recover from his
injuries.  He's just getting chipped apart bit by bit as he wrestles
with these injuries.

BW:  He's making himself easy pickings for whoever the Dragon chooses
next!

GM:  Well, the Dragon is the man in the ring with him so as Alex
Martinez said earlier tonight, I think this ends in this ring tonight. 
One way or the other, I think this ends tonight.

[Langseth slowly climbs to his feet, shaking his head from the impact of
the clothesline as he approaches the downed Martinez...

...and stomps the injured shoulder to a shout from the big man!]


"TEN MINUTES HAVE EXPIRED!  TWENTY MINUTES REMAIN!"


GM:  And look at Langseth's face.  He's truly enjoying this!

BW:  Of course he is!  One of his most hated enemies completely at his
mercy, screaming with every kick and stomp to his shoulder!  What's not
to love about it?

[Langseth shouts at Petrow to "Watch this" and drops to a knee, smashing
his other knee into the injured shoulder causing Martinez to wail in
agony.  Langseth smirks as he grinds his hard knee back and forth,
digging it into the injured arm.]

GM:  The referee backs Langseth off - he's going to ask Martinez if he
wants to give up...

BW:  Good luck with that.  The man's too proud - and dumb - to do that.

[The Hall of Famer stands, waiting...

...and upon hearing the expected "NO!", he lunges back in with another
stomp to the shoulder and another and another.]

GM:  He's just stomping the heck out of the shoulder of Alex Martinez!

[Grabbing a handful of hair, Langseth pulls his rival back to his feet. 
He verbally berates him there...]


"SLAAAAAAAAP!"


GM:  Oh!  He slapped Martinez across the face!

[And an angry Last American Badboy replies by hooking his hand around
the throat!]

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

[But Langseth responds by burying his knee into the midsection, doubling
up the big man.  Langseth hooks a front facelock and with a shout, he
DRIVES the big man's skull into the canvas!]

GM:  DDT!  HE SPIKED HIM!!

[Langseth rolls Martinez onto his back, applying a press.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  

[But that's all, Martinez still showing some fire by kicking out and
shoving Langseth off him with his good arm.  An angry Langseth responds
by balling up his fist and slamming it down on the bad shoulder
repeatedly!]

GM:  He's hammering the shoulder!

[Martinez cries out with each blow, finally just uttering a pained moan
as Langseth climbs to his feet, shouting at him.]

"YOU'RE NOTHING!!  YOU'RE WORTHLESS, MARTINEZ!"

[Reaching down, Langseth slaps the big man across the face again.]

"WHAT ELSE YOU GOT?"

[From his back, Martinez shows Langseth "what else he's got" by reaching
him and pasting him with a right hand!]

GM:  Ohh!  What a shot!

[The big man climbs to a knee as Langseth recovers from the haymaker. 
The Hall of Famer stomps in, delivering a hard kick to the shoulder that
sends Martinez falling back into the corner.  Grabbing the top rope,
Langseth repeatedly stomps the shoulder in the corner, the fans jeering
him loudly as Max Meekly tries to get him out of there.]

GM:  Meekly just has to pry him off of Martinez!  Langseth just won't
stop!

[A furious Mark Langseth stomps around the ring as Max Meekly again
checks on the anguished Martinez who weakly shakes his head.  Petrow
shouts something in to Langseth who nods his head.  Grabbing Martinez by
the foot, Langseth drags him out to the center of the ring, walking
around the prone big man.]

GM:  Now what's he gonna do?  What's he-

[A hard stomp to the shoulder forces Martinez to roll to his stomach,
wincing in pain and cradling the injured arm.  Langseth stands above
him, his feet by the head of his downed rival.]

"Do it, Martinez!  Kiss my royal feet!"

[The crowd jeers wildly!]

GM:  Oh, come on!  He's telling Martinez to kiss his feet!

BW:  Just like he did to Violence Unlimited at The Main Event!  Make him
pay tribute, Mark!

[Petrow wickedly grins outside the ring, nodding his approval as a
pain-wrecked Martinez crawls towards Langseth, grabbing his leg with one
hand.  Langseth nods, spreading his arms wide as Martinez stomach-crawls
towards him.]

GM:  Langseth thinks he's gonna do it!

BW:  He is!  Look at him!  Look at him, Gordo!

GM:  Martinez will not do it, Bucky!  He will not kiss this man's foot!

[Langseth shouts to the crowd, gesturing to the downed Martinez...

...who suddenly rips Langseth's legs out from under him, crawling atop
him to batter him with right hands!]

GM:  RIGHT HAND!  RIGHT HAND!  RIGHT HAND!!  MARTINEZ IS HAMMERING HIM!

[Martinez' sudden flurry of offense whips the crowd into a frenzy and
sends Joe Petrow into a tantrum as he yanks a chair out from under ring
announcer Phil Watson, shoving the announcer to the floor.  Petrow slams
the chair into the ringpost, screaming at Langseth who is trying to
cover up from the attack.]

GM:  He's all over the Hall of Famer!  Get him, Alex!  Get him!

[Martinez' barrage is cut off when Max Meekly intervenes, forcing him to
stand and allowing Langseth to desperately crawl towards the corner. 
The big man climbs to his feet, wincing as he grabs his injured
shoulder.  He walks towards Langseth, grabbing a handful of hair to pull
him off the mat...

...and JAMS a back elbow up under the jaw against the buckles!]

GM:  Ohh!  Hard shot by the big man!

[Holding Langseth against the buckles with his body, Martinez winds up
his good arm...

...and DRILLS Langseth with a standing clothesline!]

GM:  Ohh, what a shot!

[The big man pulls his arm back and lets it fly again!]

GM:  Another one!  Another clothesline in the corner!

[Martinez pulls his arm down again...

...and delivers a third, this one nearly knocking Langseth off his feet
before Max Meekly steps in again, forcing Martinez to step back as
Langseth hangs on to the top rope, trying to stay on his feet.]

GM:  Martinez with a barrage of clotheslines has put Mark Langseth on
Dream Street!

[Grabbing Langseth under the arms, the big man places him up on the top
turnbuckle.]  

GM:  He's got Langseth up top!  

BW:  What's he going for here?  This can't be good!

[The seven footer steps up on the second rope as well, hooking a front
facelock and slinging the Hall of Famer's arm over his neck.]

GM:  Martinez is - he's going for a superplex, Bucky!

BW:  Langseth's fighting it!  He's fighting it!

[Langseth throws a series of right hands to the side of the head, trying
to battle his way free of Martinez' grip.  A well-placed shot to the
ribs stuns the big man...

...and the Hall of Famer SMASHES his head into the injured shoulder!]

GM:  He headbutts the shoulder!  Langseth with one shot.. and another! 
Two big headbutts to the shoulder!

[Martinez winces from the impact, falling back off the ropes to the mat.
 Langseth quickly stands up on the middle rope, pointing out to Joe
Petrow...

...and leaps into the air, tucking his arms and legs!]

GM:  BACKSPLASH!!

[Langseth crashes backfirst down on the chest of the Last American
Badboy.]

BW:  SHADES OF TOMMY STEPHENS!!

[The Hall of Famer rolls Martinez to his back, throwing himself across
the chest, and reaching back to hook a leg.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  TH-

[The crowd roars as Martinez kicks out, avoiding the pin.]

GM:  Not enough!  He couldn't keep him down!

[An irate Langseth grabs a handful of hair, hammering Martinez
repeatedly with right hands to the skull.  He climbs to his feet,
stomping the shoulder a few times as well before letting loose an angry
roar.]

BW:  Langseth is hot under the collar, Gordo!  He thought he had him
with the senton!

GM:  It was not enough to keep the big man down though.  Mark Langseth
is going to have dig deeper into his arsenal to keep the giant down for
a three count.

[Langseth leans down, dragging Martinez off the mat.  He buries a boot
into the gut, hitting the adjacent ropes...]

BW:  NO SWEAT!

[But Martinez spins all the way through the swinging neckbreaker
attempt, coming back around to come face-to-face with the Hall of
Famer...

...and HOOKING BOTH HANDS AROUND HIS THROAT!!]

GM:  FIREBOMB!!  FIREBOMB!!

[A FREAKING OUT Joe Petrow leaps up on the apron, screaming at the
official, drawing Max Meekly's attention...

...which allows Mark Langseth to strategically kick his way out.]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  LOW BLOW!!  LOW BLOW!!

[The low kick causes Martinez to release his Firebomb grip, doubling him
as Langseth hits the ropes again, rebounding off to hook him around the
head and neck...

...and SNAP him down to the canvas!]

GM:  There it is!  The No Sweat neckbreaker!

[Langseth dives across his opponent's chest, grabbing a leg...

...but Max Meekly is still shouting at Joe Petrow, trying to get him
down off the apron.  Petrow spots the pin attempt and quickly obliges,
frantically pointing at the pinfall.  Meekly spins around, dropping to
his knees.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE-


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  SHOULDER UP!!  SHOULDER UP!!  THE BIG MAN GETS THE SHOULDER UP!!

BW:  Max Meekly is completely incompetent as a referee!  That should
have been a three count, Gordo!

GM:  It was Joe Petrow's own fault!  Petrow had the referee distracted
so that Langseth could low kick his way out of the Firebomb and he
couldn't get clear in time for the referee to count the pin!

[An irate Langseth sits up, angrily shaking his head.  He points a
finger at Joe Petrow who nods his head, smashing his arms into the ring
apron as he shouts at Max Meekly who returns a little bit of raised
voice of his own.]

GM:  Petrow's arguing with Meekly!  Meekly's not backing down though -
he's letting him have it!

[Langseth slowly gets to his feet, kicking Martinez in the ribs,
knocking him over to his chest.]

"YOU WANT TO FIREBOMB ME?!"

[The Hall of Famer stares down at the writhing-in-pain Martinez, his
arms stretched out on the mat...

...and STOMPS the right hand!]

GM:  OHHHH!

[A furious Langseth does it again... and again... and again, repeatedly
driving the sole of his boot down into the big man's hand.  Martinez
howls in pain, pulling his hand closer to his chest.]

BW:  History repeats itself, Gordo!  It was Mark Langseth who broke the
hand of Alex Martinez so many years ago and now he's trying to do the
same thing right here tonight!

GM:  And don't think that Langseth doesn't remember that.  He does!  He
knows exactly what he's doing and why.  This is a history lesson for
Alex Martinez!

[Langseth bends down, grabbing the arm and yanking it to full extension
before he stomps the hand again.  The official steps in, forcing
Langseth back...

...and Joe Petrow strategically edges a steel chair under the ropes just
a hair before he dashes around the ring away from it.]

GM:  Wait a second!  What did Petrow just do?

BW:  What?  Huh?  I didn't see anything.

[Langseth shoves past Max Meekly, delivering another stomp, this one
with a little bit of height on it to the hand of his opponent as Meekly
protests.  Leaning down, Langseth hooks the hand in a knucklelock,
bending the fingers back as he shouts at Martinez.]

"I'M GONNA BREAK IT AGAIN, YOU SON OF A-"

[Martinez' other hand shoots up, popping Langseth in the jaw to the
cheers of the crowd!  Langseth stumbles back, shaking his head as Joe
Petrow leaps up on the apron, drawing the official into another
argument.]

GM:  Petrow's got Meekly tied up and- no!

[Langseth moves quickly across the ring, grabbing the
strategically-placed steel chair.  He moves into position, raising the
chair high...

...and SLAMS the edge of the chairback into the injured hand!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[Martinez howls with pain as Langseth lifts the chair and drives it down
into the hand again before tossing the chair aside.  He applies a press
as Petrow drops down off the apron.]

GM:  WE'VE GOT ONE!!  WE'VE GOT TWO!!  WE'VE GOT THR-

[But Martinez just barely edges a shoulder off the mat, still moaning
with pain as he holds on to the hand that Mark Langseth just attempted
to shatter with a steel chair.]

GM:  The shoulder's a wreck - and now the hand may be broken as well but
still - STILL - Alex Martinez continues to fight!

BW:  This guy's either the bravest guy I've ever seen in the ring - or
the dumbest.  Maybe both.

GM:  The heart of Alex Martinez is immeasurable, Bucky Wilde!  This man
simply will not stay down!  He will not give up!  He will not stop
fighting!

[Langseth hauls Martinez to his feet, pasting him with a pair of right
hands that knocks him back into the corner.  He wraps both hands around
the throat of Martinez, blatantly choking him...]

GM:  That's a choke, ref!

[Meekly starts his count, Langseth breaking at four to sneer at the
official...

...and gets popped with a right hand to the jaw!]

GM:  MARTINEZ FIRES BACK!

[But as Langseth falls back from the heavy blow, Martinez collapses to a
knee, clutching his hand and screaming in pain.]

GM:  Oh my stars, Bucky.  He just hit Langseth with that possibly-broken
hand!  

BW:  Pure instinct!  Pure instinct!  But his instinct was dead wrong!

GM:  Petrow's shouting at Langseth to go for the kill!  What more can he
do to the man?

BW:  He may mean that literally, Gordo!

GM:  He's hit No Sweat!  He's tortured the shoulder!  He hit the hand
with a steel chair!  What more can Alex Martinez have done to him here
tonight by Mark Langseth?

BW:  And if Langseth's NOT the Dragon, then he's doing a damn fine job
for that individual!

GM:  Mark Langseth IS the Dragon!  Mark Langseth's GOT to be the Dragon!
 Look at the viciousness - the rage - the brutality at which he assaults
his long-time rival.  No one else would possibly come at Martinez with
this much ferocity and hatred!

[Langseth stumbles forward, drilling the kneeling Martinez with a pair
of right hands.  He pulls him to his feet, using the injured arm to
fling him into the turnbuckles.  The Hall of Famer gets a running start,
charging in...]

GM:  CLOTHESLI-

[But at the last possible moment, Alex Martinez ducks his head, using
his good arm to propel Langseth into the air, OVER the turnbuckles and
ringpost, and all the way down to the concrete floor below!]

GM:  MY GOD!!  MY GOD!  MARTINEZ HAS KILLED HIM!!  HE'S BROKEN HIM IN
HALF!!

[A frantic Petrow sprints around the corner, diving to the thin mats on
the concrete floor where he cradles Langseth's head in his arms, patting
him lightly on the face.]

GM:  He sent Langseth over the top with a backdrop to the solid floor
below!  That unforgiving concrete floor!  Alex Martinez just sent him
over ten feet through the air-

BW:  Ten?!  More like fifteen!

GM:  Mark Langseth plummeted down to the floor like a meteor falling to
Earth and that man may be shattered from head to toe, Bucky!  Mark
Langseth's entire career may have just flashed before his very eyes!


"TWENTY MINUTES HAVE EXPIRED!!  TEN MINUTES REMAIN!"


[A gasping and anguished Martinez drops down to the mat, rolling under
the ropes to the floor.]

GM:  Martinez knows this is his chance!  This is his opportunity!  This
is his moment to beat the Dragon!

[A wincing big man sends Joe Petrow fleeing from him as he leans down,
dragging Langseth to his feet with his uninjured hand.  He grabs a
handful of hair, SLAMMING him facefirst into the timekeeper's table!]

GM:  Ohh!  He sends him facefirst to the wooden table!

[Guest timekeeper Cameron O'Connor backs off, raising his hands as
Martinez grabs for his chair, folding it up with one hand.]

GM:  Wait a second, Alex!  This isn't no DQ!

[The referee shouts at Martinez from inside the ring, letting him know
exactly that.  Uncaring, the big man raises the chair over his head with
one hand...

...and Cameron O'Connor grabs it!]

GM:  What the-

BW:  Yeah!  That's how we do it old school, daddy!

[Former IWA World Champion Cameron O'Connor snatches the steel chair out
of Martinez' hand, drawing a glare from the big man.  O'Connor throws
the chair aside, pointing towards the ring.]

GM:  What business does Cameron O'Connor have getting involved in this
match?

BW:  He's trying to keep this match in the ring!  In his day, no one
came out here and gave up a match by blatantly hitting someone with a
steel chair!  Martinez is looking for an easy way out and O'Connor's not
about to let him have one!

[As Martinez turns around to grab Langseth, he spots Joe Petrow creeping
up behind him.  An angry Last American Badboy turns his attention to the
Eternal World Champion, pointing a menacing finger at him as he stalks
him around the ringside area.  A hurting and badly-injured Mark Langseth
rolls under the ropes to the safety of the ring as his opponent keeps
chasing down his manager.  The count of Max Meekly reaches seven when
Martinez notices, turning his attention towards the ring...]

GM:  Alex Martinez needs to get in there!  He needs to beat the count!

[Putting a hand on the second rope, Martinez moves to pull himself in...

...and Langseth takes a three step jog, dropping down into a sloppy
baseball slide with his feet catching Martinez in the torso, knocking
him back down to the floor!  The referee immediately breaks his count,
turning to reprimand Mark Langseth who promptly ignores him, rolling out
to the floor to continue the attack.]

GM:  Langseth's out on the floor now, putting the boots to his
arch-rival.

[Several kicks to the ribs of the downed Martinez puts a smile back on
the face of Mark Langseth who stops after the barrage to grab his lower
back, still hurting from the high-impact backdrop to the floor.  He
winces as he leans back against the apron, shouting at Martinez to get
up.  A running kick to the chest of Martinez as he rolls to his side
puts him on his back.  Langseth leans against the ringside barricade,
absorbing a ton of verbal abuse from the ringside fans as he sucks
wind.]

GM:  Both of these men have taken a tremendous amount of punishment. 
Both men are finding it very difficult to keep going in this match.

[Petrow rushes to his charge's side, patting him on the shoulder,
screaming words of encouragement as Langseth straightens up.  He nods to
Petrow as he pulls Martinez up with two hands full of hair, shoving him
back under the ropes.  With Martinez on his back, Langseth propels
himself through the ropes, his feet catching on the middle rope as he
applies a press!]

GM:  His feet are on the ropes, Max!  Check the feet!

[But the AWA's "Senior Citizen" official is too busy checking the
shoulders.]

BW:  ONE!!  TWO!!!  THREEEEEEEE-

[At the last possible moment, Meekly spots the feet, shouting at
Langseth and Petrow - both who plead total innocence.  Langseth gets
back to his feet, shouting at Meekly...

...and shoves him hard with both hands!]

GM:  Oh, come on!  That's an AWA official you just put your hands on,
son!

[Meekly tells Langseth the same thing, returning the shove before
pointing out the stylish AWA logo on his referee's shirt (available at
awashop.com now!)]

GM:  Langseth got shoved by Max Meekly!  He can't believe it!

[Langseth looks to Petrow for aid, the Eternal World Champion scampering
up on the apron to shout at Meekly who points out the same logo to him,
giving him a big shove as well which causes Petrow to stumble, crashing
down on his rear end on the apron to the laughter of the crowd.]

GM:  Max Meekly is taking control of this match and this is NOT what
Mark Langseth expected here tonight in Tulsa!

BW:  Gordo, I just checked with Cameron O'Connor - we're down to seven
minutes remaining in this match!

GM:  And if it's possible - and I don't know it could be considering
what they've put one another through - these two men need to kick it
into another gear for these final seven minutes to try to put each other
away.

[Langseth is still furious at Meekly as he catches Martinez trying to
get up, drilling him with a right hand to the midsection.  A second one
knocks Martinez back to the ropes where Langseth quickly leans in, tying
Martinez' long arms up between the top and middle ropes.]

GM:  Wait a second!  What's he doing here?

BW:  Langseth tied him up in the ropes!

GM:  He can't do that!

BW:  Why not?  

[Max Meekly moves to try and help free Martinez from the ropes as
Langseth takes an offered chair from Joe Petrow.]

GM:  And now it's Mark Langseth with the chair!

BW:  Turnabout is fair play!  Cave his skull in, Mark!

GM:  If he does that, it's over!  And that's exactly what Max Meekly is
telling him right now!  He'll disqualify Langseth on the spot if he uses
that chair!

BW:  I'm not sure Langseth cares at this point!  He just wants to rid
the wrestling world of perhaps his most hated rival ever!

[Langseth rears back with the chair, walking slowly across the ring
towards his opponent...

...who suddenly lifts a leg, catching Langseth in the chest!]

GM:  Ohh!  He booted Langseth in the chest!

[Meekly finishes freeing the big man who gets up...

...and wraps his hand around the throat of Langseth, forcing him to drop
the chair!]

GM:  He dropped the chair and Martinez has got him by the throat!

[The seven footer secured his grip with his uninjured hand, nodding to
the cheering crowd...

...and HOISTS Langseth high into the air, DRIVING him down to the
canvas!]

GM:  CHOKESLAM!!  CHOKESLAM!!

[Martinez grabs his injured shoulder as he drops to his knees, tiredly
falling across the chest of Mark Langseth!]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!!  THREEEEEEE-

[But just before the three count comes down, Joe Petrow YANKS Alex
Martinez out of the lateral press by the leg!]

GM:  PETROW PULLED HIM OFF!!  PETROW PULLED OFF MARTINEZ!!

[A pissed-off Martinez points a finger at Petrow who pleads not guilty
to all charges, quickly moving to the other side of the ring as a tired
Martinez pushes up to a knee.  He grabs a handful of a downed Langseth's
hair, dragging him up to his feet...

...and hooks both hands around the throat of the Hall of Famer with a
grimace!  The crowd EXPLODES!]

GM:  He's got him hooked!  The double choke is on!  

BW:  Can he hold on to him though?  That hand may be broken!  The right
hand is barely able to grip the throat of-

[The seven footer attempts to power Langseth into the air...

...but Langseth uses what has worked oh-so-well for him on several
occasions in this match, raking his fingers across the eyes of the
giant, breaking the double choke and leaving him temporarily blinded!]

GM:  To the eyes!  He goes to the eyes!

[Suddenly, Joe Petrow leaps up on the apron once more, drawing the
referee's attention.  Langseth seizes the moment to bury his boot into
the groin of Martinez once more!]

GM:  Good grief!

BW:  Whatever it takes!

[Langseth hooks the doubled-over Martinez' head, snapping him over, and
DOWN onto the fallen steel chair!]

GM:  NO SWEAT!  NO SWEAT ON THE CHAIR!!

[Langseth slides the chair from the ring to the floor, throwing himself
across the motionless Martinez as a frantic Petrow points wildly to the
pin attempt.  Max Meekly spins around, diving to the canvas.]

BW:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!

GM:  I can't believe it!

[Langseth promptly rolls from the ring, falling into a huge embrace out
on the floor with a thrilled Joe Petrow who is literally jumping up and
down with excitement.]

GM:  Mark Langseth, by hook or by crook, has defeated Alex Martinez!

BW:  What a win!  What a match!

GM:  It certainly was one heck of a match, fans, but Mark Langseth
cheated THREE times in the span of mere seconds to secure this victory. 
Let's take a quick look at the replay of that...

[We fade to slow motion footage of Martinez wrapping both hands around
the throat of Mark Langseth to set up for the Firebomb chokeslam.]

GM:  He had him hooked for the Firebomb!  You, me, and the Warriors
Three knew that if he spiked Langseth with that, it was all over but the
shouting.  But as Martinez picked him up...

[We see it happen as Gordon describes it...]

GM:  Langseth raked his fingers across the eyes yet again!  He did it
several times during the match and this time it saved his goose from
being cooked for sure.

BW:  But that wasn't the best part of the plan, Gordo.  Check it out
here...  Joe Petrow hops up on the apron to point out that Max Meekly's
Social Security check bounced 'cause he's so old...

GM:  Very funny.

BW:  Langseth uses his boot to do the world a favor and prevent any more
Martinez children from being born - the best kind of birth control if
you ask me.

[And then Langseth hooks the head and neck, making sure he's in the
right spot of the ring, and DRIVES the back of Martinez' head and neck
down onto the well-placed steel chair!]

GM:  And then he delivers the No Sweat on top of the steel chair that he
and Petrow had brought into the ring to begin with!  How can he be proud
of that victory?

BW:  A win's a win, Gordo!  The check still clears, your name still gets
put in the record books, and at the end of the day, people say you beat
one of the best in the world.

GM:  Mark Langseth certainly has done that.  A huge victory for him over
his long-time rival Alex Martinez - and you can see Langseth and Petrow
fleeing the ring like two thieves in the night.  They don't want to be
around here for sure when Martinez gets up from that.

BW:  And can anyone say that Mark Langseth doesn't deserve a shot at the
AWA National Title now, Gordo?

GM:  It would be a hard argument to make for sure.  And you just have to
wonder if this will be the end of that Dragon saga.  Did a win over
Martinez - was that enough for Langseth?  Will he finally stop
tormenting his long-time enemy?  Will he finally-

[“When You’re Evil” by Voltaire begins to play, it’s plaintive violin
solo hailing the man in the gas mask the AWA fans have come to know as
The Minion.]

BW: Uh-oh, here comes the Minion to pick the bones!

GM:  And what the heck does that mean?  If Mark Langseth was the Dragon,
what does The Minion have left to say?

[Rolling into the ring, shaking his head at the fallen Alex Martinez,
the Minion’s near opaque lenses conceal his true intentions as he moves
to straddle the man he’s harassed for months.]

MINION: Oh Martinez, how the Mighty have fallen...

[The crowd jeers the masked man.]

GM: Cute.  A play on words.

BW: Sh!

[The Minion continues.]

MINION: All this time you’ve made a victim of me, killing the messenger
time and again, only now our positions are reversed.  I am the predator
and you are the prey...  Perhaps it is not necessary to await my
master’s arrival, yes?  Time to pay for your attacks on my person,
Martinez!

[The Minion tosses the mic aside and starts pulling at Martinez’ hair.]

GM: His voice changed … I swear I can almost recognize it through that
voice modulator.  It’s like he’s been changing his manner of speech all
this time to play a part!

BW: Look, he’s pulling the big man up!  We’re gonna finally see what the
Minion can do!

[Getting Martinez to a sitting position, his head shifts allowing the
fans some glimpse of the Minion’s eyes through the mask.  Scowling
deeply, it’s clear that he’s taking something very personally here.]

GM: Minion having some difficulty with Martinez who just may be twice
his size and-

[BIG CHEER!  The fans explode as Martinez, eyes still fluttering, grabs
at the Minion’s neck with his good hand.  Thrashing, trapped, the Minion
struggles to get away from the man he intended to further injure.]

BW: No!  That big goof was playing possum!

GM: No, he’s acting on pure instinct!  This Minion is the only man still
in AWA who knows who the Dragon is!  If Alex was thinking, he’d likely
be asking questions and not setting up for a Firebomb!

[Up to one knee, it looks like the Minion is going down, but a kick to
the groin sends him back down to both knees.]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[Still holding the Minion in a death grip, Martinez shakes his head,
trying to get his bearings.]

GM: The Minion attacking with a desperate frenzy!  He should never have
put his hands on Martinez.

[Finally, half a dozen hammer blows dislodge Martinez’ giant hand, and
the Minion falls onto his rump and frantically grabs for his
microphone.]

BW: And he’s free.  I was scared for a minute there.

[The Minion takes an aggressive stance as he shouts into the mic.]

MINION: MARTINEZ!

[On all fours, wrestling’s Living Legend wobbles, finding the ropes to
pull himself upright.]

MINION: You must leave this place now if you value your life.  Should
you remain to participate in the Rumble then the full fury of the Dragon
will beset you!  You have had many warnings!  Squander this one and the
only “legend” about Alex Martinez will be the one that questions if he
ever even existed at all!

[A pause as the Minion cocks his head.]

MINION:  However, if you choose to stay and fight... tonight will get
you one step closer to the Dragon that you seek...

[Rolling from the ring, the Minion chooses to get out of Dodge before
Martinez recovers enough to fight again.  Waving off EMT’s, Martinez
shakes his head again, clearing away the cobwebs.]

GM:  The Minion has bailed out of here!  So Mark Langseth, according to
this guy-

BW:  And Mark Langseth.

GM:  -is not the Dragon at all!  

BW:  No, there is another.

GM:  Alex Martinez is out on his feet... but what in the world could he
be thinking now?  Who is it, fans?  Just who is the Dragon?

[Martinez leans on the ropes, wincing as he holds onto his injured
shoulder and we fade to black.

And then back up on an animated Jason Dane... no, he's not just moving a
lot.  He's LITERALLY animated - like Porky Pig style.]

JD:  They say I'm the man with all the answers.

[A cut to a different angle of animated Dane.]

JD:  They say I'm the man who gets all the scoops.

[Another cut.  Another angle.]

JD:  They say I'm- is all this really necessary?  It's not like I'm
Geraldo, guys.

[A voice off camera shouts "CUT!" and animated Jason Dane walks off a
green screen set through a crowded studio.]

JD:  I'm not the "most feared man in America," fans.  What I am is a
pretty good reporter who has an eye for the stories you're gonna want to
know about.  That's why AWA Access has been one of the most downloaded
apps ever and that's why the AWA gave me permission to start my own
website!

I'll be bringing you the hot news, the big stories, and the stuff not
fit to air.

[Animated Dane strokes his animated chin.]

JD:  Maybe I AM the most feared man in America!

[A "BZZZ!" sound of electricity is heard as animated Jason Dane fades
away and a title graphic appears.]

"JASON DANE - COMING TO A BROWSER NEAR YOU!"

[Fade to black.

