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                            American Wrestling Alliance 
                                   Proudly Presents 
                         AWA Saturday Night Wrestling

                         Live from the Crockett Coliseum
                                    Dallas, Texas
                                 January 15th, 2011
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[As we fade in, we hear the closing theme to the Fishing With Orlando
Wilson show as the shot starts to fade.  It is replaced with footage
marked "2010" as we are treated to rapid-fire shots of some of the
highlights of AWA action in 2010...

We see action from the infamous RIOT episode with Eric Preston leaping
off the WKIK Studios bleachers onto a stunned James Monosso... Juan
Vasquez DRIVING Stevie Scott through the wall of the studio set.

Scenes from The Main Event with Calisto Dufresne assaulting City Jack
who was attempting to retire... Juan Vasquez pulling Stevie Scott into
an inside cradle and winning the National Title for the first time.

The title switches back to Stevie Scott thanks to a countered cross
body, a handful of tights, and a debuting Brian Von Braun.   

The Bishop Boys winning the National Tag Team Titles, striking a major
blow against the Southern Syndicate.

Shots from the brutal Two Out Of Three Falls encounter between Vasquez
and MAMMOTH Mizusawa.

Memorial Day Mayhem comes next - the Keenings battling the Rhodes
Brothers, James Monosso and Eric Preston battling all over the ringside
area, and of course, the Rumble itself where Raphael Rhodes outlasts
Juan Vasquez to win the match and the title shot...

...or does he?  We cut ahead a few weeks to find the Southern Syndicate
delivering the piledriver to Simon Rhodes and then laying a major
beating on Raphael Rhodes to complete his ousting from the group.

Right after MDM sees the announcement of the return of Marcus Broussard
to the AWA which leads to the six man tag on the 4th of July. 
Post-match, we get the AWA return of Kolya Sudakov and the challenge for
WarGames.

On the eve of WarGames, Ron Houston announces his return to the ring AND
his addition to the WarGames team.

The Southern Syndicate strikes back, taking Todd Michaelson out of
WarGames which leads to Raphael Rhodes being asked to replace him.

The Battle On The Bayou shows Rough N Ready defeating the Bishop Boys in
a wild brawl to finally win the National Tag Team Titles that had eluded
them for so long.  Then in WarGames, the Southern Syndicate is defeated
when Juan Vasquez makes Stevie Scott submit by strangling him with
Sudakov's metal chain.

With WarGames in the books, the Southern Syndicate looks to focus on
protecting the National Title... until the West Memphis Assassin
arrives.  We cut ahead to show a series of victories from the masked man
leading to the big unveiling... to reveal Adam Rogers who secures a
National Title match for Juan Vasquez for SuperClash.

Then it's on to SuperClash... Mizusawa winning his second Steal The
Spotlight, Nenshou becoming the first Longhorn Heritage Champion, Bobby
Taylor defeating his long-time rival Kevin Slater in the match over two
years in the making, and in the end, Juan Vasquez using Ben Waterson's
steel briefcase to become the National Champion.  After the match, he
drops Scott with a piledriver and we see Scott being carried out on a
stretcher as Vasquez celebrates his victory.

And finally, the Stampede Cup where Violence Unlimited outlasts fifteen
other tag teams (including the National Tag Team Champions) to win one
million dollars and earn the right to be known as the best tag team in
the world.

The shot freezes on Danny Morton and Jackson Haynes holding the silver
cup high in the air...

...as we fade to black and fade to the sounds of Lynyrd Skynyrd's
"Saturday Night Special"

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

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

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

After a moment, we fade away from the cheaply done intro to the interior
of the Crockett Coliseum where over 4,500 fans have jammed into the
building to watch their favorite AWA stars.

The ring sits in the middle of the oval-shaped seating area, surrounded
by a metal barricade on all sides.  The ringside seats are your standard
steel chairs while tall wood and metal bleachers are erected all around
the rear of the oval.

A long elevated entrance ramp runs from the entryway to the ring.  On
either side of the ramp stand two elevated platforms to be used for
interviews.

As we cut to the ringside area, atop thin black mats that cover the
concrete floor of the former warehouse, we find two tables - one for the
timekeeper and one for the announce duo.

Speaking of which, the camera cuts from the cheering crowd to the
ringside area where we find the familiar faces of "No Descriptions
Needed" Gordon
Myers alongside "Big Bucks" Bucky Wilde - the best announcers in the
game.]

GM: Ladies and gentlemen, Happy New Year and welcome to another edition
of AWA Saturday Night Wrestling where you will see all the stars of the
American Wrestling Alliance, THE Major League of Professional Wrestling.
 I am Gordon Myers and by my side, as always, is the two-time Announcer
Of The
Year, Bucky Wilde!

BW:  2011 is off and runnin', daddy, but it can't really get goin' until
the AWA does what it does best!

GM:  That's right and what a show we have in store for you here tonight.
 In case you've forgotten, we crowned a new National Champion back at
SuperClash in the form of Juan Vasquez.  The new champ will be here LIVE
tonight to discuss all the challengers looking to de-throne him.

BW:  Between MAMMOTH Mizusawa and Calisto Dufresne, Vasquez' days with
that big gold belt are numbered.

GM:  Plus, we have crowned a new titleholder here in the AWA - the
Longhorn Heritage Champion - and the man who won that title, Nenshou,
will make his first title defense here tonight.

BW:  I spoke with Percy Childes earlier - he's a happy, happy man,
Gordo.

GM:  I'm sure he is.  But what about Mark Langseth?  He seemed far from
happy at SuperClash.

BW:  Thanks to you.

GM:  I spoke the truth, Bucky.  He did NOT make Shane Destiny submit. 
He won the match thanks to a referee's decision but he did not make
Destiny give up.

BW:  He won the match, Gordo.  Nothing else matters.  But you called him
out on it!

GM:  I'm more interested in what in the world is going through
Langseth's head associating with Joe Petrow.  Hopefully we'll get an
answer on that as well.  In addition, we've got two big matches - first,
the Southern Syndicate is in shambles and Raphael Rhodes is looking to
deliver the deathblow when he takes on former partner-in-crime Adrian
Freeman here tonight.

BW:  This is Freeman's big chance, Gordo.  If he can come back and
defeat Rhodes, he'll get right back on track. 

GM:  And in our Main Event, we've got a huge six man tag team match. 
Calisto Dufresne teams with Vladimir Velikov and Sultan Azam Sharif to
meet the trio of Supernova and Kentucky's Pride!  That's gonna be a big
one, Bucky!

BW:  The Ladykiller gets his first chance since SuperClash to put City
Jack BACK in that hospital.

GM:  But if Jack's packing that Louisville Slugger again, we may see a
Dufresne-sized hole in the side of the Crockett Coliseum!  Sharif will
be looking for some payback too after what Supernova did to Count Adrian
Bathwaite several weeks ago.

BW:  That young punk put his hands on a legend, Gordo!  Now he's going
to pay.

GM:  We'll see about that.  Fans, we've got all of that plus much, much
more here tonight in Dallas and let's get things started right up there
in the ring with the first match of 2011!

[We fade from the two-shot of Gordon and Bucky to the ring where ring
announcer Phil Watson is standing.]

PW:  Welcome everyone to the Crockett Coliseum for the first match of
the year for the American Wrestling Alliance!

[Big cheer!]

PW:  Introducing first... already in the ring at this time... from
Havana, Cuba... 

THE CUBAN ASSASSIN #6!

[The lengthy beard of the Assassin is worked into a frenzy as he hops up
on the middle rope, shouting at the fans from within his camo pants and
tanktop.]

PW:  And his opponent...

[The crowd goes silent, waiting and listening...]

#WHO WAN' SIT ON SWEET DADDY'S LAP TANIGHT?!#

[HUGE CHEER!]

PW:  From HOOOOOTLANTA, GEORGIA... making his return to the ring... 

SWEEEEEEEET DADDYYYYY WILLLLLLLIAMS!

[The crowd erupts in cheers for the rotund fan favorite as he dances
through the entrance curtain into view.  He pauses there, a big goofy
grin on his face as he looks out at the roaring fans.  He shakes his
head, waggling a finger to the crowd before he starts trotting down the
aisle in his dark blue wrestling trunks and white windbreaker jacket
with "SWEET DADDY" written across the back in red script.]

GM:  Oh yeah!  What a way to start the New Year!

BW:  You've gotta be kidding me.  This fat goof is how we're showing the
world what the AWA's all about in 2011?  This is the Major League of
professional wrestling - not Sweatin' To The Oldies with Richard
Simmons!

[Williams steps through the ropes into the ring.  He grabs the top rope,
throwing back his head and doing a little knee-swingin' dance to the
cheers of the fans.  At the referee's order, Williams takes off his
jacket, turning to hand it over the ropes...

...which allows that dastardly Cuban to come rushing across the ring,
blasting Williams across the back with a running forearm smash.]

GM:  Ohh!  Cheapshot to start the New Year for the Cuban!

[Spinning Williams around, the Assassin buries a right hand into the
flabby midsection of the fan favorite.  He delivers a second before
grabbing Williams in a side headlock, letting loose a "YEAAAAAAH!" as he
cinches it in.]

GM:  The Assassin keeping it simple, applying the side headlock here and
really digging it in on the man from Hotlanta, Georgia.

BW:  Hotlanta, Georgia... ugh.  Even those redneck rejects in Atlanta
wouldn't claim a guy like Sweet Daddy Williams as one of their own!

GM:  Are you kidding me?  He's a hero to those people in Atlanta!

[Williams lifts a hand, waggling a finger back and forth to the laughter
of the crowd...

...and the Cuban cranks down on the headlock, shaking his head.]

BW:  You know, I thought we might see a more serious Williams after all
that time he was laid up at the hands of the Southern Syndicate but I
guess not.  He's back to being as big of a baby-kissin' idiot as he's
ever been.

GM:  Wow.  You're particularly nasty this week.  No New Year's party
invites?

BW:  I'll have you know that I spent New Year's Eve with my mama like
any loving son would and should, Gordo.

GM:  I see.

[Williams again lifts a hand, swinging it round and round in circles...

...and the Cuban wrenches down again, screaming "I've got you!" at his
victim.

To which the Sweet Daddy replies by hoisting the Assassin into the air,
dropping him tailbone first down on his bent knee.]

GM:  Ohh!  High atomic drop breaks the headlock!

[The Assassin stays standing, hands reaching for his rear.  He staggers
in a circle to face the Sweet Daddy...

...who lashes out with both arms, clapping them across the ears of the
Assassin!]

GM:  He rung his bell with that one!  Haha!

[An angry Assassin flails about on the mat, rolling under the ropes to
the floor.  He shouts at the official from inside the ring, gesturing
wildly at the fan favorite who spins and slaps his rear end, returning
the point to the cheers of the crowd.]

GM:  I think Sweet Daddy Williams just let the Cuban Assassin know
exactly what he thinks of him, Bucky.

BW:  Real classy too.  He's just a regular peach.

[An irate Cuban climbs on the apron, shouting at the official...

...and allowing Sweet Daddy Williams time to grab the top rope, jerking
it towards him and bringing the Assassin over the ropes and down hard on
the canvas to even more cheers from the Texas crowd.]

GM:  He brings him in the hard way!

[Grabbing the Cuban off the mat, Williams fires him across the ring to
the ropes...

...and sends him sailing high overhead with a big backdrop!]

GM:  Ohhh... and the Assassin hits the mat hard!

[Williams nods his head, shaking his hips and gesturing wildly to the
crowd as he reaches the corner, turning back, and floors the rising
Assassin with a running clothesline!]

GM:  The Assassin's down again!

[Pulling the Cuban up by the beard, Sweet Daddy earns a reprimand from
the referee as he uses the facial hair to drag him to the corner,
shoving him back in.  He hooks a side headlock of his own, swinging an
arm around in the air...]

GM:  He's calling for the bulldog!

[Williams rushes out of the corner, leaping into the air...

...and DRIVES the Assassin facefirst into the mat with a bulldog
headlock!  He rolls the Cuban to his back, applying a lateral press.]

GM:  There's one... there's two... and there's three!

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

[The crowd cheers as Williams springs to his feet, throwing a triumphant
arm into the air.]  

GM:  2011 for the AWA is underway and Sweet Daddy Williams is
victorious!  We're going to hear from him in just a moment but Bucky,
walk us through the replay.

[We fade to a slo-mo replay of what we just saw.]

BW:  Alright, first we see Fat Man Williams counter the headlock with an
atomic drop... oof!  Racked him with the bell ringer to boot.

[Yup.  That's what came up on the screen before fading to Williams
hooking the side headlock in the corner and running out, leaping up, and
smashing the Cuban's beard-covered face into the mat.]

BW:  The bulldog headlock sent the Cuban's skull into the canvas and
that was all she wrote, daddy.  2011 starts with that guy winning?  This
may be the worst year yet.

GM:  Give me a break.  Fans, he's the pride of Atlanta - Sweet Daddy
Williams is standing by with Jason Dane!  Jason?

[We fade up to a crane camera shot that shows the entryway with the
entrance at the top of the screen.  On the left side of the screen, we
can see Jason Dane at the interview position with Sweet Daddy Williams
walking in to join him.]

JD:  Thanks, Gordon.  Sweet Daddy Williams, Happy New Year, my friend!

[A beaming Sweet Daddy Williams claps Jason Dane on the back.]

SDW:  Thanks, JD.  It's 2011 and the Sweet Daddy is back in the AWA,
baby, whoooo!

[The crowd cheers loudly.]

JD:  That bulldog headlock we just saw you use... lookin' good!

SDW:  Thanks, JD.  That one goes out to my good pal, Vernon Riley.  Big
Vern's laid up with some injuries but I ain't forgot him.  The Riley
Roundup will keep on droppin' folks 'round here as long as the Sweet
Daddy's on the prowl.

[Another cheer from the crowd.]

JD:  Now, Sweet Daddy... you came back to the AWA way back on
Thanksgiving Night at SuperClash II during the National Title match. 
How did all that unfold?  

SDW:  Well, I tell ya, JD... I was sitting home for all those months
with a busted up leg waiting for the docs to tell me I was clear to come
back and I saw everything that he did.

JD:  He?

[Williams puts his hands on his hips, shaking his head.]

SDW:  Stevie Scott may be out of the AWA, JD, but we ain't forgot
nothin' that he's done.  And when I was home watchin' him do all that
stuff, I have to say... I felt a little bit guilty.

JD:  How so?

SDW:  I dragged him outta the gutter after he lost in WarGames.  When I
first spoke a kind word to him, he was a broken man... and I helped
rebuild him.  So, all that stuff he did to people... it was part my
fault.  And I felt that if I had a chance to make that right... I had to
take it.

When I heard 'bout the match between him and Juan for the Clash?  Well,
that just 'bout done it.  I knew I had to be there... I knew something
would go down and I had to be there to help however I could.

JD:  You kept him from leaving the ring.

SDW:  I did.  I got him back in there to face the music.  Now, I may not
exactly approve of how all that went down... but facts are facts.  It's
done.  He's done.  He's outta here.  That scum Waterson and the rest of
the Southern Syndicate, they's done too.  

[A solemn nod.]

JD:  But what does 2011 have in store for Sweet Daddy Williams?

[The serious SDW changes gears, getting a big grin.]

SDW:  2011 is a brand new day for Sweet Daddy Williams!  2010 was a bit
rough for me but when that calendar changed, so did I!  The future's so
bright, I gotta wear shades, baby!

[And on cue, Sweet Daddy Williams produces a gaudy looking pair of red
sunglasses that he slips on.]

JD:  Dig the shades, my friend.

SDW:  I'll have to pick up a pair for you too, JD... you know why?

JD:  Why?

SDW:  'Cause I don't want you going blind when Sweet Daddy shows up with
a shiny piece of gold 'round his pretty little waist.

[Big cheer!]

SDW:  And I don't much care who I gotta beat to get it.  Be it that
no-good son of a gun Nenshou... you cowardly piece of trash spitting
that stuff in the eyes of my good friend Melissa Cannon.  

Or maybe it's my old friends Dave Cooper and Eric Matthew Somers.  They
seem like they'd be up for a fight with ol' Sweet Daddy.

JD:  What about Juan Vasquez?

SDW:  Me and Juan are tight... ain't no denyin' that.  But while we're
on the same side, we both want the same thing... that big gold belt. 
So, if Sweet Daddy gets the call... I'll fight my buddy, Juan Vasquez. 
And I'm such a good friend, I'll even pick up the tab at the bar after I
win the gold.  Whooo, baby!  

JD:  Sweet Daddy Williams is- hold on a sec...

[The crowd's cheers grow louder as a tall drink of water, Ron Houston,
walks into view.  He joins the duo at the interview area, pausing to
shake Sweet Daddy Williams' hand.]

RH:  Sorry to interrupt, ol' buddy.

[Williams waves him off, gesturing in a "the floor is yours" kind of
way.]

JD:  Ron Houston, you're not scheduled to be out here right now.  What's
on your mind?

RH:  Ah'm out here to make something real clear.  Y'all saw what
happened at the Cup.  Ya saw Brian Von Braun, that pathetic shell of a
man, stab me in the back one more time.

[Houston shrugs.]

RH:  Can't expect nothin' else, right?

JD:  Are you here to challenge Von Braun to a SuperClash rematch?

[The crowd cheers.  Houston stands, hands on hips, for a long moment
before slowly leaning over the mic...]

RH:  No.

[The crowd buzzes with confusion.]

RH:  Ah wanted to, ya know?  Ah wanted to come out here, scream and
shout, throw a big ol' fit, and then Fade him out every damn night from
here 'til next Christmas.

But then ah realized ah was don' exactly what he wanted me ta do, Jason.
 He wants me ta throw a fit.  He wants me ta challenge him again.  

[A shake of the head.]

RH:  Ah got bigger fish to fry than Brian Von Braun.  Ah proved that
ah'm a better man than him back at SuperClash... and now, ah got mah
eyes on something big, shiny, and golden...

[The crowd cheers!]

RH:  Nenshou...

[The fans jeer wildly.]

RH:  Ya got somethin' that belongs ta me.

[Dane interrupts.]

JD:  How do you figure that?

RH:  'Cause ah got respect for that title... and for what it represents.
 Ah'm a man who watches tapes from those boys in Laredo... in Los
Angeles... in Portland... in Canada... in St. Louis... in Japan... and
RESPECTS what those people did to build this business for a guy like me.

And Nenshou... and Childes... they don' respect nothin', Jason.

[Dane nods.]

JD:  I have to agree with you there.

RH:  So, ah'm puttin' all of 'em on notice.  Childes... Nenshou...
Monosso... Layton... that big sack of-

[Dane pulls the mic away.]

JD:  We get the idea.  The Unholy Alliance is on warning?

RH:  That's right.  All of 'em.  Ah'm drawin' a line right here tonight.
 Ya walk the line?  We ain't got no issues that a one-on-one match for
that gold can't settle.  

Ya step across it?  Any of ya?

[Houston cracks his knuckles with a grin.]

RH:  Then we'll just see what happens, won't we?

[And with that, Houston and Sweet Daddy Williams walk out of view
together, leaving Jason Dane behind.]

JD:  You heard it, fans!  The Unholy Alliance has been warned by the
former National Champion right here tonight in Dallas!  But will they
listen?  Will they care?  We'll find out later tonight so don't you dare
go away!

[We fade away from Jason Dane to black...

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

"Have you ever dreamed of fame?"

[Cut a little closer.]

"Of glory?"

[A little closer.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Two young students are grappling on the canvas.]

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

You want to wrestle!"

[Fade to a graphic that has all the info on the AWA Combat Corner.  We
freeze there for a moment and then fade back up to a simple blue
backdrop. Nothing special. The two people standing in front of it,
though? Very special. To the left, a male. Older than high school age,
but wearing a varsity letterman's jacket nonetheless. Shaggy blonde
hair, piercing blue eyes, a smile that gets the ladies into the sack,
and a matching athletic build. To the right, a female. Wearing a
cheerleader skirt and top to complement the male. Long, luxurious red
hair. Buxom feature. And the looks of a multiple crowned beauty queen.

Ladies and gentlemen, meet "All Pro" Andrew Stevens and Becky.]

AS: Yes, I _am_ 'that guy.'

[Another winning smile.]

AS: I know that normally speaking, being 'that guy' isn't a good thing.
For example, the overweight guy with his shirt off. Or the chubby chick
with the cankles who decided to wear flip flops. And, although that's
the typical demographic for a fan of this sport, I'm sure you get what
I'm saying. But me? I'm the exact opposite. I'm that guy who
overachieves. I'm that guy who made it. I'm that guy who saved the day,
got the girl [nods to Becky], and lives the 'American Dream' on a daily
basis.

[Stevens thinks, shrugs, and sighs.]

AS: Simply put, I'm 'that guy' who's quite simply _better_.

[Smirk.]

AS: Look at me. A multi-sport star in high school. An All-American
athlete in college. Numerous awards. Numerous accolades. Trophies.
Medals. Every single thing I've set out to accomplish has been
accomplish. The Florida State University record for single season sacks?
Mine. The MVP of the state baseball tournament? Me. The Prom King? Yours
truly. But, as much as I would _love_ to keep going, I'm not here to
talk about those things. I'm here to talk about wrestling... my _next_
accomplishment.

B: GIMME AN 'A!' GIMME AN 'N!' GIMME A...