And then back up to the broadcast where we are backstage.  Jason Dane is
standing by with the AWA National Champion, Juan Vasquez. The champ is
greeted by the rabid cheers and screams of the crowd that can see him
inside the arena on the big screen.  The footage is marked "EARLIER
TONIGHT" as he's dressed sharply in a white dress-shirt w/ the sleeves
rolled up, a solid black necktie, a black vest and matching slacks. The
AWA National Title is cradled in his right arm, the crowned jewel of
professional wrestling looking as beautiful as ever.]

JD:  Welcome back to Memorial Day Mayhem, fans, and it's been a crazy
past few days for all of us here in the AWA, Juan Vasquez, but I'm just
glad you were there to save Gordon Myers. With James Monosso now
suspended, we can at least rest easy for toni-

[Juan cuts him off.]

JV: Suspended?

[He shakes his head with disbelief.]

JV: He's lucky they didn't toss his sorry butt back into a padded cell!

[A roar from the crowd can be heard when Juan says that.]

JV: Now, I ain't gonna' stand here and tell everyone that being a
wrestler is all sunshine and lollipops...but we all become wrestlers
sharing that same dream of becoming the champion. I don't care what your
reasons are: money, fame, power...it doesn't matter! Every single last
one of us are in this to be the best! Everyone's entitled to their
dreams and no one's got a right to take that away from them. We put
ourselves through so damn much for this sport. We wreck our bodies, we
dirty our souls, we go out there every night knowing full well that each
time we step into that ring, it might be the _last_ time we step into
that ring...but damnit, we keep on fighting because that stupid, silly,
impossible dream is always within reach!

[He holds out his arm and grabs a fistful of...nothing...but we assume
that's the proverbial dream he's grasped.]

JV: Ten years ago, I was in Los Angeles...in the land of extreme. I
thought I had it made. Ride it out for a few months, turn some heads and
sooner or later, I'd be in the main event rubbin' elbows with the likes
of Alex Martinez and Mark Langseth!

[Juan lowers his head and chuckles.]

JV: It took me a year before they'd even let me get _near_ a wrestling
ring.

[He sighs at the memory of his days as the "King of the Dark Match."]

JV: When you're young and stupid, all you've got are hopes and
dreams...but here I am, ten years later, holding the most prestigious
title in all of wrestling. Anyone that saw what I had to go through to
get the AWA National Title knows that _nothing_ in this sport comes
easy. If anyone knows that better than me...it's City Jack.

[Juan points to his eyes.]

JV: City Jack damn near lost an _eye_ for this sport. He lost a year of
his life trying to save that eye, but he never backed down and he never
gave up! He came back! He came back and hunted down the sick bastard
that did it to him! He hunted him down and beat him so bad, Calisto
Dufresne went into hiding and hasn't shown his face around here ever
since!

[A loud roar for the vanquishing of Calisto Dufresne!]

JV: City Jack! You _earned_ this title shot! You didn't have to get down
on your knees and beg me for it, amigo! I said I'd defend this title
anytime, anywhere, against _ANYONE_ and there ain't anyone that I'd be
prouder of going head-to-head with, than you!

[Another round of applause from the crowd, as Juan nods approvingly.]

JV: One last chance to be the man! One last chance to be the champion!
One last chance before riding off into the sunset by going out in a
blaze of glory!

[Juan holds up the AWA National title to the camera and points right at
the belt.]

JV: This is what we all fight for! This is what we all dream of! So go
for it, amigo! Leave the ring forever with your head held high and with
no regrets. Do your best to take my title, 'cause I'm sure as hell going
to do my best to make sure you don't!

[He places the title belt over his shoulder and turns back to Jason
Dane.]

JV: Now, I don't know what's gonna' happen inside that ring, but I'm
sure that no matter the result, we're all gonna' be in tears by the end
of the night when we gotta' say goodbye.

So, City Jack?

Good luck.

[Juan looks up and right into the camera, smiling.]

JV: And may the best man win.

[With that, the National champ walks off camera to a chorus of cheers as
we fade 
to footage marked "EARLIER TODAY!"

Shot comes to a plan backdrop where the man who will wrestle his final
match tonight stands. A man who will fight for the biggest title in his
career tonight, for first and last time... A man we all know as City
Jack.]

CJ: I came here tonight...

[Jack pauses, scratching the back of his neck, looking a bit
uncomfortable.]

CJ: I came prepared with one of them speeches - you know the type,
summin' it all up, puttin' one of them there nice ol' bows on a long
career. 

[City Jack smiles.]

CJ: Long-winded, that's for sure... But bein' here now? Bein' here,
knowing that by the night's end, it'll all at an end?

[Jack shakes his head.]

CJ: There ain't no need for no grand words or nothing. For me, the only
thing I got to really say... Is thank YOU!

[Jack points to the camera, just in case you didn't realize he was
talking to you.]

CJ: For every moment, high and low, it's been you fans that have carried
me through my times in the ring. From when I just started out - some
dumb young kid from Liberty, Kentucky actin' like a semi-pro, but really
more semi-ring hand...

And to Liberty to Louisville and all over the great state of Kentucky,
you people made me the man I am today. You all broke your backs liftin'
me up when I needed it. There ain't enough days in the Lord's good time
for me to payback what you all done for me.

[Jack nods.]

CJ: To my travels around this great country, from Carolina and Florida
all the over to close-out over in the legendary South Laredo... To THE
Grande Isle -

[Jack pauses, his smile growing even wider.]

CJ: A piece of me still remains there, that I know. Whatever happened in
the ring happened, but my greatest memories there were just bein' there
- talkin' with the fans. Slingin' back a couple cold ones with you all.
You all somehow, through all the trouble times, still gave a part
yourselves to help me in my times of need and doubt. I...

[The big man stops, shaking his head.]

CJ: I don't even know what I can say to that. You all done hurt so much,
and you still... I can't say what that means to me. I just can't put
into words other than "Thank you" and I know that ain't enough.

[Jack still shakes his head in amazement.]

CJ: And then my wanderin' about this great country of ours... That this
here job, this here thing could turn into somethin' to allow me to see
two oceans, big cities, small towns, little 'burbs, and every sort of
people from every sort of walk o' life? It still amazes this here ol'
sob, just knowin' that it happened.

To now, the AWA... You fans, you took me in durin' the twilight of my
career. You pushed me to things I never knew I could do, even
twenty-fives after I first stepped in the ring. When I... I had my hard
times, I knew I was never alone. 

To think, during this here rough moments in all your lives - people
HURTIN' for real. Nothin' but pain and gloom in the news. People with
worries exceedin' more than anything in this sport... To think you all
were so generous, so gracious... to care about this fat bluegrass man? 

[Jack lets out an exacerbated sigh.]

CJ: I can only say it was my pleasure to help you in YOUR times of need.
I can only say how much it means to me that I might've been able to give
you all some moments of laughter and pride... And I know I never did
enough to be able to repay what you all gave me...

[Jack looks down, a bit somber.]

CJ: So tonight, I ain't lookin' for the glory - I'll go out and fight.
I'll go and battle it out with a man I respect to the core in Juan
Vasquez - a man I KNOW respects the great fans of this sport as much or
even more than I do. But tonight, title on the line - first chance at a
NATIONAL title?

[Jack pauses and nods.]

CJ: It ain't about me. Tonight's for you all. Every single one of ya who
done supported me, cheered me on, took time out of YOUR troubles to
cheer me - ME? - up... Tonight, if I'm so fortunate to win, I'm not
takin' the title. Tonight, if I win?

[Jack points to the camera again.]

CJ: The win, the title, the championship and ALL the glory goes to you
great fans! Because I done had MY time already! And tonight?! TONIGHT?!

[Jack, wide smile, all get up with energy.]

CJ: It's about YOU!

[City Jack gives a final nod of the head and a sly wink to the camera
before it fades out and back to the ring where Phil Watson is standing.]

PW:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a sixty minute
time limit and it is for the AWA NATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP!

[HUGE CHEER!]

PW:  Introducing first... he is the challenger...

[The sounds of Chet Atkins' "Classical Gas" sends the crowd into a
monstrous roar!]

PW:  Weighing in tonight at 324 pounds... fighting out of Liberty,
Kentucky... he is stepping into the professional wrestling ring tonight
for his LAST MATCH!

[Another huge roar!]

PW:  Ladies and gentlemen... it is my distinct honor for the final time
to introduce to you... a former AWA National Tag Team Champion and one
of the most popular men in the HISTORY of our great sport...

CITY JAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!

[City Jack strides through the curtain for the final time to a raucous
standing ovation.  The big man pauses just beyond the entrance, shaking
his head with his hands on his hips - in shock that this massive
reaction is for him.  He grins at the cheering crowd, dressed in red and
white t-shirt that reads "Give Me Liberty Or Give Me Death" that hangs
over his dark brown singlet that has a blue stripe down the sides of
both legs.  Jack lifts a beefy left arm, slapping the sweatband covered
forearm to a big cheer.]

GM:  Listen to this reaction for City Jack!  It is the final time that
he will walk the aisle to the ring - and these fans are letting him know
EXACTLY how much they will miss him, Bucky!

BW:  Oh, boo hoo, Myers.  City Jack's career was ended by Calisto
Dufresne over a year ago.  This is just some ol' dust and bones hanging
around that needs to be swept out the door. 

GM:  Why you little - that is a disgusting show of disrespect for a man
who has given his entire life to this business!  City Jack was a
teenager when he got his first job in this business - sweeping up the
arena, helping put together the ring, taking tickets for a small company
called Liberty Big Wrestling!  He went from there, paying his dues,
doing things the right way and he dedicated his life to the sport that
he loved!  Along the way, he has wrestled for the EMWC, the legendary
LWC, Grand Isle Wrestling, and countless others including right here in
the AWA where he has proudly been here almost since Day One!

BW:  Except for that year he was on the shelf collecting a paycheck
'cause the Ladykiller almost plucked out his eye.

GM:  Bucky Wilde, I can honestly say at this moment that you sicken me
as a human being!

[Jack is taking his sweet time getting down the aisle, pausing to
embrace any fan who wants a hug, slapping the hands of anyone who
offers, and even kissing an occasional baby.  This man is truly taking
in every moment of the final walk down the aisle that he'll ever make.]

GM:  And these fans are STILL on their feet!  This is one of the
memorable moments I can recall here in the AWA, fans.  If you have your
DVRs running, this is one you might want to save forever.

[Jack reaches the ring finally.  He stops, breathing deeply with his
eyes closed for a moment before climbing up the ringsteps.  He moves
through the ropes, lifting a big ol' arm to a big cheer from the Tulsa
crowd.  Jack grins at the reaction before settling back into the corner,
tugging at the top rope a few times as AWA Senior Official Michael
Meekly speaks to him.]

PW:  And his opponent...

["They Reminisce Over You" by Pete Rock and CL Smooth begins to play as
the Tulsa, Oklahoma crowd goes nuts at the sight of the AWA National
Champion, Juan Vasquez, emerging from the entrance way. The champ pauses
at the top of the ramp, lifting the title belt high into the air,
drawing another roar from the crowd! Dressed in his trademark
white-and-black tracksuit, Vasquez makes his way down the aisle,
slapping as many outstretched hands as he can.]

PW:  From Los Angeles, California... weighing 238 pounds... he is the
AWA National Champion...

JUAN VAAAAAASSSSQUUUUUEEEEZZZ!!!

[BIG FACE POP!]

GM:  And here comes the champion, Bucky.  Juan Vasquez holds the title
that makes him the undisputed greatest wrestler in our sport today.  He
IS the AWA National Champion.  He IS the best thing walkin' in our
business.  And tonight, he gives one more shot to a man who couldn't
deserve it more in City Jack.

BW:  He may be the best in the world, Gordo, but that title also makes
him a marked man.  Let's assume he gets past City Jack here tonight -
you've seen the list... you know the amount of people looking to take
him down.  We already know men like James Monosso, Nenshou, and Mark
Langseth... and now we know that Raphael Rhodes is returning to the AWA.
 And in just a little while, we may also see the return of MAMMOTH
Mizusawa!  Plus, nobody knows what Stevie Scott is up to!

GM:  Juan Vasquez is the champion of the American Wrestling Alliance -
and despite the ever-growing list of top challengers, this man remains
determined to defend the title against any and all comers whenever,
wherever, and however he can!

[As Juan makes his way to ringside, he walks up the steps and pauses at
the ring apron, holding up the title belt and staring right at City
Jack. He points to the belt and City Jack nods at him, the two
acknowledging the significance of this match-up. Juan then steps through
the ropes and immediately climbs a corner, holding up the title once
again to the cheering crowd!]

GM:  And these fans love both of these men, Bucky.

BW:  They do... and I suppose that means it'll be interesting to see who
gains the majority of the crowd's support in this one.  Will it be the
National Champion who thrives on it?  Or will it be the retiring redneck
who has been one of the crowd's favorites for years?

[Vasquez hands the belt over to Michael Meekly who holds the title belt
high above his head to the cheers of the crowd.  Meekly hands the belt
outside the ring to the timekeeper before giving both men final
instructions...

...and calls for the bell!]

GM:  Here we go!  The showdown for the biggest prize in our sport!

[Vasquez moves quickly from the corner, ducking in for a single leg
takedown but Jack steps back, waggling a finger at the champion who
grins in response.]

GM:  Vasquez showing off his speed advantage right off the bat.

BW:  And Jack counters with his experience.  He saw that takedown coming
and got out of the way of it.

[The two fan favorites circle each other for a bit, looking for an
opening.  Jack lunges in, tying the smaller man up and backing him down
to the ropes.  The referee steps in, calling for a break.]

GM:  Michael Meekly asks for the clean break and... 

[Jack steps back, patting the champion on the chest.]

GM:  He gets it!  

[The crowd cheers the show of sportsmanship as Jack steps back to the
middle of the ring, keeping an eye on the National Champion.]

BW:  Lost in all the hugs and kisses there was the fact that Jack was
easily able to outpower Vasquez, using his 324 pounds to push him around
the ring into the ropes.  You can expect to see that a lot in this one. 
Vasquez will need to find a way to counter that power and size advantage
'cause he's outweighed by about a hundred pounds, Gordo.

GM:  It's not the first time that Juan Vasquez has been outsized. 
Remember back at the Main Event when he tussled with MAMMOTH Mizusawa
who is quite literally a giant of a man, Bucky.

BW:  Vasquez nearly had to be taken off the mat with a sponge after that
one.  Remember that, Gordo.

[Vasquez strides out of the ropes, tying up again with Jack...

...and uses an armdrag to take Jack off his feet and down to the mat to
the cheers of the crowd!]

GM:  Quick execution of the armdrag by Juan Vasquez!  Is that what you
had in mind, Bucky?

BW:  It would've been if he'd followed it up instead of standing back
and posing like a moron.

GM:  He's not posing.

BW:  But he didn't follow it up.  Give me that at least.

GM:  That's true.  

[Vasquez stands back, waiting for Jack to get back up.  The Southerner
climbs to a knee, grinning at Vasquez as he shakes out his left arm.]

GM:  I think there's a bit of a feeling out process going on between
these two men right now.  Both champion and challenger want to see what
each other have before they go full blown at it.

BW:  I get that but when you get a chance to take advantage of a
situation, you need to do it and Juan Vasquez didn't do it at all right
there, Gordo.

GM:  You have a point, Bucky.

[Jack climbs back to his feet, slapping his left arm with his right hand
as he circles to his right, looking for an opening as Vasquez mirrors
the circle in the opposite direction.  Again, they come together in the
center of the ring...

...and again, Vasquez armdrags his opponent down to the mat, popping
back up to defend himself but not pressing the advantage.]

GM:  Another armdrag and-

BW:  Another useless show of sportsmanship.  Vasquez might be taking
City Jack too lightly tonight, Gordo.  Jack's got a reputation as an
easy-going laidback guy who doesn't get too riled up about much.  We
know he's capable of being much more than that.  But in the interviews
leading up to this match, Jack has seemed just kinda... happy to be
here.  Could Vasquez be taking that to mean this is an easy night for
him?

GM:  I highly doubt that.

[Jack gets back up, dusting himself off.  He nods at the waiting
Vasquez, reaching out to slap hands with him before they tangle up once
again.  The larger man uses his weight to bull Vasquez back against the
ropes...]

GM:  The ref wants a clean break again... will he get it?

[Jack steps back again, smiling at his opponent.  He takes a couple
steps back, popping himself in the cheek, asking Juan to give him a
shot.]

BW:  This is ridiculous, Gordo.  These two idiots are playing games in
an AWA National Title match!  They should be fighting for their lives,
fighting for the greatest prize in our sport and they're in there
goofing around.  Neither one of these buffoons deserves the National
Title!

GM:  Oh, take it easy, Bucky.  Like we said, it's just a feeling out
process.

[Vasquez steps out of the corner, grinning at Jack.  He nods his head,
bouncing back and forth from foot to foot...

...and lunges forward, popping Jack upside the jaw with a forearm
smash!]

GM:  Ohh!  Hard shot by Vasquez!

[The blow knocks Jack a couple steps backwards.  He rubs his jaw,
slapping it a few times and says, "Pretty good, hoss.  My turn?" 
Vasquez nods, bracing himself as Jack winds up his right arm...

...and DRILLS Vasquez with a forearm smash to the jaw that knocks him
down to the mat!]

GM:  Ohh!  

BW:  Vasquez hits hard!  Jack hits harder!

GM:  It's those big meat grinder forearms on him, Bucky.  He laid Juan
down like a rock with that!

[Jack grins at the downed Vasquez, bouncing from foot to foot like Juan
did moments ago.  He stops, shaking his hips from side to side in a
little jig that draws a cheer from the crowd as Vasquez drags himself to
his feet, rubbing his jaw in response.]

GM:  A trade of forearms and this crowd is loving it, Bucky.

BW:  Oh sure.  It's a real blast to watch these two idiots goofing
around.  Wake me up when some actual wrestling starts, Myers.

GM:  You're no fun sometimes, Bucky Wilde.

[With both champion and challenger back to their feet, they circle a bit
and then lunge together in a tieup.  Vasquez quickly goes behind City
Jack, hooking a waistlock.  The big man looks for a way out but Vasquez
drops down, pulling Jack's legs out from under him and sending him
crashing to the mat on his face.  Vasquez quickly floats over, securing
a side headlock on the challenger.]

GM:  Wow!  A nice display of mat wrestling by Vasquez to take the
challenger down to the mat.

[Seated on the mat, Vasquez cranks away on the headbutt, trying to wear
down the larger man.  Jack manages to get his knees underneath him,
forcing Vasquez up to a standing base before shoving him off to the
ropes.  The champion rebounds off, connecting with a shoulder tackle
that doesn't budge the big man!]

GM:  Ohh!  City Jack goes nowhere, Bucky!

BW:  Are they wrestling yet?

[Vasquez slaps his own shoulder, pointing to the ropes.  City Jack
quickly obliges, hitting the ropes...

...and bowling over the champion with a running tackle!]

GM:  Haha!  Over three hundred pounds of movin' City Jack was too much
for the champion as the big man from Liberty, Kentucky sent him sailin'
across the ring!

[The champion scrambles up, looking a little surprised...

...and gets a view of City Jack doing another little jig, shaking his
rear end for the paying customers who roar with delight.  Vasquez shakes
his head as he tugs at the ropes, looking for another strategy.]

GM:  Juan Vasquez got caught by surprise by that tackle, I think.

BW:  Yes, it's a real shock that a guy who outweighs you by a hundred
pounds might knock ya on your tailfeather with a big tackle.  Stunning
to say the least.

[The champion ties up with Jack again, going quickly into a rear
hammerlock.  He cranks up on the arm, holding tight to it as Jack tries
to find a way out of it.  Dropping down to the mat, Vasquez hooks a drop
toehold, taking Jack facefirst to the canvas.  Rolling across the body,
the champion hooks in a front facelock, cranking up on the neck.]

GM:  And another nice show of mat skills by the champion, hooking in
that front facelock that might not look like much but she's got it where
it counts, kid.

BW:  Who the heck are you talking to?

[The camera zooms in on Vasquez, pulling up hard in the front facelock,
trying to restrict the flow of blood to the brain.]

BW:  An educated announcer might note that in the world of Mixed Martial
Arts, many competitors use a variation of this hold called the
guillotine choke to try to finish off an opponent.  Perhaps Vasquez
might be thinking about switching over to that.

GM:  Too bad we don't have one around here.  Where's Jason Dane when you
need him?

BW:  I hate you, Myers.

[Jack gets his legs under him, physically lifting Vasquez off the mat as
he gets to his feet.  Juan hangs on tight, trying to crimp the neck a
little further...

...but Jack simply walks him backwards, pushing him back into the
buckles.  The referee steps in, calling for a break.]

GM:  The official wants a break again...

[And this time, when Jack breaks, he gets a hard shove to the chest from
Vasquez!]

GM:  Whoa!  What's that all about?

BW:  I think Vasquez has seen enough of City Jack's shuckin' and jivin'.
 I know I have.

[Jack looks puzzled at Vasquez, shouting something in response that
Vasquez ignores as he lunges back out, hooking another collar and elbow.
 The two men jostle for position, heading back towards the corner.]

GM:  Vasquez pushes him back... the ref stepping in... come on, guys -
break it up!

[But Jack simply pushes back, spinning Vasquez around with his back to
the corner.]

GM:  Jack turns the tide but there's still no break!  Michael Meekly's
calling for a break and-

[Vasquez turns it again, pushing Jack back.  He slips a hand free up
under the chin of Jack, forcing his head back...

...and then suddenly breaks, throwing a chop to the chest!]

GM:  Ohh!  Chop by Vasquez!

[Jack lifts his arms to fight back but Vasquez slaps them away, throwing
a second chop to the chest!]

GM:  Two big knife edge chops by the champion!

[Vasquez hooks City Jack under the arm, attemping a biel throw...

...but Jack spins it around, HURLING Vasquez through the air and down to
the canvas!]

GM:  OHHH!  Big throw by Jack!

[The champion scrambles up...

...and gets knocked flat with a running clothesline by the big man! 
Vasquez gets back to his feet but promptly gets whipped back to the
corner by City Jack.]

GM:  The champ hits the corner hard - here comes the freight train!

[Jack charges the corner, ready to drive a running forearm into the
jaw...

...but Vasquez dives out of the way, forcing Jack to take the
turnbuckles squarely to the chest!]

GM:  OHHH!

[Seizing the moment, Vasquez hooks in a schoolboy rollup, dragging City
Jack down to the mat.]

GM:  ROLLUP FOR ONE!!  TWO!!  

[But Jack powers out at two, throwing Vasquez off.  Both men quickly
regain their feet, Vasquez throwing a forearm smash to the jaw.  He
grabs Jack by the head, SLAMMING his face into the turnbuckles!  The
champion grabs the arm again...]

GM:  Corner to corner whip by the champ!

[Vasquez rushes in, leaping up to the middle rope.  He raises his right
hand to the cheers of the crowd, driving it down into the temple area as
the fans count along!]


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


[Vasquez hops down off the second rope with a fist pump to the crowd. 
He walks away from the corner, shaking his fist to the roaring crowd...

...and then stops as the official pushes him back.  The referee quickly
moves to the corner where City Jack is down to a knee, his hands
covering his face.]

GM:  What just... what happened there?

BW:  It's the eye, Gordo!  He caught him in the eye!

[From the angry shout of City Jack, we'd assume Bucky to be correct.]

GM:  One of those punches from the second rope must have caught City
Jack near that eye that kept him out of action for a year.  We know that
Jack had medical clearance to come back from that injury but we never
found out just healed it was.  

BW:  We may have our answer to that now.

[The camera zooms in, catching Jack covering the eye with his hand as
the referee checks on him, asking him if he can continue.  "My eye!"
Jack shouts at him, "He hit me in the damn eye!"  The official can be
heard stating that Vasquez didn't mean to do it.  A concerned Juan
Vasquez looks on from the middle of the ring, trying to get a better
look.]

GM:  City Jack thinks Vasquez meant to do that?  There's no way!

BW:  Are you serious?  Juan Vasquez dropped Stevie Scott with a
piledriver to end their war.  There ain't a thing you can do in - or out
- of a wrestling ring that he won't do to keep that title.

GM:  He wouldn't go after City Jack's eye!  I can tell you that much!

BW:  You could but you'd be a liar.

[Vasquez moves towards the corner as the official turns to call for the
ringside doctor to check on City Jack.  The champion puts a hand on the
challenger's shoulder, leaning in to ask if he's alright...

...and gets a STRAIGHT RIGHT HAND to the bridge of the nose, knocking
him flat!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[An angry City Jack climbs to his feet, still wiping his eye as he looks
down at Vasquez who is facedown on the mat, rolling back and forth with
his hands over his face.]

GM:  City Jack just punched him right in the face, Bucky!

BW:  Jack's hot!  Look at him!

[A red-faced City Jack shoves past the protesting official who wants the
eye checked by a doctor.  He winds up his right arm, dropping a heavy
elbow on the back of Vasquez' head, driving his face into the mat again.
 Jack rolls to a knee, shoving the champion onto his back.]

GM:  Oh my stars.

BW:  He broke his nose, Gordo!  Jack busted his nose with that right
hand!

[Grabbing Vasquez by the hair, Jack delivers right hand after right hand
after right hand to the forehead before shoving him back down to the
mat.  Jack climbs to his feet, confronting the referee.]

"It'll be fine!  Just get out of my way!"

[Jack walks his way to the corner, turning his back into the buckles. 
He slaps his elbow a couple of times, charging out...]

GM:  HE LEAPS!!


"THUUUUUUUUUUUUUUD!"


GM:  HE MISSED!  HE MISSED THE BIG ELBOW!!

[Jack rolls around on his back on the canvas as Vasquez slowly climbs
back to his feet.  He runs the back of his hand across his blood-covered
nose, wiping his face clean for the moment.  Reaching down, he hauls
City Jack to his feet by the arm, flinging him into the ropes...

...and catching the rebounding big man in his soft breadbasket with a
right hand!]

GM:  Jack gets caught low...

[Hooking him around the head and neck, Vasquez snap mares City Jack over
into a seated position...]


"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[A thunderous kick to the back fills the air as Vasquez glares down at
the wincing City Jack.  With a nod, he dashes to the ropes that Jack is
facing, rebounding back...

...and CREAMING him with both feet in the face!]

GM:  LOW DROPKICK BY THE CHAMPION!!

[Vasquez crawls over to the downed Jack, throwing himself across his
chest.]

GM:  Vasquez cover for one... for two... but that's all.

BW:  As much as I don't like City Jack, I have to admit it's gonna take
a lot to keep him down.  I thought Calisto Dufresne had his number for
months and even he couldn't put him down for good.  Vasquez is going to
need more than a kick or two to do, Gordo.

GM:  He certainly will.

[Vasquez pulls Jack off the mat, cradling his head to throw a trio of
forearms into the ear.  He shoves him back into the ropes, winding up to
pop him across the chest with a big knife edge chop!]

GM:  Big cho- whoa!

[An angry Jack grabs Vasquez by the hair, swinging him back around into
the ropes.]

GM:  OHHH!  HARD CHOP BY CITY JACK!!

[Jack winds up again, leaving a bright red welt across the chest with
another hard chop.  With Vasquez wincing against the ropes, Jack grabs
his arm and fires him off to the far side...]

GM:  Into the ropes... 

[As Juan rebounds off the ropes, Jack catches him on the crown of the
skull with an overhead elbow smash!]

GM:  Bionic elbowsmash flattens the champion!

[Vasquez scrambles back to his feet...

...and gets taken over the top rope and down to the floor with a running
clothesline!]

GM:  OHHHH!  OUT TO THE FLOOR!!!

[City Jack slams both arms into the top rope, throwing them back in a
roar as Vasquez rolls around on the floor, trying to recover as Michael
Meekly starts a ten count.]

GM:  Hold on here...

[Jack promptly steps out to the apron, dropping down to the floor.  He
hauls Vasquez up by the hair...

...and gets caught with a right hand to the gut!]

GM:  Vasquez fires back!

BW:  These two just keep going back and forth, back and forth!  Just
when City Jack gets the edge, Vasquez comes back with something.  When
Vasquez gets an edge, Jack makes the comeback.

[Grabbing Jack's arm on the floor, Vasquez winds up...]


"CLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANG!"


GM:  HE WHIPS HIM INTO THE RAILING!!  GOOD GRIEF!!!

[Jack slams hard backfirst into the steel, his arms draping over the
barricade to stay on his feet.  Vasquez steps up to the plate, grabbing
Jack by the back of the head and pasting him with a right hand!]

GM:  Vasquez hammering the challenger out on the floor...

[The champion delivers a few more blows to the skull of the Liberty
native before grabbing his arm...]

GM:  Another whi- reversed!

[But the athletic Vasquez deadleaps up onto the apron...

...and then executes a picture perfect moonsault off the apron onto a
stunned City Jack!  HUGE CHEER!]

GM:  OHHHHHHHHHH!

BW:  Where the heck did that come from?!

GM:  Vasquez wipes him out!  A big backflip off the apron and Juan
Vasquez just wiped out the challenger!