AS: [interrupting] Not now, babe.

B: But baby! You said I could!

AS: When I'm done.

B: But honnnnnneyyyyyy...

AS: I said, when I'm _done_.

B: Fine! You're mean!

[Becky turns away from Stevens, crosses her arm, and pouts.]

AS: [sighs] As I was saying...

[Stevens briefly turns his attention to Becky, who's still turned away.
Knowing he's not going to win, he continues on.]

AS: This isn't going to be some 'rags to riches' story. I didn't have a
childhood of poverty. My mom and dad didn't have to work three jobs for
our family to survive. I didn't have to wear second-hand clothing to
school. We're a family that's been successful. My dad played minor
league baseball, and is now a sports reporter. My mother is a small
business owner. And the two of them collaborated to create the specimen
standing here before you. From a young age, I've been called a rare
breed.

I drive the finest cars. I eat the finest gourmet food. I date the most
beautiful women. _I_ am what _you_ aspire to be.

[The comments pique Becky's interest, and her anger starts to
disappear.]

AS: One by one, I'm going to go through the dorks of AWA like a hot
knife goes through butter. I'm going to climb the ranks, dominate the
opposition, and take my _rightful_ place at the top of the food chain.
Yes, I'm sure others have come in here and said the same damn thing.
Yes, I know that most of them are now distant memories. But I'm not
_that_ guy. I've never given up on one thing in my lifetime. Not even
the summer that my mom decided it'd be a good idea for me to go to dance
camp.

B: And he looked yum-a-licious in his leotard, too!

[Stevens looks at Becky with the "TMI" stare. She quickly ceases to
speak.]

AS: My choice of dance gear aside, the bottom line is this. I am a born
leader. I am a born winner. I am a born _champion_. Once I finally step
inside the AWA ring, I'll show whichever one of the unlucky geeks that
face me what it's all about. And, once I get my shot at the title and
win, I'll flash back to right here. I'll bring up how at this very
moment, I told each and every one of you what I was going to do. I'll
bring up how nobody thought I could do it. And, I'll utter this
phrase...

...I told you so.

[And with those final words, Stevens turns to leave.]

B: But you said I could talk when you're done!

AS: Next time, babe.

[Stevens grabs Becky by the hand, and the couple walks off the shot. 
The shot fades to black and then back up to live action inside the
Crockett Coliseum where Gordon Myers and Bucky Wilde are standing.]

GM:  "All Pro" Andrew Stevens is coming to the AWA... and the man seems
quite full of himself, doesn't he?

BW:  Nothing wrong with confidence, Gordo.

GM:  If it's confidence we're talking about, Stevens has it by the
boatload.  But it remains to be seen if he can back it up inside the
ring, fans.  

BW:  I just had a peek at our format and the guy coming out here next,
there's no doubt he can back it up inside the ring, Gordo.

GM:  Who?

BW:  Tell 'im, Phil!

[We go up to Phil Watson for the intros to the next match.  Already in
the ring is a man in silver wrestling tights, black boots, and a silver
mask, who is limbering up with some footwork to prepare himself for the
match.]

PW: The next contest is set for one fall with a ten minute time limit.

Introducing first, to my right.  Hailing from Glory Road, weighing
two-hundred fourty-three pounds... he is...

FUTURESTAR!

[The masked man raises his hands to the crowd, shouting out to them. 
They answer, not really knowing what to make of the guy.]

GM: Do you know anything about this Futurestar, Bucky Wilde?

BW: Yup.  His only chance ta be what he says he is... is ta start
runnin' now.

PW: And his opponent...

[The shrill piano of "The Theme From Halloween" starts up, and
immediately the fans boo and jeer.  After a moment, the six-seven,
wideshouldered form of James Monosso creeps slowly from behind the
curtain.  He has a big smile on his face (!), and is carrying a large
frame of some kind, wrapped in brown paper.  Wearing the traditional
pale-green "PROPERTY OF STATE MENTAL INSTITUTION" cutoff T-Shirt over a
black one-strap singlet with shiny silver highlighting (and matching
boots), the stringy-haired madman takes his sweet time in heading down
the aisle.  He stops once or twice to raise his hand and mock some of
the fans who are yelling at him.]

GM:  Oh dear.

BW: That's... well, somethin' ya don't see every day.  Monosso's in a
good mood.

GM: That may be more frightening than Monosso being in a bad mood.  And
once again, he's carrying what looks like a picture frame to the ring.

PW: Coming down the aisle, accompanied by his manager Percy Childes...
from The State Of Confusion, weighing two-hundred eighty-eight pounds...

JAMES MONOSSO!

[It's only now that we see the aforementioned manager, trailing well
behind and clutching Nenshou's Longhorn Heritage Championship as if he
needs it to survive.  The bald, roundbottomed manager is wearing a knit
sweater with patterns in various shades of brown and black pants. 
Monosso steps down off of the elevated ramp into his corner, and sets
the package down.]

GM: We saw him bring out just such a frame when he faced Eric Preston...
photos of Preston's family, meant to intimidate him.

BW: Maybe he has photos of Futurestar's family.  

GM: How would he know who Futurestar is?

BW: It's hard to miss a guy with a shiny silver mask, Gordo.  His wife
probably wears a shiny pink mask, and they got two kids with blue and
red masks.  

GM: I'm sure that Futurestar doesn't wear his mask home, and doesn't
make his family wear masks either.

BW: Too bad.  Some o' these families we got in the crowd could use a
matchin' set o' masks.  Ugggg-LY!

[While this exchange goes on, Childes and Monosso briefly converse
outside the ring, before the former insane asylum inmate rolls under the
bottom rope.  Knowing his tendencies, Phil Watson clears out, and the
referee rings the bell right away.  The music comes to a stop.]

GM: Alright, Monosso foregoing the usual beeline, and circling
Futurestar slowly.  Almost stalking the man.

BW: Futurestar's still in the ring, so I'm gonna guess he don't wear a
mask ta hold in alla his brains.

GM: FUTURESTAR ON THE ATTACK!

[The silver-masked athlete springs forward with a beautiful dropkick! 
The fans cheer, as he leaps up with a second dropkick!  Off the ropes
goes the Futurestar, and rebounding with a flying forearm!  The fans
rally behind him, and he swings his arms for approval.

Then he notices that Monosso is utterly unfazed... just before he is
struck in the head with a meaty left hook.]

BW: Somebody get this kid a VCR, so he can scout before his next
match... if he ever has one.

GM: Striking James Monosso is next to worthless unless you're a real
powerhouse, and even then it's probably not ultimately helpful. You
cannot fight this man; he is too durable.  You must wrestle him to stand
a chance.

BW: The only thing this kid is wrestling with right now is asphyxiation,
daddy.  

GM: Monosso stepping right on Futurestar's aspohagus.  Blatant disregard
for the rules, as always.  Now lifting this youngster from Glory Road
off the canvas, and hoisting him overhead!  GORILLA PRESS!

BW: Is he gonna Get Outta Here?

GM: Not quite yet, as Monosso drills him down with the press slam in the
ring.  His raw power is most impressive.  He is no longer among the very
strongest men in wrestling, but he is at least in the 90th percentile. 
Impressive for a man of his age.

BW: He don't even _know_ how old he is, Gordo.

GM: His life would be considered tragic... if he hadn't responded to his
hardships by blaming the world and lashing out accordingly.

[Speaking of lashing out, the crowd lashes out at Monosso with boos, as
he applies a very technical hold.  The famous "Greco-Roman
Stick-Your-Fingers-In-The-Guys-Nostrils-And Rip-His-Nose-Off Hold".  The
referee counts, but James doesn't care.]

GM: Look at this!  It's barbaric!

BW: I agree.  Ya know what he could get on his fingers doin' that?!  Ah,
no problem, he just wiped his fingers off on Futurestar's eyeballs.

GM: Blatant facerake, and picking the man up... choking him... AND A
BRUTAL CHOKESLAM!  

BW: James' chokeslam is unique.  He don't lift far, because he uses his
strength ta DRIVE th' man down instead o' droppin' him!

GM: Futurestar is outmatched, and Childes wants to see more.  the fans
letting him have it... why is Childes carrying the Longhorn Heritage
Championship, anyway?

BW: It's his.

GM: No, it belongs to Nenshou!

BW: But that belt is Childes' victory.  His victory over the past.  All
the 'legends', all the came-and-wents.  And if anybody don't like it?
They can kindly ask Mr. Monosso to step aside so they can have words
with Childes.  An' I just don't see a line formin' anywhere for that.

GM:  Is that right?  It sounded like Ron Houston might be the first in
line!

BW:  Bring him on.  I'd love to see him tussle with Monosso.

[As this information is given, Monosso lifts Futurestar and whips him to
the corner.  The masked man jumps on the second rope, and leaps back
with a twisting bodypress!  But Monosso lunges forward and smashes his
forehead into Futurestar's ribcage, dropping him out of the air!]

GM: Bro-THER!  That's pure brutality.

BW: Nice counter!

GM: I have to say that.  It WAS legal.  BUT THIS IS NOT!

[James pulls Futurestar's head over the middle rope to choke him on it. 
He digs his knee into the back of the masked man.  And then, he grabs
Futurestar's legs with one arm while pushing down on his head with the
other, and flips his lower body over the top rope!  The masked man's
chin is underneath the middle rope, his back pulls the top rope down,
and the end result is that the two strands end up crossing... and
choking him!]

GM: HE DELIBERATELY GOT THE MAN'S NECK TRAPPED IN THE ROPES!

BW: Well, duh.  Hard ta do that ta somebody by accident.

GM: The referee has to get in there, as Futurestar is being hung! 
Monosso pounding away on his head with hammer-like blows! Nobody can
take much of this!

[The crowd expresses their anger as Monosso boots the masked man in the
back of the head, as he dangles helplessly in the ropes. Finally, the
referee pulls the ropes apart enough for Futurestar to collapse to the
apron.]

BW: The kid could have tapped out, ya know.

GM: Now what?

[Now... Monosso drags Futurestar towards the corner, and leans his upper
body on the second turnbuckle, with his head next to the post!  This is
the inverse of how he usually does this, but the fans sense it and start
screaming for him to move!]

BW: Oh, wow, check this out, Gordo!  It's an inside-out version of the
Concussionizer!

GM: The WHAT?

BW: I just made that name up now.  It fits!


"CLAAAAAAAAAAAANG!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[James runs from the middle of the ring, thrusting into a kick that
drives Futurestar's head into the ringpost... with all of Monosso's
momentum and weight smashing against him!  The youngster flops off the
apron to the floor!]

GM: That should be banned!

BW: He usually does it from the apron ta a guy IN the ring, but that
time he did it from th' ring ta a guy on the apron.  Versatility!

GM: That's not versatility, that's psychotic!  How many young men have
we seen Monosso crush head-first into the ringpost with that kick, and
then never seen wrestle again?!  The countout is a sure thing at this...
WHAT IS PERCY CHILDES DOING?!

BW: Helping Futurestar back in!  What a gentleman!

GM: That should be an automatic disqualification; Childes put his hands
on a wrestler!  The referee too intimidated by Monosso to call it!

BW: He's got a family, Gordo.  We've seen that James don't much care
about how refs are protected by fines and suspensions.  He'll do
whatever comes ta mind.  And right now, th' only thing on his brain is
damage!  ...in more ways than one, probably.

GM: Monosso lifting Futurestar...

[James holds his man up in belly-to-back suplex position for a moment...
the limp body of Futurestar drapes down in front of him like a human
blanket.  The fans boo... and then Monosso spins with him, crushing him
headfirst to the canvas with his Backdrop Driver.]

GM: __DESCENT INTO MADNESS__!  And please tell me he's finished!

BW: Yup, he's finished.  For now.

[The referee counts the academic three as Monosso just sits on the
canvas.  His left arm is idly draped over Futurestar for the pin, as if
he doesn't really even know he's there.  He's already staring at the
announce position, grinning widely.]

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

GM: He's staring over here!  Why is he staring over here?!

BW: I got a feelin' you'll be able ta ask him yerself in a minute.

PW: The winner of the contest... JAMES MONOSSO!

["The Theme From Halloween" drifts back up as the capacity crowd
unleashes their hate.  Oblivious, James slowly rolls towards his corner,
retrieving his frame as Percy claps him on his shoulder in approval.]

GM: Fans, as Bucky does the instant replay... those maniacs are coming
over here, and I want to be on my feet when they get here. Bucky?

BW: Suuure, leave it for me ta be a sittin' duck.

[The replay of the boot into the ringpost starts.  We are informed that
this is the "PENNZOIL HIGH PERFORMANCE REPLAY OF THE WEEK" by the
chryon.  Monosso is in center ring, with the silver mask of Futurestar
in between the top and middle turnbuckles... he's on his knees on the
apron, trying to use the ropes to stand.  But he never manages to make
it, as the black-and-silver boot of James Monosso thunders into the side
of his head, smashing him into the ringpost.  Monosso's momentum
continues, and his plant foot leaves the mat as the ringpost is what
arrests his forward progress.]

BW: The Concussionizer!  Well, this is Concussionizer '11.  A new
version fer th' new year.  I don't really need ta explain why this is
th' most dangerous move in wrasslin', do I?  It's marginally legal, an'
pretty much guarantees yer gonna be a vegetable in yer old age.  So if
ya got Monosso lined up as an opponent in th' future... stay off th'
apron.  Stay outta th' corner.  Just... stay home.  It ain't worth it.

[Then the replay of the Descent Into Madness.  Monosso spins around
one-and-a-half rotations before dropping back with the Backdrop Driver.]

BW: An' here it is, the Descent Inta Madness.  James showboatin' a bit
ta show everybody, an' then he brings it all down on Futurestar's head. 
Whether he breaks yer neck with th' Sanity Check, or gives ya brain
damage with this, the end result is a trip ta th' hospital.  At least he
didn't do both, kid.  An' that's yer Pennzoil High Performance Reply Of
Th' Week!  Now, over ta Gordo, who's doin' Jason Dane's job again!

[We cut back to ringside, where Gordon Myers is holding a house mic next
to James Monosso and Percy Childes.  Monosso has his wrapped picture
frame, and is apparently very happy.]

GM: Alright.  James Monosso, Percy Childes... we have two interview
stages up at the top of the aisle, and a man that gets paid to handle
this.  Why are you calling me out here?

PC: What's this?  Gordon Myers, where did your overdeveloped sense of
nostalgia go to?  It seems like only yesterday that you were handling
all of the interviews, and now you're too good to talk to the man who
owns your heritage?  Oh, no, Gordon Myers.  If I want you to interview
me, you will, and if I want you to shine my shoes, you will.  And the
reason why can be summed up in two words: James.  Monosso.

[Theatening Gordon, as usual, draws the ire of the audience.]

PC: But it isn't me that wanted to talk to you, no.  You should be so
lucky.  It was Mr. Monosso himself that wished to speak with you.  

[That visibly bothers Gordon... catering to the whims of an egotistical
mananger is one thing, but being the object of the whims of a psychotic
is entirely another.]

JM: Stop shaking, Myers.  If I wanted to hurt you, I'd have done it
already.  No, I want to tell you one thing.  One thing, to your face.
You... and all of these people.  All of them sitting at home, those fat
lazy creeps with the remote in one hand and the other in their pants. 
Those jerks who have no part in this, but pass judgement on me!  

[The crowd continues passing judgement.  Monosso points, swinging his
finger all around him.]

JM: Yes, all of you.  All of you.  All of you who cheered on Eric
Preston.

[YAY HE SAID ERIC PRESTON!] 

JM: All of you who threw in with him.  Put your faith in him.  Who chose
him as your champion to wage war against big bad evil James Monosso. 
Well, I have two words for you.  Two words for all of you, and
especially for you, Gordon Myers.  You came out here every stinking week
and ran me down, told everyone how Eric Preston would get the better of
me, told everyone that the things I was saying were crazy lies, were
delusions, that it was all just bitterness talking.  Two words, Myers:

   ...I.  WON.

[BOO!]

GM: You most certainly did not!  Eric Preston pinned you in the center
of the ring!

[Monosso's response?  He laughs.]

JM: Ha ha ha... yeah, and?

GM: And?  What do you mean 'and'?

JM: And since that match, have you seen Eric Preston?  His ace
performances at SuperClash and the Stampede Cup?  The great future
champion you all heralded?  And the man I said I'd ruin?  The career I
said I'd ruin?  The man and career that I would ruin to show you all
what this business DOES to people?  Have you SEEN him lately?

Why don't you ask that _user_ Todd Michaelson if I won?

[BOO!]

GM: That's... that's...

BW: Absolutely right.

[Gordon glares over at Bucky, who is still in his seat.]

PC: Mr. Wilde, as always, is the perceptive member of your team, Myers. 
Preston is a shell of the potential he had.  His long war with the
mighty Monosso has left him utterly _spent_.  And now you will see him
fade into obscurity and pain, just as my man predicted from the outset. 
Go back and listen to the tapes, Myers.  You have called James Monosso
crazy for years.  But you fail to apprehend a critical point... __HE DID
EVERYTHING HE SET OUT TO DO__.

[BBBOOOOOOOOO!]

JM: I win.  I win.  I win.  And in commemoration of my victory, Gordon
Myers, I have left you a gift.  A gift that Anton Layton's Master
personally commissioned for you at my request.

[James rips the covering of his frame, to reveal a portrait.  A portrait
of Eric Preston on the mat in defeat at SuperClash, and of Vernon Riley
on the mat with a potentially-career-ending broken leg at the same
event.]

JM: We put Riley out to pasture, and I put Preston out to irrevelancy. 
Here's the portrait, Myers.  Hang it in your living room, to remind you
every morning what the business you live in is REALLY like.  And the
fates of the people you... yes, you, and all of these people too...
drive men to.  You BEGGED for heroes!  One year ago, you stood up here
and BEGGED for heroes!  And they came, because _you_ called for them! 
Remember!  YOU CALLED FOR HEROES, MYERS!  AND THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS TO
HEROES IN THIS BUSINESS!

[Myers looks at the portrait... stares at it.  It horrifies him.  The
detail of suffering on the faces is extremely realistic... and Gordon is
speechless.]

JM: Take it, Myers.  Reap what you sowed.    This is as much your
victory as ours!

And you'd have to be _INSANE_ to think otherwise!

[Monosso leaves the portrait on the announce table, as he and Percy head
to the back.  "The Theme From Halloween" plays them out, as Myers
continues to be lost in the portrait.  Sorrow crosses his face.]

BW: Man, what a generous pres-

GM: Don't.

BW: Well, excuuuu-

GM: We'll be back after these messages.

[Curtly, Myers calls for the commercial, and immediately we cut.

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

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

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

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

JD:  Hello, Mr. iPhone.

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

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

JD:  Well, actually I did.

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

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

[Thankfully, a voiceover starts.]

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

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

[Fade back to black...

And then back up to footage from earlier in the day, as Jason Dane
stands next to Raphael Rhodes, leaning against the ring in the empty
Crockett Coliseum.  A wide smile is spread across Rhodes' face, and he
is dressed in a pair of jeans, a replica of the Wigan Warriors away kit,
and a beaten up leather jacket.]

JD: Raphael Rhodes, tonight, you are in a grudge match against your main
nemesis since returning from your knee injury, and that's Adrian
Freeman.  The Stampede Cup was not very kind to Freeman... do you think
he's going to come out swinging at you?

[Rhodes leans forward towards Dane.]

RR: Between you and me, mate?  I think I broke the boy.

[Rhodes scoffs.]

RR: Steal the Spotlight, right?  I pinned Freeman clean in the middle. 
Beat him solid.  Would've been nice to get a second to recover before
that giant Mizusawa splashed me, but that ain't the matter at all right
now, aye?

[Rhodes smooths back his hair, looking shaggier than normal with patches
of blue and blond dyed into the natural brown hair.

RR: The last two months, Freeman... they ain't been good to you at all. 
The Syndicate's been crumblin' around you.  You found out first-hand
just what the Syndicate does to people once they cast them away when
Dufresne dumped you on your head.  Then, you lost to Vasquez in record
time.  If you think you're comin' in to use me as a steppin' stone to
get back on track, well...

[Rhodes' smile fades, as he looks directly at the camera lens, peering
right through your screen.]

RR: I'm goin' to massacre you.  You didn't even last five minutes with
Vasquez... and I took the man to his total and complete limit on
numerous occasions.  What in the bowels of the almighty kind of chance
do you think you have against me tonight?

[Rhodes' smile returns, looking back at Dane now.]

RR: This man made a livin' standin' by and puttin' people in hospital. 
After tonight, I'm sendin' him back to that convict island he calls
home.  And if he's lucky, and if I'm feelin' kind, maybe it won't be in
a six foot plastic bag.

[Fade from the taped footage back to ringside where Gordon and Bucky are
standing.]

GM:  We talked about it earlier, Bucky.  Raphael Rhodes seems to be a
man on a mission here tonight.  He struck a blow against those who
wronged him at SuperClash - tonight, he gets a chance to finish off part
of that job.

BW:  Oh yeah?  And then what?

GM:  What do you mean?

BW:  Say Rhodes beats Freeman... hurts him... injures him... puts him
out.  Who's next?  Ben Waterson and Stevie Scott are out of the picture.
 The Southern Syndicate is in ruins.  Who does Raphael Rhodes turn his
focus to then?

GM:  Well, I don't-

[Suddenly, the sharp opening riffs of ZZ Top’s “Sharp Dressed Man” kick
in over the sound system and the crowd leaps to its collective feet and
begin showering the entrance portal with jeers.  From that portal
emerges perhaps the most hated man in the AWA, “The Ladykiller” Calisto
Dufresne.  Clad in a crisp, navy blue three piece suit, his long blond
hair is pulled into a tight ponytail.  He soaks in the reaction from the
crowd (which sound much like cheers from where he’s standing), taking a
deep bow before veering off to the right where Jason Dane awaits him,
microphone in hand.]

JD: Calisto Dufresne, welcome back to Saturday Night Wrestling. 

CD: The pleasure is all yours, Dane.

JD: There have been some serious developments in your personal world
since the last time we had a chance to speak.

[Dufresne nods solemnly.]

CD: No question about it.  Since you and I last spoke, I’ve bedded six
models, 11 actresses, four recording artists and a fine young waitress
from the Waffle House.  It’s been a hectic few months to say the least.

[Dane shakes his head in frustration.]

JD: I was referring to the AWA.

[Dufresne sighs dramatically.]

CD: What did Lori tell you?

JD: Wait, _what!?_ I’m talking about City Jack’s triumphant return, the
dissolution of the Southern Syndicate and your treachery towards your
former partner Adrian Freeman!

CD: Ohhhhhhh, _that!_  Well you should have just said so, Dane. 

[Flustered, Dane continues on like a pro.]

JD: Let’s start with two weeks ago at the Stampede Cup.  Adrian Freeman
ended up on the receiving end of a Wham, Bam, Thank You Ma’am after you
feigned injury and replaced yourself with Cuban Assassin #6 rather than
face Kentucky’s Pride.

[Dufresne scoffs at the notion.]

CD: Let’s get something straight.  I suffered a very serious head and
neck injury at SuperClash and could not perform.  All my throngs of
adoring fans here and around the world know that Calisto Dufresne is no
coward and is a competitor of the highest regard.  There was no way I
would just fake an injury to avoid getting in the ring with two rednecks
who I’ve beaten like red headed stepchildren time and time again. 

As far as Adrian goes, it was clear that he was no longer happy living
in my shadow.  We all know that I carried us to the top of the tag team
world time and again and that was never more evident than when I wasn’t
able to be in that match and he promptly got beat, costing us a cool
million.  That was forgivable and even understandable, though.  But
placing your hands on the Ladykiller?

[Dufresne shrugs.]

CD: Well, no good deed goes unpunished as they say.

JD: What about the rest of your cohorts in the Southern Syndicate? 
Stevie Scott has disappeared and Ben Waterson has run for the hills it
appears as well.

[Dufresne snorts in derision.]

CD: Does it really matter, Dane?  Stevie was the champ and that – along
with my gorgeous face and undeniable talent – is what brought fame and
riches to the Southern Syndicate.  He screwed up and lost that title to
that worthless shmuck Juan Vasquez.  So what else is there for him to
do?  It’s better that he go keep his head down for awhile and let the
future of the industry take it from here. 

As far as Ben Waterson is concerned, when was the last time you saw Ben
Waterson interested in Calisto Dufresne?  He followed Stevie around like
a lost puppy but could never be bothered to come out for one of my
matches.  But after watching that bumbling idiot make mistake after
mistake when it mattered most, it’s a good thing he didn’t.  He’d
probably screw up every match I was involved in.

The Southern Syndicate is gone.  But its pillar… its foundation... still
stands strong.  And that pillar – that’s me, by the way – has his eyes
on that gold that Stevie screwed up and lost.

[Dane nods.]

JD: You do have an anytime, anywhere shot at the National Title thanks
to your heinous attack on Shane Taylor.

CD: That I do, my simple-minded friend.  And there’s no saying when I’m
going to cash it in.  I’m a patient man; an intellectual who appreciates
perfect timing.  And when the time is right, Juan Vasquez is going to be
on the receiving end of a Wham, Bam, Thank You Ma’am and that title is
going around my trim waist - right where it belongs.  He had better
start sleeping with one eye open. 

City Jack should be able to give him some tips on that.

[Dufresne chuckles at his joke as the crowd boos.]

JD: Speaking of City Jack, he is back and made his triumphant return at
SuperClash and there is no question that he is out for blood.  Your
blood!

[The crowd reverses its reaction at that and Dufresne becomes visibly
upset.]
 
CD: So the lummox can see again.  So what!?  While he may have regained
his sight he clearly has lost his already-tenuous grip on reality, Dane.
 He came after me with a baseball bat, for Christ’s sake!  You could
kill someone with that!
 
JD: As opposed to a fireball…
 
[Dufresne plows right along.]
 
CD: If the suits upstairs think that Calisto Dufresne is getting in the
ring with that maniac, they’re sorely mistaken.  I am here as an
honorable competitor; to come out here every night and put on a show for
all of my fans.  I’m not here to get crippled.  What kind of man does
that to a fellow gladiator?  So City Jack can hoot and holler all he
wants.  He can prance around like a pirate with his eye patch on ‘till
the cows come home.  He can chase me around until Rapture, but there’s
no way that I’m risking this beautiful face and statuesque physique in a
match with him.
 
JD: You do know that you’re scheduled to face him tonight, right?
 
[Dufresne shakes his head.]
 
CD: No, I’m scheduled to face his redneck life partner and some guy I’ve
never heard of before.  My good friends from the fine countries of
Russia and Iran will be taking care of City Jack.  We’ve come to an
agreement on that point.  After all, whether you speak English or
Russian or Farsi or Hillbilly, there’s one language we all understand:
 
Cold.  Hard.  Cash. 
 
And tonight, as always, Calisto Dufresne will have his arm raised in
victory.
 
[A nod, a wink and a smile.]
 
CD: And you can take _that_... to the bank.
 
[“Sharp Dressed Man” kicks in yet again and the boos follow quickly
thereafter as Dufresne turns on his heel and heads back through the
entrance portal.]

JD:  Can Calisto Dufresne really BUY his way out of facing City Jack? 
We'll find out later tonight.  But for now, let's head down to Phil
Watson for tag team action!

[Crossfade to the ring where Phil Watson is standing in his black
tuxedoed best.]

PW:  The following contest is a tag team match scheduled for one fall
with a ten minute time limit.  Introducing first... already in the ring
at this time... from Lincoln, Nebraska... the team of David Powers and
Ken Fuller!

[Two normal looking dudes raise their arms to little reaction.]

PW:  And their opponents...

[The sounds of KISS' "Rock And Roll All Nite" kicks in to a big cheer.]

PW:  From Rock And Roll City, USA... they are Scotty Storm and Marty
Morgan... THE ROOOOOCKSTAR EXXXXXPRESS!

[The cheers get louder as Morgan and Storm burst through the curtain in
unison.  They're dressed in matching black tights with red and white
bandanas tied off in spots.  Both are wearing a white t-shirt with the
sleeves cut out - for Morgan, it's Whitesnake that adorns the front. 
For Storm, it's Warrant.  They each take a side of the aisle, slapping
hands all the way down the ramp.]

GM:  Here they come, Bucky... Scotty and Marty... one of the most
popular tag teams in the entire AWA.  They are tag team specialists and
two of the very best at what they do.

BW:  Oh yeah?  How come they got knocked off by some other team in their
debut then?

GM:  Of course, you're referring to the time limit draw we saw at the
Stampede Cup between the Rockstar Express and the Aces.  It was a
thrilling match, wasn't it?

BW:  It was a good match but what a joke these Rockstars are.  How can
you go on about them being tag team specialists when they couldn't even
beat two new guys?

GM:  The Aces are an incredibly talented team as well, Bucky.

BW:  Yeah, yeah, yeah... but the Rockstars are seasoned veterans. 
They've got the talent... they've got the experience... but maybe
they're just getting lazy or something.  They didn't have the edge they
needed to beat the Aces.

[The Rockstar Express reaches the ring, hopping through the ropes.  They
each take a midbuckle, pointing to the cheering fans.  In unison, they
pull off their shirts to the screams of the female fans before tossing
their shirts out to the crowd and hopping back down.  Scotty Storm takes
his spot on the apron as Marty Morgan claps his hands together and
begins to circle Ken Fuller as the bell rings.]

GM:  Here we go, fans!  Ken Fuller and David Powers versus the Rockstar
Express in the first tag team showdown of 2011 - and you can bet the
Rockstars want to get right back to their winning ways after failing to
get out of the first round at the Cup on Christmas night.

BW:  Aha!  You admit they're failures!

GM:  I admit they failed to get out of the first round.  That's it.

[After a few moments of circling, Marty Morgan and Ken Fuller come
together in mid-ring in a collar and elbow.  Fuller quickly pulls Morgan
into a side headlock but Morgan just as quickly backs him down into the
ropes before throwing him off to the far ropes.]

GM:  Morgan shoves him off to the ropes...

[Fuller hits the ropes, rebounding off.  Morgan drops down to the mat,
forcing Fuller to leap over him, running to the far ropes.  He bounces
off, climbing to his feet, and gets promptly taken over to the mat with
a hiptoss!]

GM:  Big hiptoss by Marty Morgan!

[Fuller pops back up, grabbing the arm of an incoming Morgan and taking
him down with an armdrag of his own before springing up and slapping the
hand of David Powers who rushes in...

...and gets snapped down with an armdrag from Morgan.  Kneeling on the
mat, Morgan twists the wrist, applying an armbar.]

GM:  Nice exchange right there, Bucky.  Do they look like they've lost a
step to you?

BW:  Against two scrubs like Fuller and Powers, no.  Against the Aces,
they certainly did.

[Holding the arm, Morgan forces Powers to his feet, pushing him back to
the ropes where he slaps the hand of Scotty Storm.]

GM:  Quick tag by the Rockstars...

[Morgan flings Powers off to the ropes, catching him with a haymaker to
the midsection on the rebound...

...which makes him easy pickings for a big kneelift on the chin by
Storm!]

GM:  Oh yeah!  The Rockstar Express with a doubleteam and Powers goes
down to the mat hard.

[Powers rolls around, clutching his jaw before Storm pulls him up by the
wrist.  He executes a full armtwist before backing up, slapping the hand
of Marty Morgan.]

GM:  Another quick tag brings Morgan back in... big wind up... ohh! 
Right hand to the ribs!

[The blow knocks Powers down to a knee as Storm steps back out to the
apron.]

GM:  Love 'em or hate 'em, you've gotta be impressed by the teamwork on
display by the Rockstars, Bucky.

BW:  They're a good team but I think they're starting to be outmatched
in there by some teams.

GM:  Namely the Aces?

BW:  Exactly.

[Morgan grabs the wrist, twisting the arm again.  He wraps the arm
around the top rope, rearing back to deliver an overhand right to the
bicep.  Powers stumbles away, trying to shake some feeling back into his
arm.]

GM:  The Rockstars working hard on the arm...

[Morgan twists the arm again, backing to the corner to slap the hand of
Scotty Storm who steps in, hops up to the middle buckle, and leaps off
with a double axehandle down across the twisted arm!]

GM:  Storm grabs both arms, holding them back...

[Having been tagged back in, Morgan slingshots over the top, winds up,
and delivers a big right hand to the jaw, sending Powers stumbling away
towards his corner...

...but Morgan grabs him by the ankle, preventing his escape.]

GM:  He blocks the tag!  Good move by Marty...

[And Morgan leaps forward, dropping an elbow across the back of the
head.  Hauling him to his feet, Morgan snaps him over in a snapmare to
the canvas...]

GM:  Takes him back down...

[He leaps up, driving his fist down into the forehead!]

GM:  Ohh!  Leaping fistdrop by Marty!

BW:  An illegal fist I should add.

GM:  Add away, my friend.  The referee is warning him against the
clenched fist but Morgan pulls him right back to his feet...

[Powers immediately reaches up, raking his fingers across the eyes of
Morgan!]

GM:  Ohh!  Cheapshot!

[Powers pushes past Morgan, reaching for his partner whose arm is
outstretched...

...but Morgan shoves him back, drilling Fuller with a right hand that
knocks him off the apron!]

GM:  Ohh!  

BW:  You want to talk about a cheapshot?

GM:  Tag to Storm... double whip by the Rockstars...

[And they knock Powers flat with a double back elbow under the chin.]

GM:  The Rockstars are keeping it really simple here tonight in Dallas. 
No crazy high-risk attacks.  Neither of them has even left their feet
yet, Bucky.

BW:  You may have spoken too soon, Gordo.

[Storm pulls Powers off the mat, hooking him in a bearhug, lifting him
off the mat as Morgan hops up to the middle rope...

...and leaps off with a dropkick under the chin, knocking Powers flat
and allowing Storm to flip over him in a double leg cradle.  Fuller
races in, trying to break up the pin and gets caught with a dropkick on
the chin as the referee dives to count.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREEEEEE!!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


[Storm pops up, landing a double high five with Marty Morgan as the two
celebrate their win in front of the cheering crowd before exiting the
ring and heading up the aisle.]

GM:  A nice victory here for the Rockstar Express - Marty and Scotty!  A
good way to kick off 2011, Bucky.

BW:  Sweet Daddy Williams and the Rockstar Express - I must have done
something very, very wrong in a past life.

GM:  Or a present one.  Fans, the Rockstars are heading back to have a
chat with Jason Dane!  I can't wait to hear their plans for 2011. 
Jason?

[Scotty Storm and Marty Morgan, fresh off their victory, hit the
interview area, trading a high-five as Jason Dane speaks up.]

JD:  Alright, gentlemen... a nice victory there for you.

SS:  Thanks, JD... we just keep on doin' what we do.

JD:  Well... you didn't exactly "do what you do" at the Stampede Cup
when you went a to a time limit draw with The Aces.

[Marty Morgan winces at the comment as Scotty Storm shakes his head.]

SS:  A fly in the ointment.  The monkey in the wrench, baby.  Those
two really brought the fire on Christmas night and between the four of
us, we just about burned the building to the ground.

JD:  But... you lost.

[It's Storm's turn to wince.]

SS:  Thanks for pointing that out, JD... but we didn't lose... we went
the distance.  We had these people on their feet for the whole time
limit and we showed 'em all exactly what the Rockstar Express can do!

JD:  I hate to be a broken record but-

MM:  Then knock it off, Dane.

[The crowd buzzes as Marty Morgan's terse interruption.]

MM:  We didn't win at the Cup.  We know that.  You don't think we know
that?

JD:  Well, of course you-

MM:  That's right.  Of course we do.  We know that we blew our shot at
a million dollars.  We know that we missed the chance to be known as
the best team in the business.  And YOU know that if we'd won, we
would have gotten a shot at Rough N Ready and the National Tag Team
Titles.  So, yeah... we blew it.  We admit that.

SS:  But we also admit that with the support of these great fans here
in Dallas, we'll be the National Tag Team Champions sometime this
year, baby!

[The fans cheer at the mention of them.]

JD:  Scotty, don't you guys also have to admit that you looked a
little outgunned against the Aces?  They looked younger, they looked
faster...

[Now Marty Morgan REALLY looks steamed.]

SS:  I don't know what match you were watching, JD... but that's not
the way I saw it.  That's not the way Marty saw it.  And it's not the
way these fans saw it!

[Another big cheer from the fans!  The cheers get louder for a moment
as the Rockstar Express and Jason Dane are joined out on the interview
area by "Delicious" Danny Tyler and "Sweet" Stevie Childes, the Aces.
Both men are wearing jeans and blue muscle shirts with "The Aces"
printed on front in white.  Childes takes the lead moving towards
Jason Dane first, big grin across his face as he smacks his gum.]

JD:  I guess you two heard some of the comments in the back...

[Childes cuts off Dane with a wave of his hand.]

SC:  Now, hold on, Jay.  Don't go startin' trouble where there isn't
any, daddy.

[Childes pats Dane on his shoulder.]

SC:  It's REAL easy to talk about what happened on Christmas night and
perceptions when you're standing OUTSIDE the ring, baby.  Let
Sweetness tell ya what he remembers.

[Childes turns and looks over at Morgan and then at Storm.  He looks
back at Dane.]

SC:  Oh, and thanks for the compliment about being younger, Jay.  I'll
tell ya what, daddy.  The upperside of thirty-five ain't as beautiful
as the upperside of thirty.  Scotty Storm?  Marty Morgan?  These two
came to wrestle and win a chance at the National tag team champions
and one-million dollars.  They ain't never heard of the Aces, so they
relaxed, Jay.  Things didn't go exactly as planned, and these two saw
how hungry me and Delish were.  They realized if they didn't step up
their game... that they... that we... and that ALL of these fans know
they got.

[Cheer from the crowd.]

SC:  They would lose to the Aces.  That's what they did, daddy.  The
Rockstar Express came at the Aces with everything they had and we went
the distance.

[Tyler grabs the mic and pulls it to him.]

DT:  Scotty and Marty, both of you how saw hungry the Aces were to get
past a team like the Rockstar Express.  I'm not one to pay lip service
or blow sunshine.  Your reptuation precedes you.  And...

[He cracks a grin.]

DT:  After stepping into the ring with the two of you, I can say that
reputation is well-deserved.  Gentlemen, maybe we are younger.

[Tyler looks at Childes and cracks a grin.]

DT:  Well, maybe I'M younger.  Maybe we're faster.  At the Stampede
Cup, the Rockstar Express brought their A-game, and the Aces wanted to
say thank you for one heck of a match.

[Childes and Tyler offer a handshake to the Rockstar Express, which gets
the crowd cheering...

...when suddenly Marty Morgan waves the crowd quiet.]

MM:  Our reputation precedes us, huh?

[Morgan nods.]

MM:  Well, then you should know then that the Rockstar Express doesn't
like disappointing these fans... and that we DEFINITELY don't like not
winning.

That match was ours.  That tournament was ours.  And you guys spoiled
that.

[Morgan shrugs.]

MM:  We've gotta live with that... but we ain't gotta like it, brother.

So, I'm thinking that Scotty and I have a proposition for you.  Two
weeks from now...

[Morgan points towards the squared circle.]

MM:  ...in THAT ring... us... the two of you... and we'll find out
exactly who the better team is.

Deal?

[Tyler and Childes both retract their hands.  The Aces look at one
another and Childes' breaks out into a smirk.]

DT:  In two weeks?  You.  Us.

[Tyler points to the ring.]

DT:  THAT ring?

[Tyler looks back at his partner and then to Morgan.]

DT:  You've got a deal, partner.  We'll see who the better team is,
brother.  You're going to need a lot more than your A game this time
around.

[The two teams eye one another strongly as Jason Dane stands between
them.]

JD:  It's set!  The Aces vs the Rockstar Express - on the next Saturday
Night Wrestling!  Fans, we'll be right back with more action so don't go
away!

[With the two tag teams still staring one another down, we fade to
black.

The black screen is filled with white text that reads "THREE YEARS
AGO!"]

"They said it couldn't work."

[The words fade out and are then replaced with "TWO YEARS AGO!"]

"They said it wouldn't last."

[The words fade out and are replaced with "ONE YEAR AGO!"]

"They're too old fashioned.  They can't keep up with the times.  Nobody
wants to watch that stuff."

[The words fade out and are replaced with "THEY WERE WRONG!"  The text
fades again and comes back to reveal, "March 26th, 2011 - The Main Event
- The Third Anniversary Show."

And then fades back out to black before returning to live action where
Jason Dane stands by on the intervie platform with a glum expression. 
Why so sad?

He's standing next to a smiling Percy Childes, who is cradling the AWA
Longhorn Heritage Title in front of him like he were rocking a baby. 
Childes, a pudgy bald man wearing a knit sweater in various shades of
brown as well as black pants, looks like he's dressed for a casual
evening at home rather than a wrestling event.  But "The Collector Of
Oddities" has always marched to his own beat.]

JD: Percy Childes, I do have to say it.  Congratulations on your man
Nenshou's victory at SuperClash.

PC: I've decided to be gracious this week, Dane.  Thank you.  I accept
your congratulations.  Nenshou accepts your humility.  And now I hold
your heritage in the palms of my hands.  Your heritage, Dane... it's
lost and gone forever.  You'll never see it again.  So, so fitting.  

JD: Well, being the Longhorn Heritage champion is going to mean a busy
schedule of defenses.  Including right here tonight, against a
challenger to be named.

PC: Quite an advantage that challenger has, wouldn't you say?  He gets
to prepare for Nenshou, while we have no idea who it is. No idea which
strategy to use.  No idea what methods will bring victory.  No doubt
that Jim Watkins wants his heritage back. Wouldn't you say, Dane?

JD: Are you accusing the AWA Championship Committee of colluding against
you?

PC: Are you insinuating that there is a good reason why we would face a
'mystery' opponent?  But relax.  As I said, I have decided to be
gracious this week.  Nenshou accepts the unknown.  He considers it a
challenge, in a world that frankly does not offer many challenges for a
man of his skill.  For while you're salivating at certain 'newcomers' to
the AWA, Dane, or rejoicing in your new National Champion, or
celebrating the comeback of an injured competitor, or focusing all of
your energy on what's going on in the rest of the AWA...

...Nenshou is still undefeated.

JD: He lost twice to Brent Maverick!