[Vasquez climbs to his feet, throwing both arms to the air and soaking
up the cheers of the crowd.  He reaches down, dragging City Jack off the
floor and shoving him under the ropes into the ring.  Grabbing the
middle rope, Vasquez pulls himself up on the apron, pointing to the top
turnbuckle to the roars of the crowd.]

GM:  Vasquez is heading up top!  He's looking to finish this one off
right now!

[The AWA National Champion steps up to the second rope, pointing out to
the fans, and then steps up top, looking down at the prone City Jack. 
Vasquez nods his head and takes flight, leaping high into the air with a
pump of the arms and legs...]

GM:  FROG SPLAAAAAA-


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  HE MISSED!  HE MISSED!  VASQUEZ MISSED THE SPLASH!!

[A dazed City Jack rolls over, throwing a heavy arm across the chest.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR-

"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

GM:  I THOUGHT HE HAD HIM!  I THOUGHT WE HAD A NEW CHAMP RIGHT THERE!

[Jack rolls off the downed Vasquez, breathing heavily as he lies on his
back.  The National Champion is down as well, his chest heaving as he
breathes air into his lungs.]

GM:  Both men are down.  Both men are hurting.  Both champion and
challenger are putting it all on the line to walk out of here tonight as
the man holding the gold, Bucky.

BW:  City Jack needs to go further!  City Jack needs to realize that he
has nothing to lose!  Absolutely nothing!  This is the end of the road
for him tonight.  Win, lose, or draw - he's done!  He's finished!  So
why not win?  City Jack needs to dig deeper than he ever has before!

[Almost on cue, City Jack sits up off the mat, running a hand over his
sweaty head.  He rolls to the side, pushing back up to his feet as
Vasquez crawls across the ring, pulling himself up to his feet in the
corner...

...and Jack sprints across the ring!]

GM:  HERE!  COMES!  JACK!!

[At the last moment, Jack does a slight leap, CRUSHING Vasquez
chestfirst in the corner with a corner splash!]

GM:  OHHHHH!  An avalanche-style move into the corner!

[The National Champion staggers backwards out of the corner into a
waistlock from the Libery native...

...and the big man powers him into the air, DROPPING him down on the
back of his head and neck!]

GM:  WAISTLOCK SUPLEX!!  I CAN'T BELIEVE IT!!

[Jack is unable to hold a bridge, rolling out of the hold to throw
himself into a lateral press, reaching back to grab a leg.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR-

[The National Champion fires a shoulder up off the mat at the last
moment.]

GM:  Shoulder up!  He got the shoulder up!

[City Jack rolls off the downed Vasquez, pushing up to all fours.  He
shakes his head back and forth, glaring down at the resilient National
Champion.  Jack grabs a handful of the champion's hair, rearing back a
right hand...

...and blasts Vasquez in the temple!]

GM:  Big right hand by the challenger!  Another!  And another!

[The challenger climbs to his feet, dragging Vasquez up by the hair...

...and charges the corner, SLAMMING the champ's head into the buckles! 
As the champion staggers back out, Jack scoops him up, slinging the
National Champion over his shoulder!]

GM:  Jack's got him up!  He's got him over his shoulder!  

BW:  He's calling for a powerslam!

[Jack lifts his hand up, pointing a thumb down...

...and charges out of the corner, ready to drive Vasquez through the
mat!]

GM:  POWERSLAAAAA-

[The National Champion wriggles out of Jack's grip, landing on his feet
behind the challenger...

...and leaping up on his back, shoving his thumb into the side of Jack's
throat!]

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

BW:  This is how he beat Mizusawa!  This is how he took out the giant!

[A desperate Jack struggles wildly, swinging his arms back and forth,
reaching back to grab Vasquez around the head, trying to pull him over.]

GM:  He can't get him over!  He can't get Vasquez off the back!

[Jack braces himself...

...and DRIVES backwards into the corner!]

GM:  OHHH!  THREE HUNDRED POUNDS SANDWICHES HIM IN THE CORNER!!

BW:  But it's not enough!  It wasn't enough when the giant tried to do
it so it sure as heck ain't enough for Jack!  His dream of going out as
the AWA National Champion is about to end with him goin' to sleep,
daddy!

GM:  Jack's trying to find a way out!  He's running out of time!

[With Vasquez still on his back, City Jack turns to the corner...

...and steps up to the middle rope!]

GM:  What the-?

BW:  Oh my god!  This might do it, Gordo!

GM:  Is he serious?!  Is he really going up there?!

[City Jack steps his left foot up on the top rope, Vasquez still hanging
from his back...

...and shoves off, plummeting through the air, and CRUSHING Vasquez
beneath him on the canvas!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  HE BROKE THE HOLD!!  HE BROKE THE HOLD!!

[A dazed City Jack rolls out of Vasquez' reach, lying flat on his belly
on the canvas as Vasquez writhes in pain on the canvas.]

GM:  City Jack went beyond what we'd seen ANYONE do to break the
Assassin's Spike and he saved himself for sure right there, Bucky!  The
challenger dug deep for that counter and he came up big!

BW:  And if you look at Juan Vasquez right now, he's grabbing those
ribs, Gordo.  Those ribs that Mizusawa destroyed a few months ago that
Vasquez has told the world are healed!  But they don't look so healed to
me right now, daddy!

GM:  They certainly don't - or if they were, City Jack may have just
re-aggravated the injury because he's hanging onto those banged-up ribs
for dear life.

[City Jack slips his arms underneath him, pushing himself up off the
canvas.]

GM:  City Jack doesn't look like he's got much left in the gas tank,
Bucky, but he needs to find more.  Somehow, someway, he needs to find
more if he expects to become the AWA National Champion here tonight in
Tulsa, Oklahoma in his final wrestling match!


"FIFTEEN MINUTES HAVE EXPIRED IN THIS MATCH!  FIFTEEN MINUTES!"


[The challenger pushes himself up to his feet, breathing heavily as he
falls back against the ropes, his arms draped over the top rope to stay
on his feet.  And suddenly, the crowd begins to chant...]


"ONE!  MORE!  SHOT!  ONE!  MORE!  SHOT!  ONE!  MORE!  SHOT!"


[Looking around at the chanting crowd, Jack straightens up, nodding his
head.  He winds up his big right arm, spinning it around and around...

...and leaps up, dropping a heavy elbow down in the chest of the
champion!]

GM:  ELBOW!!

[Jack rolls over, throwing his three hundred pounds down in a lateral
press.]

GM:  HE'S GOT THE COVER - ONE!!  TWO!!  THR-


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  SO CLOSE!!  CITY JACK WAS SO CLOSE RIGHT THERE!!

[A tired City Jack rolls to his back, sucking wind into his body as the
crowd roars for the near fall.  The referee informs the challenger that
it was only a two count as both champion and challenger continues to
struggle to get back to their feet.]

GM:  City Jack is having a hard time getting a second wind... a hard
time getting- 

[Jack grabs Vasquez by the hair, rolling him to his stomach...

...and SLAMS his face into the canvas!]

GM:  Ohh!  He rams his face into the mat!

[The tired challenger pulls Vasquez' head off the mat again...

...and SLAMS it back into the canvas!]

GM:  Jack's trying to knock Vasquez out!  He's trying to get the win
however he can!  He wants this win - he wants this title belt so badly. 
City Jack would love to walk out of here for the final time tonight as
the AWA National Champion!  It'd be a dream come true - a storybook
ending if you will for one of the greatest superstars this sport has
ever seen!

[Jack pulls Vasquez up by the hair again...

...and SMASHES his face into the mat a third time!  Still using the
hair, he flips Vasquez over to his back, throwing himself into a lateral
press!]

GM:  Another cover!  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR-

[But Vasquez again fires the shoulder off the mat, breaking the count!]

GM:  Still not enough!  Juan Vasquez is one of the most resilent
superstars I've ever seen compete in a wrestling ring, Bucky.  The man
can take beating after beating and keep coming back for more!

[A frustrated City Jack climbs up to his feet, pulling Vasquez up by the
arm.  Jack puts a little mustard on it as he HURLS the champion hard
into the buckles!]

GM:  Juan hits the corner hard... staggering back out...

[The challenger hooks his arms around the waist of the champion, holding
on like a bearhug...]

GM:  METROPIL-

[But a Juan Vasquez who does his homework knows what's coming and he
immediately slams the palm of his hand onto the ear of City Jack!]

GM:  Ohh!  Right to the ear!

[Jack staggers away, clutching the side of his head.  Vasquez rushes
forward, leaping up to drive a knee between the shoulder blades, a blow
that sends the big Southerner sailing through the ropes and out to the
floor below!]

GM:  The champion sends him to the floor!  He puts Jack out to the floor
and-

[The crowd roars as the National Champion twirls his right arm in the
air, stepping up to the middle rope...]

GM:  Vasquez is going up!  He's heading up top!

[The champion steps to the top, balancing himself as he watches City
Jack try to get back to his feet out on the floor.  Vasquez holds both
arms straight over his head...]

GM:  The champion's gonna fly!

[And the Los Angeles native takes flight, leaping from his perch,
sailing through the air...

...and CRASHING down on the skull of City Jack with a double axehandle
blow that puts both men down on the thinly-padded concrete floor!]

GM:  AXEHANDLE OFF THE TOP!!  HE DRILLED IT!!

[The referee approaches the ropes, looking out at both men.  He takes a
real long look, considering the situation...

...and then raises a hand, shouting "ONE!"]

GM:  Michael Meekly is laying a double count on both of these men!  This
would be a terrible way to end this match, Bucky!  After the effort that
both of these men have put into walking out of here with the AWA
National Title, a double countout would be awful.

BW:  It'd be fitting though since both of them are such failures.

GM:  Bucky!

[The ref's count hits three with neither man moving yet.]

GM:  We're creeping closer to the twenty minute mark of this matchup and
neither champion nor challenger is able to get to their feet here.  Like
we said, they've both put so much on the line here physically tonight to
try and walk out of here with the title.  We may be seeing the end of
the match right here, Bucky.

BW:  You have to give Vasquez the edge in stamina, Gordo... but with as
hard as City Jack hits and slams, that really knocks some of the wind
out of your sails.  Vasquez may not be able to go thirty or forty
minutes like we've seen him do before.  He may be lucky to make it
twenty minutes tonight.

GM:  And look at this, Bucky.  Just as you say that, Juan Vasquez has
managed to crawl his way to the barricade, using the steel to try and
drag himself off the floor as the referee's count hits five.

[The camera cuts to ringside, fans screaming encouragement over the
railing to the National Champion as he pulls himself off the thin mats
to his feet, leaning on the barricade to stay up.]

BW:  And if I were Vasquez, I'd roll in right now and make sure that
City Jack gets counted out!  

GM:  Why?!

BW:  It's his best chance to keep the title!  He's got the championship
advantage!  He doesn't have to pin City Jack!  He doesn't have to make
him submit!  A countout's as good as a pinfall for Juan Vasquez right
now!

[Vasquez leans against the railing as the count hits seven, stumbling
forward towards the ring.  He grabs the bottom rope, staying on his
feet...]

GM:  Can either of these men beat the count?  It's getting close here. 
The count is up to seven... now to eight...

[And the National Champion suddenly leans down, dragging City Jack off
the floor by the arm, slinging him under the ropes.]

BW:  You idiot!  You're a complete idiot, Vasquez!  You deserve to lose
the title!

[Vasquez pulls himself up on the apron, hanging onto the top rope as
City Jack grabs the middle rope, trying to pull himself to his feet as
well...]

GM:  Jack's to his feet and-

[The National Champion uses the top rope to slingshot himself over the
top rope, attempting to pull Jack down in a sunset flip!]

GM:  He's trying for the sunset flip!  We saw this earlier tonight!

BW:  Where's Joe Petrow when you need him?

GM:  Jack's fighting it!  He's holding the ropes!  He's-

[Jack holds the top rope with his left hand, winding up with his
right...

...and DRILLS Vasquez with a Metropill forearm between the eyes!]

GM:  OHHH!  WHAT A SHOT!!

[Jack collapses on top of Vasquez, reaching back to hook a leg.]

GM:  WE'VE GOT ONE!!  WE'VE GOT TWO!!  WE'VE GOT THR-

BW:  NO!  NO!  VASQUEZ GRABS THE BOTTOM ROPE!!

[The crowd roars with a mixed reaction, thinking they were about to see
a title change when Vasquez escaped just barely by grabbing the rope. 
City Jack climbs to his feet, looking up at the referee who points out
the hand on the rope.  Jack slams an open hand into the mat, putting his
hands on his hips as he kneels on the canvas, breathing heavily.]

GM:  City Jack climbs to his feet... showing some signs of frustration
here... 

[Jack drags Vasquez up by the hair, ducking down to scoop him up...

...and SLAMS him down to the canvas!]

GM:  Ohh!  Big bodyslam by City Jack!

[Backing to the corner, Jack nods his head, slapping his stomach a few
times.  He points to Vasquez...]

GM:  He's gonna splash him!  He's gonna drop 324 pounds down on the
National Champion!

[But just before he steps out of the corner, Jack pauses...

...and turns his head slightly to look at the turnbuckles.]

GM:  Are you kidding me?!

BW:  He's not!

GM:  I think he is, Bucky!  I think he's going to do exactly what you
said he needed to do!  He's going to dig down deep and come up with
something that he's never done before!  He's going... my stars, fans,
City Jack is going up top!

[The fans begin to buzz as the Liberty, Kentucky native steps out to the
apron and slowly begins to work his way up the buckles.]

GM:  I can't believe what we're seeing here, fans.  City Jack is
climbing to the top rope!

[It is quickly obvious how uncertain Jack is about this decision,
white-knuckle gripping the top rope as he places both feet on the middle
rope.]

GM:  Jack's taking a long, long time to get up there, fans!

BW:  Vasquez is still down though.  Juan Vasquez hasn't budged one bit
after that bodyslam and-

[Jack puts a foot on the top rope, throwing back his head and slapping
his belly with both hands.  He reaches down, grabbing the top rope with
his hand again as he tries to get his other foot in position...

...and shockingly, Juan Vasquez kips up off the mat!]

GM:  WHAT?!  WHAT?!

BW:  VASQUEZ WAS PLAYING POSSUM!!

[Vasquez rears waaaaaay back and DRILLS City Jack with a right hand to
the temple..]


"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[With Jack stunned from the right cross, Vasquez reaches up with both
hands...

...and HURLS City Jack off the top rope, throwing him down to the canvas
with a huge bodyslam!]

GM:  HE THROWS HIM OFF THE TOP!  HE THROWS JACK DOWN TO THE MAT OFF THE
TOP!!

[Vasquez quickly heads to the ropes, jumping between them to the apron,
and makes a beeline for the corner, speedily scaling the ropes.  He
reaches the top, raising both arms high overhead...

...and HURLS himself off the top, cocking his elbow to the side!]

GM:  ELBOW!!  HE HITS THE ELBOW OFF THE TOP!!

[Vasquez bounces off City Jack from the impact of the flying elbow,
crawling back towards the big man, diving across his chest, and tightly
hooking the near leg!]

GM:  HOOKS THE LEG - ONE!!  TWO!!!  THREEEEEE-


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  SHOULDER UP!!  SHOULDER UP!!  JACK GOT THE SHOULDER UP!!!

[The crowd is roaring as Juan Vasquez pops back to a seated position,
burying his face in his hands!]

GM:  My stars in heaven, I can't believe it, fans!  I thought he had him
there!  I thought that Juan Vasquez had him beaten right there in the
middle of the ring! 

BW:  He threw him off the top!  He hit the flying elbow!  We're just
over twenty minutes into this match and the National Champion STILL
can't finish off City Jack, daddy!

GM:  You're completely right, Bucky!  City Jack's got nothing to lose
here tonight!  He's got nothing to lose!  There is no tomorrow for City
Jack!  Win, lose, or draw - he's done!  Why not?  Why not take every
risk?  Why not bottle up every drop of energy left in the body and kick
out of every single thing you possibly can?  There's nothing left to
save energy for!  There's no tomorrow!  This is it!  ONE!  MORE!  SHOT!

[Vasquez rolls over to his knees, glaring at the downed City Jack whose
chest is heaving hard with every breath.  The champion throws a leg over
City Jack's chest, grabbing the back of the head...

...and drills him with a right hand!]

GM:  Ohh!  Heavy right hand by the champ!

[Still holding the head, Vasquez throws another right hand... and
another... and another... and another... and another.  Finally, the
referee intervenes, dragging Vasquez off the downed City Jack, stopping
him from his assault.  An angry Vasquez shoves the official aside,
threatening to backhand him.]

GM:  Whoa!  An unusual sign of aggression towards the referee from Juan
Vasquez and I think we can chalk that up to frustration.  Vasquez
thought he could put him away with that flying elbow and he came up just
a little bit short there.  He was close - very close - but he couldn't
get the three count.  What's it gonna take, Bucky?  What else can
Vasquez do?

[The National Champion hauls Jack back to his feet by the arm, wheeling
him around into a short-whip to the corner.  Vasquez rushes in, throwing
his elbow back under the chin!]

GM:  That'll jack the man's jaw!

[Grabbing the arm again, Vasquez fires Jack across the ring again.  He
backs to the far corner, pointing across with both hands...]

GM:  Here comes the champ!

[Vasquez sprints across the ring, leaping into the air for a corner
splash!]

GM:  SPLAAAAA-

[BIG CHEER!]

GM:  CAUGHT!  JACK CAUGHT HIM!!

[Jack swings around, DRIVING Vasquez' spine into the corner!  The
National Champion's arms hang over the top rope, giving Jack an open
shot that he promptly takes with a huge forearm smash to the jaw!]

GM:  Metropill!  

[He throws a second... and a third... and a fourth...]

GM:  HE'S ROCKIN' THE CHAMPION!!

[The repeated blows to the head take the life out of Vasquez' legs, him
hanging from the top rope to stay on his feet.  Grabbing his arm, Jack
fires him across the ring to the buckles, rushing in behind him...

...and SMASHING Vasquez in the jaw with a running Metropill!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[The National Champion stumbles out ot the center of the ring, right
into the waiting arms of City Jack!]

GM:  Jack's got him!  Jack's got him hooked!

[The crowd roars in anticipation of the Metroboom that'll earn City Jack
the AWA National Title...

...but Vasquez has other plans, landing a desperation headbutt that
catches Jack near the eye!]

GM:  Ohh!  Vasquez fights out of it!

[With Jack dazed, Vasquez rushes to the ropes, rebounding off...]

GM:  The champ comes off the ropes...


"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  METROPILL!!  RIGHT ON THE JAW!!

[The blow knocks Vasquez back into the ropes where he wobbles out,
rearing back with his right hand...

...and DRILLS Jack on the jaw with the dangerous right cross!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

[...a blow that spins Jack all the way around in a circle...]


GM:  HE CAUGHT IT ALL!

[...and down to the canvas in a heap where Juan Vasquez collapses atop
him.]


GM:  ONE!!   TWO!!!   THREEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


[The crowd EXPLODES in a giant roar at what they just witnessed!]

GM:  Man oh man, Juan Vasquez just survived one heck of a challenge to
the AWA National Title!  He scores the win with that massive right cross
but for a second there, Bucky, I thought we were going to have a new
National Champion.

BW:  For a second there, I did too.  It just seemed like it was destined
to happen here tonight in Tulsa in the man's last match.

GM:  But City Jack, in his final match in his storied career comes up
just a bit short.  He's got absolutely nothing to be ashamed of here
tonight though in his final night in the world of professional
wrestling.

BW:  This sport's a funny thing sometimes, Gordo.  All it would have
taken is one more forearm - one more Metropill at just the right time
and this would have had a much different ending.

GM:  It would have been a storybook ending to a fantastic career but it
just wasn't to be.  The wrong place, the wrong time perhaps for one of
the greatest men I've ever had the pleasure of knowing, Bucky.

[The camera cuts to City Jack pushing up to his knees finally, looking
around exhausted at the roaring crowd...]

PW:  Here is your winner... and STILL AWA NATIONAL CHAMPION...

[HUGE CHEER!]

PW:  JUAAAAAAAN VAAAAAASQUEZ!

[City Jack nods his head, looking a little bit dejected as he stares at
the canvas.  Michael Meekly helps Juan Vasquez to his feet, handing the
title to him as Juan leans against the ropes to stay up.  Vasquez stares
across the ring at the challenger who came oh-so-close to winning the
title.  Jack slowly looks up, a slight grin on his face.  He shrugs his
shoulders at Vasquez who returns the smile.]

GM:  Now this is the kind of moment I like to see, Bucky!

BW:  No one gave City Jack a shot tonight, Gordo.  Absolutely no one! 
But he nearly shocked the world... and if you weren't sitting here at
ringside, I don't know if you can tell how close he came to winning the
title here tonight.

GM:  That's right.  The man put up one hell of a fight and what a way to
go out, Bucky!  What a way to go out!

BW:  I've never been a fan of City Jack but even I have to be a little
bit impressed by this.  

[The crowd is still roaring as City Jack stands, leaning against the
turnbuckles.  He looks out to the fans, dropping his gaze a bit as they
begin to chant his name.]

"JACK!  JACK!  JACK!  JACK!  JACK!  JACK!"

[A grinning City Jack looks around at the standing ovation he's getting
from the Tulsa, Oklahoma crowd.  He shakes his head, smacking a fist
against his heart and pointing to the fans.]

"THANK YOU, JACK!  THANK YOU, JACK!  THANK YOU, JACK!"

[We can see him mouthing "Thank you!  Thank you!" as he looks out at the
roaring fans.  He shakes his head at their reaction, smiling broadly as
Vasquez slowly walks across the ring, stumbling slightly.  As he gets
there, he reaches out his hand, offering it to his challenger as the
crowd cheers.  Jack quickly accepts, pulling the National Champion into
a huge embrace.  The crowd is roaring as Vasquez breaks the embrace,
lifting the new champion's arm high into the air!]

GM:  Oh yeah!  What a moment!  Juan Vasquez and City Jack are standing
together in a moment of mutual respect and admiration!  Vasquez
appreciates all that City Jack has done for this company - all that he
has done for this business - all that he has done to pave the way for
those young lions still to come.  And as much as Juan Vasquez
appreciates it... as much as we in the AWA appreciate it - the guys in
the locker room, the front office staff, everyone else - at the end of
the day, it's the fans that have followed and loved City Jack for so
long who appreciate it the most.  City Jack, thank you for all the
memories, my friend.

[Jack and Vasquez are still in the ring, soaking up the cheers of the
crowd as we fade to black.

And then back up on an animated Jason Dane... no, he's not just moving a
lot.  He's LITERALLY animated - like Porky Pig style.]

JD:  They say I'm the man with all the answers.

[A cut to a different angle of animated Dane.]

JD:  They say I'm the man who gets all the scoops.

[Another cut.  Another angle.]

JD:  They say I'm- is all this really necessary?  It's not like I'm
Geraldo, guys.

[A voice off camera shouts "CUT!" and animated Jason Dane walks off a
green screen set through a crowded studio.]

JD:  I'm not the "most feared man in America," fans.  What I am is a
pretty good reporter who has an eye for the stories you're gonna want to
know about.  That's why AWA Access has been one of the most downloaded
apps ever and that's why the AWA gave me permission to start my own
website!

I'll be bringing you the hot news, the big stories, and the stuff not
fit to air.

[Animated Dane strokes his animated chin.]

JD:  Maybe I AM the most feared man in America!

[A "BZZZ!" sound of electricity is heard as animated Jason Dane fades
away and a title graphic appears.]

"JASON DANE - COMING TO A BROWSER NEAR YOU!"

[Fade to black.

And then back up as Jason Dane stands backstage in the locker room area.
Seated next to him, lacing up his boots, is Jonas Olrikke, who looks to
win the Memorial Day Rumble tonight. Olrikke's face is stern, as he
looks like he's been psyching himself up for a long night. A piece of
paper lays crumpled next to him, and Olrikke picks it up as soon as Dane
gets the cue to start the interview.]

JD: I'm backstage in the locker room of the Pride of Sweden himself, the
Beautiful One, Jonas Olrikke, who in just a little while will be a part
of tonight's Memorial Day Rumble. Now, Jonas, you were not in action on
the last show, in fact, you were conspicuous by your absence after you
were not selected by the fans of the AWA to take part in that
controversial Main Event. I know you wanted to get into the action in
the worst way, how do you feel about not being involved?

JO: I must admit, Jason, while at first it was disappointing that I did
not get a chance to step into the ring at the last Saturday Night
Wrestling Show, all things considered, it was a relief that I was not
selected. Anyone who knows the type of person that I am knows that I do
not associate with freak shows like the Unholy Alliance, cowards like
Mark Langseth...

...or disgusting, vile bullies like James Monosso.

[Dane seems surprised at Olrikke's comments.]

JO: I'm a competitor, Mr. Dane, but I would not lower myself to help, or
be helped, by people like them.

...especially Mr. Monosso. 

JD: I assume you did get a chance to see what happened in the Main
Event?

[Olrikke nods his head.]

JO: It's a shame when a grown man like Mr. Monosso needs to whine, cry,
throw things around, and hit people, like an overgrown baby, about how
this business is unfair. I'm surprised the man has not defecated himself
yet. I kind of expect him to do so, at the rate he's going, if he
doesn't fall over dead of a heart attack first because he never properly
took care of himself. 

I guess the man never grew up without someone important in his life
telling him that life is unfair. Well, Mr. Monosso, from a man who is
nothing more than a stranger to you, I hope these words can help you
find the inner peace if your life you surely need: Life's not fair.

Do you need me to repeat it?

Life's not fair.

Do you need me to come out and confront you when your suspension is over
and repeat this to your face?

JD: [interrupting] Are you sure you need to be calling out Monosso like
this? You see what he's been doing for awhile now! You're just painting
a target on your back!

[Olrikke stands up, and pats Dane on the shoulder, then he looks into
Dane's eyes.]

JO: You think I'm afraid of a man that hits women and old men, and backs
down and runs for the hills when someone who can defend themselves comes
running to save the day?

[Olrikke shows Dane the number he drew for the Rumble tonight.]

JO:  I've already drawn my number, Mr. Dane.

[Dane looks at the number and nods.]

JO:  Let me put it this way, I'm not going to go out there and bully
around Mr. Bucky Wilde, or the ring announcer, or you over it. I'm not
going to go out there and spit all over the first row, giving some of
the people in the audience tonight showers they so desperatley need
[Some boos from the crowd are audible] I'm going to go out there and
play with the hand I've been dealt. I'm going to go out there, and put
the ugly freaks in the Unholy Alliance back in their cages. I'm going to
run rings about the lumbering slugs like Polemos, Johnny Casanova and
Robert Donovan. I'm going to go out there, and out last everyone else in
that Rumble tonight for a chance to face Mr. Juan Vasquez or Mr. City
Jack.

And if I don't win?

[Olrikke turns his head towards the camera.]

JO: I'm sure Mr. Monosso is watching, veins bulging from his forehead.
His rotten teeth grinding at every word being said. If he has a problem
with what I've said so far.. I'll be at the next Saturday Night show,
and I'll say everything I've said tonight to his face.

[Olrikke grins as some cheers can be heard from the crowd. He turns and
leaves as Dane seems surprised at Olrikke's comments.]

JD:  Jonas Olrikke, a man who... well, just had some very shocking
things to say.  We'll see how that affects what happens here tonight.  

[We crossfade to a different part of the arena where Eric Preston stands
in front of a row of lockers, in dark blue wrestling gear with a
sleeveless black shirt over top. He looks calm and rested, but not too
over anxious.]

EP: I've been thinking a lot about this here Memorial Day Rumble, folks.
Thinkin' alot about what I gotta do to win it... what it would mean if I
do. And it brings me back to a year ago, standing right here.

[Eric points down at the ground.]

EP: This time last year, I was livin' the dream. I was doing what I
always dreamed of in front of people, who were cheering and chanting my
name. Juan Vasquez was telling everyone I was the real deal, Todd
Michaelson was callin' me the best student he ever had. Cloud nine,
forget about cloud nine, jack, I was on cloud ten or eleven. I was
living out a childhood fantasy, and I remember thinking... this is easy.

My goodness gracious, God almighty, this is easy. this is _easy_. 

And I thought that I would roll into the rumble, swat any flies that
were bothering me...

[Preston swats an imaginary gnat.]

EP: ...and win the Rumble. And then, I would take my title shot and win
the AWA National title, all within a half year of my debut. It just
seemed like that's how it would go down.

[Eric shakes his head and looks down, hands on hips.]

EP: No. That's not how it went down.

Fast forward a year later, and the fantasy is over. All the ups, all the
downs, the peaks and valleys... it cleared up any misconceptions I might
have had, brother, it made me see that there's not a damn thing _easy_
about this sport. About this business. 

If there's one word to sum up these past twelve months, it would be:
humble. 

The sport humbled me. Life humbled me. I found out that it wasn't just
about some God given talent and some luck, it was about the day to day
grind, the hard work, the blood, the sweat and the tears. It's about
staying true to yourself, and staying true to the people. It's about
paying the price to be great. And you know what, man, it's easy to say
you're willing to pay the price when the people are chanting your name
and you're bringing home six figure checks, it's real easy to say you're
committed.

But when you're one step from being fired... when you have to pay the
fee out of your own pocket just to get some damn air time, you find out
how committed you are. How willing you are to pay the price. 