PC: Whom he has now defeated, has he not?  He has erased that
abomination from the record with his glorious victory at SuperClash! 
Nenshou is, simply put, the greatest wrestler in the world today.  You
always talk about the same set of names, the same assortment of stars. 
And they are talented, I give them that.  But Nenshou eclipses them all.
 In time, he will challenge for the National Championship and complete
his acsension.  But for now, we are devoted to a single task.  And that
task is to take your heritage...

[Childes holds out the Longhorn Heritage Championship.]

PC: ...and _replace_ it.  

We will erase the ghosts of the past from your minds.  We will do this
the very same way you would have us do this, Jason Dane... we will
_earn_ it.  Nenshou will defeat challenger after challenger, compile a
list of victims that will boggle the mind, and when we are finished...
when we are finished, Nenshou won't be the man who holds the
championship named for legends.

He will be the legend that MAKES the championship legendary.  So that
whenever you hear the word "Longhorn", or "Heritage", you won't think of
those relics from the past, or pay homage to failures long gone.  You
will think only of Nenshou... and to _him_ you will pay homage.

[As the fans boo, Percy strolls to the back as Jason looks back at the
camera.]

JD:  Percy Childes wants to erase the memories of the ghosts of
wrestling past... but I have a feeling he'll have a big long list of
people looking to stop him.  Perhaps the man about to step into the ring
will be one of them!  Back to you, Gordon!

[We fade back down to the ring hear the southern rock strains of the
cover to "The Good, The Bad, And The Ugly" done by some unknown rock
band... the music used by Brent Maverick for his entrances.  Maverick, a
compactly-built man with tousled dark brown hair, a scruffy mustache and
stubbly square jaw, and an intense expression, is slapping hands on his
way around the ring. The crowd cheers him, and he has many supporters
eager to slap hands with him as he makes his rounds.  He stops a couple
of times to sign autographs.]

GM: We're back, and Brent Maverick about to compete one-on-one. 
Maverick had a rough 2010, Bucky.

BW: I'll say.  He failed to help Bobby Taylor, he failed to help Vernon
Riley, he failed to help everybody that was bent out of shape about
Percy Childes and Nenshou taking the Longhorn Heritage Championship, and
he failed to help Robert Donovan advance in the Stampede Cup.  So his
2010 went like this: fail, fail, fail, fail, and fail.  Do I have that
about right?

GM: Why don't you posit that exact question to him after this match?

[Maverick pops up into the ring, where waits a large burly man wearing
dark blue biker pants, big black boots, and a very tall black mohawk. 
He has pale white skin, jagged eyebrows, and a soft gut under a pretty
muscular chest.  He wears metal-studded brown leather forearm bracers
and a nasty sneer.  Phil Watson makes the introductions.]

PW: The following contest is set for one fall, with a ten minute time
limit!

Introducing first, to my right.  From Bonesteel, South Dakota...
weighing two-hundred eighty pounds... 

  ...MADHOUSE McWESSON!

[The crowd boos.  Though some of them actually cheer a bit on the
grounds that it's impossible to hate a guy with an inch-tall mohawk
named "Madhouse" from a town named "Bonesteel".  Can you blame them?]

PW: His opponent, to my left.  From Tucson, Arizona... weighing
two-hundred fourty-two pounds...

  ...BRENT MAVERICK!

[The cheers are pretty much unanimous for Maverick, who acknowledges
them with a single pumped fist before dedicating his entire focus to his
opponent.  He is wearing his usual: knee-length rust red tights with a
gold Arizona Sun logo on the upper left rear, laceless red leather
'western' style boots, white wrist tape, brown leather fingerless gloves
and brown leather vest.  He sheds the vest in preparation for the
match.]

*DING*DING*

GM: Alright, Brent Maverick to take on the newcomer, Madhouse McWesson. 
Bucky, what do you know about McWesson?

BW: Six-six, two eighty.  He's a biker with a mohawk, his name is
'Madhouse', and he's from a place called 'Bonesteel'.  Gonna take a wild
guess that as technical wrasslin' goes, he ain't the next Hamilton
Graham.  Gonna also guess he could punch out a cow. Probably has, livin'
in South Dakota.  Ain't much ta do there.

[He's got plenty to do now; namely, standing in the center of the ring
and pound on his chest while belligerently demanding that Maverick give
him his best shot.  The referee takes McWesson's big forearm bracers. 
As he does, the big South Dakotan decides to cheat.]

GM: Madhouse running at Maverick... a running thumb to the eye? 
Maverick ducked that, and now throwing punches at the big man! McWesson
is rocked!

BW: Now we're gonna see what this kid's made of.  Maverick fights like a
pro.  He don't throw punches blind, he throws combos and moves around in
there.

GM: Madhouse with a wild swing, connecting with nothing, and Brent
scoops him!  A powerful body slam, driving Madhouse down with authority!
 Brent Maverick is much, much stronger than practically any other
wrestler in his weight class, Bucky.

BW: That he is, but watch him in there.  He's so aggressive, he walks
right into things a wise man wouldn't.

GM: Maverick hiptossing the Madhouse, and it is clear that the size
discrepancy has no meaning here.  Brent well-able to handle the
two-hundred eighty pounder.  McWesson up, and... well!  A double-thrust
to the throat catches Brent Maverick coming in!

BW: What'd I tell ya?

GM: Now with momentum, the burly McWesson runs off the ropes, jumps...
and a jumping backrake!  I... don't know if running off the ropes or
jumping helps with that move.

BW: Well, ask Maverick if it does!  He's hurtin'.

GM: A backhand chop by the Madhouse, a headbutt to the solar plexus, and
follows that up with a double axehandle to the thigh to knock Maverick
down... almost tripping him more than anything.  Highly unorthodox
offense by the Madhouse!

BW: I don't think there's much orthodox about the guy.

GM: McWesson now shouting to the crowd about how tough he is, but
Maverick is already back up!  Lack of experience and focus, and Maverick
drilling the South Dakotan with a hard elbow to the face!  A series of
blows to the beer-belly of Madhouse McWesson...

BW: WHAM!  Turns out hittin' him down there ain't gonna fly!

GM: McWesson fired back with a haymaker, and it does seem that
McWesson's soft gut is somewhat misleading.  A straight chop to the
forehead!  That brain chop can stagger and disorient, and Brent Maverick
is reeling.

BW: He's gonna start 2011 just like he closed out 2010... a loser!  I
smell a big move comin' up here!

[After taking a moment to shout to the crowd, Madhouse McWesson does a
big exaggerated double-windup, steps toward Maverick, and throws a
clothesline around his head, to hit him in the back of the head!  He
then jumps down on him shoulder-first, and covers.]

GM: This is extremely unorthodox offense!  Madhouse McWesson gets a
two-count after the shoulder drop, I guess you'd call it.  A major upset
brewing here.

BW: When he wins, we just might rename this place the House Of Madhouse!

GM: McWesson picking up Maverick... no, Brent floats over the top! 
Looking for the rolling reverse cradle... NO!  BLASTING HIM WITH THE
CLOTHESLINE!

[Brent had snatched Madhouse in a waistlock, and ran him into the ropes,
as if setting up the rolling revrse cradle pin combination. But instead
of bouncing back and rolling him up, Maverick stopped just before the
ropes, let Madhouse's bulky body bound off the ropes backwards, and
hammered him in the back of the head with a hard clothesline to the roar
of the crowd!]

BW: Tit fer tat, daddy!  Maverick can improvise!

GM: The Madhouse has collapsed, and Maverick scooping him up.  Vertical
suplex position... holding him up there!  And now, look at that!

[Brent, who was nearly backed into a corner, runs across the ring while
holding his man up.  He finally comes down with the suplex, landing it
with a loud CRASH that draws a pop from the crowd.]

BW: Runnin' vertical suplex!  Ya don't see that much!

GM: Shades of the now-retired James Audiet, who invented that version of
the suplex.  Maverick up, off the ropes... CORKSCREW ELBOWDROP!  And
what authority on that!

BW: Ah, the good old corkscrew elbow.  I used ta land a top shelf
corkscrew elbow in my own right, ya know.

GM: I've heard rumors.  Maverick wasting no time; he picks up the man
with the mohawk, and scoops him over the shoulder!  I suspect that
mohawk is about to become a lot flatter, Bucky Wilde!

[Maverick gets a two-step explosion; a leap that terminates in Madhouse
McWesson being driven headfirst to the canvas with the Death Valley
Driver as the crowd erupts.]

BW: __ACEY DEUCY__!  Ain't nobody gettin' up from that, whether yer from
Bonesteel or Dallas or Hell!

GM: And there's the three!

*DING*DING*DING*

[The fans cheer the victory as the southern rock cover of "The Good, The
Bad, and The Ugly" starts up over the PA.]

PW: The winner of the match... BRENT MAVERICK!

GM: Alright, as Brent Maverick makes his way to the interview area,
let's take a look at the replay, Bucky Wilde!

[The first instant replay is of the move that turned the match. 
Maverick has McWesson in a waistlock, and runs towards the ropes. About
two feet in front of the ropes, he stops and shoves Madhouse.  With the
momentum of the run and the shove, the beer-bellied South Dakotan hits
the ropes chest-first and rebounds backwards out of control.  Already,
Maverick has cocked his right arm back, and he lets it fly.  It
intersects with the back of Madhouse's neck as he is shot backwards...
the big man's upper body is sent downwards while his lower body
continues to move backwards.  The result is a faceplant of epic
proportions.]

BW: Here ya see one of th' reasons Maverick's so dangerous.  Besides
bein' aggressive as all get-out, he's a veteran that knows all kinds of
tricks.  Here's poor Madhouse, thinkin' he's gonna get rolled up.  But
no, he just straight gets rolled.  Puttin' a man in a weird situation,
bouncin' backwards off th' ropes... that'll cause a big openin' most of
th' time, daddy.  An' McWesson hit rock bottom face first in a ugly
pileup like the 2010 Dallas Cowboys.  Just sayin'.

[The next replay is the Acey Deucy.  It takes two steps for Brent to get
to speed, jumping up and falling sideways to bring McWesson head-first
to the mat from the fireman's carry position.]

BW: An' not much ta add here.  That runnin' start adds momentum, an'
makes it harder ta cushion yerself as ya fall.  Sometimes a guy can
block this move a bit if he gets his arms down, but when yer movin'
forwards an' don't got control, tendency is ta use yer arms fer balance.
 Madhouse didn't think fast enough, didn't get his arms up, an' got all
of it.  Though it probably woulda wiped him out even IF he blocked,
because of th' jump.  Anyway, yer winner is Brent Maverick, an' he's up
with Dane.

[Cut from replay up to the interview platform.  The music dies down, and
Jason Dane comes up to Maverick and starts the questioning.]

JD: Brent Maverick, an impressive victory.  With the new year upon us,
what can we expect to see going forward from you?

BM: Dane, at SuperClash, I let a lot of people down.  I let Vernon Riley
down.  I ain't done much right lately.  But th' sun rises ag'in. An'
every time it does, we get a new 'today'.  Yesterday is gone, ain't
never comin' back.  Tomorrow is outta reach, best we can do is prepare
for it.  But today?  Today is always here.  And if we spend all our time
cryin' about what we can't change, we lose what we can.

I have a lot o' thangs I wanna take back.  Wish I'd never done 'em. 
People I done wrong.  Goals I screwed up.  An' I look every night in th'
mirror, an' they haunt me.  But I still breathe, by th' grace o' God. 
An' by His grace I still got my health.  So I'm gonna do what each an'
every one of us, man an' woman, fighter or worker or whatever ya are,
what we all hafta do in life... I'm gonna persevere. An' I'm gonna own
my failures an' try ta do better.  We all have our dark nights.  We all
have our times when we see everything collapse, see our dreams shatter,
see how our own hands tied th' noose we hung ourselves with.  An' we all
have th' same decision. We can let it poison us.  We can give in ta
bitterness, resentment, we can blame th' world.  Blame him, blame her,
blame you, blame blame blame... an' lash out.  It's an unendin' theme in
wrasslin', on account of this is a violent sport fer violent men.

Yeah, we can let it poison us.  Or we can let it strengthen us.  We can
learn from mistakes, we can grow from our flaws, an' we can fuel
ourselves with somethin' more powerful than bitterness: hope.  There's
an old sayin': noone ever got ta be a skilled sailor by sailin' smooth
seas.  So anybody out there who had a tough 2010, lissen.  We cain't
take back our mistakes, an' nobody ever made their lives better through
blame.  We get a fresh start every 24 hours; if ya lived through bad
things yesterday, that means yer wiser today than ya were yesterday.  So
stand up, dust off, an' fight.

I'm right there with ya.  An' that's the DAMN truth.

[Maverick marches off, and Jason Dane wraps up.]

JD: Brent Maverick looking for a fresh start in a fresh new year.  Back
to you, Gordo and Bucky.

BW: Maverick fergot one thing, Gordo.  Yesterday's mistakes might be
gone, but th' debt ya incurred makin' 'em?  There ta stay, daddy, there
ta stay.

GM: So, how much progress did you make on your credit card debt in 2010,
Bucky?

BW: ASDFSHDOSJDBHAOBAOIRBHOASFDBFSNGPOFH!

[No, I don't know how to pronounce that either.  Just sounds of
frustration and rage... with feeling.  You'd react the same if you had
Bucky's credit card debt.]

GM:  Ahem.  Fans, we were scheduled to see "Gentleman" Jack Holland in
action here tonight as well but we were told moments ago that he had to
leave the arena due to some kind of an emergency.  We wish Mr. Holland
the best and hope to see him back in the Crockett Coliseum in the very
near future.

BW:  Speak for yourself.

GM:  You've really got a burr under your saddle tonight, Bucky.  It's a
New Year - a time for new beginnings!  Cheer up, ol' pal.  Fans, we'll
be right back with more Saturday Night Wrestling!

[Fade to black...

...and then back up on a shot of the AWA National Title belt.  The
super-excited voice of Mark Stegglet is heard over it.]

"You've seen it on Saturday Night Wrestling!"

[A shot of Marcus Broussard with the belt over his shoulder.]

"You've seen it on AWA supercards like Memorial Day Mayhem and The Last
Stampede!"

[A shot of Ron Houston wearing the belt in a promo picture.]

"You've seen the best the AWA has to offer wearing it!"

[Now a shot of Kolya Sudakov in a fighting pose with the belt hanging
over his shoulder.]

"And now, it can be yours!"

[A shot of Stevie Scott holding the belt high in the air fades into a
shot of a young fan doing the same.]

"Available NOW on AWAShop.com, get the official replica of the AWA
National Title belt that only the best and brightest of the AWA
superstars have held!"

[A closeup of the AWA National Title slowly fades to black...

...and then we come back up to backstage where we find Mark Stegglet
standing alongside the members of Rough N Ready. Dave is dressed in
khakis and a white button-down shirt and Eric is dressed in an AWA
T-shirt and blue jeans. Each member has a tag team title belt slung over
his shoulder.]

MS: Rough N Ready, you made it to the finals of the Stampede Cup this
year but lost to Violence Unlimited. What do you think about these two
men as potential challengers for your AWA National tag team titles?

[Eric laughs a bit, a crazed look on his face.]

EMS: Potential challengers is just another way of saying fresh meat,
Mark.

MS: What are you talking about?

EMS: Think about it, Mark... every time somebody has tried to pick a
fight
with us, we've sent them running out of the AWA with their tails tucked
between their little legs. That's especially the case since we've won
the
tag team belts... the team we beat for is out of here and the team we
just
beat at Superclash is finished. So I'd say anybody who wants to consider
themselves potential challengers to our title belts is very likely to be
the next team we demolish and leave them sniveling afterwards.

MS: You aren't taking Violence Unlimited too lightly, are you?

[Dave then pulls the mic in Mark's hand toward himself.]

DC: Hold on, Mark... you have to understand that Eric has tasted the
blood
of our previous opponents and he's hungry for more. Now. I'll give
Violence
Unlimited their due... they hit hard, they're no nonsense and they did
get
the job done at the Stampede Cup without resorting to any funny stuff.
But
the question that should be in their minds is... can they do it again?
Because if we should face Violence Unlimited in the ring again, you can
bet
we will be a little wiser than we were the last time... and we just
might
play a little rougher.

MS: So are you willing to put the titles up against them?

[Dave pauses, putting his hand to his chin as if he is thinking about
it.]

DC: If it should come to pass that we will meet them in the ring
again...
we'll be there and we'll be ready.

MS: You didn't exactly answer my question.

DC: The answer you got is all you are going to get. Next question.

MS: [shaking his head] Just one other question... you saw what happened
between Joe Petrow and Mark Langseth. You've done business with Petrow
before... what are your thoughts about his new client?

DC: Joe Petrow is a good man and if people actually listen to what he
says,
it makes sense. We realized that once before, and certainly Langseth
realized that... and after all, Langseth is a Hall of Famer, one of the
all-time greats and his resume speaks for itself. I'm not going to
question
his wisdom, Mark Stegglet, and if I were you, I wouldn't be questioning
it
either.

[He then motions to Eric.]

DC: Let's go... we've said all we've need to say.

[Eric smiles and nods, then he and Dave depart as we fade back to the
squared circle where Phil Watson is standing.]

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

["Try Honesty" by Billy Talent kicks in to a huge negative reaction from
the AWA faithful.]

PW:  From Sydney, Australia... weighing in tonight at 190 pounds... he
is a former AWA National Tag Team Champion...

"SUBZERO"
AAAAAAAAAADRIAN FREEEEEEEEEMAN!

[The boos intensify as Freeman strides through the curtain.  He pauses
just beyond the entrance, tugging at his wrist tape for a moment, and
then continues on, glaring at the jeering fans.]

GM:  2010 did not end on a high note for Adrian Freeman, Bucky.

BW:  I'd say that's an understatement, Gordo.  He lost in Steal The
Spotlight at SuperClash.  He saw his allies in the Southern Syndicate
fall completely apart last night.  He didn't get out of the first round
at the Cup and then got dumped on his head by his partner.  Then he lost
to Juan Vasquez in fairly quick fashion on Night Two of the Cup.  On the
bright side, I don't think things can get any worse for him.

GM:  I know someone who would strongly disagree with that.

[As Freeman reaches the ring, his music fades and is replace by the
sounds of "Irish Blood, English Heart" by Morrissey.]

PW:  And his opponent... weighing in tonight at 201 pounds and fighting
out of Wigan, Greater Manchester, England... 

RAAAAAAAPHAEL RHOOOOOODES!

[The crowd reacts with cheers for Rhodes as he storms through the
curtain, a fiery ball of focus as he marches down the ramp, eyes locked
on his opponent.]

GM:  Raphael Rhodes has not been the same, many would argue, since
getting booted from the Southern Syndicate in mid-2010.  For him, I
think he has to get that monkey off his back before he can re-focus on
becoming the National Champion.

BW:  And remember, Rhodes won a shot at the National Title by winning
the Memorial Day Rumble last year - a shot he never got to use due to
injury.

GM:  That's right... and you just have to wonder if the Championship
Committee would take that into consideration if Rhodes were to ask for a
shot at Juan Vasquez.  He could be yet another tough challenge for the
new champion.

BW:  Vasquez' days with that belt are numbered, Gordo.  It just depends
on who's the one to take it off him.  

[Rhodes steps through the ropes, rushing to get into the fray but
getting cut off by the referee, Marty Meekly.]

GM:  Marty Meekly keeping the two apart... 

[Rhodes backs off, rolling his neck until Meekly signals for the bell,
then marches back forward, meeting Freeman in the middle of the ring,
glaring at one another...]

GM:  We've got a staredown in the middle of the ring... look at
Rhodes... what could Rhodes possibly be saying to Freeman right now? 
What could he-


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[The crowd ROARS as Rhodes reaches out and slaps Freeman hard across the
face, sending him spinning around.  Freeman's hand reaches up to grab
his reddening cheek...

...and then rushes out of the corner, getting into a collar and elbow
tieup with Rhodes.  He spins around, using the momentum to force Rhodes
back into the corner.]

GM:  The ref steps in, asking for a break...

[And surprisingly, he gets a clean break, Freeman backing off, raising
his arms as he retreats.]

GM:  Freeman with a clean break... maybe turning over a new leaf for
2011...

[Rhodes dives right back into a lockup, angrily shoving Freeman
backwards but Freeman again uses Rhodes' momentum against him, swinging
into a rear waistlock.  He slips the left arm up into a half nelson,
using it to turn him around into a cravate.]

GM:  Three-quarter nelson applied by Freeman!

[Using the neckhold, Freeman flips Rhodes over to the mat.  He quickly
grabs the arm, twisting it and applying a standing wristlock on the
downed Rhodes.]

GM:  A nice display of technical skill by Freeman - shouting "How do you
like that?" to these fans here in Dallas.  Judging by their reaction,
I'd say they don't like it very much at all, Bucky.

BW:  Nobody cares what they like.

[Trapped in the wristlock, Rhodes rolls through to his knees, then does
a front roll to relieve the pressure before kipping up, grabbing
Freeman's wrist, and twisting him down to the mat in a counter!]

GM:  Rhodes counters the wristlock into one of his own!  Really putting
the pressure on the arm now.  You get the feeling Rhodes would like to
break that arm clean off and take it home with him.

[Rhodes kneels on the mat, pushing the trapped arm against the grain
over his bent knee.]

GM:  A lot of pressure being applied to that arm, Bucky.

BW:  Rhodes is a man who really knows how to torture someone down on the
mat.  Up on their feet too for sure but certainly down on the mat. 
He'll bend you, break you, and knows a thousand different ways to do it.