I found out?

[Preston nods at the camera, confident.]

EP: I found out I'm a survivor. I found out just how badly I wanted to
be a success in pro-wrestling, and the answer is more than you can ever
imagine. So I picked myself up, like the old man, and as you know I've
trudged back. Step by step, match by match, one day at a time. And I
went all in. The daily grind, the hard work, shedding blood, sweat and
tears all in the name of making that dream a reality.

And now I stand before you, a year older and ten years wiser, daddy, and
I'm telling the people watching this on TV and in the gym out there that
I'm going to win this Rumble. A lot _has_ changed in a year, but my
desire to win this Rumble... hasn't changed. Me wanting to win that AWA
National title... hasn't changed. 

But I'm not waiting for lady luck, or fate or destiny or anything else
to drop in my lap, I'm winnin' this match because _I_ make it so, jack,
because _I_ know what I have to do. Because for the rest of my life, I'm
going to have that feeling of helplessness and despair embedded in my
head, and I'll fight until the day I die to _never_ go through that
again.

I've been to the bottom, fellas, I bounced twice 'cause the first time
didn't take... now it's straight to the top.

In the words of Al Bundy-

[Preston lets out a low growl and snarls, flexing his pecs because he
can.]

EP: Let's rock.

[And we crossfade yet again, this time to footage marked "EARLIER TODAY"
where we find ourselves somewhere beneath the Reynolds center; a dark
corner seldom walked by staff and unknown to patrons.  Jason Dane leads
the camera on through a door that's been pinned open by an
insulation-wrapped water pipe wedged underneath.]

JD: Seriously?  This is where the man operates?  The only reason there
are no rats down here is because the roaches ate them.

WC: Aheh, you're a clever man, Jason Dane, if a little too loose with
your tongue.

[Rounding the corner of a massive furnace, the camera catches sight of a
green-skinned titan; William Craven.  Slouching on a rod-framed camping
couch, duffel at his feet, the 320-pound mass of tattooed scar tissue
wraps his hands in moist red gauze.]

WC: But then, as an interviewer, it is your curse to be frank.  I take
it that you do not approve of the space I've chosen to occupy?  It is
spacious and provides me with privacy as I prepare for the carnage to
come.

JD: Carnage?  What do you intend to do tonight, Mister Craven?

WC: "Mister Craven"?  So formal.  Was our last encounter so harrowing
that you've regressed to a school-child addressing his teacher?  By all
means ... call me "Bill".

JD: Well, Bill, you did mention breaking into the business by jumping
the guardrail and attacking an official who denied you a job.

WC: And now I'm a respected professional who has honed his craft for the
better part of two decades, Jason.  Don't let a little history lesson
twist your perceptions.

JD: I'm just curious why you're in here instead of halfway across the
building where the cleaning crew comes in once a night. Virtually every
other man in the Rumble is currently getting ready in the locker rooms;
why aren't you?

WC: Why would I?  Why would I go among those egotists, pretenders and
the self-deluded?  Children all, they would crowd upon me before ever
the clarion call of war was sounded, scrutinizing my every move, trying
to find a chink in the scale of my armor.

[At the word "scale" Dane moves his head rapidly, tracing Craven's
serpent-tattooed torso with his eyes.]

WC: I much prefer silence.  I require quiet before the storm.

[Tearing the gauze, Craven moves on to wrapping his feet.]

JD: What's up with the red tape?

WC: Not tape.  Gauze.

JD: Okay, gauze.  And what's it soaked in?

WC: You don't want to know that, Jason Dane.  This, what you see here,
it is my ritual, what I do before each battle.  A warrior's rite to
ready the mind and dull the soul to whatever violence it must endure to
attain the ultimate goal.

JD: And what goal is that?

WC: Why, the same goal that all seek on this day; the prize to be taken
by the man who stands tall at the end of the night when 29 other
master-less warriors have fallen to the wayside.

[His face contorting in a shark-toothed grin, Craven flicks his
snake-like surgically split tongue in Dane's general direction.  Jason
flinches, perhaps seeing that aspect of Craven's mutilation for the
first time.]

WC: The prize, the glory and the place in history reserved for those who
prevail against seemingly insurmountable odds.  A wise man once said
that in a war that has as many sides as fighters, victory becomes
random, like a lottery.  The individual's skills and powers are rendered
moot in the face of temporary alliances, the press of bodies and mob
rule.  I aim to prove that man wrong.

JD: Who said that?

WC: Why ... I did, of course.

[Blinking, Jason clearly didn't expect that answer.]

JD: But I--

[Locking his ice-blue eyes with those of Dane, Craven smirks,
self-satisfied in his ability to take the interviewer off his game.]

JD: Bill, tonight you'll be in the ring with past, present and future
legends, former champions.  My question, what everyone wants to know
from you is how do you plan to surmount such odds?

[Binding a knot around his left ankle, Craven is done, and stands to
tower over Dane.]

WC: Look at me, Dane.  I am a veteran of many wars.  I fought for my
country, ran the streets of Detroit, ruling 8-Mile and tore the
continent of Asia a new one in underground fights.  Those ... were
merely my salad days.

From the day I set foot in the business of professional wrestling the
greatest threat to my person was not another warrior but a bureaucracy
that worried about how it might "sell" me to a public leery of the
strange.  I've spent more years blackballed from the major leagues than
in them.
    
In three years time I went from bingo halls to the pinnacle of the
business and back again.  In ten years I was branded a career killer;
incapable of competing, only maiming and destroying, not in control of
myself and my own worst enemy.  In fifteen years I became the most
feared man never to have challenged for a major championship,
perpetually dodged by a series of golden champions protected by owners
who STILL have no idea how to sell the Green Man...
    
Now ... 2011, and I am faced with an opportunity.  16 years have passed
and I've gone from young to old, a creaking monstrosity whose menace is
equal parts psychological and physical.  I've ended the careers of men
enough to fill the AWA roster three times over.  Worst of all ... I _am_
in complete control of my destiny and the destiny of any other man I
choose to set in my crosshairs.
    
Oh, Jason, I can see that you're disturbed.  Fine then, a summary, from
the beginning to the end.  Here, let me relieve you of your burden.

[Taking the microphone held by Dane, Craven puts it to the gaping,
razor-toothed maw he calls a mouth.]

WC: I do intend carnage.  Those who dare face me in that ring tonight
will be rent by my onslaught.  With any luck, a handful of them will
persevere somewhat and make the night memorable for me.  If not, I'll
have my prize anyway...
    
I would _not_ hurt Jason Dane.  Not because he is in some way different
from the man who told me that I was too violent, too unbalanced to ever
be a professional wrestler.  No, that's not it at all, but there is
nothing to be _gained_ by erasing him here and now.  Let us pray that it
stays that way.
    
I do not share the space of the men in the locker room because they do
not deserve to share _my_ space.  From a pragmatist's point of view,
it's a good way to be sure that the festivities do not begin prematurely
and out of the view of the world.
    
Finally, it's said that the odds of my winning the Rumble are remote. 
Against so many men with such a list of accolades you must understand
that their rewards are proportionate to their opportunities.  Normal,
colorless, bland and "easy to sell", each man in that ring either has
the potential to reign as a golden champion.  As the sole piece of lead
in that mix, I'm happy to be the spoiler.
    
To the gentlemen with whom I am so soon to be acquainted I can say only
this; we haven't met, unless we have, but I do hope that you've at least
heard of me.  If you haven't ... you're about to learn a very harsh
lesson.  Blood and fire and Hell on earth; it. Gets.  Worse...

[A dead-eyed stare cuts the camera lens and shocks the viewer.  Cut back
to the arena where Gordon and Bucky are seated.]

GM: Fans, we are just moments away from the start of the fourth annual
Memorial Day Rumble, but before we begin we must first welcome in a
previous winner of the Rumble to join Bucky and myself on commentary for
this match...he is none other than the two-time AWA National Champion,
"Hotshot" Stevie Scott.

[Indeed, a smilin' Stevie Scott plops down right in between Myers and
Wilde, grabbing the extra microphone sitting on the broadcast table.]

HSS: Gents, the pleasure and honor is, of course, all yours.

GM: Mr. Scott, as we have a few moments before we begin the final match
of the night, it would only make sense to ask you about what transpired
on the last episode of AWA Saturday Night Wrestling.

[Stevie nods.]

HSS: Yeah, Petrow looked pretty good for an old man, didn't he?

GM: That's not what I'm referring to.

[The St. Louis native playfully jabs Gordon in the shoulder...perhaps a
little too hard.]

HSS: I know, I know...oh, sorry about that.  I guess you're probably
sensitive to contact what with that Monosso situation you were talking
about there.

[Unable to contain himself...and because his partner is a little
shaken...Bucky interjects.]

BW: Stevie, you know good and well what we want to know, daddy!  We want
to know what your actions were all about!

HSS: Oh, you mean when I wiped out 22 percent of the participants in
that match in about 10 seconds?

BW: Yeah!  What's up with that?

HSS: It's simple. 

See, that fruitcake Layton assumed I was going to help his side out and
to make matters worse, he interrupted _my_ interview time.  Stevie Scott
ain't nobody's lackey.  I'm a two-time National Champion for crying out
loud.  No fat old lunatic is gonna come out and tell _me_ what I'm going
to do.  So I decided I'd go make a point of that.

[With his wits back, Myers jumps back into the conversation.]

GM: So how do you explain what you did to Supernova?

HSS: I don't have to explain it to you, Gordo.  Buckster did it for me
right after I dropped that glory hog tagged himself in.  He told you why
I did it.

[Puffing his chest out, Bucky nods.]

HSS: The match was over.  Done.  Chalk one up for the good guys or
whatever.  No one gets up from the Heatseeker, and certainly not an old
sack of donkey crap like Anton Layton.  I hadn't been there over three
minutes, and I'd already changed the outcome of the match.  But do I get
thanks?  Nope, I get some young greenhorn tagging himself in and trying
to get the spotlight on him.  Once again...

[Stevie points at himself, like we have any doubt who he's talking
about.]

HSS: Two-time National Champion.  Hello?  I don't have to find the
spotlight.  The spotlight finds _me_.  But since Supernova wanted to
horn in on it?

[Steviegrin~!]

HSS: I decided to let him feel some _real_ heat.  Namely, a Heatseeker
right under his chin.  _That's_ real heat, kid.

GM: Speaking of spotlights, it looks like we're ready to get things
underway in the Memorial Day Rumble, and as we await the announcement of
the first two combatants, a quick prediction from a former champion, Mr.
Scott?

HSS: Sure.  The last man in the ring will be the winner.

[Myers rolls his eyes.]

GM: Let's go to Phil Watson.

[Crossfade to the ring.]

PW:  The following contest is the annual Memorial Day Rumble!

[Big cheer!]

PW:  Thirty men have drawn numbers before this moment.  Soon, they will
enter the ring in the order of the number they have drawn with Numbers
One and Two beginning the match.  Every two minutes, the next number
drawn will enter the ring until all thirty men have entered the match. 
To be eliminated, you must go OVER the top rope and have BOTH feet touch
the floor!  The last man remaining in the ring after all others have
been eliminated will be your winner and will earn a future shot at the
AWA National Title!

[Another big cheer!]

PW:  And now... the man who drew Number One...

[The crowd buzzes with anticipation, waiting to see who the unlucky
first man into the match will be...]

GM:  Who's it gonna be, Bucky?

BW:  The unluckiest man in the building.

*WHUMP-ump-ump*

[With the sound of a thunderclap, the lights go out, and the world is
plunged into darkness.  Wind can be heard, chimed in through the PA
system.]

*Thump-thump*

[The sounding of a horrible heart is heard.]

#I'm over it!#

[Those words, screamed in a-capela by one David Draiman, precede only
briefly an explosion of sound as "Forsaken" bursts out of the PA system
and into the arena. The camera angle switches as tension builds; red
spotlights brightly illuminating the entrance portal and the crowd
waits.

A cloaked figure emerges through a billowing cloud of smoke into the
Reynolds Center.  Reptillian blue eyes highlight the shoulders of his
black vinyl robe.  His hooded head stares down at his gnarled hands,
bound as they are in red gauze, clutching a wooden katana in them.]

#You see I cannot be forsaken,#
#because I'm not the only one,#
#We walk amongst you feeding, raping...#
#Must we hide from everyone?#

[As if in reply to the lyrics, the dark figure strides powerfully
towards the ring as the lights die.  Darkness closes back in, broken
only by strobing flashbulbs as fans try to get a picture of what can
only be one man...]

PW:  Ladies and Gentlemen, this is William Craven!

[Climbing the ringsteps and coming to rest on the apron, Craven looks
out at the crowd one time before ducking between the ropes.  Thrusting
his arms out before him, William slowly parts them, reaching out to his
sides, the robe falling heavily into a heap on the mat, and revealing
his serpent-tattooed, muscular torso.  He then hands his bo'ken off to
the timekeeper and stands, ready to compete.]

GM:  William Craven, in a one night appearance for the American
Wrestling Alliance, has drawn the unlucky position of being the first
man in the ring for this match!

BW:  Well, Gordo, if anyone has the ferocity to do some damage from the
opening slot, it's this guy.

GM:  Craven was once a bright star in our sport and seemed destined for
greatness but a wrong turn left him toiling in independent promotions -
and as you can see, he savaged his own body in some sick fashon to try
and make himself more of a... more marketable, I guess.

HSS:  Only a freak like Craven would think that looking like a snake or
lizard or whatever the heck he's trying to look like would make him
marketable.

[Standing in the ring, Craven drops to his knees, glancing up at Phil
Watson.  He slowly lowers himself onto his stomach, inching across the
canvas to the middle of the ring where Phil Watson makes an
uncomfortable step or two backwards, looking nervous at the man very
close to his feet.]

GM:  Ugh... just seeing this guy move creeps me out, Bucky.

BW:  He's not exactly the poster boy you want promoting your company -
unless your company makes snake skin straitjackets.

[With Craven still lying on the canvas by his feet, a freaked out Watson
continues.]

PW:  And now... the man who drew Number Two...

[The crowd buzzes again, waiting to see who will be forced to battle one
of the toughest men in the match.]

GM:  And this spot's not any better, Stevie.

HSS:  No, it's not.  Whether you're one or two, you still face the
biggest mountain in the world to climb if you want to win this thing
here tonight in Tulsa.

GM:  Who's it gonna be?  

[Craven rolls back the other way, hanging his upper body between the
middle and bottom rope as he stares down the aisle, waiting for his
prey...]

#It's alright...#

GM:  WHAT?!

#It's alright...#
#It's alright...#
#I'm just a little crazy!#

[The crowd ERUPTS at the sound of Fight's "Little Crazy" - music that
can mean the arrival of only one man.]

GM:  ALEX MARTINEZ IS NUMBER TWO?!  He just finished that brutal
showdown with Mark Langseth a little while ago!  How on earth can he
expect to get in there to compete in this Rumble?

BW:  He shouldn't even try, Gordo!  Martinez should call it a night and
thank the stars that he's even walking!  Heck, IS he even walking?  We
haven't seen him come through that curtain yet.  They may need to carry
him out here after the beating that the King of Wrestling put down on
him!

[Slowly, the curtain pulls apart to reveal the former World Champion,
Alex Martinez, barely able to move as he edges through the curtain into
the aisle.  The crowd roars at the sight of him as he wobbles into view,
physically leaning on the ringside barricade to stay on his feet.  He
looks up at the ring, completely puzzled.]

GM:  And remember what the Minion said!  He said that Martinez would get
one step closer to finding out who the Dragon is during the Rumble and -
does that mean that William Craven is the Dragon?!

BW:  I have no idea, Gordo.

GM:  I could've sworn it was Mark Langseth!  Guaranteed!  But the Minion
says no... the Minion says it is another... and could it possibly be
William Craven?!

[Craven places his palms on the edge of the ring apron, doing a push-up,
straining his neck to get a better glimpse of Alex Martinez as the seven
footer hobble down the aisle towards the ring.]

GM:  The giant's gonna fight!  If William Craven is the Dragon, then
Alex Martinez is gonna fight him right here tonight in the middle of
Tulsa, Oklahoma, Bucky!

[A pair of AWA officials - including a visibly-concerned Jon Stegglet -
appear in the aisle, rushing to Martinez' side.  The cameraman in the
aisle catches Stegglet shouting at the big man.]

"Don't do it, Alex!  Don't get in there - it's not worth it!"

[Martinez shakes his head at Stegglet, still moving - albeit very slowly
- towards the ring.  His injured shoulder is heavily wrapped in gauze as
his potentially broken right hand.]

"Outta my way, Jon!  I'm doin' this!"

[The big man shoves past his friend, heading towards the ring where
Craven is still perched between the ropes watching the big man's every
move.  The fans are roaring as Martinez reaches the ringside area,
stepping up the steel ringsteps.  He gingerly steps through the ropes,
foregoing his usual over-the-ropes entrance.  He lifts his good arm,
pointing a wrapped hand at the newcomer who has rolled to his feet,
leaning against the buckles...]

GM:  Craven's not reacting at all.  Martinez is out here shouting at
him, screaming at him but Craven has budged an inch other than to get to
his feet.  The giant is- I think he's accusing him of being the Dragon,
Bucky!

BW:  What else is he supposed to think?  What else can anyone think
considering what the Minion said earli-

[“When You’re Evil” by Voltaire plays as out from the back the
mysterious Minion saunters, his full-length patent leather coat
fluttering in an artificial breeze.  Brandishing a microphone, the
Minion shakes his head, looking up at the ring and Alex Martinez.]

MINION: You have the capacity to speak, Mighty Martinez, and the
capacity to hear … but never to listen.  Perhaps your bravado prevents
reason.  Perhaps you fear the loss of your legacy.  I do not know and
nor do I care.  How many times have I spoken truth unto you?  How many
warnings have I given to my old friend?

[Twitching at the Minion’s last comment, Martinez shouts down from the
ring “Who are you!?” as he snarls, leaning out towards the entrance
portal.]

MINION: If you haven’t figured it out by now then you’ll never know!  So
many shadows from your past, Alex!  So many skeletons in the closet! 
How many friends have you abandoned?  How many have you betrayed?  Did
Victoria leave or was she tossed away like so much garbage?  It has been
said that a woman cannot be taken from a man she loves and that loves
her.  She seemed to love you, Alex, but you were on the road.  As I
understand it, Caleb, who has now given her her new last name of Temple,
was willing to retire for her.

[Gritting his teeth, Martinez grimaces at the memories being dredged up
by the Minion.]

GM: The Minion hitting below the proverbial belt here.

BW: Okay, I officially want to know who the heck is under that gas mask.
 He knows a LOT of stuff about Alex Martinez.

HSS:  Anyone could be given those facts, Bucky, they’re a matter of
public record.

[The Minion's voice rings out again.]

MINION:  But as long as any list is, there must always be a first entry.
 The first in your litany of misdeeds is from far in your past and, well
… he’s the reason that you are a legend, I believe.

[Turning a whiter shade of pale in the ring, Martinez mouths the word
“no” in utter shock.]

MINION: He’s come for you, Martinez.  

Awash in sin … condemnation begins today...

[The Minion steps to the side, gesturing to the top of the aisle.]

GM:  What is he... what's going on here, Bucky?

BW:  I have no-

[And then, a guitar riff plays - one that is quite familiar to wrestling
fans all around the world, including those inside the Reynolds Center
who absolutely EXPLODE in a shocked reaction.]

GM:  WHAT?!

BW:  It can't be, Gordo!  It can't be!

HSS:  Well, I'll be damned.

[The guitar riff repeats as we cut to the face of Alex Martinez - a face
that has gone white with shock as he knows more than any other just who
that guitar riff refers to.

The song jumps ahead to the line that has - for over a decade - meant
the arrival of one man.]

#HOLD MY BREATH AS I WISH FOR DEAAAAATH - OH PLEASE GOD WAKE MEEEEE#

[And with a thunderous shocked roar from the AWA fans, the curtain
parts...

...and HE walks through.]

GM:  JEFF MATTHEWS!  JEFF MATTHEWS!!  MY GOD IN HEAVEN, JEFF MATTHEWS IS
HERE!

BW:  What in the HELL is going on here tonight, Gordo?!

[The Madfox strides through the curtain, dressed in jeans and a black
t-shirt that reads "REDEMPTION" in red lettering.  He stands at the top
of the aisle, looking up into the ring where Alex Martinez is standing,
facing him, a shocked look on his face...

...and Matthews slowly raises his arm, pointing a finger at his former
friend... and enemy.]

GM:  The Madfox, Jeff Matthews, a former World Champion in his own right
has just walked into the AWA...

[Dramatic pause!]

GM:  ...and he's heading for the ring!

[Matthews strides down the aisle, ignoring the fans reaching their arms
out for him as he glares up at Martinez.  He quickly reaches the ring,
circling around it to the other side across from his former friend,
diving under the bottom rope.  He pushes up to his knees, throwing his
arms out to either side to another big roar from the crowd.]

GM:  Jeff Matthews is here!  Jeff Matthews is in the ring!

BW:  And I've got to ask the question - is HE the Dragon?!

HSS:  I don't know WHO the hell the Dragon is at this point!  

BW:  You were wrong again, Gordo!  It's not Craven - it's Matthews!

HSS:  Or did the Dragon SEND Matthews?!

[Martinez steps away from the ropes, slowly moving towards the Madfox. 
The Last American Badboy moves closer, shouting "WHAT ARE YOU DOING
HERE?!" to no reply.]

GM:  I think Matthews - is he in some kind of a trance?!  He's just
kneeling there on the ground!  He's not even looking at him!  His eyes
are closed.

HSS:  I have no clue what in the world I'm even watching here.

GM:  Jeff Matthews is on his knees, kneeling before the man whose name
you can barely mention without mentioning the Madfox as well!  Jeff
Matthews is-

[And as Martinez gets one step too close, the Madfox uncoils, leaping
from his knees into the air, hooking a three-quarter nelson...

...and SPIKING the big man facefirst into the canvas!  The crowd ERUPTS
in a mixed reaction!]

GM:  FOXDEN!!  FOXDEN!!  HE DRILLED IT!!

BW:  I just got CHILLS, Gordo!  Do you know how many times I've heard
that exact phrase?  That EXACT call of that move!  And I never DREAMED
we'd be the ones making that call, daddy!

[Matthews pops back to his feet, arms spread as he stands over Martinez
who is flat on his chest, completely unmoving...]

GM:  He hit the Foxden!  He laid out Martinez!  I don't know if he's the
Dragon or not but he-

[Matthews can be seen saying something unheard to the floored big man,
his lips moving quickly...

...and suddenly he drops down to the mat, grabbing the injured arm, and
CRANKING back on it!]

GM:  What the- he hooks some kind of an armbar!

BW:  Gordo, you idjit!  That's the Fujiwara Armbar!  Matthews has broken
more arms and more careers with that hold that anyone I can even
imagine!  There's a reason they used to call this guy the Career Killer,
Gordo!

HSS:  I think they called me that for a while too.

[With a wild scream, Matthews plants his feet and arches back, torquing
the arm at a sickening angle...]

GM:  Martinez' injured arm is being ripped out of his shoulder socket
right here!  Jeff Matthews is gonna dislocated that shoulder at the
least - and it may be even worse than that!  He might break his arm,
Bucky!

BW:  I'm sure that's what he's trying to do!

GM:  Matthews is leaning back, pulling hard on the arm...

[A swarm of AWA officials hit the ring hard, diving into the ring to try
and pull the Madfox off his former friend.  Matthews rises, breaking the
hold of his own accord...

...and steps through the ropes to the floor.]

BW:  Wait a sec, he's coming over here!

[Matthews points at the chair that Bucky Wilde's rather plump rear is
seated on.]

BW:  Yeah, sure... whatever.  Take it.

GM:  Bucky!

BW:  Hey, I saw what happened to you last week firsthand!  I ain't about
to play hero!

[The Madfox grabs the chair, folding it up as he dives back into the
ring...

...and takes a wild swing with it, sending the officials scurrying as he
stalks towards the downed Martinez, rearing back...]


"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  HE HIT THE KNEE!  I thought he was going after the arm but he hit
the knee instead!

BW:  I love it, Gordo!  They're physically dissecting Martinez!

GM:  They?!  Who the heck is "they"?!

BW:  Everyone that the Dragon has sent after him!

[Matthews rears back again...]


"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  ANOTHER SHOT TO THE KNEE!!!

[Matthews tosses the chair down to the mat as he leans down, grabbing
the foot to twist it around his own leg, falling back into a figure four
leglock!]

GM:  Foxtrap!  Matthews hooks the Foxtrap on the big man!

[Martinez is barely able to move, softly flailing his arms as Matthews
cranks on the leg, shouting as he tries to snap the leg.  The camera
shot catches a glimpse of William Craven, simply sitting back in the
corner and watching as the chaos ensues before him.]

GM:  Matthews is trying to break his leg!  Get in there!  Stop him!

[The crowd ERUPTS as Juan Vasquez emerges from the locker room, breaking
into a full sprint down the aisle!]

GM:  VASQUEZ!  VASQUEZ IS COMING DOWN THE AISLE!!

[The National Champion rushes down the aisle towards the ring, diving
headfirst under the bottom rope.  He lays in a few blows on Matthews,
battering his head and face to the point that the Madfox releases the
figure four, rolling out to the floor.  He points a finger up at the
champion who returns the favor, shouting something out at him.]

GM:  Juan Vasquez just came out of the locker room to help his ally and
tag team partner!  The National Champion just chased Jeff Matthews out
of here, getting him out of the ring and out of that figure four!

[Vasquez drops to a knee, checking on his occasional partner.  The swarm
of AWA officials get between the champion and Matthews, walking him back
up the aisle towards the locker room as the crowd jeers the Madfox.  A
smirking Matthews laughs at the booing fans, watching the ring as the
National Champion and a couple medics tend to the downed Martinez.]

GM:  We're going to need some help out here... we're going to-

[Martinez sits up with some help from Vasquez.]

"Get 'em out of here, Juan!  I got a fight!"

[The champion shakes his head, trying to talk some sense into his ally.]

"DAMN IT, JUAN!  GET OUTTA THE RING!"

[A frustrated Vasquez gets to his feet, shoving the medical team
members, pointing to the floor.]

GM:  I can't believe this, Bucky!  

HSS:  Alex Martinez is gonna fight?

[Pause.]

HSS:  ALEX MARTINEZ IS GONNA FIGHT!

[The big man drags himself to his feet, barely able to stand.  The ring
quickly clears of Vasquez and the medical team members who are escorted
back up the aisle as Michael Meekly steps up on the apron...

...and signals for the bell!]

GM:  We're ready to Rumble!

[William Craven slowly steps from the corner, cocking his head at
Martinez who is leaning on the ropes, trying not to put any weight on
his other leg.]

GM:  What is Craven doing, Bucky?

BW:  It's like a predator stalking an injured prey.  Like... have you
ever seen those nature films of a lion watching an injured zebra or
something like that?

HSS:  You don't strike me as a Discovery Channel kind of guy, Bucky.

BW:  It's just like that though!  Look at his eyes!  

[The camera cuts on cue to show the eyes, cold, threatening,
calculating, plotting...]

GM:  Craven's inching closer... it's like he expects Martinez to come
charging out of the corner to attack him at any moment...

[And that's exactly what happens, Martinez trying to surge out of the
corner...

...and falling down, clutching his injured knee just a few feet from the
buckles.  Craven looks down - a glimpse of what looks like pity crossing
his face for just a moment.]

GM:  This is not good, Bucky.

[The Detroit native reaches down, grabbing a handful of Martinez' hair
to haul him slowly to his feet.  Craven grabs the hair with both hands,
pulling the big man's face close as he stares dead into his eyes...

...and smiles?]

GM:  This guy is sick.

[With a powerful throw, Craven HURLS the big man over the ropes and down
to the floor with a big effort!  The crowd bursts into jeers at the
sight of seeing one of their favorites eliminated so quickly.]

GM:  Martinez is gone!  Alex Martinez is eliminated from this match! 
And who in the world would have imagined that happening here tonight,
Bucky?  

BW:  The former World Champion - the man that many had picked as the
favorite to walk out of here with the National Title shot in his pocket
- is gone!  And somewhere deep down, you know Juan Vasquez has GOT to be
happy about that, Gordo!

GM:  Oh, come on!  Would you stop?

HSS:  He's right though, Gordo.  If that belt were still around my
waist, I'd be pleased as punch to see Martinez' lanky rear get tossed
over the top.  

[Craven leans over the top rope, staring down at the motionless
Martinez.  His heavily-tattooed arm slowly comes up to eye level...]

GM:  He's waving at him!  He's waving goodbye to Alex Martinez!

BW:  Haha!  This guy's sick!  I love it!

GM:  You would!  Martinez is gone... and this monster of a man is still
in this match without having absorbed a drop of punishment so far.  

HSS:  And you know who the NEW unluckiest man in the building is?

GM:  Who?

HSS:  The man who drew Number Three!

[With Martinez eliminated, Craven slinks back into the corner, leaning
against the buckles, his eyes closed as the seconds tick by.]

GM:  I'm still in shock a little bit here, Bucky.  Alex Martinez is
gone!  That hasn't even really sunk in yet.  When you looked at the list
of men who could possibly walk out of here tonight as the winner of the
Rumble, could there have been ANYONE on the top of more lists than Alex
Martinez?  But just moments into this - not even a full two minutes in -
he's eliminated!

BW:  It's huge.  It's a huge disappointment to the fans, for sure.  But
for the men in the back waiting to get in the ring, it's a huge benefit.
 One less big body to have to throw to the floor.  It creates a huge
opening and for the first time, I believe that ANYONE could win this
thing tonight, Gordo.

GM:  It's been an unpredictable night of action... and we're not done
yet!

[The fans begin to count along with the countdown clock.]


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

"BZZZZZZZZ!"

[The sound of birds' wings flapping pumps out of the PA just before a
lonely church bell tolls.]

GM:  It's Corax!

[Concrete Blonde's "Vampire Song" starts up to a decent-sized reaction
from the Tulsa crowd as the AWA's dark avenger appears from the shadows,
his head tipped over as the "Crow" style facepaint is obscured by his
long dark hair hanging over his face.  He lifts his baseball bat,
pointing it down the aisle at Craven to a big cheer...

...and then he starts walking down the aisle, shrugging off his long
black trenchcoat as he approaches.  He drops the bat, rolling under the
ropes into the ring as Craven rushes across, diving onto him with a
double axehandle blow to the back of the head!]

GM:  Ohh!  Craven jumped him on the way in!

[Rolling Corax to his back, the Detroit madman hammers away at him with
his right hand.  He quickly gets back to his feet, grabbing a handful of
the long black hair, swinging him towards the ropes...

...but Corax swings it around, trying to throw Craven to the floor
instead!]

GM:  Whoa!  Both men came close to going out there!

[And instead, they get tangled up near the ropes, trading right hands in
close quarters.]

GM:  These two are throwing some pretty hard shots near the ropes here.

[Craven slaps the arm away, sinking his teeth into the forehead of
Corax, forcing him down to a knee...

...where he SLAMS his own knee into Corax's skull, knocking him down to
the mat!]

GM:  Ohh!  What a shot by Craven!

[Grabbing the top rope, Craven delivers stomp after stomp to the downed
Corax as the crowd jeers him.]

GM:  These fans weren't happy when Craven took advantage of Martinez'
condition and now they're even less pleased that he's battering Corax
into the canvas.

BW:  William Craven looks like a man on a mission here tonight.  Could
he be the man who will walk out of here tonight with a guaranteed shot
at the National Title in his pocket?

GM:  It would take an extraordinary effort to go from bell to bell -
especially considering the man's age.  He's 44 years old, Bucky.

HSS:  Hamilton Graham was born in the Stone Age, Gordo - and everyone's
dying to see that ol' fossil in here.

GM:  But he wasn't the first man in either.

BW:  I'm just saying if Craven keeps this kind of offense up, he's going
to shoot up the list of possibilities to me - and can you imagine the
terror in Juan Vasquez' heart at the thought of facing this man in a
match for the title?

HSS:  I wouldn't want to be in that match if I was Juan Vasquez...
'course if I was Juan Vasquez, I wouldn't be long for this world. 
There's just some things I can't live with, guys.

[Dragging Corax to his feet by the hair, Craven smashes an elbow over
the back of the head, knocking him down to a knee again.  The big man
from Detroit backs into the ropes, bouncing off...

...but Corax springs to his feet, throwing a big clothesline that takes
Craven off his feet!]

GM:  Ohh!  What a clothesline by Corax!  He just upended the big man
from Detroit Rock City!

[Corax crawls over to Craven, grabbing him by the head and battering him
with clenched fists to the skull as the crowd begins to count down to
the next competitor.]

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

"BZZZZZZZZ!"

[The boos of the crowd are immediately heard as Vladimir Velikov walks
through the curtain, swinging the Russian flag back and forth proudly as
the Soviet anthem blasts over the PA.]

GM:  That son of a- this guy makes me sick, Bucky! 

BW:  Why?

GM:  After what he and his pals did to Jim Watkins earlier tonight, how
can you possibly ask that?  

GM:  Stevie, you have a history with this man.  What do you think about
what he did earlier tonight?

HSS:  The Russians have always done things their own way.  

GM:  What does that mean?

HSS:  Means I'm not sure I wanna jab a stick in a sleepin' Russian bear,
Gordster.

GM:  I see.  And what's Kostovich doing out here?!  There are no
managers allowed out here tonight!  The Championship Committee has made
that very clear, Bucky!

BW:  Maybe Ivan didn't get the memo.

[But he's certainly getting it now as the ringside officials are
ordering him back up the aisle.  Handing off his heavy chain and the
flag to Kostovich, Velikov embraces his comrade before rolling into the
ring...

...and getting caught coming in by Corax!]

GM:  Oh yeah!

BW:  These two aren't strangers!

GM:  They certainly aren't!

[The crowd roars as Corax delivers blow after blow after blow, backing
Velikov into the ropes.  Grabbing an arm, Corax fires him across the
ring...]

GM:  Whip by Corax...

[A big kick to the midsection stops Velikov short, leaving him doubled
up in the middle of the ring.  Corax steps forward, hooking a front
facelock...]

GM:  He's going for the DDT!  He's gonna-

[Craven springs forward, lashing out with a mafia style kick to the jaw
of Corax, a blow that completely wipes him out, dumping him back down to
the canvas.]

GM:  Ohh!  William Craven just saved Vladimir Velikov from that DDT!

BW:  And if I had to guess, that was more about doing damage to Corax
than it was to help Velikov.  Craven doesn't strike me as the kind of
guy out to make allies.

GM:  William Craven was a part of a very successful faction for a time
back in Los Angeles, Bucky.  Who knows what lurks in the hearts of the
dark and demented?

HSS:  I would think you'd be over calling people crazy.  Feeling awfully
brave with Monosso banned from the building tonight, huh?

GM:  That has nothing to do with it.

[Getting back to his feet, Velikov starts laying the heavy boots into
the downed Corax, kicking him repeatedly in the ribs and chest.  Leaning
down, he drags Corax off the mat, hammering him with a forearm behind
the ear that sends Corax spinning away towards the ropes...]

GM:  Wait a second... Velikov's trying to toss him!

[The crowd roars their support for Corax as Velikov tries to upend him
over the ropes to the floor...]

BW:  And if you're Supernova or Tyler Lee in the back hoping to have an
ally in there when you hit the ring, you're getting real nervous at this
point.  

GM:  Corax has his arms wrapped around the ropes.  It'll be real hard to
get him over the top like that.  

HSS:  Velikov's certainly trying though, putting those big Russian
muscles behind it.  I heard he used to drag plows through the fields of
Siberia before he was trained to be a wrestler.

GM:  That... doesn't sound right.

HSS:  You calling Ivan Kostovich a liar?

GM:  Well, no, but-

[Gordon is spared trying to dig deeper out of the hole by the fans'
counting.]

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

"BZZZZZZZZ!"

[A big whoop is heard as the Louisville Slugger, Tyler Lee, comes
charging down the aisle towards the ring.  He sprints down the aisle,
diving headfirst under the bottom rope...

...and drills Vladimir Velikov with a hooking blow to the ribs!]

GM:  Ohh! 

BW:  And there's no love lost here, Gordo.

GM:  There certainly isn't!

[Lee spins Velikov around, rocking him with two big right hands to the
skull.]

GM:  And this turns the tide against Velikov for sure!  Now he's got Lee
AND Corax in there looking to get him over the top to the floor and out
of this match before we can see Kolya Sudakov or Sultan Azam Sharif.

BW:  It's gonna be a long, long time before we see Sharif, Gordo.  Don't
forget that he won that battle royal back at The Main Event to earn the
#30 slot tonight and that could be HUGE.  Coming in at thirty - and
KNOWING you're coming in at thirty - completely changes your
preparations for a match like this.  All of these guys have been
training for a marathon but Sharif?  Sharif only had to train for a
sprint, daddy.

GM:  It could certainly play a big role in the outcome of this match. 
You're definitely right about that.

[With the Louisville Slugger hammering away at Velikov in the corner,
William Craven simply stands and watches from the opposite corner.]

GM:  And there are times that Craven just doesn't seem interested in
getting involved in this match, Bucky.

BW:  It's a smart move.  Keep yourself fresh for when it really counts. 
You don't get extra points for eliminating people.  You could win this
whole thing and only eliminate ONE guy, Gordo!  Remember that!

GM:  Well, William Craven has already eliminated one man - perhaps the
favorite to win this whole thing, Alex Martinez, in the opening moments
of the match.  I'm still in shock over that - not to mention the arrival
of Jeff Matthews in the AWA - apparently either as the Dragon or yet
another of the Dragon's servants.  I'm not sure which one is true.

HSS:  Neither is Martinez.  Hahah.

GM:  Oh, that's hilarious.

[Lee drags Velikov off the mat, grabbing him by the arm, and flinging
him across the ring...

...where William Craven drops the Russian with a hard back elbow under
the chin!]

GM:  Ohh!  Craven didn't stay neutral there!

BW:  He didn't have much of a choice.  That redneck Tyler Lee threw
Velikov right into him.

[A fired up Lee moves across the ring, bending over to grab the downed
Velikov...

...and catching a brutal kick to the ear by Craven, knocking him flat!]

GM:  Good grief!

BW:  I don't think Craven liked being disturbed by Lee.

GM:  I guess not!  That was an absolutely savage kick to the ear!

[Craven pulls Lee off the mat, pushing him back against the ropes where
he tries to shove him over the top...

...but a double axehandle across the broad back of Craven by Corax
breaks up the attempt!]

GM:  Corax returns the favor for Lee saving him!  

BW:  Those two should team up to toss someone... but I'm not sure they
trust each other either, Gordo. 

GM:  Supernova is kind of the glue that holds that trio together and
without him out here, I'm not too sure that Lee and Corax might not beat
the heck out of each other at a moment's notice.

[Forming a temporary alliance, Lee and Corax whip Craven across the
ring, attempting a double clothesline...

...but the Motor City Madman runs right through it, hitting the far
ropes, and LEVELLING both men with a running double clothesline of his
own!]

GM:  Good grief!  Craven lays 'em both out!

[The crowd - distracted by the action - almost forgets to count.]

"FOUR!"
"THREE!"
"TWO!"
"ONE!"

"BZZZZZZZZ!"

[The crowd ERUPTS at the sight of a seven footer lumbering down the
aisle.]

GM:  Robert Donovan is the sixth man in this match!

BW:  And we're about fifteen minutes into this thing with only one
person having been eliminated.

GM:  Stevie, what does a seven footer like Donovan have to do to win
this thing?

HSS:  Stay in the middle of the ring and try not to tick anyone off. 
Seriously, he's a marked man in there.  They'll be lining up to get him
out of there so he needs to walk the neutral road.

GM:  I don't think that's what we'll see out of Donovan at all.  I think
he's going to be very aggressive here tonight.

HSS:  Hey, no one said he's smarter than he looks.

[Donovan promptly climbs over the ropes, promptly grabbing Corax by the
throat, hoisting him into the air...]


"THUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUD!"


GM:  CHOKESLAM!!  HE PLANTED HIM!!

[The big man spins around, grabbing Vladimir Velikov by the throat as
well...

...when Tyler Lee sprints past him, hitting the far ropes, rebounding
off!]

GM:  Here comes Lee!

[The fiesty Louisville brawler attempts a tackle...

...and runs right into a choke with Donovan's off hand!]

GM:  He's got Lee as well!

[The big man steps to the middle of the ring, powering both men into the
air, and driving them down to the canvas!]


"THUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUD!"


GM:  DOUBLE CHOKESLAM!!

[The crowd EXPLODES for the big offensive move as Donovan throws his
arms apart with a roar...

...and points a finger at William Craven.  Big cheer!]

GM:  Donovan's coming after Craven!

HSS:  He doesn't have much of a choice.  Craven's the only guy standing.
 But seeing this big man throw people around reminds me of something,
Gordo.  I'll tell ya who _won't_ do well tonight.  Supernova?  Forget
it.  He's already fought once tonight and he's not smart enough to come
in and pace himself.  He'll be hot for a couple of minutes and then
flame out.  The smaller guys will also have trouble tonight when you
look at how many big muscle-heads are in this year's field.  Guys like
the Lynches, Preston, Ubelmacht, their best bet is to stay away from
contact with the larger dudes until they wear down.

[Stalking towards the corner where Craven is leaning against the ropes,
Donovan goes in with guns blazing, rocking the Motor City Madman
repeatedly with right hands to his skull!]

GM:  Donovan's all over Craven - really taking it to him!

[Grabbing an arm, the seven footer hurls Craven hard to the opposite
corner where he staggers out...

...and gets elevated some ten feet or more into the air before crashing
down to the mat the victim of a huge backdrop!]

GM:  DONOVAN LAUNCHED HIM!  

[Donovan lifts a powerful arm, doing a spin to point to the entire
crowd.]

GM:  Robert Donovan has laid out all four men in the ring!  

HSS:  Is he "in it to win it?"

GM:  I would say that he is, yes!

[The seven footer turns around as Corax staggers up to his feet, rushing
forward...

...and CONNECTS with a big boot that sends the face-painted grappler
tumbling over the ropes to the floor!]

GM:  OHHH!  CORAX IS GONE!!

[Donovan angrily points down to Corax, shouting something in his
direction as he turns around...

...and gets caught with a martial arts style thrust uppercut into the
throat!]

GM:  Oh!  Craven caught Donovan!

[Gasping for air, Donovan stumbles back into the corner where Craven
pursues, laying in a few hard chops across the chest as Tyler Lee and
Vladimir Velikov have recovered enough to be trading punches on the
other side of the ring, trying to shove each other to the floor as the
countdown starts once again.]

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

"BZZZZZZZZ!"

[The crowd bursts into jeers as "Playboy" Johnny Casanova strides into
view, doing a quick twirl in a glittering red and blue full-length robe
that reads "PLAYBOY ENTERPRISES" across the back.  He shrugs off his
robe into the waiting arms of Big Mama who gives him a quick kiss before
he trots down the aisle, laying the badmouth on the ringside fans.]

GM:  Johnny Casanova is the seventh man in the 2011 Rumble - and that
can't be the kind of number he was hoping for, Stevie.

HSS:  Well, of course, it's not... but let's take a quick stroll down
Memory Lane.  Raphael Rhodes won the whole thing last year after
entering at Number Nine.  The year before, I came in at Number Twenty. 
So, you can win this thing coming from a number of different places.  If
Casanova can fight this thing smartly, he could still win it coming in
this early.

[Casanova scales the steps, climbing through the ropes...

...and popping Tyler Lee under the chin with an uppercut!]

GM:  Ohh!  Hard shot to the jaw by Casanova!  What's the key to someone
like Casanova winning this thing?

HSS:  This year, it's for him to last long enough for his employee, Jack
Holland, to join him.  If Casanova can stay in there maybe til the
twenty mark or so... last about a half hour... and THEN have Holland
come in to lay in some heavy stuff, that might be a gameplan that could
take him all the way, Gordo.

GM:  A pretty sound strategy.  You sound like you might be regretting
not taking part in the Rumble this year, Stevie.

HSS:  Nah.  I'm pretty good right here, Gordo.  Less painful.  Plus,
everyone knows that I'll take my shot at the gold when I'm good and
ready and won't need to survive twenty-nine other guys to get it.

GM:  Just like that?  The Championship Committee has no say in it?

HSS:  The Championship Committee likes ratings and dollar signs, Gordo. 
And I hate to say it but the ol' Hotshot brings in both by the
bucketloads.

[Casanova throws a few more right hands to the jaw of Lee, backing him
into the corner before gesturing for Tyler Lee to assist him.  A quick
cut across the ring shows William Craven openly choking Robert Donovan
with both hands as the big man attempts to struggle free.]

GM:  Craven's trying to strangle the air out of the seven footer.

BW:  An excellent strategy, Gordo.

GM:  How so?

BW:  Donovan needs a lot of air to keep all those big limbs movin'.  If
Craven can deny him some of that, he might slow 'im down.

HSS:  Brilliant, Bucky.  Couldn't have said it better myself.

[Craven steps back, grabbing the middle rope and slamming his shoulder
into the midsection of the seven footer.]

BW:  And this is the kind of move that'll take even more wind out of the
big man.  Craven may be a bit nutty but he's got a heck of a mind for
the in-ring side of things.

[A quick cut to the opposite side of the ring shows Casanova holding
down the ropes while Velikov tries to hoist Lee over them in a bodyslam
position.  The Louisville Slugger is desperately fighting it, wriggling
and flailing as he attempts an escape and the clock counts down...]

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

"BZZZZZZZZ!"

[The sound of a bullwhip cracking fills the air as "Dirty" Dick Bass
jogs through the curtain.  He is promptly ordered to give up his whip
before he makes his way down the aisle.]

HSS: Is it concerning to anyone else that he's named his bullwhip?  And
it's a woman's name, no less?  Not gonna lie, that kinda creeps me out.

GM:  Well, that whip is being surrendered right now to AWA officials.  

BW:  Not that he looks pleased by that.

[Bass jogs the rest of the way down the aisle after giving up Delilah,
rolling under the ropes.  As he gets to his feet, he rushes over towards
the two men trying to toss Tyler Lee...

...and promptly buries a right hand in the gut of Vladimir Velikov,
forcing him to drop Lee down to the mat.  Casanova tries to catch him
before he comes for him but Bass easily blocks a Casanova haymaker and
counters with one of his own, knocking the Playboy on his keyster!]

GM:  Ohh!  Hard right hand from "Dirty" Dick!

[Bass spins away from the downed Casanova, grabbing Velikov by the arm
and flinging him into the corner.  As the Russian staggers out, Bass
drops him with a well-placed right hand between the eyes!  A mild cheer
breaks out!]

GM:  Whoa!  I don't think anyone expected Dick Bass to come in there and
start handin' out right hands to Vladimir Velikov and Johnny Casanova,
Bucky!

BW:  It's every man for himself in there, Gordo.  You hit anyone you can
as often and as hard as you can.

[With Velikov and Casanova down, Bass stomps across the ring where
William Craven continues to hammer on Donovan...

...and spins the Motor City Madman around, jabbing a finger into his
chest.]

GM:  Good grief!  Bass is... well, I guess he's tougher than I thought!

BW:  The man means business.

HSS:  It takes guts to walk up to William Craven and jab him in the
chest, guys.  When Dick Bass told the world that he was waiting for
tonight, I think he meant it.  This might be his coming out party.

[Bass jabs his finger into the chest of Craven again, reading him the
riot act...

...and hocks a wad of spit into the face of the big man!]

GM:  Oh!  

HSS:  Did he just do what I think he did?

[Craven stares stoically at Bass, slowly lifting a hand to wipe the
spittle from his face.  He looks down at the hand, saliva dripping off
it...]


"SLAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[An EPIC slap across the face sends Bass falling backwards...

...and Craven jumps on his back like a madman, toppling him over to the
canvas where he promptly sinks his teeth into the scalp of Bass!]

GM:  Ahhh!  He's biting him, Bucky!

BW:  After he got spat on, I think Bass is lucky that this is all he's
doing to him.

[Rolling Bass to his back, Craven envelops him in a cloud of wildly
thrown blows - forearms, hammerfists, haymakers, overhead chops,
anything that his crazed mind can think of.]

GM:  Craven's all over him!  He's just mauling him on the canvas like a
rabid dog!

[Seeing Bass in trouble, Johnny Casanova opts to get some payback,
rushing in and delivering a stomp to the head.  He drops a second... and
a third... and a fourth...

...and then notices that Craven is no longer mauling Bass and is instead
staring right at him.]

GM:  Uh oh.

HSS:  Never get between a hungry animal and his prey, Gordo.

[Craven slowly rises, cocking his head to the side as he glares at
Casanova who at first begs off, raising his hands...

...and then extends one to the Motor City Madman.]

GM:  Casanova's trying to make friends with William Craven!

HSS:  Well, if it works, it's a helluva an idea.

BW:  And if it doesn't?

HSS:  Big Mama just inherited a bunch of money, yeah?  Anyone got her
number?

[Craven slowly reaches his hand out, clasping the hand of a
relieved-looking Casanova who grins broadly, nodding his head...

...and then turns towards the downed Dick Bass.

But Craven prevents him from turning.]

GM:  I think we've got a problem here.

[Craven suddenly pulls the hand up...

...and sinks his teeth into it!  A squealing Casanova leaps up and down,
crying in pain as the crowd begins to count down.]

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

"BZZZZZZZZ!"

[The sounds of Duran Duran's "Save A Prayer" kicks in to a mixed
reaction as Jonas Olrikke walks through the curtain.  He does a full
spin while moving down the aisle, allowing the fans to see all sides of
him as he heads towards the ring.]

GM:  Jonas Olrikke's yet another man who decided to come back from the
realm of retirement for a shot to get inside this ring tonight and
battle for a shot at the National Title.  You can bet Olrikke's stay in
the AWA would be extended for sure if he wins this match.

BW:  From the sound of what he said earlier tonight, I think he may be
sticking around to take a shot at your old buddy, James Monosso!

[Olrikke rolls under the bottom rope and promptly delivers a boot into
the gut of a flabby Casanova.  The Swede looks disgusted at Casanova who
leans against the ropes, clutching his rolls of tubbiness...

A few feet away, Tyler Lee and Vladimir Velikov have tangled up again,
taking turns slamming each other's head into the top turnbuckle.]

GM:  We've got seven men inside the ring, Bucky - and the next man in
will the Number Ten.

BW:  A third of the way through the dance.

GM:  And still some very strong contenders to come in this.  We have yet
to see Eric Preston, Supernova, Kolya Sudakov, any of the Lynch
Brothers...

HSS:  The Longhorn Heritage Champion, Nenshou.

GM:  Anton Layton... Polemos... 

BW:  What about the Sultan Azam Sharif?

GM:  Hamilton Graham, perhaps the dark horse in this one.  And all of
those mystery spots that we're waiting to hear about as well.  Plus, we
still don't know if Sweet Daddy Williams will make it out here for his
spot!  A lot of top contenders still to come.

[Turning away from Casanova, Olrikke finds himself the victim of a right
hand from Robert Donovan that sends him staggering back...

...into a right hand from William Craven that knocks him back the other
way.]

HSS: Donovan, Olrikke and Craven all in the ring together.  What is
this, a Los Angeles reunion show?

GM: Were you not there briefly too?

HSS: No comment.

[Olrikke gets pinballed back and forth between the two brawlers for a
few moments before Donovan drops him with a standing clothesline...

...and then makes a bee-line for Craven, throwing haymakers at the big
man from Detroit yet again.]

GM:  Craven and Donovan get tangled up again if you can believe that!

BW:  Those two really want a piece of one another.

HSS:  Donovan was really hoping to get his hands on the Unholy Alliance
tonight in here so he's probably grabbing the closest thing to that
group of psychopaths.

GM:  Donovan seemed like he really wanted to get his hands on you
tonight as well.

HSS:  Figures that big oaf would be too dumb to understand that I'm not
in the match.  Maybe he'll come out here and try to get a piece of me
like Monosso did to you.  Am I protected out here when I'm announcing
like you?  Can Donovan get suspended if he takes a swing at me?

[Donovan, having floored Craven with a headbutt, points a finger at the
Hotshot outside the ring who responds by standing up, spreading his arms
wide...]

HSS:  I'm right here, big man.  Come and get me.

GM:  Please sit down, Mr. Scott.  You're out here as an announcer. 
Please try to respect that.

HSS:  I'm just sayin', Gordo.  If Donovan wants someone to show these
people what his glory days looked like, he's barking up the wrong tree.

[An angry Donovan approaches the ropes, shouting down at the Hotshot who
is at ringside.]

HSS:  There ain't nothin' standing in your way, big man!  Let's do this!

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

"BZZZZZZZZ!"

[The crowd ERUPTS at the sight of a bare-footed James Lynch jogging down
the aisle.]

GM:  James Lynch is Number Ten!

BW:  And this idiot is gonna go barefoot in a Battle Royal!

GM:  He did it back at The Main Event.  Why are you sounding surprised
now?

BW:  I'm just amazed at how stupid some people are.  Like Mama Lynch for
not buying some friggin' birth control after she realized how dumb the
first kid was!  Hahah!

GM:  Oh, you're a real riot, Bucky.

[James Lynch promptly hits the ring, scaling the ropes...

...and comes off the top with a crossbody, knocking Dick Bass down to
the mat!]

GM:  Ohh!  Down goes Dick Bass!  

[Staying on the big brawler, Lynch hammers him with right hands on the
mat to the roar of the crowd.]

GM:  You heard what Bass had to say about the Lynch family last week.

BW:  You mean the Stench Brothers?

GM:  Like I said, a real riot.

[James Lynch springs to his feet with a fistpump and a whoop as he turns
around, throwing a big right hand to the massive skull of Vladimir
Velikov, knocking him back into the ropes.  Lynch surges forward,
grabbing a leg and trying to upend Velikov over the ropes.  Soon, Tyler
Lee joins Lynch, grabbing the other leg.]

GM:  Lee and Lynch are trying to toss Velikov!

BW:  And this is a good time to mention that William Craven has been
inside that ring for coming up on twenty minutes now.  He was the first
man in - don't forget that.

GM:  Perhaps more surprising is that out of the ten men who have walked
down that aisle already, EIGHT of them are still in there!

HSS:  And that makes things tough in there, Gordon.  It starts getting
crowded - hard to throw a punch, limbs flying everywhere.  This is where
a match like this gets dangerous.  You can catch a finger in the eye, an
elbow in the back, you can step on someone's foot and twist your ankle. 


GM: Stevie, as a former winner of this match, give the fans some insight
as to what it takes to be successful in a competition like this.

HSS: It takes brains more than anything else, Gordo.  Yeah, you have to
be strong...you have to be in good shape...you have to catch a break
along the way...but none of that matters if things aren't working
properly between the ears.  Look at the three winners of this event -
Broussard, Rhodes, and myself.  Three wrestlers known for their
intelligence in the ring.  That's no coincidence, Gordo.

GM:  Uhh, Marcus Broussard didn't win the first Rumble.  

HSS:  No?

GM:  No.  Ron Houston did.

HSS:  Who?

GM:  Ron Houston.

HSS:  Sorry.  Not ringing any bells.

[Over the sounds of Bucky's snickering, we watch Johnny Casanova choking
Jonas Olrikke in the corner.  Nearby, William Craven is stomping Tyler
Lee under the ropes.  He drops to his knees, wrapping his hands around
the Louisville Slugger's throat.]

GM:  Fans, this match is getting difficult to call with this many people
in the- look out here!

[The camera cuts to show Velikov perilously close to being shoved out to
the floor by James Lynch...

...but a well-placed forearm smash to the back of the head by Dick Bass
breaks up the attempt.  He spins Lynch around, cracking him with a right
hand to the skull that knocks Lynch into the ropes.  Bass leans down,
grabbing both legs and hoisting them off the mat as Lynch's arms hook on
the top rope, trying to stay inside the ring.]

GM:  Dick Bass is trying to get James Lynch over the top!  There's some
bad blood between those two going back to their days in PCW.

[Bass is trying to get Lynch's legs over his head as the countdown
starts.]

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

"BZZZZZZZZ!"

[The crowd bursts into jeers as a deafening roar fills the air, followed
by the arrival through the curtains of the masked giant known as
Polemos.]

GM:  Good grief!  It's the God of War, Polemos!

[The seven footer stalks down the aisle, eyes wide behind his horned
mask.  He grabs the ropes as he hits the ring, stepping over the top
rope into the ring.  Robert Donovan shoves Tyler Lee down to the mat,
rushing towards Polemos...

...who catches the incoming Donovan with a gloved uppercut to the jaw!]

GM:  Ohh!  He caught him on the chin!

[A second one sends Donovan back into the corner where Polemos promptly
lifts his boot, pushing it against Donovan's throat.]

GM:  Polemos is choking him!

HSS:  And what did I say about Donovan being a marked man?  Now there's
TWO near-seven footers inside the ring!  The other seven men need to
band together right now and try to get AT LEAST one of them out!

GM:  This is the first time we're seeing Polemos in action and he's
physically dominating Robert Donovan at this point of the Rumble.

[A quick cut reveal James Lynch trying to get free from Bass' grip on
his leg, raising his right leg high and bringing it CRASHING down over
the skull of the man from Florida!  A second one breaks the hold,
allowing Lynch to drop back down to the mat.

The camera cuts back to Polemos choking Donovan...

...and then to Tyler Lee delivering a big axehandle across the back of
Polemos!]

GM:  Ohh!  Lee's going after the big man!

[The God Of War slowly turns, spotting Lee just hammering away with
rights and lefts...

...and gets grabbed by the throat!]

GM:  Oh no!  No!

[Polemos powerfull jerks his arm to the right, HURLING Tyler Lee over
the ropes and down to the floor below!]

GM:  OHH!  TYLER LEE IS ELIMINATED!!

BW:  He was the fifth man in but his night is over!

GM:  Polemos turns back to Donovan, hooking his throat with both hands
now!

[With Donovan trapped in the corner, James Lynch moves in, throwing a
hooking right hand to the body to break it.]