[Freeman rolls to a knee, trying to battle up to his feet.  Rhodes takes
his feet, hooking the arm under his own to maintain the pressure...

...and a well-placed thumb to the eye breaks up the armbar.]

GM:  Ohh, come on, referee!

[Freeman quickly gets up, grabbing Rhodes by the hair, and SMASHES his
face into the nearest set of turnbuckles!]

GM:  Rhodes drops down to a knee in the corner...

[A well-placed kick to the spine knocks Rhodes down to his back on the
canvas.  Grabbing the top rope, Freeman lets loose a barrage of stomps
to the chest that forces Rhodes to roll under the ropes, his chest
resting against the ringpost...]

GM:  Get him out of the corner, ref!

[Marty Meekly steps in, forcing Freeman to stop the stomping assault. 
The Australian backs away, clear across the ring...

...and charges across, dropping into a baseball slide designed to smash
Rhodes' chest into the post!]

GM:  BASEBALL SLI-


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[But at the last moment, Rhodes pulls himself clear, forcing Freeman to
slam groinfirst into the post with his legs on either side of the
steel!]

GM:  Freeman drove his own... well, you see what he did!

BW:  Illegal!  That's a low blow!  Ring the bell, ref!

GM:  Freeman did it to himself, Bucky!

BW:  He didn't do this part!

[The crowd roars as Rhodes, out on the floor, grabs each of Freeman's
legs from either side of the post.  He looks out to the crowd, nodding
as they roar in response...

...and YANKS hard, sending Freeman groinfirst into the post again!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  TWICE!!  Two times Adrian Freeman's groin just hit solid steel!

[Reaching under the ropes, he drags Freeman to the floor by the hair,
spinning him around.  He grabs a wrist...]


"CLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANG!"


[And WHIPS him into the steel barricade!]

GM:  Rhodes sends him into the post!

[He fires Freeman back under the ropes by the hair before climbing back
up on the apron, looking out at the crowd who are screaming their
support for the Brit.]

GM:  Rhodes back in... Freeman back up...

[Pulling Freeman's head down, Rhodes blasts him with a European uppercut
that snaps Freeman backwards, sending him crashing into the buckles.  He
repeats the process, staggering the Australian.  Grabbing an arm, he
throws him across the ring...]

GM:  Freeman hits the corner... here comes Rhodes!

[A leaping knee catches Freeman on the chin, further dazing the former
Southern Syndicate member.  As he stumbles out, Rhodes buries a boot
into the gut.  He quickly hooks a front facelock, slinging Freeman's arm
over his neck...]

GM:  Ohh!  Snap suplex!  He nearly took Freeman out of his boots right
there!

[Rhodes pops back up, throwing his arms apart in a "it's over!" gesture.
 He reaches down, pulling Freeman off the mat...

...and FIRING him into the closest buckles with an Irish whip!]

GM:  He hits the corner hard... Rhodes charges in!

[But as the rampaging Brit approaches, Freeman sidesteps and HURLS
Rhodes through the ropes, into the steel ringpost, and all the way out
to the thinly padded concrete floor!]

GM:  Ohhhh!  Rhodes goes down hard!  He hit the post on the way out too!

BW:  And that just goes to show that Adrian Freeman may be down but he's
not out, Gordo.  This guy went through a lot in 2010 - from the
penthouse to the basement.  And believe me, he liked living in the
penthouse.

GM:  But can he get back there?  That's the question for Adrian Freeman
in 2011!  Can he get back to the top of the AWA?  A win over Raphael
Rhodes here tonight would get him a big step closer to that goal.

[Freeman walks around the ring, taunting the fans as he gestures for the
official to count out Raphael Rhodes.]

GM:  Freeman's asking for the countout - he might get it after that big
fall to the floor.

[The Australian climbs up on the second rope, shouting at the fans at
ringside as the referee's count hits four...]

GM:  The count is up to four... Rhodes is trying to get off the floor. 
He's starting to stir out there on the floor, sliding his arms
underneath him and trying to push up to his feet...

[The count hits six as Rhodes gets to his knees, shaking his head back
and forth to try and clear the cobwebs.]

GM:  Rhodes is on his feet... the count to seven... now to eight...

[But just before nine, Rhodes hurls himself under the bottom rope to
break the count...

...and catches a hard kick to the ribs that forces him back out to the
floor!]

GM:  Ohh, come on, ref!  Get the guy back!  Let Rhodes back in!

BW:  Why?  Why should he let Rhodes back into the ring?  Rhodes
illegally drove his groin into the ringpost with that Nutcracker Suite
and the ref let it go!  That should have been an immediate
disqualification, Gordo!

GM:  You could be right but...

[Freeman backs off as the ref starts another count but this time, Rhodes
is back in at four...

...and the Australian pounces on him with kicks to the body.  He pulls
Rhodes off the mat, drilling him with a European uppercut of his own
that sends Rhodes falling back to the corner.]

GM:  Hard shot to the jaw right there!

[Pushing Rhodes back with his left hand, Freeman delivers brutal forearm
shot after forearm shot to the jaw and skull with his right hand,
battering him in the turnbuckles.]

GM:  Ref, get in there!

[Marty Meekly again protests the attack in the corner but Freeman
ignores him until he floors Rhodes with a hard forearm to the temple
that knocks Rhodes down to a seated position in the corner.  Freeman
glares at the official for a moment before planting his boot on the
windpipe of his former partner, strangling the air out of him.]

GM:  He's choking him!  He's choking Rhodes down on the mat!

[At the count of four, Freeman breaks the choke.  He reaches down,
dragging Rhodes from the corner a few feet.  Backing to the buckles, he
hops up on the second rope, standing tall...

...and DRIVES the point of the elbow down into the throat!]

GM:  Ohhh!  What an elbowdrop!

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

GM:  We've got one!  We've got two!  WE'VE GOT- no!  Just a two count!

[An angry Freeman pulls Rhodes' head off the mat, teeing off with a trio
of forearms to the jaw before shoving the Brit back down to the mat.  He
climbs back to his feet, pulling Rhodes to his knees...

...and SMASHES a knee into the jaw of the Brit!]

GM:  Good grief!  What a shot that was!

[A dazed Rhodes teeters on his knees, leaning backwards as Freeman
stands over him, waving for him to get up...

...and delivers a big boot to the jaw as he does, knocking Rhodes flat
on his back once again.]

GM:  Down goes Rhodes again... and another cover!  One!  Two!  Th-
again!  Again, he gets a shoulder up!

[Freeman climbs to his feet, glaring at Rhodes with his hands on his
hips.]

GM:  Listen to Freeman, shouting "get up!" over and over again...

[Rhodes rolls to a knee, trying to regroup as Freeman approaches,
grabbing him by the hair...

...and gets caught with a right hand in the gut by Rhodes!]

GM:  Rhodes catches him coming in!

[A second right hand doubles up Freeman who still has a handful of
hair.]

GM:  A second right hand to the body!

[But Freeman cuts off the offense by throwing a huge forearm smash to
the jaw, knocking Rhodes back down to both knees, face to the canvas.]

GM:  Good grief!  He may need a trip to the dentist after that one!

[Freeman screams again at Rhodes to get up before grabbing his hair with
two hands, hauling him to his feet...

...where Rhodes surges forward, smashing his skull between the eyes of
Freeman!]

GM:  Headbutt!  He caught him!

[Freeman stumbles backwards, a hand coming up to check for blood.  But
Rhodes keeps coming, grabbing a handful of hair to smash home a second
headbutt that knocks Freeman backwards into the ropes.]

GM:  He's got Freeman stumbled off the headbutts!  

[Grabbing the back of Freeman's head, Rhodes throws a series of brutal
European uppercuts under the chin!  After a fifth blow, Freeman slumps
to a knee but Rhodes yanks him back up to connect with one more,
knocking Freeman through the ropes to the apron.]

GM:  My stars!  What a series of shots that was!  And Rhodes reaches
over the ropes to grab Freeman... he's gonna bring him in the hard
way... 

[Rhodes hoists Freeman into the air, attempting a suplex, but Freeman
wriggles free, landing on his feet behind Rhodes and immediately
dropping down to pull the Brit down in a schoolboy...

...with a handful of tights!]

GM:  He's got the tights!  He's got the tights, ref!

[But the referee sees nothing as he counts one... two... thr- not quite
three as Rhodes desperately kicks out of the pin attempt.]

GM:  He almost got him!

BW:  He had him!  That was a slow count!

GM:  No it wasn't!  And Freeman had him by the tights!

[An angry Freeman springs up, grabbing the official by the shirt,
screaming at him...

...and as he turns around...]


"SLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!"


[The brutal open-handed slap across the jaw causes Freeman to
immediately grab his face with his hands, spinning away...

...which allows Rhodes to hook him around the waist from the blind side,
grasping his hands together, and powering Freeman up and over, dumping
him on the back of his head with a German suplex!]

GM:  WAISTLOCK SUPLEX!!

[And Rhodes holds the bridge as the referee dives to the mat to count
once... twice... and three times.]

GM:  He got him!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


[Rhodes releases the bridge, popping up to his feet and throwing both
arms in the air in triumph.]

GM:  Raphael Rhodes has done it!  He's defeated Adrian Freeman right
here in the middle of the ring of the Crockett Coliseum, Bucky!

BW:  Well, it looks like Freeman's 2011 ain't gonna be no better than
his 2010, daddy.

GM:  You could be right about that.  But what about Raphael Rhodes? 
What does 2011 hold for him?

BW:  The real question is - will this feed his fire?  Does he need more?
 Does he need to come after Calisto Dufresne?  Does he need to come
after MAMMOTH Mizusawa or Brian Von Braun?  Is his war with the former
Southern Syndicate over now and can he focus on the gold?

[Rhodes nods to the cheering fans, eyeing Adrian Freeman as he rolls to
his knees.  The Australian lifts his head, glaring at Rhodes.]

GM:  Did Freeman just say, "it's not over?"

BW:  Sure sounded like it.

GM:  He just got beat!  He was pinned in the middle of the ring, fans! 
We all saw it.  We all saw exactly what just happened and-

[Freeman gets to his feet, grabbing the back of his neck.  He points
dead at Raphael Rhodes, jerking a thumb at himself.]

GM:  He wants more of it!  He wants another fight!

BW:  If he wants another one, Rhodes will give it to him, daddy!

[Freeman rushes him in a daze, wildly swinging a right hand...

...but Rhodes ducks down, blasting Freeman with a forearm to the back of
the head, knocking him into the buckles.  And as he stumbles backwards
out of the corner, Rhodes grabs an arm, swinging him down to the mat.]

GM:  What the-?!

[The crowd buzzes as Rhodes loops a leg over the back of Freeman's neck,
holding his torso down as he grabs the left arm with both hands,
twisting it into a hammerlock-looking hold.  He yanks up hard on the
arm, pulling on it instead of the push that a usual hammerlock applies. 
Freeman immediately screams out in pain, slamming his free arm into the
mat over and over.]

GM:  Freeman's tapping out but the match is over!

[The camera zooms in on Rhodes, a look of intensity on his face as he
pulls on the arm, gritting his teeth as he turns up the pressure on the
trapped limb.]

GM:  Rhodes is gonna break his arm!  He's gonna snap Freeman's arm!

[Freeman again slaps the canvas, screaming in pain as the official steps
in, trying to convince Rhodes to break the hold.]

BW:  He's not gonna let go until that arm snaps, Gordo!

GM:  You could be right!

[The crowd buzzes as Marty Meekly, sensing trouble, wraps his arms
around the head and neck of Rhodes...

...and physically pulls him off of Freeman!]

GM:  Meekly breaks the hold!  What in the world was that, Bucky?

BW:  Some kind of inverted hammerlock of... I don't really know, Gordo.

GM:  Whatever it was... look at Adrian Freeman.  Freeman's still
shouting in pain, still clutching the arm... still... we may need some
help out here, fans.  Freeman's arm... it may be broken.  Can we get
some medical help out here for Adrian Freeman?

[With an angry Rhodes being pushed from the ring, an AWA medical crew
rushes past him, heading towards the injured Australian...

...and we abruptly cut to a simple scene.  A folding table with a piece
of paper on it, and an ink pen. There is no flash photography, however.
No men signing for the biggest fight in AWA history. Not a peep from an
unseen media. Just a table, and a contract.

Enter a hulking bag of meat on legs. Six-foot-one, well over three
hundred 
pounds, and more bad intentions etched on his face than most men have to
deal with in a lifetime; independent superstar "The Bull" Bruno Dawson.

He carries with him a metal folding chair, which he unfolds carefully
and puts down behind the table. The chair creaks from the effort to hold
up the weight of this man sitting down upon it, and after getting
comfortable and a small nod, he begins to speak.]

BD: For some, theatrics are part of the business. For every action,
there must be nine cameras from nine different angles to capture every
moment, every last detail. They crave the attention of the cameras, of
the fans. They need to bask in the glow of admiration, or of hatred.
Every time they step into the ring, it's in pursuit of more recognition.

[The big man sniffs, a sneer on his face.]

BD: That's all well and good for those men. But for every fan that
chants their name, for every viewer that wishes them dead, they grow a
little bit weaker.  They've fed from the trough of fame, and fill
themselves up with what they seek.  When they're at their weakest, when
they think that they are at the top of the world, men like me enter the
scene.

[Bruno picks up the pen sitting next to the contract, and taps it
several times on the table to settle the ink.]

BD: Men like me don't care about the fanfare; the crowd can be ten or
ten 
thousand. Men like me don't feed off the crowd; we feed them. They
demand 
violence, and we are more than willing to meet that demand. So when a
man who lives and dies on the back of fame meets a man who merely uses
the fame as a means to an end, what happens?

[The pen is uncapped, and the contract is signed. "The Bull" holds up
the 
contract, an AWA Talent Agreement, and smiles.]

BD: We're about to find out.

[Cut to black.

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

"Have you ever dreamed of fame?"

[Cut a little closer.]

"Of glory?"

[A little closer.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Two young students are grappling on the canvas.]

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

You want to wrestle!"

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

...and then fade back up to live action where Jason Dane is on the
interview platform, microphone in hand. Someone is standing behind him,
but its hard to see who, because his face isn’t in frame. Instead, Dane
is standing in front of a massive chest, clad in a black leather jacket,
which certainly gives a clue as to the man’s identity.]

JD: Welcome back to Saturday Night Wrestling, fans, where we’ve just
received word that in two weeks, we will all witness that long
anticipated in ring debut of this man. A man who is already a legend, a
man who wants to become immortal.

[The camera pans up to reveal...]

JD: Alex Martinez.

[Martinez, wearing his usual black t-shirt under his leather jacket,
stands behind Dane, eyes covered by his mirrored sunglasses. He nods, as
Dane stretches, holding the microphone up to the big man’s face.]

AM: Well, ya know somethin’ Jason Dane?

[Martinez smirks.]

AM: I think everyone is in agreement that its about time. Every where I
go, people been askin’, when am I actually gonna get in the ring and
show these great fans in Texas what I’m all about.

Well, the wait is nearly over.

My path to immortality begins in two weeks. In two weeks, I make my run
at surpassin’ myself. The first step on my journey starts. And I gotta
say? I’m even more eager than all the great AWA fans.

JD: But that brings me to my next question. At the Stampede Cup, a
mysterious man, a Minion, he called himself, appeared and threatened
you. He said that you would suffer dire consequences, if you ever set
foot in an AWA ring.

[Martinez scoffs.]

AM: Am I supposed to be scared of some guy in a goofy outfit? This
Minion, he said he served “The Master” right?

[Dane nods.]

AM: Well then, let this Master show his face. I don’t run scared from no
one. And you can bet your last dollar that some guy who ain’t even brave
enough to come at me head on ain’t a man that makes me sweat. 

JD: Also at the Cup, you mentioned a challenge you had in mind, but you
were interrupted before you could name that person. Do you think now you
could reveal the name.

AM: Happy to, Dane. I was gonna challenge--

[But again, Martinez doesn’t have the time to make that challenge, as
from behind the big man comes a familiar voice.]

"Mighty Martinez!"

[The camera swings to reveal the source of the voice - the man known as
The Minion.]

MINION:  I must bring you many, many apologies... but again, my message
must be repeated.

[The man in the gas mask and long black coat lifts his arms, palms
uptuned, as he hunches down before the big man.  Martinez flinches
towards him, causing the masked man to backpedal.]

MINION:  My Master says the wall is thin.

[Martinez looks puzzled.]

MINION:  The wall is thin that holds back the flood that threatens your
very being, Mighty Martinez.  You have been warned - yet you do not
relent.  To step foot into an AWA ring in two weeks... to DEFY my
Master's warning... is to challenge all the Master's forces to set upon
you.

[Martinez looks ready to react, but its Jason Dane, always on the hunt
for a scoop, who interjects first.  Stepping between Martinez and the
Minion, Dane brings the microphone to the masked man’s face.]

JD: I have two questions.  First, I want to be sure if I am
understanding you correctly.  Are you saying that if Mr. Martinez sets
foot in the ring in two weeks time, that your Master will... what?  Send
someone after him?

[The Minion remains silent.]

JD:  Are you THREATENING Alex Martinez?

[The Minion cocks his head.]

MINION:  Threats?  Me?  Not at all.  You mistake me, good sir.  I am
merely a messenger, Jason Dane.  I, myself, bear no ill will towards the
Mighty Martinez.  And no threats do I bring either... for threats are
merely words that lack reality.

[The masked man raises two fingers towards Martinez.]

MINION:  There are two paths that confront you.  One brings joy... the
other?  Terror.  

For you, Mighty Martinez, the AWA will bring you nothing but terror.

[The camera pulls back to show that Alex Martinez is waiting and growing
impatient.]

JD:  Alright... you speak of a Master of some kind, Mr... uhh... Minion.

[The masked man doesn't react.]

JD:  Who is your Master?  

[Still nothing.]

JD:  Is it the same Master that Anton Layton serves?  He speaks of a
Master also!  

[The masked man shrugs slightly.]

MINION:  Who is to say, Jason Dane?  Who is to say how wide the wings of
my Master spread?  Perhaps we both serve the same Master without ever
knowing.

[Dane looks exasperated.]

JD:  Okay, fine, but who is YOUR Master?

[Perhaps savoring the attention, the Minion thinks hard, shrinking back
farther as Martinez glowers impatiently.]

MINION:  The Master is known by many names.  His nature has many facets.
 His visage is terrible to behold.

[Unable to stay silent any longer, Martinez comes forward, gripping, not
just the microphone, but Dane’s whole hand, as he lifts it to his
mouth.]

AM: You’re really good at talkin’ without sayin’ anything.  Your master
has got many names.  How about you give me one of ‘em?

[Martinez shoves Dane’s whole hand towards the Minion, Martinez’ entire
body now trembling in frustration.]

MINION:  You wish a revelation?  

[A stalemate occurs for a few moments before the masked man nods.]

MINION:  I shall grant you one.  I shall tell you the name known to me
by way of the scriptures... Revelation 12:3... 

"And there appeared another wonder in heaven... a great, red Dragon."

[Dane and Martinez look on in silence for a moment.  The Minion rubs his
hands together, nodding.]

JD:  The Dragon?  Is that your Master's name?

[The Minion doesn't take his eyes off Martinez, nodding again.  A
visibly angry Martinez removes his sunglasses, returning the stare.]

AM: The Dragon then? That’s what he’s calling himself?

[One more nod.]

MINION:  Yes, Mighty Martinez.  He who watches you... the most feared
and powerful... is the Dragon.

[Martinez chuckles but it is not a happy sound.]

AM: Powerful enough not to have to show his face.  Powerful enough that
he sends flunkies to do his job.  Well, since you like deliverin’
messages, I want you to deliver one for me.

You tell your master. You tell this “Dragon” to bring all the thunder he
can muster. You tell him that in two weeks, I’ll be in that ring, and
I’ll be waitin’.

You tell him this.

[Martinez’ hand closes into a fist, and he drives it into the masked
face of the Minion, sending him to the ground of the interview platform
to the cheers of the crowd.  Martinez smirks at the downed Minion,
lifting Dane's mic hand once more.]

AM:  And when ya wake up, scurry back to the Dragon, and tell him that I
got worse than that waitin’ for him.

[Martinez steps over the fallen Minion, and exits the interview
platform, signalling an end to the interview as Jason Dane looks down at
the fallen Minion.]

JD:  Alex Martinez debuts in that ring in two weeks... but this
mysterious man... this... Dragon may be waiting for him!  Let's go back
down to the ring.

[We fade away from the interview platform to the ring where Phil Watson
is standing.]

PW:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit.  Introducing first... already in the ring at this time...
from Detroit, Michigan... Rick Hall!

[Hall raises a skinny arm to a few cheers.]

PW:  And his opponent...

[An ear-piercing scream fills the air for a long moment, sending hands
to ears all over the building.  It is replaced by ominous instrumental
music, the kind you'd hear in a horror movie.]

PW:  He hails from the Darkness... weighing in at-

[A loud bellow, anguished and dark, interrupts Phil Watson.]


"RIIIIIIILLLLLEEEEEEEEY!"


[The camera cuts to the entryway where we find a hooded man kneeling in
the middle of the ramp, his head bowed.]

"I told you, Riley... I told you that it was coming for you.  The
Darkness.  It came for you at SuperClash and swallowed you whole.  You
were taken.  You were lost.