GM:  Nice shot by Lynch to break the hold and-

[As soon as Polemos turns around, James Lynch hooks a clawhold on him!]

GM:  CLAW!!  THE IRON CLAW!!

BW:  And God of War or not, that'll bring him down!

GM:  Polemos is trapped in the Iron Claw - the family trademark of the
Lynches!

[The God of War struggles against it, trying to find an escape...

...and blindly wraps his hand around the throat of Lynch in response!]

GM:  Look at this!

HSS:  It's the Claw versus the Choke!  

GM:  That choke is illegal but-

[Polemos tries to hoist James Lynch off the mat...

...but Lynch simply turns up the heat on the claw, taking Polemos down
to a knee.]

GM:  My stars!  The Iron Claw has brought the God of War to his knees!

[And suddenly, Jonas Olrikke is in the middle of it, shoving James Lynch
aside to hook a side headlock, throwing right hands to the skull of the
masked man...

...who after a few moments, rises to his feet, holding Olrikke in the
air!]

GM:  He picks up Olrikke!  Olrikke was-


"THUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUD!"


GM:  He tossed him!  Polemos tossed him halfway across the ring like an
anvil throw!


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

"BZZZZZZZZ!"

[The buzzer sounds just as Dick Bass shoves Vladimir Velikov over the
ropes, knocking him down to the floor below.]

GM:  Whoa!  Bass eliminates Velikov and-

[The crowd EXPLODES in jeers!]

GM:  It's "Dead End" Derek Martin!

HSS:  Who?

GM:  You know very well who it is, Stevie.  This is the man who claims
he'll win the Rumble, win the National Title, and then take the title
"home" with him.

HSS:  Ah, yes... I knew he sounded familiar.

GM:  Somebody's gotta stop this man, Bucky.  And I'm not sure I care who
it is.

BW:  He had a good point earlier.  Would you really prefer to see
someone like William Craven or Anton Layton win the Rumble over Derek
Martin?

GM:  Considering what he's threatening, I think I would, yes.

[Martin arrogantly walks the aisle, mocking the AWA faithful as he
approaches the ring, diving under the ropes...

...rushing across the ring, and promptly HURLING Vladimir Velikov over
the ropes to the floor while he was trying to send out Dick Bass!]

GM:  OHH!  MARTIN ELIMINATES VELIKOV!!

BW:  You sound so surprised, Gordo.  The man is 6'7, 265!  He can have
quite the impact on this match...

[And he promptly proves Bucky correctly as he boots Robert Donovan in
the midsection, hooking a front facelock that he quickly turns over,
leaping into the air, and JAMMING the back of Donovan's neck down onto
his shoulder!]

GM:  OHHH!  

BW:  He calls that The End - and if he can manage to hoist Donovan's
large body off the mat, it may be the end for the big man right here
tonight in this Rumble.

[Martin grabs two hands full of Donovan's hair, trying to haul him to
his feet off the mat.  He's struggling to get the big man off the canvas
when he looks up...

...and spots Johnny Casanova standing across from him, hands on hips,
glaring a hole through him.  He straightens up, releasing Donovan to let
him slump back down to the mat.  Martin points a threatening finger at
Casanova, warning him to stay back.  He arrogantly chuckles.]

"I'll even give you the first shot, old man."

[Martin slowly turns, exposing his back to Casanova...

...and finds Dick Bass, James Lynch, and perhaps surprisingly Jonas
Olrikke staring him down.  The crowd begins to roar at the sight of the
interloper being confronted.]

GM:  Derek Martin may be wishing he hadn't said some of the stuff he
said tonight, Bucky!

BW:  He's in hostile territory and the entire AWA is standing up to him!

[Martin shouts at the three men staring him down, spinning away...

...and running right into Polemos who wraps a hand around his throat!]

GM:  CAUGHT!  THE GOD OF WAR HAS HIM BY THE THROAT!!

[The mighty monster from the Unholy Alliance powerfully lifts Martin
into the air, holding him high for a moment...

...and DRIVING him down to the canvas, knocking the wind from the
arrogant invader!]

GM:  What a chokeslam by Polemos!  

HSS:  They should pull Martin's punk rear end off the mat, chuck him
out, and sending him running back to Canada with his Maple Leaf tucked
between his legs  before he knows what hits him.

[Polemos leans down, perhaps intending to do exactly that...

...but Jonas Olrikke takes advantage of the moment, driving the point of
his elbow down into the back of Polemos' neck, causing him to snap up
and stumble back into the ropes.]

GM:  I don't quite get Jonas Olrikke's sudden dislike for the Unholy
Alliance.  I know he explained it before he came out here but-  ohh! 
What a right hand to the jaw by Polemos!

[Olrikke crumples backwards to a seated position on the mat.  Covering
his face, he quickly scoots backwards into the buckles...

...and gets CREAMED with a running knee to the mush by William Craven!]

GM:  OHHH!  The one place on Jonas Olrikke's body that he absolutely
DESPISES getting hit and he just got smacked there twice in a matter of
mere moments!

[Olrikke slumps down to a fetal position as Craven stomps away at him
and the crowd begins the countdown anew.]

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

"BZZZZZZZZ!"

[The crowd EXPLODES at the sight of Travis Lynch jogging down the aisle
towards the ring!]

GM:  The second member of the Lynch family to join the fray here tonight
- Travis Lynch checks in at unlucky #13!

HSS:  Hey, I wouldn't be too bummed out to draw #13 - you're almost
halfway home.  Of course, Travis Lynch isn't exactly the sharpest knife
in the drawer.  He may not even know how many people are in the match.

GM:  One of Texas's favorite sons, Travis Lynch was none too happy about
missing out on the last spot in the 10-man tag match last week,
especially after what you did with it.

HSS: Well, Lynch better get used to disappointment because he's about to
have a lot of it tonight.  That's the problem with guys like this whose
dads used to be pretend legends and ran their own promotions.  They get
everything handed to them on a silver platter and expect the world to
give 'em more.  This ain't PCW, kid, this is the AWA and your name
doesn't mean a thing here.

[The muscular and good-looking Lynch dives under the bottom rope, coming
to his feet to drill Dick Bass in the ribs with a boot, breaking up an
attempt to muscle his brother, James, over the top.]

GM:  And immediately, Travis goes to help his older brother.  This is
one of those things that'll help these Lynch boys tremendously here
tonight, Bucky.  They will keep on helping each other out of a jam.

BW:  They will - until it becomes time to stab each other in the back.

GM:  I have a hard time imagining that.

BW:  People will do anything if it means the National Title - ask the
man sitting next to us.

HSS:  Touche, Buckthron.

GM:  With James back on his feet now, the Lynch boys are going to work
on Dick Bass up against the ropes...

[With a little bit of clear space, the Lynches fire Bass across the
ring...

...and take him down with a nicely-executed double dropkick!]

GM:  Nice double dropkick - it's no Rockstar Express but-

[In the corner, the crowd is buzzing as Polemos has Robert Donovan
halfway over the top rope to the floor...]

GM:  Donovan's in some trouble again... and here comes Casanova to help!

[The Playboy pitches in, grabbing Donovan's leg to try and tip him over
the top...

...but Polemos cuts off his attack, spinning to drill Casanova between
the eyes with a right hand that sends him toppling backwards.]

BW:  Boy, Casanova really could use Holland in there.  Every time he
tries to help out, he gets knocked flat.

[Jonas Olrikke suddenly sprints across the ring, leaping up into the
air, and grabbing a loose headlock on Polemos to throw a series of right
hands to the skull to the cheers of the crowd!]

GM:  What in the world has gotten into Olrikke?

[The camera cuts to Travis Lynch unloading on Dick Bass near the ropes,
hammering him over and over with right hands to the jaw as we spot James
Lynch in the background delivering chops to the chest of Derek Martin.]

GM:  This is breaking down into individual battles all over the ring
and-

[With his back turned, Travis Lynch gets grabbed from behind by William
Craven who pulls him back by the hair...

...and then SLAMS the point of his elbow down into Lynch's face,
knocking him down to the canvas as the countdown begins again.]

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

"BZZZZZZZZ!"

[As the buzzer sounds, all eyes turn to the entrance to see the arrival
of Louis Matsui, giving final instructions to Engel Ubelmacht before the
German jogs down the aisle.]

GM:  It's the one-man Luftwaffe on his way dow-


"THUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUD!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[The crowd responds to Craven hooking Travis Lynch around the head and
neck, powering him into the air, and driving him down with an incredibly
brutal looking uranage slam!]

HSS:  Ohh!  Where was his big brother that time, Gordo?

[Craven stands tall over Travis...

...when a well-placed dropkick to the mush by James puts Craven back
against the ropes.  James springs back to his feet, throwing a barrage
of rights and lefts to the head and torso of the Motor City Madman.]

GM:  You were saying?

HSS:  Well, sure.  NOW he shows up.  A little late to keep his brother
from getting put down.

[Upon reaching the ring, Ubelmacht quickly scales the ropes...

...and leaps off, catching the mighty Polemos squarely in the chest with
a dropkick off the top!]

GM:  Ohh!  He goes right after the one of the biggest dogs in the fight!

[Ubelmacht springs up, grabbing Johnny Casanova's hair from behind and
swinging him around into a European uppercut.

A quick cut of the camera finds James Lynch throwing another dropkick,
this one toppling Craven over the top!]

GM:  CRAVEN'S GONE!  CRAVEN'S-

BW:  No, no!  He landed on the apron!  Both feet have to touch the
floor!

[James Lynch seems determined to make that happen, driving right hands
into the skull repeatedly...

...and then with a shout, locking in the Iron Claw!]

GM:  He's got the Claw on Craven!  Craven's out on the apron trapped in
the Iron Claw and... guys, if he passes out from this, he'll be
eliminated!  He'd hit the floor and be out of this thing!

[Lynch's hand goes white from the level of pressure he's putting on the
temples of the big man, hollering as he does so.  The crowd roars for
the show of the Lynch family legacy as Craven clings to the ropes with
his left arm while wildly flailing with his right, looking for a way out
of the dangerous hold...

...and finds one in the form of Dick Bass who comes up from behind James
Lynch, reaching down between his legs, and hoisting James Lynch over the
ropes and down to the floor, just narrowly missing taking Craven with
him who clings to the ropes with both arms now!]

GM:  Ohhh!  James Lynch is gone!

HSS:  In at ten, gone at fourteen.  I told you these Lynch kids weren't
ready for this.

GM:  Nine men remaining in the ring and we are just moments away from
Number Fifteen - the halfway mark.

["Dirty" Dick Bass decides to go for a two-for-one, hammering the point
of his elbow down on the crown of Craven's skull, trying to knock the
wildman from his perch on the apron.  He hooks a loose side headlock,
battering the head with right hands...

...which gives Robert Donovan a big idea, surging forward!]

GM:  BOOOOOOOT!

[The seven footer throws a big boot aimed at the skull of Dick Bass...

...who just happens to sidestep it barely, causing the kick to crash
into the face of William Craven, a blow that knocks the big man off the
apron and down to the floor in a heap!  HUGE CHEER!]

GM:  DONOVAN KNOCKS CRAVEN OUT!!

BW:  And that's big, Gordo!  William Craven, the man who shocked us all
by eliminating Alex Martinez at the start of the match, is outta here! 
It took three men to get him out in total but in the end, he's gone...

HSS:  Which makes Donovan the dude who has been in there the longest
now.  Craven lasted about twenty-five minutes... impressive.  Now
Donovan can say he's been in there for about sixteen or so.  He should
have plenty of gas left in that tank for... oh, another minute or so. 
The big oaf.

GM: We're down to eight men in the ring but we'll be joined soon by-

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

"BZZZZZZZZ!"

[The crowd jeers at the sight of "Gentleman" Jack Holland jogging down
the aisle towards the ring.]

GM:  Holland's number fifteen!

HSS:  Not exactly the best that Casanova could've hoped for but with the
way Ubelmacht is hammering him in the corner, he'll take what he can get
right now, I assure you.

[Holland slides headfirst under the bottom rope, strides across the
ring, grabs Ubelmacht by the back of the trunks...

...and HURLS him over the ropes!]

GM:  Whoa!  Whoa!

BW:  I knew this guy'd have an immediate impact!

GM:  Jack Holland just eliminated Engel Ubelmacht who - what was that? 
Under two minutes?

BW:  Just a little bit over, I think.  But Stevie's right.  In a fight
like this, the little guys are a little bit overmatched.  A Rumble just
ain't Ubelmacht's game.

[Holland grabs Casanova by the shoulders, shaking him a bit to try and
get him back and going.  The "Gentleman" points to Jonas Olrikke who
once again is throwing right hands at the massive beast known as
Polemos.]

GM:  And here we go.  Holland and Casanova are going to work in tandem
here to try and do some damage.

[Holland spins Olrikke around, drilling him with a right hand that
knocks him down to the mat.  The Gentleman releases a barrage of stomps
to the head with Casanova cheering him on from nearby.

A camera cut finds Robert Donovan pinning Dick Bass into the corner,
hammering him with back elbows up under the jaw.  We can also spot Derek
Martin in this shot, lurking in the corner as he chooses his next move
wisely.]

GM:  Derek Martin's trying to find an easy target...

[And he chooses Travis Lynch, throwing the Texan back into the corner
and rocking him with a pair of right hands...

...until Lynch begins firing back, throwing haymakers of his own that
are quick to rile up the fans, bringing them to a roar until he uncorks
a discus punch that knocks Martin flat!]

GM:  Ohhhh, that didn't go so well for Derek Martin, guys.

HSS:  He has chosen... poorly.

[With Martin down, Travis Lynch reaches down to pull him up...

...and Martin jabs a finger into the eye, blinding Lynch temporarily as
he scrambles back to his feet, hooking a handful of trunks!]

GM:  No!

["Dead End" attempts to hurl Lynch over the ropes to the floor but the
Texan ain't goin' out like that, grabbing the ropes on the way over to
pull himself onto the apron.  Martin stands by the ropes, hammering the
recovering Lynch with fists to the skull...]

GM:  He's beatin' the heck out of Travis Lynch out there!

[Hollad and Casanova drag Olrikke out of the corner, double whipping him
across the ring...

...and knocking him flat with a joined-hands double clothesline!]

GM:  Ohh!  Down goes Olrikke to the canvas off the clothesline!

[A shout from Derek Martin to Johnny Casanova brings the Playboy and his
"manservant" over.  Casanova shouts at Holland, ordering him to knock
Travis Lynch off the apron.  The Playboy mimics the punches that Holland
is throwing, screaming "HARDER!" at him as the Gentleman tries to knock
Lynch down.  Holland pauses for a second, glaring at Casanova who rubs
the thumb and fingers together in the "money" gesture.  

With a sigh, Holland throws another trio of right hands, all landing
solidly but none of them enough to put Lynch down to the floor.  A
frustrated Derek Martin is standing by, shouting at Holland as well...

...who suddenly turns and DRILLS Martin with a right hand to a big cheer
from the crowd!]

GM:  Ohh!  Martin got rocked by Holland!

[And with his hands on the top rope, he becomes easy prey as Travis
Lynch tugs on the top rope strand, slingshotting Holland over the ropes
and down to the floor!  Big cheer!]

GM:  TRAVIS LYNCH ELIMINATES DEREK MARTIN!!

[The Lynch fans in the building are celebrating as the countdown starts
up.]

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

"BZZZZZZZZ!"

BW:  Hey!  The circus is in town!

GM:  It's Zyppo D. Clown, the number sixteen entry in the 2011 Rumble!

[The face-painted clown slowly makes his way down the aisle, pausing to
torment a few ringside fans with squirting flowers and hand buzzers.

Inside the ring, we find Jonas Olrikke hammering Johnny Casanova with
right hands to the gut!  Soon, Jack Holland saves his employer with a
double axehandle across the back.  He spins Olrikke around, drilling him
with an elbowsmash to the bridge of the nose, and fires him across with
a whip...

...into a choke from Polemos!]

GM:  Polemos has got Olrikke!  The God of War has got Olrikke and-

[And the crowd jeers as Polemos simply shoves Olrikke over the top rope
and down to the floor!]

GM:  Ohh!  Olrikke's gone!  

HSS:  I hate to say it, Gordo... but that's kinda what he gets for
running his mouth in the Unholy Alliance's direction and not being able
to back up what he's saying.

GM:  Not being able to- I can't believe you, Stevie Scott!  Fans, we're
down to seven men in the ring...

BW:  Well, six really.  Zyppo's still playing with the crowd.

GM:  He's taking his sweet time in getting down to that ring.

HSS:  Can you blame him?  If I was in this thing, I just might hire a
tour guide to point out all the great sights here in the Reynolds Center
before I got to the ring.  It'd be a lovely outing.

[Dick Bass is hammering Robert Donovan in the corner with hard right
hands while Johnny Casanova has walked across the ring, chest all puffed
up...

...and SLAPPED Polemos across the face!  The crowd roars in response!]

GM:  Is he crazy?!

BW:  Maybe just suicidal!

[Polemos rises straight up, glaring down through his mask at Casanova
who is shouting at him now.]

"Ya think ya scare me, bub?  Ya think you're a big monster of some
kind?"

[Casanova laughs in his face.]

"Get him, Jack."

[The order to Jack Holland goes unanswered.]

"Jack?"

[And as Casanova turns his head, he finds Jack Holland trapped in the
corner by Travis Lynch who is laying into him right chops across the
chest.  Holland, seeing Casanova in danger, struggles to escape...

...but it's not quick enough as Polemos does a full spin, DRILLING
Casanova with a spinning backfist that sends him tumbling over the ropes
and down to the floor to a huge cheer!]

GM:  CASANOVA'S GONE!

BW:  Jack Holland's gonna get fired for that!  Where was he?

GM:  Are you blind, Bucky?  Travis Lynch is - ohh!  Well, he WAS working
over Holland in the corner but Jack Holland just knocked him flat with
an elbow to the jaw.  

[Holland walks across the ring, looking down at Casanova who is starting
to stir, screaming up at the Gentleman from inside the ring.  The
Playboy shouts back.]

GM:  And obviously, Johnny Casanova blames Jack Holland for what just
happened.

BW:  Of course he does!  And why shouldn't he?!

GM:  Casanova's the one who went and picked a fight with Polemos!

[Speaking of which...]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  BIG BOOT!!  A RUNNING BIG BOOT FROM POLEMOS SENDS HOLLAND TO THE
FLOOR AS WELL!

[Casanova is right there to verbally berate Holland for that as well as
Polemos tugs at a glove, looking for his next victim.]

GM:  We're down to five - and I can't believe that Zyppo's not in the
ring yet!  What in the world is he doing?

[A cut to ringside finds Zyppo playing a creepy game of pattycake with a
barely legal young lady.

We quickly cut back where Robert Donovan is battling back against Dick
Bass, drilling him between the eyes with a headbutt which turns him
around...]

GM:  BOOM!

[A discus punch from Travis Lynch is uncorked, sending Bass over the
ropes and down to the floor below!]

GM:  BASS IS GONE!!

BW:  And then there were four!

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

"BZZZZZZZZ!"

[The crowd cheers a bit at the sight of young Ricky Armstrong jogging
down the aisle.]

GM:  Ricky Armstrong!

BW:  He's one of the mystery men?

GM:  No, no he's not.  We're being told now that Ricky Armstrong is a
last minute substitution for Sweet Daddy Williams who will be unable to
compete here tonight in this match.

HSS:  Probably a good idea.

GM:  And why is that?

HSS: Sweet Daddy Williams has a few good qualities, I'll admit, but
conditioning ain't one of them.  Considering he's already fought once
tonight, he'd be out of breath before he gets to the ring.

GM:  I happen to think that Sweet Daddy Williams would have stood a
fantastic shot of winning this thing here tonight - following in his
former partner's, that being you, footsteps.  You don't think he'd have
a sound strategy?

HSS:  As his former partner, I can attest to his strategy.  A, shake his
fat butt.  B, throw some punches.  C, get tossed out on his
aforementioned fat butt.  D, go to Denny's and continue to increase the
size of aforementioned fat butt.

GM:  Would you stop?

[Young Ricky Armstrong is all full of fire as he races past the
still-at-ringside Zyppo and hits the ring hard, throwing right hands to
everyone in sight.  He quickly scales the middle rope, leaping off with
a double axehandle across the back of Robert Donovan, sending the seven
footer tumbling down to a knee...]

GM:  Wow!  Young Ricky Armstrong, fresh out of the Combat Corner, just
dropped the veteran, Robert Donovan.

HSS:  Let's not give him his Hall of Fame ring just yet.

GM:  I wasn't saying that at all.  In fact, I was-

[Suddenly, the crowd bursts into a buzz as someone hurdles the
barricade.]

GM:  AGAIN?!

[The crowd bursts into jeers upon realizing it's "Red Hot" Rex
Summers...

...who rushes in behind Travis Lynch who is trying to get one of
Polemos' massive legs off the mat, grabbing him by the trunks, and
HURLING the Texan over the ropes to the floor!]

BW:  LYNCH IS OUT!

GM:  Rex Summers just interfered in the Rumble and he just eliminated
Travis Lynch!

HSS:  And ol' Jack Lynch is absolutely steaming in the locker room you
can bet.  He'll be all sorts of fired up when he finally gets out here
after seeing both his brothers get tossed before he even gets to the
ring.

[Armstrong is hammering away on Donovan with rights and lefts as the big
man regains his feet...

...and DRILLS Armstrong with a headbutt, knocking him flat.  Donovan
shakes his head at the youngster down on the mat, muttering something to
himself as he leans over, pulling Armstrong up to his feet...]

GM:  Donovan's bringing Armstrong up and-

[...and hoisting him overhead!]

GM:  WHOA MY!!  Military press!

[Donovan softly tosses the young man over the ropes, crashing down
pretty hard to the floor to the cheers of the crowd.]

HSS:  Oh yeah, Armstrong really lit the world on fire there, Gordo.

GM:  It's the kid's second professional match in the AWA - can we give
him a break?

[And as Donovan slowly turns, spotting Polemos standing in the center of
the ring, letting loose a loud roar as he throws his arms apart, the
seven footer stomps towards the masked giant!]

GM:  Oh yeah!  This is one of the things these people are here to see
tonight!

[Donovan doesn't waste a moment, lifting a big right hand to blast
Polemos in the jaw.  The masked monster fires back, hitting a gloved
uppercut up under the chin!]

GM:  We've got a seven footer slugfest!

[The crowd is roaring as the two big men throw the heavy bombs...

...and don't even notice Zyppo D. Clown rolling into the ring.  He
giggles visibly as he approaches the two from the side.  The punches
slow as the two monsters spot the new addition to the mix.]

GM:  Zyppo finally got in the ring.  It's about time.  But what in the
world is he doing?

HSS: Seriously, where did Watkins dig up this guy?  If I wanted to see
clowns, I'd go to Las Vegas.

[Zyppo slowly raises a hand, covering his mouth as he giggles...

...and then waves like a goofball at a glaring Donovan and Polemos.]

GM:  This isn't going to be-

[Donovan and Polemos each reach out, grabbing a handful of clown hair...

...and FIRE him over the ropes to the floor!  BIG CHEER!]

GM:  THE CLOWN IS GONE!!

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

"BZZZZZZZZ!"

GM:  We're down to two men as the buzzer sounds for Number Eighteen!

[All eyes turn to the entrance to see who it is...

...and find absolutely no one.]

GM:  That's odd.  Where is the eighteenth man in the ring?

HSS:  Maybe they changed their mind.

GM:  With these two monsters in there, I can't say I'd blame 'em.

[With the clown out of the way, Polemos and Donovan are right next to
the ropes hammering away at each other again.  A well-placed headbutt by
Polemos staggers Donovan as the giant winds up...]

GM:  Standing clothesli- ducked by Donovan!

[And the big man spins, throwing a lariat of his own...

...that sends Polemos tumbling over the ropes, crashing down to the
floor!]

GM:  DONOVAN ELIMINATES POLEMOS!!  HE'S THE ONLY ONE IN THE-

HSS:  Excuse me, Gordo.

GM:  Huh?

[A loud "CLUNK!" is heard as "Hotshot" Stevie Scott leaps up on the
announce table, ripping off his sportscoat and t-shirt, throwing them
down to the floor as he steps through the ropes behind Donovan.]

GM:  Wait a second!  Stevie Scott's in the ring!  Stevie Scott is-

[A bundle of energy, Scott is jumping up and down, waving for Donovan to
turn around, poised and ready...]



"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[And CONNECTS with a Heatseeker that sends Donovan over the ropes,
crashing down to the thinly padded concrete floor with a thud!]

GM:  OHH!  DONOVAN IS GONE!!

[Stevie Scott turns to the announce table, all grins as he winks as the
camerman.]

GM:  I can't believe it!  Stevie Scott is number eighteen!  He was one
of the mystery entrants all along!  

BW:  And what a great position to land in!  He said it earlier - he won
this thing two years ago from a position very similar to this.  He could
very well win it again right here tonight!

GM:  And what in the world is Juan Vasquez thinking right now?

BW:  He's thinking that he hopes Raphael Rhodes and MAMMOTH Mizusawa
aren't the other two mystery entrants!

[A smirking Stevie Scott leans against the ropes, chuckling as a furious
Robert Donovan is led back up the aisle, cursing and swearing in the
former two-time World Champion's direction.]

GM:  And that obviously has put Robert Donovan in a bit of a foul mood
here tonight in Tulsa.

[The Hotshot mockingly looks for a watch that's not there, tapping it
and holding it up to his ear.]  

GM:  Stevie Scott has shocked the entire crowd here in the Reynolds
Center - heck, the entire world!  I don't think any of us thought he was
going to be in this match here tonight...

BW:  Well, except Robert Donovan... ironically.

[Scott moves to the corner, propping his legs up on the top rope to lay
across the ropes.  He puts his hands behind his head, fake yawning as he
waits for the next man to hit the ring.]

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

"BZZZZZZZZ!"

[All eyes turn to the entrance yet again...

...and this time the crowd goes NUTS!  The sounds of the main theme to
"Jesus Christ Superstar" fill the air.]

GM:  IT'S GARY BRIGHT!  THE GOLD BOMBER!

BW:  What the- it's been months since we've seen him!

GM:  It's been well over a year, Bucky!  

[The camera cuts to Stevie Scott who looks absolutely stunned.]

GM:  And Stevie Scott looks like someone just walked over his grave!

BW:  If you recall, Gary Bright was the first member of the Southern
Syndicate alongside Stevie Scott... and he was the first one shown the
door by Scott and company!

GM:  Gary Bright was taken out of action - we just looked it up - since
December of 2009!  He was assaulted by the Southern Syndicate, kicked
out of the group, and ultimately put on the shelf with a broken arm.

[Bright pauses just beyond the entrance, ripping his t-shirt off, and
throwing it down as he strikes a double bicep pose.  Stevie Scott looks
to be recovering from the shock, striking a defensive position as Bright
climbs up on the apron, stepping through the ropes...]

GM:  Stevie's on the attack!

[Catching Bright on the way in, Scott drills him across the back with a
few forearms...

...but Bright simply stands up, smirking at the Hotshot before striking
a double bicep pose...]

GM:  Look at the arms!  This guy is a beast!

[Bright lunges forward, drilling Scott with a running clothesline!]

GM:  Ohh!  The Gold Bomber lays him out!

BW:  Well, that's two of our mystery slots, Gordo.  Who will be the
final one?

GM:  I haven't the slightest clue.

[Bright picks up the rising Stevie Scott under the armpits, physically
HURLING him several feet across the ring into the nearest set of
turnbuckles.  Bright charges in, smashing an elbow over the top of the
Hotshot's skull!]

GM:  The Gold Bomber is laying in the heavy hits on the Hotshot... big
forearm smashes across the chest.  This guy is solid muscle, Bucky.

BW:  It's been a long time since we've seen him but somehow he looks to
be in even better shape since the last time we saw him, Gordo.

GM:  Eighteen months on the shelf is a long time to lift weights, Bucky.

[Scott stumbles out of the corner, getting hoisted into the air as
Bright pivots and DRIVES him down to the mat with a thunderous slam!]

GM:  POWERSLAM!!  That'll knock the wind out of the former champion!

[Bright stands over the downed Scott, lifting his left arm up in a side
bicep pose, curling it a few times for the fans...

...and then leaps straight up, sailing high into the air before SMASHING
his elbow down into the heart of the Hotshot!]

GM:  Good grief!  That's a ton of impact there!

[Dragging Scott off the mat by the hair, Bright scoops him up...

...and sends him ALL THE WAY UP!]

GM:  Military press by Gary Bright!

[With a grin and a nod, Bright lowers Scott so that his stomach hits the
top of Bright's head...

...and then presses him back up!]

GM:  My stars, what power this man has!

[A second repetition is done as Bright draws close to the ropes...

...and Scott reaches down, raking his fingers across the eyes of Bright,
dropping down to a knee behind him where he slips his arm between the
legs of the Gold Bomber, lifting up...]


"OHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  Bright just got eliminated!

[The crowd groans as Stevie Scott throws his arms in the air, smacking
the mat in celebration.]

GM:  Stevie Scott escaped that press slam and he just eliminated the
Gold Bomber!

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

"BZZZZZZZZ!"

[The twentieth man entering the 2011 Memorial Day Rumble makes the crowd
wait a moment...