Never to be found.  

Our war... our Holy War... has come to an end, Vernon Riley."

[The hooded man whips his head back, the hood flying back to reveal
Anton Layton, his formerly blonde hair now dyed a stark white.  His eyes
roll back in his head as he howls into the Crockett Coliseum air.]

AL:  I knew that Vernon Riley would push me further than I had ever
gone.  I knew that he would bring the battle like none before him.  I
could not lose to him again.  I WOULD not lose to him again.

And so I prayed.  I prayed to my Master to send me a message.  To show
me that I was destined to defeat Vernon Riley.  To show me that the
Unholy Alliance was destined to run over the entire AWA, leaving nothing
and no one standing behind.

I prayed for a message... and I received a gift...

[Layton gets a sick and twisted grin on his face.]

AL:  The Master reached down into the bowels of all he surveys... he dug
deep, looking for the one, true message he could send forth to me to
provide me with the faith I needed to get past SuperClash...

And he found it!  He found a weapon!  THE ULTIMATE WEAPON!

[Layton throws his head back again...]

AL:  EHEHEHHEHHEHEHEHE!

Centuries ago, a man walked the battlefields of all the world.  He
watched the carnage unfold... he listened to the moaning, wailing cries
of war... he smelled the air reeking of burning corpses and boiling
blood... 

He felt it.  He felt the spirit of war all around him...

...and it enveloped him!  It devoured him!  It consumed him!

He slept... he slept for centuries!  And when he awoke, he was no mere
mortal anymore...

[Layton grins that evil smile.]

AL:  He was POLEMOS... he was the GOD OF WAR!  

AND HE WAS MINE!!  HE WAS MY ULTIMATE WEAPON!!

[Layton throws his arms apart to his sides, his head back as he cackles
madly.]

GM:  This guy has lost it, Bucky.

BW:  Did he ever really have it?

GM:  Good point.

[With Layton cackling like a madman, a monstrous figure emerges from the
shadows.  The monster stands nearly seven feet tall and weighs over
three hundred pounds.  His face is covered in a red and black mask,
peaking with two wild curved horns coming out of the top.  The entire
face is covered with just holes cut for eyes, nostrils, and mouth.  He's
weaping a full black bodysuit with splashes of red here and there
including a set of red gloves.  As he strides into view, large arms
stretched out to mirror Layton's pose, we also see a cloak of animal
skins draped over his massive shoulders.]

GM:  And there he is, Bucky... that monstrous individual who made his
first appearance at SuperClash to help Anton Layton defeat Vernon
Riley... and then helped Layton and Monosso and those Unholy Alliance
psychopaths put Riley on the shelf for who knows how long!  

BW:  And apparently we've got a name for him now... he is Polemos,
Gordo... the God of War!

GM:  The God of War?  Give me a break.  But make no mistake, the man is
a mountain... a beast of an individual... and we saw firsthand at
SuperClash how powerful he is to boot.

[Layton climbs to his feet, a big smirk splashed across his face as he
strides down the aisle, Polemos following right behind him.]

GM:  And if you thought Anton Layton was out of control before, imagine
him with this monster in his corner!

[The duo reaches the ring, Layton shrugging off his robe and stepping
through the ropes...

...where he rushes young Rick Hall, drilling him with a running right
hand.  A few more knock Hall down to a knee where Layton switches to
overhead elbow smashes to the skull as the referee rings the bell to
start the match.]

GM:  Here we go!

[Layton batters Hall with elbows, knocking him down to the mat where he
switches to stomps, kicking Hall in the ribs repeatedly, forcing him
under the ropes where Polemos is waiting.  The referee backs Layton
off...

...which gives Polemos the chance to scoop Hall up into the air and SLAM
him down with thunderous impact on the thinly-padded concrete floor!]

GM:  OHHHHH!  DID YOU HEAR THAT?!

BW:  He might have snapped Hall's spine in half right there!

[The monstrous Polemos yanks Hall up by the hair, hurling him back under
the ropes where Layton dives down to his knees, wrapping his hands
around the throat of Hall.]

GM:  Come on, ref!  Try to get some focus in there!

[Layton strangles Hall to the count of four before breaking, glaring at
the official as he climbs to his feet.  Layton leans down, hauling Hall
to his feet by the hair...

...and punches him squarely in the windpipe, sending a gasping Hall back
to the buckles.]

GM:  Rick Hall's in trouble in the early moments of this one.

BW:  Early moments?  I think this is the late moments at this rate.

[Layton delivers a big knee to the gut, following with two more before
grabbing an arm, whipping Hall from corner to corner, rushing in behind
him...

...and connecting with a running back elbow to the jaw!]

GM:  Ohh!  He caught him on the chin!

[And as Hall stumbles out of the buckles, Layton uncorks an uppercut
that knocks him flat.  Shoving aside a protesting Meekly, Layton turns
his back and climbs up on the middle rope...]

GM:  Get him down from there!

[Layton leaps up, raising his legs...

...and SMASHES down with a doublestomp to the midsection!]

GM:  OHHHHHH!

BW:  That's it, Gordo.

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


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


PW:  Here is your winner... ANNNNNTON LAAAAAYTON!

[Layton rolls off the downed Hall, sitting on the canvas with a twisted
grin on his face.  He jerks his arm away from Meekly as the official
tries to raise his hand, climbing to his feet...

...and delivering a big kick to the ribs of Rick Hall!]

GM:  Oh, come on!  There's no call for that!

[Layton steps on Hall's ankle, preventing him from crawling away...

...and then points at Polemos out on the floor.  The big man steps up on
the apron, climbing over the ropes into the ring.]

GM:  Oh no.

BW:  I hope Rick Hall's got his insurance policy paid up 'cause he's
gonna need it, daddy!

GM:  Polemos is in... what's he-?!

[The near-seven footer reaches down, grabbing the downed Hall by the
throat...

...and deadlifts him straight up off the mat, holding him high in the
air for a moment, and DRIVES him down with a thunderous chokeslam!]

GM:  CHOKESLAM!!  GOOD GOD!!

BW:  That's exactly what he did to Vernon Riley!

GM:  And Anton Layton's loving it!  He's loving it!

[Layton returns to the beating, laying in the boots to the motionless
Rick Hall.]

GM:  We've got a two on one beating on our hands!

BW:  Two on one?  Look at Polemos!  He's gotta count for at least two
and a quarter on his own!

[With Layton laying in the boots to Hall's ribs and Polemos standing
tall, the crowd is jeering wildly, letting the Unholy Alliance have it
for their every move...

...and then suddenly ERUPTING into cheers!]

GM:  RON HOUSTON!  THE EAST COAST TERROR SAID HE WOULDN'T LET THIS
HAPPEN AGAIN!

[The big man from Athens, Georgia dives under the bottom rope and comes
up swinging.]

GM:  Right hand on Layton!  And another!  And another!

[Houston shoves Layton back into the ropes...

...and sends him over the ropes to the floor with a running
clothesline!]

GM:  HOUSTON CLEARS OUT LAYTON!!

[The East Coast Terror lets loose a wild bellow as he spins around...

...and comes face to face with Polemos!]

GM:  UH OH!!

[The crowd roars at the sight of the two big men squaring off, glaring
at one another...

...and then roars louder as Houston starts throwing blows at the
monster!]

GM:  Right hand on Polemos!  Another right!  A third right!

[Houston batters Polemos with haymakers over and over...

...and then spits on his right hand, rearing way back.]

GM:  PULSE KILL-

[But the heart punch never lands as the massive hand of Polemos comes
up, grabbing Houston's fist.]

GM:  Oh my god!  He blocked the heart punch!  He blocked the Pulse
Killer!

BW:  I've NEVER seen that happen before!  How in the world-

[A shocked Houston looks on as his hand is trapped in the massive grip
of the monster...

...and nearly gets his head removed from his body with a gigantic
standing clothesline!]

GM:  OHHHHH!  MY STARS, WHAT A LARIAT!!!

[Houston flails about on the canvas for a bit, rolling back and forth
clutching his neck.  Polemos stands over him, letting loose a loud
bellow of his own and pounding his chest in triumph...

...and then reaches down, grabbing Houston by the throat!]

GM:  Whoa!  Whoa!  He's got Houston by the throat!

[The monster deadlifts Houston off the mat, hoisting him straight up
into the sky...

...and DRIVING him down with a thunderous chokeslam!]

GM:  CHOKESLAM!!  RON HOUSTON JUST GOT CHOKESLAMMED BY POLEMOS!!

[The crowd falls to a hush as Houston lies flat on his back on the
canvas motionless, Polemos looking down at him.]

GM:  Houston... Houston's not moving, fans.  Ron Houston just took a
fierce lariat and a brutal chokeslam and he's not moving one bit.

[And that seems to be the end of it...

...until.]

GM:  What in the world is Anton Layton doing?

BW:  He's embarrassed!  Houston humiliated him!

[A furious Layton waves in the direction of the locker room.]

GM:  Oh no... no, no, no...

[The crowd ERUPTS in jeers as the curtain parts to reveal James Monosso,
Nenshou, and Percy Childes all heading down the ramp towards the ring. 
Monosso and Nenshou are coming quickly... Childes?  Not so much.]

GM:  Layton's calling in the troops!

BW:  The Unholy Alliance is comin' for Ron Houston!

[Nenshou hits the ring first, promptly scaling the ropes, and launching
himself off the top, crashing down across the chest of the East Coast
Terror with a moonsault!]

GM:  Big backflip splash on the chest of Houston by Nenshou!

[The Longhorn Heritage Champion rolls off of Houston, striking a
kneeling martial arts pose as James Monosso steps through the ropes,
swiftly pulling Houston off the mat by the hair...

...and wrapping his arms around the East Coast Terror's waist!]

GM:  No, no, no!

[Monosso plants his feet, powering Houston up off the mat, and DRIVING
him down on the back of his head and neck!]

GM:  DESCENT INTO MADNESS!!

[Monosso stays seated on the mat, listening to Percy Childes shout words
of praise to his resident madman as Layton shouts at Polemos to pick
Houston up.]

GM:  Leave him alone!  You've proved your point, Layton!

BW:  Have they?

GM:  Of course they have!  Houston can't even stand up!

[The crowd cheers as Sweet Daddy Williams and the Rockstar Express come
charging down the aisle, stepping through the ropes...

...where James Monosso immediately clubs Williams with a right hand,
knocking him down to all fours.  Monosso continues to batter him with
double axehandle blows as the Rockstar Express gets bowled over with a
running double clothesline by Polemos!]

GM:  My stars!  The Rockstars AND Sweet Daddy Williams just got laid
out!

BW:  Who can save Ron Houston now?!

[Polemos drags Houston off the mat by the hair.  The monster grabs the
wrist of Houston, extending his arm as Layton scales the ropes, stepping
up to the second rope...

...and leaps off, smashing his knee down on the oft-injured shoulder of
Ron Houston!]

GM:  OHHHH!

[Houston falls to the mat, clutching his shoulder, rolling back and
forth in pain...

...and then eats a leaping King Kong kneedrop by James Monosso on the
same shoulder!]

GM:  Good grief!  Two hard shots to the injured shoulder and-

[The crowd ROARS in a mixed response as someone else tears through the
curtain, a steel chair gripped in hand, charging down the aisle towards
the ring.]

GM:  What in the...?  What's HE doing out here?

[The reaction of the fans becomes a bit more confused as the approaching
man steps through the ropes, chair in hand, reveaiing clearly for the
first time his identity...]

GM:  BRIAN VON BRAUN HAS HIT THE RING!!

[And promptly rears back the steel chair, taking a wild swing in the
direction of Anton Layton!]

GM:  WHOA!  WHOA!

[The crowd roars as Layton bails out to the floor.  Von Braun spins,
looking for a new target...

...but Nenshou and Percy Childes also clear out before the Invader can
take a swing in their direction!]

GM:  Layton bails out!  Nenshou bails out!  Childes is outta there as
well!  What in the heck is going on in there? 

BW:  I don't get it!  What the hell is Von Braun doing?

[Not afraid of a man with a chair, James Monosso rushes Von Braun...

...who sidesteps, rears back...]


"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  HE DRILLS MONOSSO ACROSS THE BACK!!  MONOSSO GOES THROUGH THE ROPES
TO THE FLOOR!!

[James Monosso slumps down in a heap on the floor as Percy Childes races
to check on him.  Von Braun shouts something in Monosso's direction,
slamming the chair into the mat before turning around...

...and coming face-to-face with the monstrous Polemos!]

GM:  Uh oh!  

BW:  Von Braun's got a steel chair in his hand and I don't think Polemos
cares!

GM:  The big man's just staring at him... the monster's ready to
fight...

[But Von Braun doesn't look about to back down either, getting the crazy
eyes as he slams the chair into the mat again, shouting "COME ON, YOU
BIG PIECE OF-"  The last part of that is cut off - thankfully - as
Layton and Childes scream at Polemos from the floor!]

GM:  They're... they're trying to get Polemos out of there!  Von Braun's
got the chair and he's obviously not afraid to use it!  He'll cave in
Polemos' skull with that thing given the chance!

[Polemos, ignoring the shouts from the floor, stalks towards Von Braun
who winds up with the chair overhead...]

GM:  LOOK OUT!!

[The Invader lets a full-force overhead swing of the chair fly, aimed
right at the horned skull of Polemos...

...who reaches up with two powerful arms and easily blocks the
chairshot!]

GM:  Ohh!  He caught it!  He caught the chair!

[A panicked Von Braun has the chair snatched out of his hands and thrown
aside as he drops down to a knee, digging into his boot quickly...]

GM:  What's Von Braun doing?  What's he going for here?

[A frantic Layton is screaming at Polemos from outside the ring,
shouting as loud as his evil lungs can manage.  The monster turns
slightly, looking at Layton, and then turns back to Von Braun...]


"WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSH!"


GM:  MY GOD!!

[The crowd ROARS in shock as Von Braun lets a fireball fly, aimed for
the masked face of Polemos...

...but luckily for the big man, the fireball misses the mark, just
burning up empty sky.]

GM:  He tried to throw fire in the monster's face!

[And that seems to be enough to get Anton Layton actually INSIDE the
ring, grabbing Polemos around the neck and dragging him away from the
still-ready-to-fight Von Braun whose fists are at the ready as Layton
pulls his monster from the ring.]

GM:  Von Braun was a desperate man and desperate men do desperate
things!

BW:  But why, Gordo?!  Why in the hell is Brian Von Braun desperate to
save Ron Houston?!

[Von Braun grabs the discarded chair, ready to swing it again if
necessary.  And slowly, the majority of the AWA faithful begins to cheer
Brian Von Braun as he stands over Ron Houston in a defensive posture.]

GM:  And listen to these fans, Bucky!  These fans are CHEERING Brian Von
Braun!

BW:  I can't believe it... I can't believe he saved Houston... I can't
believe they're cheering him.  I can't believe any of this!  What kind
of a Bizarro World is this?

GM:  2011 has arrived, Bucky!

[Von Braun looks around at the cheering crowd, a puzzled look on his
face.]

BW:  Look at him.  Even Von Braun can't believe this is happening.

[Shaking his head in disbelief, Von Braun spikes the chair down to the
mat, kneeling down next to Houston who is clutching his shoulder, an
anguished look on his face.  The AWA medical team hits the ring as Von
Braun gets to his feet, glaring down the ramp at the retreating Unholy
Alliance with a furious look on his face as we fade to black.

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

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

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

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

JD:  Hello, Mr. iPhone.

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

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

JD:  Well, actually I did.

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

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

[Thankfully, a voiceover starts.]

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

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

[Fade back to black...

...and as we fade back to live action inside the ring, we find Kolya
Sudakov leaning against the ropes, waiting for the bell to ring.]


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  We're underway, fans, with Kolya Sudakov taking on young Charles
Martin.

[Sudakov rushes from the corner, pushing Martin back to the buckles with
his overwhelming power.  Grabbing the top rope, Sudakov snaps off body
kick after body kick after body kick.]

GM:  Look at Sudakov!  He's all over Martin!

BW:  He may be taking out a little bit of his anger towards Ivan
Kostovich on Charles Martin.  Open your eyes, Sudakov... he's not
Comrade Kostovich.

GM:  Of course, back at SuperClash, Kolya Sudakov lost a match with the
stipulation that a loss put him back under the control of Ivan
Kostovich.  Sudakov tried to defy the stipulation by signing on to team
with Supernova at the Stampede Cup but Kostovich pursued legal action
and had the team expelled from the tournament.  But where does that
leave him?

[Sudakov hooks the wrist of Martin, powering him across the ring with a
big whip.  The former National Champion stalks across the ring, meeting
the staggered Martin a few feet from the corner, and grabbing him around
the throat with both hands...

...before hoisting him high above the ring!]

GM:  He's got Martin up!  He's choking Charles Martin!

[The referee's count reaches four before Sudakov throws Martin down to
the mat.]

BW:  Hey, that's a little bit more like the man who won the National
Title back in 2008, Gordo.  He's showing some of that killer instinct he
lost when he lost the title.

GM:  Many would argue that Kolya Sudakov losing the title has had a
devastating effect on his career.  He was out of professional wrestling
for an entire year after that happened.  

[Sudakov delivers a few hard kicks to the ribs, forcing Martin under the
ropes.  The Russian War Machine reaches over the ropes, pulling Martin
off the mat.  He hooks a suplex, powering him over the opes and down to
the canvas!]

GM:  Ohhh!  Big time suplex by the former champ!

[The Russian quickly gets back to his feet, dragging Martin off the mat
by the back of the trunks, hooking him around the waist.  He hoists him
high...

...and dumps him on the back of his head with a belly-to-back suplex!]

GM:  Another big suplex by Sudakov... and look out now...

[The former National Champion backs away, standing in the corner with
his arm at the ready...

...and rushes across the ring as Martin rises, knocking him flat with
the Russian Sickle.  Sudakov drops to his knees, planting his fists in
the chest of Martin as the referee drops down to count.]

GM:  One.  Two.  And there's the three.  An impressive victory for Kolya
Sudakov, Bucky.

BW:  It was.  It was the kind of performance that reminds you why he's a
former National Champion.  But does it do him any good?

GM:  What does that mean?

BW:  It means that whenever Kostovich says jump, Sudakov has to say "how
high?"  So, Sudakov may want to get back on track and challenge Juan
Vasquez for the National Title... but if Kostovich doesn't want to see
it, does it really matter?

GM:  You may have a point there.  But what does Kolya Sudakov think of
Ivan Kostovich's control over him?  Jason Dane's going to ask that very
question right now.  Jason?

[We crossfade to the interview platform where Jason Dane is standing
alongside the former National Champion.]

JD:  Thanks, Gordon.  Kolya, that was a good win for you in there to
kick off 2011.

[Sudakov simply nods, saying nothing.]

JD:  Alright, then... let's get down to business.  Back on Thanksgiving
night at SuperClash, you lost a match - a controversial loss but a loss
nonetheless - to your Uncle, Vladimir Velikov.  With that loss, you
found yourself contractually obligated to Ivan Kostovich.

[Sudakov doesn't react to any of this, looking down the whole time.]

JD:  You tried to compete at the Cup but Kostovich shut you down.  So,
the question is... what does 2011 hold for Kolya Sudakov if you're
trapped under the control of Ivan Kostovich?

[For the first time, Sudakov looks up at Jason Dane.]

KS:  I don't know.

[Dane presses the issue.]

JD:  Is there any way out of the contract?  Have you had your lawyers-

KS:  Kolya's lawyers have reviewed everything.  There is - how you say -
no way out.  Unless Kolya wants to leave the AWA, Kolya must obey
everything Ivan Kostovich says.

[Dane shakes his head.]

JD:  So, I ask again... what's next for you?  Many have speculated that
you would pursue the National Title currently held by Juan Vasquez that
you never got a rematch for.  

[Kolya shakes his head in response.]

KS:  I do not know, Jason Dane.  I do not know what Ivan Kostovich will
ask of me.  

JD:  Tonight, in the Main Event, your Uncle teams with Sultan Azam
Sharif and Calisto Dufresne to take on Kentucky's Pride and a man you
consider an ally, Supernova.

[Sudakov nods.]

JD:  Will you be at ringside?

KS:  Kolya has not been told to be there.  If Kolya is told to go, Kolya
will go.

JD:  Will you HELP your Uncle in that match?

[Sudakov sighs.]

KS:  Jason Dane... you and Kolya... I think we not communicate well. 
Kolya does whatever Kolya is told to do... period.

JD:  Even if that means assaulting your friend Supernova?

KS:  Let us hope... it does not come to that.

[And with that, Sudakov simply walks away, his head bowed.]

JD:  Kolya Sudakov is being kept on a very tight leash by Ivan Kostovich
apparently, fans.  And you just have to notice that he would not -
perhaps could not - deny that he may have to attack his friend,
Supernova, later tonight if he's ordered to.  A very tough position for
Kolya Sudakov to be in.  Let's go backstage where Mark Stegglet is
standing by with a familiar face.  Mark?

[To the back!  To Mark Stegglet!]

MS:  Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome back to the AWA... "All
American" Aaron Anderson!

[A pan out shows the Combat Corner graduate standing beside Mark
Stegglet, pearly whites gleeming from behind a wide smile.  The tall
athlete is settled within a dark blue ring robe adorned with gold trim. 
He holds the lapels, nodding as Mark continues.]