...and then waddles out from behind the curtain, a cloth mask over his
head as he staggers towards the ring with his manager shouting final
instructions down the aisle.]

GM:  Oh my stars!

[The look on Stevie Scott's face tells a long ol' tale.]

GM:  EBOLA ZAIRE IS NUMBER TWENTY!

[One of the most savage men in the history of the sport makes a bee-line
for the ring, climbing the steps before stepping into the ring...

...and promptly stopping an advancing Hotshot cold with a taped set of
fingers driven into the windpipe!]

GM:  Ohh!  He caught him in the throat!

[Grabbing a handful of the gasping Scott's hair, Zaire promptly decides
it seems like a good idea to sink his teeth into his forehead.]

GM:  Ahhh!

BW:  This is the kind of action we've gotta get used to if Ebola Zaire
is in the AWA full-time - and that's all thanks to Percy Childes!  The
Unholy Alliance has added a terrifying asset to their ranks, Gordo.

GM:  They certainly have.

[Pushing Scott back to the corner, Zaire rests his heavy frame against
the former champion's chest, then steps slightly out...

...and SLAMS his weight back into the torso!]

GM:  Good grief!

[Zaire stumbles out of the corner, running a hand over his badly-scarred
forehead as Stevie Scott clutches his ribs before hopping up to the
middle rope.]

GM:  The Hotshot's gonna fight back!

BW:  He'd better!

[As Zaire turns around, waddling back in, Scott leaps off the ropes,
catching Zaire with what looks like a Thesz Press, knocking him down to
the canvas where he hammers away at the scarred forehead with right
hands to... the cheers of the crowd?]

GM:  The fans are rallying behind Stevie Scott against Ebola Zaire!

[Scott springs out of the mount, shouting something to the crowd who
roar in response...

...and Stevie proceeds to take the belt off his dress pants, folding it
over...]


"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  He whipped Zaire with his belt!

[Scott nods at the cheering crowd, moving around Zaire as the big man
tries to get back to his feet...

...and lashes him again!]

GM:  Good grief!  He's taking the flesh right off Zaire with the- 

[The crowd roars as Scott loops the belt around the throat of the rising
bloodthirsty beast, pulling back hard.]

GM:  He's choking him!  He's choking Ebola Zaire!

[Shockingly, the AWA faithful is roaring for this show of total violence
and savagery.  The camera closes in on Zaire, his tongue lolling out of
his mouth as he gasps for air.  Finally, the Hotshot breaks his grip,
throwing the belt down on the canvas as he shoves Zaire back down to the
mat.]

GM:  Stevie Scott has put down the Botswana Beast and somewhere in this
building, Percy Childes is losing his mind!

[Scott delivers a pair of hard stomps to the chest of Zaire before
turning towards the corner.  He points to the turnbuckles which sends
the crowd into another roar.]

GM:  Is Stevie Scott threatening to come off the top?

BW:  I don't-

[Stevie approaches the buckles...

...and then decides to rip the turnbuckle pad off the top one, throwing
it to the crowd.  He marches back to Zaire, hauling him up to a knee...]

GM:  He's gonna put the big man into that steel buckl-

[The crowd groans at the shot of Zaire slamming his own skull into
Scott's midsection.  Straightening up, Zaire CREAMS the former National
Champion with a headbutt that knocks him flat.  Nodding his head, Zaire
backs to the ropes, slowly bouncing off, winding up his right arm...

...and DROPPING a thunderous elbow down across the chest!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  That'll take all the wind out of Stevie Scott!  

BW:  He calls that the Meat Cleaver, Gordo!

GM:  A fitting name since Stevie Scott just got chopped in half by it! 
Over four hundred pounds crashing down on the ribs and sternum.  You can
bet that the Hotshot will be sucking wind for sure now.

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

"BZZZZZZZZ!"

[The crowd roars for the arrival of Jack Lynch - who quite frankly looks
pretty steamed as he jogs down the aisle towards the ring.]

GM:  Jack Lynch is Number Twenty-One... and you can bet he was real
hopeful that he'd find his brothers waiting for him when he came jogging
down the aisle.

BW:  The last ten is going to be all about that, Gordo.  Who has allies
left?  Sudakov will come out here with no Velikov.  He'll have Sharif
but do you really expect those two to work together?  In fact, the
Unholy Alliance is the only group with people still to come.  Zaire's in
there now but Layton and Nenshou should be coming soon.  And just like
I've been saying for weeks, that puts the Unholy Alliance in the
driver's seat.  How do they NOT win here tonight?

GM:  And if they don't win, how upset will Percy Childes and Anton
Layton be?

[Lynch dives headfirst under the ropes, springing to his feet...

...and tackling Ebola Zaire, knocking him back into the corner where
Lynch straightens up and tees off to the roar of the crowd!]

GM:  These two are no strangers, Bucky!

BW:  Jack Lynch and Ebola Zaire have had more than their share of
battles up and down the state of Texas - some nasty, bloody ones too.  I
remember seeing a dog collar match between those two where I thought
they'd both bleed out.

[Zaire fights back, flailing with hammerfist-style blows to the head,
neck, shoulders, face - whatever he can hit.  Lynch rears back a right
hand but Zaire just shoves his fingers into the throat!]

GM:  Goodness!  He loves those throat strikes!

[Grabbing Lynch by the hair, Zaire SLAMS his head into the turnbuckle
pad.  Spinning the Texan around, Zaire wraps both hands around his
throat, his eyes going wide as he strangles Lynch against the corner.]

GM:  He's choking the life out of him!  He's trying to-

[With Zaire's back to him, Stevie Scott has re-taken his feet, clutching
his ribs...

...and wrapped his belt around the savage's throat again, dragging him
off of Jack Lynch!]

GM:  Scott's choking him again!

[But this time, Zaire turns into the choke, throwing an uppercut that
knocks Scott back down to the mat.  A wide-eyed Zaire grabs the fallen
belt, winding up...]


"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  And now it's the Hotshot's turn to taste the leather belt!

BW:  This is turning into a Bunkhouse Stampede!

[Zaire winds up with the belt again...

...but Jack Lynch prevents him from using it, grabbing the belt before
he can swing it down.  The Botswana Beast spins around, tugging at the
belt as Lynch does the same]

GM:  A tug of war?

[But Lynch suddenly breaks his grip and pastes Zaire with a right hand
across the jaw!  A second one follows, staggering the monster...

...and a leaping elbow to the skull knocks him down to a knee!]

GM:  Jack Lynch has battered Zaire down to a knee...

[The crowd roars as Lynch holds up his right hand in the shape of the
Iron Claw.]

GM:  He's calling for the Claw!

[Grabbing the back of Zaire's head, Lynch prepares to put it on...

...and does!]

GM:  CLAW!  He locks in the Claw!

[Zaire's arms begin frantically swinging, trying to find a way out of
the hold.]

GM:  Lynch is trying to knock the big man out and-

[Stevie Scott crawls across the ring, ducking his head under the bottom
rope and grabbing something off the announce table...]

GM:  What in the world?

BW:  The Hotshot just grabbed something off the table - some kind of a
pouch!

GM:  He brought that pouch out here!  What is he-

[Scott digs into the pouch, producing a leather glove with what appears
to be metal studs on it.  He holds up a finger to his lips, telling the
crowd to be quiet as he slips the glove onto his hand...]

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

"BZZZZZZZZ!"

[The crowd EXPLODES at the sight of Eric Preston sprinting through the
curtain, not pausing for a moment as he clears the aisle in mere
seconds, diving headfirst under the bottom rope...

...and drilling a turning Stevie Scott with a dropkick on the button!]

GM:  Ohh!  Right on target!

[The Hotshot hits the mat, the leather glove still on his hand. 
Gesturing to Zaire, Preston gets Lynch to break the hold as they drag
his massive form over towards the ropes.]

GM:  Eric Preston and Jack Lynch are gonna try to toss out Zaire!

BW:  And what a lucky break for Preston to pull a number this high. 
Twenty-two?  If this kid can somehow manage to win this thing...

GM:  It wouldn't be the first time that Preston and Juan Vasquez have
met.  I'm sure we all remember that showdown between the two so many
months ago when Preston was fresh out of the Combat Corner.

[Preston pushes Zaire's upper body as Lynch grabs a leg, trying to hoist
it off the mat.  Across the ring, Stevie Scott rolls to his stomach...

...and very blatantly looks at the two fan favorites trying to clear
Zaire over the ropes before choosing to put his face back down on the
mat.]

GM:  Stevie Scott's playing possum!  He's got that - I'm going to
presume that's a loaded glove - he's got the glove on and he's trying to
lure someone in to a trap with it!

BW:  It's actually pretty brilliant.  He knows he can't get DQd so he's
introduced some equalizers into the match.  Plus, he doesn't want to
waste energy working over Zaire so he'll get lay here and pretend that
Preston's dropkick was a KO shot.

[Pushing the upper body of Zaire, Preston is grimacing.]

GM:  I don't know if they can get this guy out of there, Bucky.

BW:  They're gonna need more than the two of them to do it.  If Stevie
were helping, maybe.

GM:  Well, that's obviously not going to happen.  Stevie Scott has set
the bait for some kind of a trap out here...

[Jack Lynch gives up on the leg of Zaire, grabbing one arm as Preston
grabs the other.  Together, they send the big man waddling across the
ring to the far ropes...

...and stagger him with a pair of back elbows on the rebound!]

GM:  Ohh!  That one caught Zaire under the chin!

[With Zaire staggered, Lynch grabs him by the back of the head, trying
to hurl him over the ropes...

...but Zaire grabs the ropes with both arms, blocking a throw to the
floor.]

GM:  Zaire hanging on for dear life and...

[Preston spots Stevie Scott on the mat...

...and PUNT KICKS him in the ribs!]

GM:  Ohhh!

[Scott rolls over, clutching his ribs.  Preston leans down, grabbing the
leather glove and ripping it off the Hotshot's hand.  He throws it to
the floor before dragging the former champion to his feet.]

GM:  Preston hammers Scott back to the corner with some right hands...

[Grabbing the arm, Preston attempts a whip but Scott counters.]

GM:  Reversal!

[Spotting the exposed metal turnbuckle, Preston deftly leaps to the
middle rope, immediately springing back and catching a charging Hotshot
with an elbow under the chin!]

GM:  OHHH!  Preston with a back elbow out of nowhere!

[Preston regains his feet, moving to pull Scott up off the mat by the
hair.

The camera cuts to find Ebola Zaire holding a headlock on Jack Lynch,
repeatedly driving his thumb into the windpipe of Lynch, leaving him
down on a knee gasping for air.]

GM:  What a brute this guy is, Bucky!

BW:  You're a wrestling historian, Gordo.  You knew that before he
showed up here tonight.

GM:  Everyone's heard the stories - the legend of Ebola Zaire but until
you see him in action from a few feet away, the stories just don't do
him justice.  Much like, in a much different way, I believe the same
will happen when Hamilton Graham comes out here.  You've heard the
stories, you've heard the legend - but until you see him in person, it
just doesn't ring true.

BW:  That may be about to happen 'cause these idiots are counting again.

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

"BZZZZZZZZ!"

[And as the buzzer sounds, the arena is filled with the sounds of a
woman screaming.  After a bit, Anton Layton comes jogging down the
aisle, already dressed to compete.  Layton heads straight to the ring,
rolling under the ropes...

...and physically shoves Ebola Zaire aside as he grabs Jack Lynch by the
hair, wheeling him around into the corner.  Layton drives a knee into
the midsection as the crowd jeers.]

GM:  And Anton Layton didn't waste any time going straight for Jack
Lynch.  We know that Layton's been having some issues with the Lynch
brothers dating back to James Lynch volunteering for that six man tag
match that Layton was in.

BW:  Did you see Layton just shove Zaire out of his way?  That guy's
nuts!

GM:  No news there for certain.

[Layton is hammering away viciously at Jack Lynch, battering him down to
a seated position in the corner where he switches to hard stomps to the
face...

...and then Ebola Zaire throws him aside before slamming his hooked boot
into the chest of Lynch, flattening him down to his back in the corner.]

GM:  The Unholy Alliance is actually fighting over who gets to beat up
Jack Lynch more!

[On the other side of the ring, Eric Preston has Stevie Scott up in
bodyslam position, trying to force him over the ropes to the floor.  The
crowd is buzzing in anticipation of another elimination as Preston grits
his teeth, trying to force the Hotshot a little bit higher.]

GM:  Seven men remaining in that locker room to come out here.  

BW:  And you're starting to get into that part of the night where the
people trotting down that aisle oughta have a big ol' grin on their
face.  Take Layton for instance.  Layton comes in at #23.  He could
potentially win this whole thing without being in the ring more than say
- twenty minutes?  Winning a shot at the National Title ain't bad for
twenty minutes of work, Gordo.

GM:  It certainly isn't.

[Layton and Zaire finally decide to work together, hauling Lynch to his
feet to whip him across the ring.  Layton charges in first, throwing
another knee into the torso.  Zaire follows, barreling across...

...but Lynch dives out of the way, causing Zaire to smash chestfirst
into the turnbuckles, staggering backwards and collapsing to the canvas!
 Big cheer!]

GM:  Jack Lynch avoids the charge!

[Layton tries to catch Lynch before he can rally but it's too late as
the Texan drills him with a haymaker to the jaw... and a second... and a
third.  Grabbing a handful of Layton's hair, Lynch tries to fire him
over the top but Layton rakes the eyes, blocking the effort.]

GM:  I thought he was going out there, Bucky!

BW:  I think everyone did.

[Grabbing two hands full of hair, Layton pastes Lynch in the back of the
skull with two hard headbutts.]  

GM:  Where the heck is Layton taking him now?

BW:  He's going towards that exposed buckle, Gordo!

[Using the hair, he drags him towards the exposed steel turnbuckle,
trying to drive his head in...

...but Jack brings up the boot, blocking the slam!]

GM:  He blocks it!  Lynch blocked the attempt to put him into the steel!

[Lynch throws an elbow back into the ample gut of Anton Layton, doubling
him up.  Grabbing an arm, he whips him to the opposite corner where he
stumbles back...

...and gets WHIPPED spinefirst into the steel!]

GM:  OHHH!  

[Layton howls with pain as he staggers out of the corner, getting
scooped up and slammed down to the canvas by Jack Lynch!]

GM:  Lynch with the bodyslam and...

[The crowd roars as he holds up the Iron Claw hand.]

GM:  And he's calling for the Claw on Layton!

[A dazed Prince of Darkness struggles to get off the canvas, clutching
the small of his back...]

GM:  Layton's trying to get-

[BIG CHEER!]

GM:  CLAW!!  LYNCH HOOKS IN THE CLAW!!!

[The crowd roars as Layton panicks, struggling against the hold as Lynch
pushes him back against the exposed steel buckle, applying the pressure
through his steel grip to Layton's temples...]

GM:  Layton's fighting it but Jack Lynch has got the hold in deep!


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

"BZZZZZZZZ!"

GM:  Who is Number Twenty-Four?

[The camera cuts down the aisle to reveal Ryan Faith jogging into view
to some cheers from the crowd.]

GM:  Ryan Faith is the twenty-fourth entry in the 2011 Memorial Day
Rumble!

[The camera cuts across the ring where Stevie Scott has escaped the
elimination attempt by Preston and is now hammering him while holding
him in a side headlock.]

GM:  Stevie's really doing a number on Preston there in the corner.

[Grabbing an arm, Scott fires Preston across the ring, the Combat Corner
vet ducking a backhand chop on the rebound...]

GM:  Preston off the far side...

[And Preston takes flight, catching Scott squarely in the chest with a
flying lariat!]

GM:  Ohh!  That'll do a number on the former champ!

[Preston quickly crawls to his feet, dragging Stevie up by the hair and
pushing him back against the ropes...

...where Ryan Faith reaches over the top rope, grabbing Preston around
the head and neck in a front facelock, trying to drag him over the ropes
to the floor.]

GM:  Look at that!  Faith's trying to pull out Preston without even
getting in the ring!

BW:  I'm not sure I've ever seen that before, Gordo. 

[Back on his feet, Ebola Zaire approaches the battle, reaching into his
boot before rising...]

GM:  What the- what's Zaire got in his hand?!

[The wildman swings his loaded right hand down in a stabbing motion,
catching Preston in the back.  A second blow drills Faith between the
eyes, knocking him down on the apron.]

GM:  Good grief!  He's got some kind of- it looks like a piece of steel!

[Zaire makes a move for the Hotshot, reaching out...

...but Stevie throws a one-two combo to the body before running like
hell out of Zaire's grasp, leaving the big man swinging at air.]

GM:  He's after the Hotshot!

[Zaire pursues, swinging his loaded hand back and forth as Ryan Faith
pulls himself to a knee on the apron, blood streaming down his
forehead.]

GM:  Whatever the heck Faith got hit with, it split him wide open!

BW:  You'd better get used to it, Gordo, 'cause with Zaire around, our
shows might start to get sponsored by the local blood bank.

GM:  And can you believe it, Bucky, the next man in will be number
twenty-five - just six more to go in this year's Rumble!

BW:  Time flies when you're watching people get beat up.

[Zaire circles back around, failing to have grabbed the Hotshot...

...and reaches over the ropes, pulling Ryan Faith up by the hair to his
feet.  Zaire pulls his bloodied forehead closer.]

GM:  Oh no... don't do-

[And sinks his teeth into it!]

GM:  Ahhh!  

BW:  I think I'm gonna be sick.

[Zaire finally breaks away, Faith's blood dripping from his chin, still
holding the handful of hair...

...and rushes towards the corner, SLAMMING Faith's head into the
ringpost!]

GM:  OHHHHHH!

[Ryan Faith flips backwards from the impact, slamming down hard on the
wooden ringside time keeper's table!]

GM:  Zaire's out of control!  Poor Ryan Faith hasn't even managed to get
into the ring yet!  He got savagely assaulted by Ebola Zaire for no
apparent reason and-

BW:  It's hunting season for Zaire!

GM:  Whatever.  

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

"BZZZZZZZZ!"

[The crowd EXPLODES!]

GM:  SUPERNOVA!!

[The Venice Beach native sprints to the ring, promptly pulling himself
up on the apron next to the bloodied Ryan Faith.  He grabs Zaire by the
head, drilling him with a few right hands...

...and SLAMMING him facefirst into the exposed steel turnbuckle!]

GM:  OHHH!  ZAIRE GOES FACEFIRST TO THE STEEL!!!

[Zaire topples backwards, arms swinging until he collapses to the
canvas...]

GM:  Supernova takes him down!

[The fan favorite quickly dashes to the adjacent buckles, scaling the
ropes, and hurling himself off before he can be caught...

...and SLAMS down onto the fallen Zaire with a big splash!  The crowd
roars as Supernova climbs to his feet, slamming his fists into his
chest.]

GM:  Supernova brings down Ebola Zaire and-

[Supernova gets drilled with a forearm to the back of the head by
"Hotshot" Stevie Scott...

...but Supernova simply turns around, shaking his head.  He throws his
head back, howling to the crowd before lashing out with a boot to the
gut of the former National Champion.]

GM:  Supernova didn't feel it!  This kid's running on pure adrenaline
right now!

[Grabbing Scott by the arm, 'Nova whips him across...

...and hoists him up by one leg, dropping Scott facefirst to the canvas
to another big cheer!]

GM:  One-man flapjack by Supernova!

[Supernova springs back up, looking for his next victim.  Anton Layton
decides to take a swing at it, approaching with his hands over his head
for a double axehandle sledge...

...but 'Nova catches him coming in with a boot to the gut, hooking him
under the arm, and throwing him halfway across the ring with a hiptoss!]

GM:  Pure power on display by this kid - man, is he fired up!

[The Venice Beach native takes two steps as Layton rises and leaps up,
cracking him with both feet squarely in the face.]

GM:  Ohh!  What a dropkick!

[With Layton, Zaire, and Scott all down from his offense, Supernova
moves to help Ryan Faith through the ropes into the ring.  The bloodied
Faith falls back to the corner, thanking Supernova...

...who shoves Faith out of the way, taking a running back elbow to the
jaw from Layton!]

GM:  Whoa!  Supernova just sacrificed himself to help Ryan Faith!

[And Faith isn't likely to forget it, spinning Layton around and
CREAMING him with a forearm shot to the jaw!  He shoves Layton back to
the corner, grabbing the top rope and throwing a brutal kick into the
midsection.]

GM:  Ohh!  Ohh!  Ohh!  Three strong kicks to the torso in the corner!

[With Layton sucking wind, Faith grabs a handful of hair and batters him
with stiff forearm shots to the jaw - landing them over and over in the
same spot with Layton only staying on his feet thanks to Faith holding
him up.]

GM:  A brutal assault in the corner by Ryan Faith!

[Stepping out, Faith grabs a dazed Layton's arm, firing him across the
ring to the opposite corner.  He lifts his arm, letting out a roar
before charging across the ring, leaping into the air...

...and DRILLING Layton with a forearm smash!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[Faith steps out, shoving a stunned Layton down to the canvas.]

GM:  Ryan Faith has just brought the thunder down on Anton Layton!  The
Prince Of Darkness just took a world class pummeling at the hands of
Ryan Faith who is in the ring for the first time in years!


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

"BZZZZZZZZ!"

[The AWA faithful breaks into a mix of cheers and boos as Kolya Sudakov
strides into view, Ivan Kostovich by his side, talking quick and
gesturing angrily towards the ring.]

GM:  Kolya Sudakov, the former National Champion is the twenty-sixth man
in the ring for this Rumble - and what a spot for him to be in!

BW:  It's an ideal spot for Kolya and if Kostovich takes the chains off
him, he could find himself managing the next man to challenge Juan
Vasquez for the AWA National Title, Gordo.

GM:  He certainly could.  And what do you think Ivan Kostovich is saying
to him right now, Bucky?

BW:  I have a hunch... but I'll keep it to myself for now.

[Sudakov jogs down the aisle, ridding himself of Kostovich who is forced
to return to the locker room again.  He quickly climbs the steps, moving
through the ropes...

...and gets DRILLED with a forearm shot by a fired-up Ryan Faith! 
Sudakov's head snaps back as he falls to a knee!]

GM:  Whoa!  Faith knocked the former Mixed Martial Artist to a knee with
a forearm shot and-

[Sudakov gets up, fire in his eyes as he glares at Faith...

...and then lashes out quicker than lightning, catching Faith upside the
head with a high kick to the temple!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  MY STARS!!  I can't remember the last time I've seen Sudakov use
one of those!

[Reaching down, Sudakov pulls Faith off the mat, scooping him up to
deposit him over the ropes...

...and Supernova steps in his path.  The crowd roars!]

GM:  Ohhhh my!  This is gonna be something, fans!  Supernova just
stopped Sudakov from throwing Ryan Faith over the top rope!  The Russian
War Machine has been blocked!

[Sudakov shouts something in Supernova's direction, a comment that
causes the face-painted fan favorite to merely shake his head...

...and throw a standing dropkick to the back of Faith, knocking Sudakov
over with the bloodied Faith on top of him!  Big cheer!]

GM:  Sudakov just got dropped by-

[An angry Sudakov throws Faith aside, getting to his feet...

...and gets caught by a right hand from Supernova.  A second one follows
and a third sends the Russian falling back into the corner.  Supernova
grabs Sudakov by the arm, flinging him across the ring...]

GM:  Corner to corner whip by 'Nova and- look out here...

[The crowd buzzes as Supernova backs to the opposite corner, throwing
his head back for a howl...

...and sprints out!]

GM:  HERE HE COM-

[Only to be intercepted by Eric Preston who wraps up Supernova in a
bearhug...

...and LAUNCHES him up and over, dumping him down to the mat with an
overhead belly to belly throw!  The crowd roars as Preston pops to his
feet, doing a little spin...]

GM:  DID YOU SEE THAT?!

[Preston rushes forward, connecting with a clothesline on a dazed Jack
Lynch that sends the fan favorite over the ropes and down to the floor!]

GM:  OHH!  PRESTON JUST GOT RID OF JACK LYNCH!!

BW:  It's every man for himself in there!  We're seeing that now!

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

"BZZZZZZZZ!"

[The crowd bursts into jeers as Percy Childes emerges from the entrance
curtain, pointing to the ring as Nenshou strides into view, already
prepared for battle.  Childes clutches the title belt to his chest,
jabbing a finger into the chest of the Asian Assassin before pointing
down the aisle.  Nenshou nods, jogging down the aisle towards the ring.]

GM:  Nenshou!  The Longhorn Heritage Champion is #27!

[Nenshou slides headfirst under the ropes, popping up to his feet...

...and catching a standing dropkick on the chin from Preston!]

GM:  Whoa my!  Preston caught Nenshou coming in!

[The Combat Corner graduate dives atop the Longhorn Heritage Champion,
battering him with right hands as the crowd roars...

...but the sudden focus on Nenshou leaves Preston wide open as Layton
grabs him by the hair from behind, hauling him off his Unholy Alliance
partner.  Layton throws Preston back to the buckles, burying several
blows in the midsection...]

GM:  Layton's hammering away on- whoa!  Preston's firing back!

[The crowd roars at Preston delivering right hand after right hand to
the skull of the Prince of Darkness...]

GM:  Preston's battling back out of the corner...

[He grabs a handful of hair, ready to attempt an elimination but a
horned boot to the midsection knocks Preston off his game, putting him
down on a knee.  Holding the neck, Zaire drives a headbutt into the
skull of Preston, knocking him flat on his back.  The big man bounces
off the ropes, swinging his arm around...]

GM:  LOOK OUT!!

[But as Zaire attempts his second Meat Cleaver of the match, Preston
rolls aside!]


"THUUUUUUD!"


GM:  HE MISSED!  HE MISSED THE ELBOW!!

[As Preston gets to his feet, he gets drilled with a right hand from
Supernova.  A second one connects as well before 'Nova grabs a handful
of hair, leaping into the air to SLAM Preston's face into the canvas to
a mixed reaction!]

BW:  Hehe... these fans don't like seeing their favorites go to town on
each other, Gordo.

GM:  They certainly don't.

[With Nenshou back on his feet, Layton and Nenshou go to work on Stevie
Scott, taking turns throwing kicks into the midsection of the former
two-time National Champion.

A quick camera cut shows Ryan Faith trading blows with Kolya Sudakov
near the ropes.]

GM:  Faith is really holding his own in there with Sudakov - this kid
can throw if he needs to throw!

BW:  Kolya Sudakov is well-respected as one of the hardest hitters in
the business so for this kid to be able to stand and throw with him -
that really says something about him...

GM:  Supernova's trying to get Preston out over the ropes there...

[Suddenly, Ebola Zaire is back on his feet, rumbling towards the two men
tied up near the ropes...

...when they break apart, each grabbing the top rope and dropping down!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[The crowd ROARS at the elimination of Ebola Zaire!]

GM:  PRESTON AND SUPERNOVA TOSS THE BIG MAN!!  THE BOTSWANA BEAST IS
GONE!

[Preston grins at Supernova who returns the gesture, trading a high five
with the man he was battling moments ago...

...when suddenly, all hell breaks loose.]


"CLAAAAAAAANG!"


GM:  What in the-

[The camera abruptly cuts to ringside where a section of barricade is
now lying on its side on the mats at ringside.  And moving past them -
quickly - is someone that's not supposed to be in the building.]

BW:  MONOSSO!

GM:  I'm... fans, I may need to-

BW:  Relax, Gordo - he ain't comin' for ya!

[Scooping up a steel chair from ringside, Monosso hurls it over the
ropes, coming dangerously close to hitting Kolya Sudakov before he rolls
under the ropes.  The action all around comes to a halt as Monosso
climbs to his feet, glaring around at the frozen battle all around
him...

...and with a roar, he strikes!]

GM:  NO!

[Turning his attention first to Stevie Scott, Monosso hammers him
repeatedly with right hands to the ear, battering the former National
Champion down to the mat where he lays in a series of boots to the side
of the face.

Supernova moves to help Scott, spinning Monosso around...

...and the Madman uses the moment to CREAM Supernova with a lariat,
knocking the fan favorite flat!]

GM:  Good grief!  Where the hell is security?!

[Monosso throws his arms back, letting loose another roar...

...when Ryan Faith rushes him, throwing a forearm to the jaw... and
another... and another!]

BW:  This kid's got guts - too bad we may see 'em in a sec.

[The Madman grabs a handful of hair, flooring Faith with a headbutt
before immediately yanking him back up...

...and by up, we mean all the way up in a military press!]

GM:  No, no, no!

[Monosso rushes forward towards the ropes, shouting "GET OUT OF HERE!"
as he HURLS the bloodied Faith through the air, sending him crashing
down in a heap on the thinly-padded floor!]

GM:  GOOD GOD ALMIGHTY!!

BW:  I guess Faith's eliminated!

GM:  Can Monosso eliminate someone?!  He's not part of this match!

[A shocked Anton Layton grabs Monosso by the arm, trying to settle him
down...

...and gets DRILLED with a right hand between the eyes for his efforts,
knocking him flat!]

GM:  OHH!  MONOSSO HIT LAYTON!!

[Wisely, Nenshou has rolled out of the ring, watching from ringside to
see the slaughter unfold...