MS:  Aaron Anderson, you were one of the first-

[Finger held up.]

AA:  _The_ first.

MS:  ...the first graduate from the esteemed Combat Corner.  However,
what appeared to be a promising beginning of a career quickly spiralled
into an ACL injury and substantial time off.  How have you recovered and
how excited are you to be back?

[He turns to Mark, patting him on the shoulder briefly before turning
back to the camera, leaning down to speak into the microphone.]

AA:  You know Mark Stegglet, I can say for a fact that it IS great to be
back and it IS great to be healthy once again!  You don't understand the
trials and tribulations an athlete goes through when he is down and out
because of an injury he couldn't control.  The guys in the locker room
know exactly what I am talking about.  You train your whole life, you
eat right, you exercise, you study endless tape.  You get into a ring
and land on your back until you're sick.  You run ropes until you're
dizzy... and then, THEN you get to the hard part.  

Endless hours of driving.

Lack of sleep.

Promoters stiffing you for pay.

[A short pause... some awkwardness... he continues.]

AA:  The trials and tribulations of being a professional athlete and a
professional wrestler trying to make a living in this sport... but
that's not the important part, Mark Stegglet.  The important part is I
am BACK... and better then ever, baby!

[A curt nod and he stands up, letting the interviewer interview.]

MS:  Now, Aaron, there has been some talk about you leaving the tutelage
of the Combat Corner after your injury and training with... well...
um...

[Anderson interrupts him again.  Instead of answering to Stegglet, he
again leans down, speaks into the microphone and directs his attention
to the viewing audience.]

AA:  Sometimes a man needs a change to get better, it's as simple as
that.  Even the very best...

[Pearly whites!]

AA:  ...need a change to get themselves back on track and I did just
that.  It's no offense to Todd or any of the trainers or any of the
other students, it's just a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do and
what I did?  It made me from the All American to the Blue Chipper to the
top prospect to the _template_ of what a professional wrestler in 2011
in the AWA is going to be.  So thank you, Todd and thank you Combat
Corner for getting me into this business and on track to a path to the
top.

But now, Aaron Anderson, better then ever, is taking a different road to
the top and baby... it begins tonight!  Tonight, baby, the All American
becomes all... the... rage. [Pause] Boom.

[And with that, the young man steps away from the camera, leaving Mark
Stegglet, as usual... to cue away.]

MS:  Aaron Anderson showing a renewed confidence. Let's hope this time
it works out for him.  Now, let's go back out to Jason Dane who is
standing by with a very special guest.  JD?

[We crossfade back to the interview platform where Jason Dane is
standing alongside his guest.]

JD:  Thanks, Mark!  Fans, joining me at this time is a man who is no
stranger to AWA fans nor to fans all over the world - he is a former
World Champion and the current lead trainer at the AWA's Combat Corner,
Todd Michaelson!

[Big cheer for Michaelson as he approaches, shaking his brother-in-law's
hand.]

JD:  Todd, thanks for joining us out here tonight... we have a few
things going on here in the AWA that we wanted to get your point of view
on.  First, what about this situation with Lori and Melissa Cannon?

[Todd raises a hand, shaking his head.]

TM:  I learned long ago, Jase, to not get involved with your sister's
business.  That thing with Melissa?  That's all her and I'd do well to
keep it that way... so would you.

[Dane nods.]

JD:  Fair enough.  Let's talk about the Stampede Cup.  You teamed up
that night with Eric Preston, your former student at the Combat Corner,
in what was quite obviously an attempt to get him back on the right path
so to speak.  It did not turn out that way.  What happened?

[Michaelson sighs.]

TM:  I love that kid to death, Jase.  That's why it's incredibly hard
for me to see him going through what he's going through.  He's fighting
hard but... there's something not quite right.  He's not focused... he's
distracted... you saw the Cup.  We had the Samoans beat until he let his
focus slip again.  

JD:  So, what's next for Eric Preston?

[Michaelson shrugs.]

TM:  Don't know, kid.  And honestly, at the moment, I don't care.  He
let me down at the Cup... heck, he let himself and all these great fans
down as well.  So, until he can get his head on straight, he's on his
own in my book.

JD:  Wow.  Some tough love perhaps?

TM:  If that's what it takes.

JD:  Well, what about the return of Aaron Anderson, another one of your
former students to the AWA?

TM:  I'm not going to comment on that at this time.  I just found out
about Aaron coming back and I need to talk to him before I can comment
any further.

JD:  Again, fair enough.  But Todd, what CAN you talk about here
tonight?

[Michaelson grins.]

TM:  I know, I know... I sound so secretive.  But I had a reason for
accepting your offer to be out here tonight, Jase.  Everyone's out here
making New Year's resolutions and big announcements - and heck, I've got
a big announcement of my own to make.

[The crowd cheers!]

TM:  Now, from Day One, when this company started, the management made a
pledge to try and stay off camera.

[He sheepishly grins.]

TM:  That didn't turn out so well.  Between Bobby, Lori, and myself...
well, you've seen enough of us, I think.  And after I got taken out of
WarGames by the Southern Syndicate, I honestly thought I was done for a
while.  But then I walked out there at SuperClash and got behind that
announce desk, something came over me.  That rush... you know the one,
Jason.

[Dane nods.]

TM:  I knew right then that I wanted to play a bigger role in this
place.  Don't get me wrong - I love the Combat Corner but I want to do
whatever I can to help out.

And then I had a discussion with an old friend who happened to be at the
table with me that night.

[A few "STEG-GY!" shouts fill the air bringing another grin to
Michaelson's face.]

TM:  That's right.  And what he said that night... it made a lot of
sense to me.  You see... I wanted to do something more... and he felt
that the AWA needed something special.

He thought - and I agreed - that the AWA needed The Money Pit!

[A burst of cheers from the fans who followed the EMWC's second run.]

JD:  The Money Pit?  Your old interview show?

TM:  That's right, Jason.  Each and every Saturday Night Wrestling, I'm
going to come out here and interview one guest.  And I promise that on
that show, I'm going to break the big news... I'm gonna ask the hard
questions... I'm gonna tell it like it is... and I'm going to be the man
who gets the people talkin' the next morning.  The Money Pit is back...
starting on the next Saturday Night Wrestling!

[Michaelson shakes hands with Dane again and strides away, leaving Dane
behind.

JD:  The Money Pit is coming to Saturday Night Wrestling!  And I've
learned quite well over the years to never doubt that man when he's got
his mind set on something.  I believe the Money Pit WILL become the
place where all the excitement goes down!  Gordon, Bucky - back to you!

[We crossfade back to ringside where Bucky Wilde is STEAMED!]

GM:  Big news right there from-

BW:  Who the HELL does Michaelson think he is?

GM:  I'm sorry?

BW:  Damn it, Gordo.  Since this place got started, I'M the one who
breaks the big news... I'm the one who asks the tough questions... I'm
the one who tells it like it is... and I'm the one who gets people
talkin'!  Maybe Michaelson's never heard of it with his face buried in
the mat all the time but The Call Of The Wilde is THE place where things
happen in the AWA, daddy!

GM:  Well, you've certainly had some big moments on The Call Of The
Wilde but you haven't done one in months!  You have a few a year if
that.  Michaelson's talking about doing one every show!

BW:  I don't give a damn if he's doing one every other minute!  That's
my show!  That's my job!  And in case Michaelson's forgotten, he's got a
job  His job is to train pathetic losers like Eric Preston... and he's
doing a fine job of it!

GM:  Bucky, please...

BW:  Maybe if Michaelson didn't spend so much time trying to plot how to
steal MY job, he'd have time to do his own job and we'd see more than
two Combat Corner graduates in three years!

[Gordon looks a little taken aback by Bucky's fire.]

GM:  Fans, uhh... let's... let's go to a quick break and give my partner
time to cool off.

BW:  There's not enough minutes in the day, daddy.

[And we abruptly fade to black.

...and then back up on a shot of the AWA National Title belt.  The
super-excited voice of Mark Stegglet is heard over it.]

"You've seen it on Saturday Night Wrestling!"

[A shot of Marcus Broussard with the belt over his shoulder.]

"You've seen it on AWA supercards like Memorial Day Mayhem and The Last
Stampede!"

[A shot of Ron Houston wearing the belt in a promo picture.]

"You've seen the best the AWA has to offer wearing it!"

[Now a shot of Kolya Sudakov in a fighting pose with the belt hanging
over his shoulder.]

"And now, it can be yours!"

[A shot of Stevie Scott holding the belt high in the air fades into a
shot of a young fan doing the same.]

"Available NOW on AWAShop.com, get the official replica of the AWA
National Title belt that only the best and brightest of the AWA
superstars have held!"

[A closeup of the AWA National Title slowly fades to black...

...and then back up to live action where Gordon Myers is standing in the
ring.]

GM:  Ladies and gentlemen... at this time, it is my distinct pleasure to
introduce to you the man who LIBERATED the American Wrestling Alliance
from the steely grip of the Southern Syndicate once and for all just six
weeks ago in Dallas, Texas... and in the process, the man who became the
NEW AWA National Champion!

[The crowd cheers, knowing who is coming.]

GM:  Please welcome... JUAAAAAAAN VASSSSQUEZ!

[The crowd EXPLODES into cheers as Vasquez trots down through the
curtain, clad in his usual tracksuit as he holds the National Title belt
high into the air.  His music rocks the PA as he makes his way towards
the ring, slapping the hands of the fans at ringside.  Upon reaching the
squared circle, he steps through the ropes, pausing to shake the hand of
Gordon Myers as he takes the offered mic with a grin.]

JV: The AWA's been goin' through a whole lotta' changes lately, folks.

[There's a brief pause, as Juan takes a moment to look at his reflection
in the polished gold, before turning his attention back to the crowd
with a smile.]

JV: We got ourselves a new year, a new champion, and a new beginning...

[A soft chuckle.]

JV: ...but the challenges remain the same!

[He nods to himself.]

JV: I spent all of 2010 with a target on my back and by the looks of it,
2011 ain't gonna' be much different. They say I've got challengers
comin' at me from all sides, but ain't that just par for the course?

[He frowns and shrugs his shoulders.]

JV: Sure, Stevie Scott held onto this title as long as he did, because
he found every shortcut, loophole and stipulation possible to keep
himself outta' a wrestling ring...

[Boos for the former National champion. This crowd knows how to carry a
grudge.]

JV: ...but if you think I'm gonna' run and hide to hold onto the
National title...if you think I'm gonna' sic a team of lawyers on every
man that lays a claim to the title...if you think I'm just gonna' duck
and dodge anybody and everybody that wants a shot at takin' the gold
from 'round my waist?

Then you just don't know Juan Vasquez!

[Face pop!]

JV: I didn't go through the most agonizin' year of my career just to get
a twenty lbs. paperweight, people. I scratched and I clawed and I fought
for twelve months, because this..._this_ is the greatest championship in
all of wrestling!

[There's a loud roar as Juan holds the title belt up.]

JV: And I'm gonna' do it proud!

[He nods happily.]

JV: From the biggest giant to the smallest underdog...I don't care! I'll
take you on and I'll give you the toughest damn fight of your life!
[Pop!] I said I was going to be the most fighting champion there ever
was and you people _know_ I keep my promises!

[Another loud cheer from the crowd! Juan smiles and points to the top of
the ramp.]

JV: So, I'm callin' you out, AWA!

MAMMOTH! [Heel pop!] Calisto Dufrense! [Heel pop!] Marcus Broussard!
[FACE POP!] Von Braun! [Heel pop!]

Hell...

[He turns and points to the crowd.]

JV: ...even you, right there! Yeah, little girl with the braces! I'm
callin' you out too!

[Oddly enough, the crowd cheers for Juan Vasquez challenging a little
girl.]

JV: You want this title? You wanna' be the AWA National champion?

Then I dare ya' to try and take it!

[And with that, Juan tosses the microphone and exits the ring to the
rabid cheers of the crowd as Gordon Myers catches it against his chest.]

GM:  Now I daresay THAT is a champion we can be proud of.  Mark
Stegglet, my friend, the floor is yours.

[We crossfade to the alternate interview platform where Mark Stegglet is
now standing.]

MS: Alright Gordon.  At SuperClash 2, we all witnessed what I can only
describe as the "transformation" of Mark Langseth, getting the victory
but acting in a way that we have never seen before in the AWA!  So I'd
like to call him down now to explain his actions to us all.  Ladies and
Gentlem-

"Tonight's story is somewhat unique, and calls for a different kind of
introduction."

[Michael Jackson's "Threatened" plays.  This song is associated not with
Mark Langseth, but with Joe Petrow.  And sure enough, it is the
grim-faced, Armani suit-wearing former Executive Consultant that stalks
down the aisle towards the interview stage.]

MS: Now Joe Petrow, this is not your time, this is time that we have
allocated for Mark Langseth to come out here and

JP: SHUT!  UP!!

[This is perhaps the first time that we have seen Joe Petrow lose his
cool in the AWA. And Mark Stegglet recalls that there was a time when
Petrow was known as "Sychosys", so he wisely does as Petrow asks,
quietly holding the microphone.]

JP: Before Mr. Langseth addresses anybody, I am out here to teach a
remedial lesson in respect. _Respect_ is the honor and deference
bestowed upon anybody who holds a higher status than you. In our world,
it's one's accomplishments that define a wrestler. Those wrestlers who
come here and lose on each and every show, are the bottom of the pecking
order.  Next are the guys who win a few matches, who earn the respect of
those other losers.  Above them, you have the guys who have won
championships.  At the top of the pyramid, you have the men who are
champions right now.  And at the very top of the top, you have Joe
Petrow, the Eternal World's Heavyweight Champion, now over 12 years and
counting.

[The crowd jeers that proclamation as Petrow preens.]

JP:  BUT!  There is one level that is even higher, the heavens above the
pyramid that we all hold in reverence.  These are the Hall of Famers.
Because anybody can get lucky and win a championship on any given day.
But induction to the Hall of Fame is based on an entire _lifetime_ of
accomplishments!  A panel of peers and the most learned men in the
sport, looking over the careers of untold thousands of wrestlers,
choosing only the very best of the very best.  And the _only_ Hall of
Famer wrestling in the AWA, and the _only_ man in the AWA that I
consider above me, is Mr. Mark Langseth.

To show how high the bar is set, everyone and their grandma said that
Alex Martinez would be a first ballot Hall of Famer. Well Alex, that
first ballot has come and gone, but I didn't see _you_ being presented
with a ring at the ceremony!  Maybe the reason you were so flippant with
Mr. Langseth recently was that you figured that you would soon be
equals, but now you know better!  You are less than me, and you are
_certainly_ less than the Hall of Famer Mark Langseth! And don't you
forget it!

Now, Bucky...

[...while Petrow keeps talking, the shot cuts back to the announce
booth, where Bucky Wilde inexplicably stands up and removes his headset.
 Although their mics are not turned on, most people can make out Gordon
Myers' exaggerated lip movements to be saying "What are you _doing_!?"]

JP: ...so now that you have all learned the basics of respect, you can
all appreciate the appalling lack of it that Mr. Langseth has received
during his year, his _undefeated_ year, in the AWA. But at long last, I
am finally authorized to act in Mr. Langseth's best interests, as his
_new_ Respect Management Consultant!

[Stegglet can no longer hold his tongue]

MS: What!?

JP: And my first order of business, is to eliminate all of the biased,
incompetent interviewers who have enabled the bad habits of the AWA
management, and its fans!

[Bucky Wilde has now made his way onto the interview stage, standing
next to a confused Mark Stegglet.]

MS: Now, what is this!?

JP: As of this moment, my client will speak exclusively to the one man
on the AWA broadcasting team who has demonstrated an understanding of
the concept of respect!

BW: Hand over the microphone pal, the men here have work to do.

[An angry and embarrassed Stegglet looks over both men, before shoving
the mic into Bucky's hands and stalking off the set. As the camera
follows Stegglet, we see two men in the background, familiar to longtime
AWA Saturday Night Wrestling viewers as men who do not often win on this
show, at the top of the ramp, quickly laying a large bundle onto the
ground. They then proceed to roll a red carpet, literally, out to the
interview stage.]

BW: And now, it is _my_ honor, to introduce a true living legend, the
AWA's one and only Hall of Famer, Mister!  Mark!  LANGSETH!!

[Petrow's "Threatened" music plays once more, as a sneering Mark
Langseth emerges from the back. Pausing to ensure that his red carpet is
laid out straight, walking methodically down the carpet and up the steps
to the interview to a cascade of boos.  A beaming Petrow positions
himself behind Langseth as Bucky Wilde holds the microphone up for the
legendary Hall of Famer to speak:]

ML: When I came back, do you know what the first thing I heard?

[The crowd boos a bit as Langseth looks around, angrily.]

ML: Questions! "Why are you here?"

[Langseth looks at one side of the Coliseum.]

ML: "What's left to prove?"

[Langseth looks over to the other.]

ML: "Why risk it? Why go up against guys younger and stronger and
healthier than you?"

[The crowd quiets down a bit as Langseth continues, a bit of sincerity
in his voice.]

ML: And everytime - EVERYTIME - I replied, "I came back cause I felt I
still had something left." Everytime! And you know what?

[Langseth looks over to Petrow, who nods.]

ML: I DO still have something left! And you know what's the most damning
thing?

[Mark pauses, shaking his head.]

ML: None of you people thought I could get it done. NONE of you!

[The crowd boos at that accusation.]

ML: Oh, sure, I got the cheers from you all, but... did you believe in
me? Did you all think I could pin Shane Destiny?

[Langseth shakes his head.]

ML: Did you all think I could make Shane Destiny TAP?! No! You all
thought I'd be lucky to walk out of the match.

BW: Some say - not me, of course, but some others say that your didn't
really win that submission match against Shane Destiny cause he didn't
actually submit.

[Langseth does a double - nay, a triple take at that statement and
confers with his new Respect Management Consultant. Langseth's very
demonstrative in his words with Petrow trying to calm him down a bit.]

JP: That's not a question Mr. Langseth, he's just repeating what some
idiots have been saying...

[Langseth moves in to interject.]

ML: Destiny lost that! I submitted him, alright?! He QUIT on that match
and I - ME - I won!

[As the crowd boos louder, Langseth rolls his eyes and then scratches
his head a bit.  In the background, Petrow can be seen frantically
punching numbers and whispering into his ubiquitous cellphone.]

ML: Uh... Now, where was I?

BW: You were saying no one thought you would beat Destiny.

ML: Right! Everyone thought my time had passed and I couldn't beat him.
But you know what, Bucky? I've got it all, I've done it all, and I can
continue to do it all!

[More boos rain down on the talk from the interview area, which Petrow
tries to wave off.]

ML: Now that I PROVED myself AGAIN, I'm sure everyone thinks, "you're
Mark Langseth! You're a Hall of Famer! You're one of the best wrestlers
walking this Earth!"

[Petrow jumps in to correct his client.]

JP: Obviously, the intelligent fans know that you are THE best wrestler
walking this Earth!

[The people in the crowd obviously aren't listening, but Langseth
continues on through their jeers.]

ML: You all probably think it's easy being me, right? Cause I make it
look so simple in the ring? Well, let me clue you all in a bit - it's
NOT! I work harder than ANYONE on this roster!

[Langseth hears the boos.]

BW: Harder than... Raphael Rhodes?

[Yay! Langseth merely laughs.]

ML: You serious? Give me a break.

[Boo!]

BW: Ron Houston?

[Yay!]

ML: EASILY harder!

[Boo!]

BW: Alex Martinez?

[Langseth grits his teeth and narrows his eyes.]

ML: He gets by on size alone, Bucky. Always has and always will. I work
in that ring, even time! I WRESTLE in that ring, not just throw around
some freakish luck of size. So yeah, MUCH HARDER!

[Booooooo!]

BW: Well, how about... Juan Vas-

[The crowd explodes at the beginning of the name of the new champion.]

BW: Vasque-

[The crowd pops again. Langseth looks around, bothered, and grabs the
mic.]

ML: Do you people know that I haven't lost ANY match that I've been in
so far since I came back? Do you people realize what sort of roll I'm on
right now?!? Give me the chance, AWA! Give me the chance and I'll show
that FRAUD who's the real man in this federation!

[Petrow looks upset at this statement and gently reaches for the mic
once more]

JP: Mr. Langseth, please remember this: you have my services now.  It's
my job to make sure that you don't have to prove yourself ever again. 
When the time is right, Juan Vasquez, and everyone else, will try to
prove THEMSELVES to YOU.  Then you will do what you will always do.  And
this time, you WILL receive the reverence you deserve!  I guarantee it! 
Now, ladies and gentlemen, show your love for the AWA's only Hall of
Famer, the legend Mark Langseth!

[Suddenly, the crowd does a 180, and THUNDEROUS APPLAUSE competes with
an overwhelming "LANGSETH! LANGSETH! LANGSETH!" chant all being piped
through the audio system. This reaction is at odds with the expression
on the angry crowd's faces, but it still seems to work for Mr. Langseth,
who nods with satisfaction as Petrow leads his client back down the red
carpet, instructing the helper wrestlers to roll it up behind them as
they disappear into the back.]

BW:  Gordo, I daresay THAT'S a man, a champion, A LEGEND... that we can
all be proud of.

[The crowd jeers Bucky's mocking of Gordon's words from moments ago.]

BW:  Ohh, and I hear we're about to see another champion we can be proud
of!  Watson, you're up.