Kolya Sudakov shows no fear, rushing towards Monosso and shoving him
back into the corner.  Squaring up his shoulders, Sudakov throws a
barrage of boxing style punches into the midsection.  He grabs the top
rope, snapping off a series of kicks to the body...]

GM:  Get him, Kolya!  Get that son of a-

[Grabbing the arm, Sudakov fires Monosso out of the corner into the
opposite buckles.  As the Madman staggers out...]

GM:  SICKLE!!

[The former National Champion charges Monosso, ready to rip his head
from his body...

...but James ducks it, wrapping his arms around the waist of the passing
Sudakov, hoisting him into the air, and DUMPING him down on the back of
the head and neck!]

GM:  OHHHH!  DESCENT INTO MADNESS!!!

[Monosso sits up on the mat, cackling madly as he looks around at the
carnage he has created...

...and his eyes come to rest on Eric Preston who is standing in the
corner, shaking with rage.]

GM:  Eric Preston!  Eric Preston!  These two men battled for MONTHS,
Bucky!

BW:  Is he the reason Monosso's out here?  Monosso's staring straight at
him!  He's staring a hole right THROUGH him!

[Climbing to his feet, Monosso has a sick grin plastered to his face as
he strides towards Preston who hasn't moved...]


"We met again, Eric..."


[Preston is not amused.]

GM:  What's gonna happen here?  What in the world is going to happ-

[DEAFENING ROAR!]

GM:  PRESTON AND MONOSSO!  PRESTON AND MONOSSO!

[Having surged from the corner, a rage-filled Preston throws a right
hand to the skull... and another... and another... and another. 
Wrapping his arms around the Madman, Preston sweeps a leg out and takes
him down, hammering the wild man down on the canvas!]

GM:  Preston's getting the edge on him!  He's making James Monosso pay
for sticking his nose into this match, Bucky!

BW:  Look again, Gordo.

[Monosso manages to turn it over, landing three heavy shots before
simply wrapping his hands around the throat of Preston, screaming like a
banshee as he strangles the air out of Preston's lungs!]

GM:  And now it's Monosso on top of Preston - somebody get him out of
here!  Where is security during all this?

BW:  The AWA officials have stopped the countdown clock until this can
get settled.  They just told us they won't be sending the next man out
until Monosso is brought under control.

[A handful of AWA officials suddenly hit the ringside area, moving into
the ring to try and get Monosso out of the squared circle.  The arrival
of a couple security guards - brave ones too - helps matters as someone
uses a night stick to choke Monosso until he gets off of Preston...]

GM:  Finally!  Finally, they get him off Eric Preston but they need to
get him out of the ring!

BW:  Are you happy, Gordo?  He's leaving!

GM:  He is not.  He's-

[The crowd buzzes with concern as he grabs the steel chair he brought
into the ring...]


"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  HE HIT AN OFFICIAL!!  HE HIT AN AWA OFFICIAL!!

[Throwing the chair down, Monosso truly snaps, swinging rights and lefts
at anyone nearby.  A hard headbutt drops a security guard who gets
kicked under the ropes just before he grabs a suited AWA official...

...and HURLS him through the ropes to the floor!]

GM:  James Monosso has snapped!  James Monosso has gone too far, Bucky!

[Spinning around, he grabs another AWA official, wrapping his hands
around the man's throat!]

GM:  He's choking that poor official!  We need more help out here!  We
need more-


"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  PRESTON HITS HIM ACROSS THE BACK!!

[Monosso releases the chokehold, falling towards the ropes.  An angry
Preston tackles him back into the turnbuckles.  He winds up, throwing
right hand after right hand to the skull.  Grabbing Monosso by the hair,
Preston swings him around...

...and HURLS him shoulderfirst into the ringpost!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[With Monosso's head hanging between the ropes, pressed against the
steel, a pissed-off Preston steps out on the apron...]

"IS THIS WHAT YOU WANTED?!  YOU WANT ME TO BE YOU?!  YOU SICK FREAK!"

[Preston backs to the far post, pointing at Monosso's trapped head to a
confused buzz from the crowd...

...and CHARGES down the length of apron, raising his boot!]

GM:  NO!

[But Monosso pulls back out of the way, causing Preston to JAM his leg
into the post.  He collapses down to a knee on the apron, grabbing his
leg in pain.  A sneering Monosso reaches over the ropes, grabbing
Preston by the hair...]

GM:  They're right above us here, fans!  I don't know what in the world
got into Eric Preston there.

BW:  It's frustration.  It just all boiled over for the kid right there.
 He snapped in his own way there, Gordo.

[Hooking Preston in a front facelock, Monosso slings his victim's arm
over his neck as he powers him up, lifting him over the ropes and
setting him down on the mat...]

GM:  I don't get it.  Monosso just brought Preston back in and-

[Without hesitation, he hoists Preston back up, swinging his body out
over the ropes...

...and lets go!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  HE - "CLUNK!"

[The crowd gasps as Preston plummets facefirst straight down, his face
and upper body SMASHING into the announce table.  The table tips over on
impact, monitors falling off.  Bucky Wilde can be seen in the background
sprawled out on the ground, having been struck by Preston's legs. 
Gordon Myers is on his feet, looking down in shock at a downed Preston
who is already being tended to by AWA officials.

Myers looks up at Monosso who returns the stare.]

"Hello, Gordon.  Good to see you again."

[And with that, Monosso walks across the ring, rolling under the ropes
and walking through the crowd back out of the building.  A sea of AWA
officials and security are in hot pursuit as Monosso tries to push and
shove his way through a rabid crowd.]

GM:  Fans, I- can anyone even hear me?

[After being assured that people certainly can hear him, Gordon
continues.]

GM:  I've never seen anything like this.  I've never seen an entire
Rumble brought to a standstill through the actions of one man.  James
Monosso is a menace.  An absolute menace and the AWA is a far more
dangerous place with him in it.  Look what he's done out here... Bucky,
are you okay?

BW:  I'm a little shaken up, Gordo, but I'll live.  You were right
though.  That guy's nuts.

GM:  The announce table is in ruins but... my stars, look at Eric
Preston.  He took the impact of our table - and all the stuff on it -
from about ten feet in the air RIGHT on his face!  

BW:  And perhaps the sickest thing about it was that Monosso actually
brought him over the top rope into the ring first.  He wanted to make
sure he eliminated him to go along with all this chaos and carnage.

GM:  We've got bodies laid out INSIDE the ring as well.  He's like a
walking natural disaster in there.  Look at this mess.  How the heck can
we even get back to the normalcy of calling this match after that?


"BZZZZZZZZZ!"


BW:  Looks like we ain't gettin' a choice in the matter, Gordo.

GM:  Apparently not.

[The crowd cheers the arrival of the former World Champion, Tommy
Fierro.]

GM:  Fierro is the twenty-eighth entry into the Rumble!  

BW:  He's the other mystery entrant!

GM:  Apparently so.

[Fierro jogs down the aisle, slapping a few hands before rolling into
the ring.  He promptly grabs Nenshou - who is still on the floor - and
fires him under the ropes before rolling in after him.]

GM:  Fierro puts Nenshou back in!  We've got a Rumble to finish, fans,
so we'll have to talk about this nutcase Monosso later.  I just can't
believe that Eric Preston is- they're helping him out of here right now.
 He can't even walk out of here on his own accord at the moment... all
thanks to James Monosso.

BW:  I bet Preston thought he was done with Monosso.  Not so fast,
kiddo!

[Fierro starts laying in blows to the gut of Nenshou in the corner as
the rest of the Rumble re-forms.  A quick camera cut finds a furious
Anton Layton kicking Supernova in the chest repeatedly.  Another one
shows Stevie Scott and Kolya Sudakov trading knife edge chops.]

GM:  Sudakov and Stevie Scott reliving their National Title feud from a
couple years ago - and these great fans here in Tulsa are reliving it
along with them!

BW:  Ahh, the good ol' days when Stevie was my boy.

GM:  What is he now?

BW:  Not so clear.

[The camera gets a wide shot of the ring, showing that the six men still
in the ring at this point have basically split into three pairings -
Layton and Supernova, Scott and Sudakov, and Fierro with Nenshou.]

GM:  There's two men still to come - we know that one of them will be
Sultan Azam Sharif.  We're down to the final eight, Bucky, and one of
those eight men will be your Rumble winner - scratching their name into
the history books alongside Ron Houston, Stevie Scott, and Raphael
Rhodes.

BW:  Maybe it'll be Stevie.  Maybe the Hotshot will become the first
two-time Rumble winner just like he became the first ever two-time
National Champion.

GM:  Scott, of course, will be looking to become the first ever
three-time National Champion in the near future, Bucky.

BW:  No doubt.

[The camera zooms in on Anton Layton hammering a kneeling Supernova with
hammerfist-style shots to the forehead.  In the background, we see Kolya
Sudakov lighting up Stevie Scott with knife-edge chops against the
buckles.]

GM:  We're getting pretty close to being joined by the twenty-ninth
man... and I don't want to spoil anything for those of you not keeping
track at home but I'm especially excited about that.

[We cut back to Tommy Fierro, looking up the aisle for a bit before
Nenshou throws an elbow from his knees into the midsection of Fierro.  A
second one backs him off...

...and Nenshou rolls to his back, throwing a kick to the ear of Fierro,
knocking the veteran down to the canvas as the crowd starts to count
down yet again.]


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

"BZZZZZZZZ!"

GM:  And here we go, Bucky!

BW:  Hey, look... it's the only guy in the building older than you,
Gordo.

GM:  Would you stop?

[The crowd ROARS to life as "Handsome" Hamilton Graham strides through
the curtain, wearing exactly what he was wearing in his promotional
interview earlier in the night.  He jogs down the aisle, all business as
he approaches the ring.]

GM:  You may love him or hate him but few will deny that Hamilton Graham
is arguably the greatest wrestler to ever lace up a set of boots and it
is my distinct honor to be able to call one of his matches.

BW:  Yeah, he may be an old fossil but he's a damn good old fossil.

[Graham grabs the middle rope, pulling himself up on the apron.  He
steps through the ropes, grabbing the nearest competitor who happens to
be Nenshou...

...and dropping him like a rock with a headbutt!]

GM:  Ohh!  Graham wastes no time busting out what many consider to be
the most effective striking tool that he has... although those big right
hands aren't anything to sneeze at either.

BW:  If you sneeze at his punch, he just might bust your nose with one,
Gordo.

GM:  You've got that right.  One of the toughest men I've ever seen
compete.

[Graham walks away, grabbing two hands full of Anton Layton's hair,
turning him around...

...and DRILLING him with a haymaker between the eyes!]

GM:  Layton goes down off the right hand!

[Kolya Sudakov, having knocked down Stevie Scott with a headbutt of his
own, strides to the center of the ring...

...and shoves Hamilton Graham in the chest!]

GM:  Uh oh.

[A sneering Graham turns around, absorbing a barrage of words in Russian
for a long moment.  He nods his head, looking around at the crowd...

...and lays in a boot to the gut, quickly hooking in a side headlock,
and driving fist after fist into the forehead!  The crowd roars for one
of Graham's signature moves!]

GM:  He's taking it to the Russian, Bucky!

[After two more shots, he lets up off the punches, taking Sudakov over
with a headlock takedown...

...and then climbs to his feet, tugging his trunks up as his steely eyes
come to rest on Tommy Fierro!]

GM:  Uh oh!

BW:  And if you were a fan of the IWA in the 1980s - then you know that
Fierro vs Graham was one of the hottest contested rivalries in the
history of our sport!

GM:  Fierro's one and only World Title came at the expense of Hamilton
Graham and I don't know that Handsome Hamilton ever got over that one,
Bucky.

BW:  I don't know if I would either.  Fierro's a goofball!

[Fierro walks right up to Graham, jabbing a finger in his chest...

...and Graham wastes no time in answering with a right hand to the jaw. 
A second one knocks Fierro back to the ropes where Graham rocks him with
an uppercut, knocking Fierro over the ropes to the floor!]

GM:  Hamitlon Graham eliminates Tommy Fierro!

BW:  So much for reliving old rivalries.

[Graham nods curtly at the departing Fierro, satisfied at his work as he
turns around...

...and gets knocked flat by a running spinning heel kick by Nenshou!]

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

"BZZZZZZZZ!"

GM:  And here comes the final entrant - the man who won the #30 slot
back at The Main Event in that big Battle Royal.

[Count Adrian Bathwaite walks Sultan Azam Sharif about fifteen feet down
the aisle before he has to let Sharif go on his own, soaking up the
roaring jeers from the Tulsa crowd.]

GM:  Sharif's in an amazing position here.  

BW:  He could very easily win this whole thing and wouldn't that be a
kick in the pants for the man from Iran to win the title on one of
America's most patriotic holidays.

GM:  I don't think that'd be very funny at all.

BW:  I've got it, Gordo.  He wins the title shot on Memorial Day, cashes
it in on the Fourth of July to win the title itself!  It's the worst
case scenario for America!

[Sharif steps through the ropes, moving immediately to long-time rival
Supernova and drills him from behind with a double axehandle.  Grabbing
his arms and holding them, Sharif allows Anton Layton to lay in a few
hard shots to the midsection before he releases him.]

GM:  And there we have it, fans.  One of these seven men will be the man
to win this Rumble and move on to challenge the AWA National Champion,
Juan Vasquez.  Who's it gonna be?  Better question - who do you think
Vasquez hopes it will be?

BW:  He doesn't want to face Stevie Scott again - I can guarantee you
that.  The Unholy Alliance would be a dangerous road for him to walk. 
So, maybe Supernova?  Hamilton Graham?

GM:  I highly doubt that.

[With Sharif and Layton doubleteaming Supernova in the corner, Nenshou
is throwing heavy chops to the chest of Hamilton Graham.]

GM:  Ohh!  What a shot by Nenshou!

[Grabbing the arm of the veteran, the Asian Assassin fires him across. 
Nenshou backs to the corner, rushing out into a handspring, and flings
himself backwards into an elbow!]

BW:  A breathtaking handspring elbow by Nenshou - and do you think
Hamilton Graham has ever even SEEN something like that, Gordo?

GM:  I don't know.

[Nenshou grabs the arm again, attempting another whip...]

GM:  Another whi- reversal!

[Graham puts some mustard on it, sending Nenshou CRASHING hard
spinefirst into the corner.  He staggers out...

...and gets scoop-slammed by Graham in the middle of the ring!]

GM:  A hard slam by the former World Champion and-

[The crowd ROARS as Graham backs off, throws his arms apart, and
connects with a falling headbutt to Nenshou that leaves him twitching on
the canvas!]

GM:  What a shot by Graham!  That falling headbutt has claimed countless
victims over the years.

BW:  The senile ol' bat looked like he wanted to make a cover there.

GM:  It's years - decades in his case - of instinct, Bucky.  You're in a
wrestling ring, you want to get a three count.

BW:  Not tonight.

GM:  No, you certainly are correct about that.

[Across the ring, we see Anton Layton and Sultan Azam Sharif double
whipping Supernova across the ring...]

GM:  Double clothesline coming up... no, ducked by 'Nova!

[Supernova hits the far ropes, bouncing off...

...and leaving his feet, both arms fully extended to bowl over both
Layton and Sharif with a double flying clothesline!]

GM:  OHHH!  BIG DOUBLE CLOTHESLINE THERE!!

[As Supernova climbs to his feet, Sudakov is right there to hammer him
in the back of the head with a forearm smash, knocking him to a knee. 
The Russian turns him, hooking in a gutwrench...]

GM:  What's Sudakov got in store for him here?

[But before he can gutwrench him up, Supernova stands up, backdropping
Sudakov over his head...

...and over the top rope!]

GM:  SUDAKOV IS GON- NO!  NO!  Only one foot touched the floor!  Only
one foot hit the floor!  Somehow, he managed to keep most of his body on
the apron but out there, he's in No Man's Land!  He's in serious trouble
there!

[Supernova turns around, reaching over the ropes to hammer his former
friend with fists to the skull, trying to knock him off the apron...]

GM:  Supernova's trying to knock him to the floor, trying to eliminate
the Russian.

BW:  Which is a smart move because Sudakov's the strongest man -
physically- still in this match.  He can turn the tide in this thing in
a hurry if he's able to stick around and-

[The Venice Beach young lion dashes to the ropes, looking for a little
something extra to knock Sudakov off his perch...]


"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!"


GM:  HEATSEEKER!  HEATSEEKER ON SUPERNOVA!!

BW:  It's a mirror image of seven days ago, daddy!

GM:  Supernova got laid out with the superkick - he might be done!

[Stevie Scott pumps a fist in the air, drawing a mixed reaction...

...and spins around, throwing a second Heatseeker aimed at the rising
Kolya Sudakov!]

GM:  HEATSEEK-

[But Sudakov drops down, pulling the top rope with him, which causes
Scott to straddle the rope!]

GM:  Ohhh!  Stevie got caught up on the top rope!  He's hurting badly
now!

[The Russian takes the moment to slip back through the ropes as Hamilton
Graham approaches, rocking Sudakov with a haymaker between the eyes that
knocks him to a knee.  A hard kneelift knocks the Russian back down to
the mat as Graham grabs the ropes...

...and shakes them up and down, repeatedly driving the top rope into
Scott's groin!]

GM:  Ohhh!  That's an uncomfortable way to spend a couple minutes,
Bucky.

BW:  It is - and I just realized that Stevie Scott is the man who has
been in the ring the longest at this point.  He entered at #18 so he has
been in there for close to a half hour now.

GM:  Very telling of the man's stamina considering how long it's been
since we've seen him in competition.

[With Supernova dazed, Anton Layton hauls him to his feet, pushing him
over towards the ropes.  He reaches down, grabbing both legs as
Supernova's arms are hooked on the top rope...]

GM:  Layton's trying to leverage Supernova up and over... really
struggling to get him up there...

[Looking for more leverage, Layton ducks under, putting Supernova's legs
on his shoulders...

...where 'Nova simply crosses them up, applying a headscissors.]

GM:  What's he-

[The youngster falls back, pulling Layton over the top...

...and dumping him on the floor while 'Nova lands safely on a knee on
the apron!]

GM:  Layton's gone!  Anton Layton's gone!

BW:  WHAT?!

GM:  And we're one step closer to killing that awful prediction of the
Unholy Alliance winning this thing!

BW:  We're down to six!  Stevie Scott, Supernov- look out!

[Trying to seize an opportunity, Nenshou dashes towards Supernova,
throwing himself into a spinning heel kick...

...but as the two men get tangled up, we end up with both men standing
on the apron!]

GM:  Whoa!  Whoa!  They almost both went to the floor!

[Slipping off the top rope strand where he was crotched to the apron,
Stevie Scott slips around the ringpost to where Supernova and Nenshou
are standing!]

GM:  Are you kidding me?!  There's three men on the same side of the
apron!

BW:  It's getting a little crowded over there!

[Supernova greets the incoming Hotshot with a right hand... and
another... and another.  He spins around, doing the same to Nenshou...

...but a knife-edge chop dangerously close to the throat from Nenshou
sends him stumbling back where Stevie Scott tries to throw him off the
apron!]

GM:  Supernova's in trouble here!  He's hanging onto the top rope,
trying to stay up there...

[Scott hammers his fist down onto Supernova's arms, trying to break his
grip on the top rope that is saving him from certain elimination...

...but 'Nova releases the rope on his own, slamming a backfist into the
temple of the Hotshot.  A second one connects as well, stunning the
former National Champion back against the post!]

GM:  Supernova's battling with Nenshou again!  

[The camera catches Nenshou and Supernova trading blows on the apron,
the crowd roaring with every blow that just might knock the other man to
the floor to eliminate them...]

GM:  We've got a dogfight on our hands and-

[Supernova turns his back to the ropes, hooking his arm around the top
as Nenshou moves in again...

...and just as Stevie Scott rushes forward, ready to uncork another
Heatseeker, Supernova leans back, using the ropes to flip back into the
ring, and just narrowly avoiding the superkick that lands solidly on the
jaw of Nenshou, knocking him to the floor!]

GM:  OHHH!  NENSHOU'S GONE!  NENSHOU'S GONE!!

BW:  WE'RE DOWN TO FIV-

[And Supernova leaves his feet, scoring with a big dropkick that sends
Stevie Scott sailing off the apron as well, crashing down to the floor!]

BW:  FOUR!  THE FINAL FOUR!!

GM:  The crowd is on their feet!  Who is it gonna be?!  We've got Sultan
Azam Sharif, Supernova, Kolya Sudakov, and Hamilton Graham!  One of
these four men are going to walk out of here as the new Number One
contender to the AWA National Title!

BW:  And all four of these men entered in the last five!  The luck of
the draw - so very important in a match like this!  Some people can
survive without it but this year, it has proven to be VERY important
indeed.

GM:  And look at these four men all staring one another down.

BW:  And this is when you start looking at making an alliance. 
Something temporary to get you an edge.  And when I look at that ring
right now, Gordo, I see a very obvious alliance.

[Kolya Sudakov is in a fighting position, ready to strike at any
moment...

...when suddenly Sultan Azam Sharif tires of waiting, burying a hooked
boot into the midsection of Supernova.  Sharif hammers Supernova with
forearms to the jaw before drilling him with double axehandles across
the back, knocking him down to all fours.]

GM:  Sharif's absolutely hammering Supernova!  These two have had one of
the fierecest rivalries running in the AWA for months - even dragging
several other individuals into it.

BW:  Including Kolya Sudakov.

GM:  It didn't take much dragging for Kostovich and the Russians to
stick their nose into that feud, no.

[A hard hooked boot into the ribs of Supernova rolls him to his back,
Sharif standing over him and jabbering away at him in... some English.

Sudakov stares at the two men, watching his current ally batter his
former friend.]

GM:  Kolya Sudakov needs to make a choice here!

BW:  He's made his choice, Gordo!  He'd like to stay employed so in
reality, he has no choice!  He's gotta help Sharif win the Rumble!

GM:  WHAT?!

BW:  I told you I thought I knew what Kostovich was telling him and I
think it's pretty clear right now.  Kostovich is not interested in
Sudakov's personal glory.  He wants Sharif to win this thing... and I
think Kostovich told Sudakov to help Sharif win this Rumble at all
costs!

GM:  We all remember Sudakov stepping over the top rope, eliminating
himself in The Main Event so that Sharif could win the #30 slot so you
very well could be right, Bucky!

[Hamilton Graham stops Sudakov from doing anything, drilling him with a
kidney punch that stops the Russian short.  A double axehandle to the
back of the neck knocks Sudakov to his knees where Graham flattens him
with another headbutt, knocking him flat on his back.  The crowd roars
as the veteran delivers a couple stomps before backing to the corner,
pushing himself up to the middle rope...]

GM:  It's like something out of a dream, Bucky.

BW:  Enjoy your moment, Gordo.

[Graham stands tall, spreading his arms wide, and just falling forward,
SMASHING his skull into a downed Sudakov!]

GM:  FALLING HEADBUTT OFF THE MIDDLE ROPE BY GRAHAM!  WHATTA MOVE!

[Graham rolls around on the canvas, clutching his own skull in pain as
Sudakov does the same a few feet away.  Across the ring, Sharif has
managed to get Supernova back up, throwing knee after knee into the gut
on the ropes before grabbing the arm...]

GM:  Whip by Sharif... reversed!

[The Sultan bounces off the far ropes...

...but SLAMS the point of his hooked boot into the throat of Supernova
when the face-painted young lion sets too early for a backdrop.  'Nova
stumbles backwards, gasping for air as he grabs the top rope to stay on
his feet.]

GM:  Supernova's in some serious trouble here... look at Sharif!

[Sharif charges forward, ready to put Supernova out of the match...

...but Supernova ducks down, backdropping Sharif over the top rope!]

GM:  SHARIF GOES OVER...

BW:  ...BUT NOT OUT!  HE HANGS ON!  HE'S ON THE APRON!!

[Supernova spins around, battering Sharif with right hands to the skull,
trying to knock him off the apron...

...which leaves him vulnerable to a blow to the back of the head from
the strong forearm of Hamilton Graham.]

GM:  Hamilton Graham, the former World Champion, is showing that this is
NOT a three dog race!  Hamilton Graham is in this thing to win this
Rumble, Bucky!

BW:  Well, of course he is... don't mean it's gonna happen though,
Gordo.

[Graham grabs Supernova's tights, racing towards the ropes...

...but at the last moment, Supernova reverses the grip!]

GM:  OHHHHHH!

[Graham goes high over the ropes, crashing down to the floor at a much
harder speed and impact than a man of his age should be doing.  The
crowd boos the elimination but quickly start to applaud Graham for his
efforts.]

GM:  These fans are letting Hamilton Graham know how much they
appreciate what he just did out here.   A great performance by a true
legend of our sport and-

[Supernova turns around, sprinting towards Sharif who is still out on
the apron...

...but a rushing Kolya Sudakov interrupts the attack, hitting a Russian
Hammer to the side of the head that knocks 'Nova flat!]

GM:  Ohh, come on! 

BW: What's your problem now?

GM:  I'm sick of seeing Kolya Sudakov do the dirty work for Velikov, for
Kostovich, for Bathwaite, for Sharif!  He needs to be his own man - just
like Jim Watkins said!

BW:  And look where it got him.  I'd shut my trap if I were you, Gordo.

[Sudakov moves to the ropes, helping Sharif back into the ring.  Sharif
pats Sudakov on the shoulder, moving in on the downed Supernova.]

GM:  Uh oh... look at this, fans...

[Sharif flips Supernova onto his stomach, turning him towards Mecca...

...and settles in, sitting on the back of the downed fan favorite.  He
reaches down, hooking Supernova's arms over his legs before hooking his
hands under the chin!]

GM:  Camel Clutch!  Sharif locks it in!

[The crowd jeers as Sharif cranks back on the hold, bending the neck and
back of the fan favorite.  Sharif nods at the jeering crowd, shouting at
Supernova to submit.]

GM:  Is Sharif trying to get Supernova to quit?  Those aren't the rules!

BW:  Sharif's not familiar with these battle royals.  This should be
good enough!

[Sharif jerks the Venice Beach young lion's head and neck to the
right... then to the left... then back to the right...]

GM:  Sharif's jerking his head back and forth, putting incredible strain
on the head and neck... 

BW:  This could be a sneak preview of what Sharif's going to do to Juan
Vasquez when the National Title is on the line!  Could Sharif be showing
us how he's going to win the National Title?

GM:  It's not over yet, Bucky!  He's still gotta throw him out!

[After several more moments, Sharif breaks the hold, lifting both of his
arms in victory.  Sudakov glares at Sharif, shaking his head as the
Iranian grappler walks around the ring, flexing his muscles and berating
the crowd who are jeering him.]

GM:  And what's Sudakov going to do if that happens?

BW:  The same thing he did at The Main Event!  He's gonna throw his
sorry carcass over the top and thank the stars that he's still employed
and in this country, Gordo!

GM:  This is ridiculous.  This can't happen!

[Sharif moves back to the downed Supernova, dragging him up to his feet.
 He pulls him over towards the ropes, trying to muscle him over the
ropes...]

GM:  Sharif's trying to get 'Nova over the top!

[Supernova falls over the ropes, slumping down on the apron again.  An
angry Sharif reaches down, dragging Supernova back to his feet, drilling
him with a right hand... and another... and another.]

GM:  Sharif's hammering Supernova, trying to knock him off the apron...

[A hard headbutt knocks Supernova down to a knee, Sharif's hands
grabbing the rope for leverage...]

GM:  Another hard shot but 'Nova continues to hang on!

[Suddenly, Supernova springs to his feet, grabbing the top rope...

...and SLINGSHOTS Sharif over the ropes, sending him crashing down to
the thinly-padded floor!  HUUUUUGE ROAR!]

GM:  HE'S GONE!  SHARIF'S GON-

[Sudakov sprints across the ring, looking to knock Supernova off the
apron...

...but still holding the rope, 'Nova simply drops down, pulling the top
rope down with him as Sudakov goes sailing over the ropes, crashing down
to the floor alongside his comrade!  DEAFENING ROAR!]

GM:  SUPERNOVA WINS IT!  SUPERNOVA WINS IT!

[An exhausted Supernova falls through the ropes into the ring.  Senior
Official Michael Meekly slides in, raising a stunned Supernova's hand.]

PW:  Here is your winner of the 2011 Memorial Day Rumble...

SUUUUUUUUPERRRRRNOOOOOOOVAAAAAAAA!

[The crowd EXPLODES in cheers again as Michael Meekly helps Supernova to
his feet, the face-painted warrior throwing both arms up in the air,
celebrating his victory.]

GM:  Supernova has done it!  Supernova has outlasted twenty-nine other
men to win the Memorial Day Rumble - and the future shot at the AWA
National Championship!

[Supernova scales the ropes, pointing out to the roaring crowd.]

GM:  What a night!  It's been a wild night, a crazy night, but in the
end, it's been a great night!  Fans, we're out of time... we've gotta
go!  For Jason Dane, Mark Stegglet, and Bucky Wilde - I'm Gordon Myers
and there's only one thing left to say, Bucky.

BW:  What's that?

GM:  Juan Vasquez, can you feel the heat?!

BW:  Oh brother.

GM:  Good night everybody!

[With Supernova celebrating in front of a roaring crowd, we fade to
black.]