[The shot crossfades to the ring where Phil Watson is standing.]

PW:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall and is for the AWA
Longhorn Heritage Championship!  Introducing first... already in the
ring at this time... from Cleveland, Tennessee... Josh Colt!

[A tough looking hombre looking north of 275 pounds raises a beefy arm.]

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. 
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.]

PW:  From Parts Unknown... weighing in at 253 pounds and being
accompanied to the ring by his manager, the Collector of Oddities, Percy
Childes... he represents the Unholy Alliance and is the current AWA
Longhorn Heritage Champion...

NENNNNNNSHOU!

[The jeers intensify for Nenshou and Childes as they approach the ring,
title belt in hand.  Nenshou leaps gracefully through the ropes into the
ring.  He stares across the squared circle through the thin slit in his
hood...

...and then jerks the hood back, lifting his head and spewing a green
spray into the air!]

GM:  Ughh.  And there's that vile green mist on display.  He always
wants his opponents to know it's there... to fear it, to dread it.

[As the bell rings, Nenshou lunges into a collar and elbow tieup,
quickly breaking it with a rake of the eyes.]

GM:  He may have just broken the land speed record for rulebreaking.

[A hard overhead chop to the side of the neck stumbles big Josh Colt and
a second well-placed chop knocks him back into the ropes.  Nenshou
strikes a martial arts stance, swinging his arms around...

...and DRIVING his stiffened fingers into the windpipe of Colt, knocking
him down to a knee, gasping for air.]

GM:  Another illegal blow.  Referee Marty Meekly is warning him here.

[But a cold look from Nenshou seems to quiet the protesting official as
the Asian Assassin leans down to pull Colt's head back...

...and smash an overhead elbow down across the bridge of the nose,
knocking him facefirst to the mat.]

GM:  A hard shot across the face there and- and look who's rejoining us
back here at the announce table.  You feel better now that Joe Petrow
has made your Mark Langseth's personal announcer?

BW:  He's right, Gordo!  Nobody treats him with respect!  Nobody treats
Mark Langseth with respect!  And nobody - especially Todd Michaelson -
treats ME with respect!

GM:  You're a two-time Announcer Of The Year!

BW:  Ehh... a small token from these worthless peons in the crowd who
recognize how much better than them I am.

GM:  You are one ungrateful piece of work, you know that?

[With Colt down, Nenshou hits the ropes...

...and drops a lightning quick elbow across the back of the neck,
shoving Colt to his back for a cover.]

GM:  Colt's down for one!  For two!  

[But the big man kicks out at two, breaking the pin.  Percy Childes
shouts some instructions in Japanese from the floor.  Nenshou
acknowledges his manager with a nod before delivering a trio of stomps
to the back of the head.  He leans down, dragging Josh Colt off the
canvas.]

GM:  Nenshou whips him across... in he comes...

[Nenshou leaps at the last moment, turning his back to deliver an
elbowsmash...

...and SMASHES into the raised knees of Josh Colt!]

GM:  Ohh!  Colt got the knees up!  Nice counter by the kid!

[As he settles back to the mat, Colt winds up and BLASTS Nenshou in the
back of the head with a beefy armed clothesline!]

GM:  Down goes Nenshou!

[An excited Colt flips him over, applying a lateral press with a leg
hook.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!! 

[But Nenshou kicks out at two, sending a ripple of disappointment from
the fans looking for an upset.]

GM:  Colt got a two count - the kid needs to put something big on
Nenshou to keep him down for a three count.

BW:  Like a tank.

GM:  Josh Colt's as big as a tank, Bucky!

[The big man from Tennessee pulls Nenshou off the mat by his jet black
hair, grabbing an arm to fire him into the ropes...

...and LEVELS the Longhorn Heritage Champion with a leaping tackle!]

GM:  He lays out the champ!

[Colt crawls over, applying another press.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  TH-

[The crowd again roars with disappointment as Nenshou fires a shoulder
off the mat.  Colt slaps the mat in frustration as he gets to his feet,
grabbing a handful of Nenshou's hair.]

BW:  The kid's staying right on top of him.  You have to be impressed by
that!

[Grabbing the arm, Colt fires him across again...]

GM:  Powerful whip by Josh Colt... backdr-

[But Nenshou leaps over him in a leapfrog, lashing out backwards with a
kick to the back of the knee as he hits the mat, knocking Colt down to a
knee...

...and then OBLITERATES him with a thrust kick to the back of the
skull!]

GM:  OHHHHH!  What a kick by Nenshou!

BW:  That's a champion, Gordo!  THAT'S a champion!

GM:  He pulls the youngster up... scoop... backbreaker!

[And in one motion, Nenshou approaches the corner, steps up the ropes,
and snaps off a picture perfect moonsault!]

GM:  He got all of that!  One!  Two!  And three!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


PW:  Ladies and gentlemen, here is your win-

[The words of Phil Watson gets cut off by the roar of the crowd as Brian
Von Braun comes tearing down the aisle, steel chair in hand.  He tosses
the chair over the ropes in Nenshou's direction as he steps through the
ropes...

...and tackles Nenshou off his feet to the roar of the crowd!]

GM:  VON BRAUN'S GOT HIM DOWN!!

[The crowd roars louder as Von Braun straightens up and lays in haymaker
after haymaker to the jaw of the downed Nenshou!]

GM:  Von Braun's all over Nenshou!  He's rockin' him with right hands!

[A desperate Percy Childes screams at his man from out on the floor,
wildly swinging his crystal-orb topped cane back and forth...

...and as the two men in the ring get a little too close to the ropes,
Childes reaches in and jabs his cane into Von Braun's ribcage!]

GM:  Ohh!  Come on!

[The blow knocks Von Braun off Nenshou who rolls under the ropes,
heading quickly back up the aisle alongside a frantic Percy Childes.]

GM:  Brian Von Braun just brought the fight to Nenshou and Nenshou's
running like a thief in the night alongside that manipulative snake
Childes!

BW:  Now who's worked up?

[Von Braun gets to his feet, clutching his ribs.  He glares down the
entryway, watching Nenshou and Childes flee towards the locker room. 
Von Braun looks around the Crockett Coliseum, shaking his head at the
cheering crowd again...

...and then leaves the ring, marching back up the aisle towards the
locker room!]

GM:  And don't look now but I think Von Braun's going after him!

BW:  He better not be!  Keep it in the ring, fella!

GM:  Like the Unholy Alliance does?

BW:  Hey, they took out Ron Houston in the ring tonight!

GM:  Von Braun's out of here and... oh brother... let's go back to
Jason...

[We now head up to the interview stage.  One might say that there is a
dastardly assortment of nefarious villains up there right now... but
since they have lawyers, it's probably best to just say they're a
controversial group of wrestlers.  Jason Dane is standing by with one
half of tonight's six-man tag Main Event, and already the crowd is up in
arms with booing and jeering.

On the far left is Vladimir Velikov, the burly Russian veteran.  He
stands in a red windbreaker jacket with gold lettering on the front that
reads "MOTHER RUSSIA" and has a heavy metal chain draped over his
shoulders.  Alongside him is the familiar rust-red bisht and white
kaffiyeh draped over the body of Sultan Azam Sharif.  Sharif clutches a
titanic Iranian flag, which he is holding somewhat behind him so that it
does not obstruct the view of any of his teammates.  He is a swarthy
Persian man with a neatly trimmed mustache... the wear of years of
battle is evident on his face, which maintains a grim expression.  To
the right of the Sultan is his manager, Count Adrian Bathwaite.  The
Count, a silver-haired former wrestler with a blend of Asian and
European features, is wearing a sparkly black button-up dress shirt that
seems to be made out of the cured hide of Twilight vampires (sadly, we
couldn't skin the author).  He compliments that with brown dress pants
and his normal cane, plus he has a cup of tea in one hand.  The Count
has a confident sneer on his face, and to his right is "The Ladykiller"
Calisto Dufresne.  Dufresne is clad in a navy blue three-piece suit and
black wingtip shoes.  His blond hair is pulled back into a ponytail and
gone is the neck brace seen at the Stampede Cup.

Jason starts up immediately.]

JD: With me at this time... the members of one of tonight's Main Event
teams.  It will be the team of Kentucky's Pride and Supernova...

[Crowd cheers!]

JD: ...against these men!  Vladimir Velikov, Sultan Azam Sharif, and
Calisto Dufrense.  And the first question I guess I should ask, Count
Adrian Bathwaite, is where is Ivan Kostovich?

[His answer is a jab to the ribs with Bathwaite's cane.  Of course.]

CAB: Listen here, you needle-necked serf!  Comrade Kostovich is not a
manager.  He is a busy man who is tasked with the sporting glory of his
once-great nation.  But unlike THIS nation, his nation can be great
again, because in Russia, they know enough to put the elite in charge. 
Now, if you want to ask a question, ask us about tonight's match with
the biggest collection of bottom-feeding lowest-class filth-encrusted
useless peons that has ever been assembled on one side in a wrestling
match!  On second thought, keep your gob shut, we're all better off that
way.  All of these ignorant dirt farmers will, of course, be supporting
of the kinds of people they'd feel at home with.  Dirty peasants. 
Commoners who are beneath the standards of your typical commoner.  One
of them is a half-blind overweight tub of lard who had twenty years or
so to achieve something, and all he could collect in that time was pity!
 One of them is named after a specific form of disgusting filth only
seen in trash dumps, which is fitting because that gives a clear idea of
his station in life.  And the third is a painted up hoodlum who beats up
old men to compensate for his inadequacies!

VV:  Comrade Bathwaite... it seems only fitting that these three men are
to be known as... America's Team.

JD:  America's Team?  What are you talking about?

VV:  They are fat, lazy, low class criminals!  Just like the rest of
America... including these people who cheer for them here in Dallas!

[Predictably, the Dallas fans boo.]

JD: If you hate all Americans, Count... OW!

[Jab to the ribs.]

CAB: I gave you an order, peasant, and when a man of my station gives
you a direct order, you should feel honored because the effort to give
it is more than your kind warrants.  I hear that rubbish from many dirt
farmers, right before I have them sent off.  "Why do you hate all
Americans?"  The answer is... I don't, you simpletons!  I have clearly
stated that America, as a corporate entity, is full of the lowest dregs
of humanity; if they could generously be lumped in with humanity. 
Personally, I think the population of the REAL human race is closer to
six million than six billion... but there's an awful lot of monkeys
running around.  But see, there are elite-class individuals even here in
your country.  Men that stand out for their dignity, strong bloodlines,
and overall eminent superiority,  And I am proud to be standing next to
just such a man.  Why you needle-necked serfs haven't erected a shrine
to Calisto Dufrense is a mystery that the quantum biologists who study
the brains of the commoners will have to answer.  But he is very clearly
an exemplar of the very best this country can produce, and even more so
for the fact that he rose out of this cesspool.

CD: That's an understatement, Count.  Avery Island is off the coast of
Louisiana, you understand, so our gene pool is not muddled up by the fat
slobs that populate this country.  Suffice to say, it's a pleasure being
surrounded by men of class after ridding myself of the dead weight I had
been saddled with for the past year.  

[Dufresne shakes his head in disgust.]

CD: But as you can see, I've surrounded myself now with superior talent
and intellect and together, the four of us will ride forth into the Main
Event - where else can you find Calisto Dufresne, after all? - and
Vladimir and Azam will destroy City Jack while I take Tin Can Rust apart
- again.  And in doing so we will show our millions of fans, not just
here in America, but more importantly, all over the world, how we take
out the trailer trash.

CAB: And alongside him, an Olympian!  A man from a society that still
knows how to keep the order of things: keep the elite on top, the women
in the kitchen, and everybody knows their place.  A society where
striking the elderly is answerable by death!  A man who was born of the
elite, and rose to become more than that!  A man who is venerated by his
people as a hero and a champion, Sultan Azam Sharif.

SAS: Dank you, Mistair Count Batwaite, un Mistair Cullista Duhfrezne,
dank you also for teaming with myself un Mistair Vladmir Velkupff.  You
know, Mistair Zhasun Dane, dot I alvays vant to be in Man Evunt match,
so dot is a honor for me, dank you to AWA for put me in Man Evunt.  But
tonight is deh night for Supairnova to pay for dot vat he did ven he
punch my managair!  An old man!  An honoraible man vat vas formair
shampwon of deh vurld!  But you diddint raspec Mistair Count Batwait! 
You punch an old man, un for dot my peepell vuld chop off your hands! 
Illi tizraa'u tuhsudu!  Il-a'een matia'laash a'ala il-Haagib!  

JD: Please, English!

CD: Dane, you can't understand his English any better than you can
understand his... whatever language it is he speaks.

SAS: I know dot my Ainglaish is not so good.  BUT RAMEMBAH!  My
wrastling, Varzesh-e Pahlavani, dot is bettair den good!  I am Pahlavn-e
Keshvar, deh best in deh vurld, Olympic game shampwon, Ashun Game
shampwon!  Un Supairnova, terooh fein ya saa'look bein el-molook?  Dot
mean you gonna deal vid somevun you cannot handail!  Un den you gonna
learn raspec!  Den you gonna be humbail, un raspec Mistair Count
Batwait, un Mistair Vladmir Velkupff, un Mistair Culista Duhfrenze!  Un
you gonna raspec Sultan Azan Sharif, un nevair gonna hit an old man
again!  Un you gonna know, un tousan-tousan- peepell gonna know vut deh
ontollEgunt AmerEcuns already know: dot IRAN!  IRAN, NUMBAH VUN! 
ROOSIA, NUMBAH VUN!

CAB: And last but not least, along with a man who climbed out of the
vile gutter of this nation to the greatness he deserves, and along with
the Great and Honorable Sultan, we have Vladimir Velikov.  Born of a
bloodline that dates back centuries, to the tsars and to Peter The Great
himself.  Backed by a machine that does not accept anything less than
total victory.  And even with all of those advantages, he's still the
hardest-working man in this sport, with a passion for victory like
nothing you know.  Tell them, Vladimir.

VV: City Jack... Tin Can Rust... it has been quite some time since you
been in the ring with true Russian athlete.  It has been quite some time
since you stood in the ring with me.  But I have not forgotten either of
you!  I have not forgotten how you cheated in that double cage in
Laredo!  It was the ultimate embarrassment for me, my nephew, for my
whole country!  The people of Russia are proud, you redneck goofs... we
do not forget the humiliation you put on us.  And once again, I have
Comrade Dufresne by my side.  It is much like Laredo... but it will be a
very different outcome!

CAB: There is is, Dane.  Three men who would outclass even a team of
respectable athletes... let alone three lower-than-low rubbish-pickers. 
Is there any doubt who will triumph tonight?

JD: Well, Count Bathwaite, this is an impressive team, but we'll all
find out together how well your claims stack up in the Main Event
tonight.  Back to you, Gordon an... OW!  OW, QUIT IT!

[Bathwaite commences the Angry Old Man Cane Jabbing as we return to the
ring where our two announcers are standing.]

GM:  Those four really are pieces of work, Bucky.

BW:  It's a Dream Team if I've ever seen one!  They're gonna walk right
over Team America later tonight.

GM:  Team America?  They never called themselves that!

BW:  Velikov nailed it though.  That's exactly what they are. 

GM:  Give me a break.  Folks, in a few moments we're going to have
Marcus Broussard out here, and the San Jose Shark supposedly has
something important to say. Bucky, the whole world knows your
relationship with the first National champ, what's he going to say?

BW: Well Gordo, there's been all sorts of rumors all day. It ain't no
secret that the Shark craves that National title belt. He's sat back
like a good boy and fought the good fight, but deep down we all know
what he's thinkin'. The ten pounds of gold, daddy, that's what's on the
Shark's mind.

GM: Well let's bring that man out right here, for the first time in too
long, Marcus Broussard come on out here.

["Super Bon Bon" by Soul Coughing plays as Broussard quickly makes his
way down to the ring. The San Jose Shark is resplendent in a sweet dark
blue pinstriped suit, with a white shirt and gold tie underneath, clean
shaven and hair freshly cut. The former champion seems amicable enough,
but does not swerve to shake hands, although as he enters the ring he
does shake hands with Gordon Myers.]

GM: Marcus Broussard, the Crockett Coliseum all day has been buzzing
with rumors that you've got something big to say.

MB: Well the sheets are right on one account, Gordon, I've got something
I've been dying to get off of my chest. Whether it's a big announcement
or not, I'll let the talking heads debate that. Far as I'm concerned,
any time I come out here and address the world, it's a _huge_
announcement.

But that's just me.

[Broussard fixes his tie and continues.]

MB: When I came back to the AWA, it was with the intention to rid the
AWA of that boiling, festering wound called the Southern Syndicate.
Against my better judgement, against the wishes of my family and the
private medical staff I keep on retainer. I came back to the ring to do
the right thing by the AWA, by the fans and to myself.

And it's always going to stick in my craw that I was not the one to take
back the AWA National title off of Stevie Scott. I'd love to sit here
and tell you that I intended all along to come back and be the good
soldier at the side of Admiral Vasquez, but you people know me well
enough to know that's not true. When it comes to the San Jose Shark,
either you're leading the pack or you're not in the race. But I put my
personal preferences aside, I checked my ego at the door and I'm proud
to say that we are standing here today in an AWA that doesn't include
Stevie Scott or Ben Waterson anymore.

[The crowd cheers vociferously as Broussard pauses to acknowledge them.]

MB: The battle is over, the war is won. War Games crushed the
foundation, and at SuperClash, Juan Vasquez unleashed the wrecking ball.
The Syndicate is dead, Gordon, and it makes me proud to know that I had
a hand in sinking that terrible ship. We did the right thing for the
AWA...

[Broussard sticks one finger in the air.]

MB: We did the right thing by the fans.

[An index finger.]

MB: And now it's time for me to do the right thing for myself.

[Bucky grins, nodding his head in Broussard's direction.]

MB: A long time ago, I won that AWA National title and defended it with
the utmost honor and respect. And I lost it in a fluke that kinda sorta
sent me into a tailspin. I never got a rematch, I never got a second
chance. It seemed to me that the AWA was _glad_ to have that title off
of me. And maybe one more cynical than I would contend that the AWA
really was glad to have the title off from around my waist, but if I've
learned anything throughout this ride it's that the AWA takes care of
it's own.

The AWA embraces history and the all time greats.

So I have every reason to believe that what I'm about to say will be
accepted wholeheartedly and with open ears. Hear my words and mark them,
Jim Watkins: I want my title shot and I want it soon.

[The crowd ooooooohs as Broussard continues.]

MB: Now I know that I did not win the Steal the Spotlight match, and
that sticks in my craw more than I care to talk about. I fell through on
my promise to win the insurance policy, just in case the other half of
the plan fell through. But Juan Vasquez is an honorable man. 

And he and I shook on the oath that one of us would take that title off
of Stevie Scott, and would grant the other one a title shot at the
earliest convenience. Now I'm not out here being ridiculous, Gordon, I'm
not saying I want my title shot tonight. No one knows the commitments
that come with being the champ better than I do.

What I'm saying is that whenever Juan Vasquez has an opening in his
schedule, the first such instance, he needs to have his secretary write
my name into that block with a permanent marker. Because I feel
confident in saying that no one has been more selfless in helping the
AWA grow than I have, no one has dirtied their hands more than I have.
Whether it was carrying the banner when the AWA was getting it's
footing, training the stars of tomorrow when I was on leave, or defying
doctor's orders to come back and turn the tide in the war against the
Southern Syndicate, no one's done more to advance the brand.

The war with the Syndicate is over, Gordon. To the victor go the spoils.

[Broussard looks at his long time friend and speaks clearly at him.]

MB: I'd like to collect mine, please.

[The crowd cheers Broussard who looks on with a smile until...

Cue Tomoyasu Hotei's "Battle Without Honor or Humanity" heralding the
arrival of Louis Matsui and the scowling seven-footer, MAMMOTH Mizusawa.
Matsui is dressed in a dark blue suit, a white shirt and red tie. Not as
sharp as Broussard's outfit, but Louis Matsui has never been known for
his dress sense. Mizusawa is wearing a similar suit, only without a tie.
He does, however, have on a pair of sunglasses. Somehow, Matsui already
has a mic in his hands and he speaks into it as he leads his client down
the aisle.]

LM: Cut the music, because every man, woman and child in attendance can
see with his or her own eyes and recognize the very wonder that walks
before them. He is a giant among men... He is Mr. Steal the Spotlight
and the spotlight's so bright, he's needed to shade his eyes... All the
better to protect them from the gaze of lesser beings such as all you
gap-toothed, rotten-smiled, swill-swallowing yahoos here in the Crockett
Coliseum...

[Heel pop!]

LM: Lesser beings such as yourself, Marcus Broussard...

[As Louis Matsui steps onto the ring apron, the San Jose Shark takes a
step towards him. Matsui holds out a hand defensively.]

LM: Whoa! Whoa! Relax, Marcus, we're just here to talk... After all, we
do have a situation with the National title contendership that needs
clearing up...

[Louis Matsui steps through the ropes and into the ring. Behind him,
MAMMOTH Mizusawa steps over the top rope. Matsui approaches Broussard.]

LM: See, on the one hand, my client won Steal the Spotlight at
SuperClash... And he did it in such a convincing fashion... Actually, he
pretty much decimated your team, didn't he, Marcus? And he would have
destroyed you, too, Marcus, had Freeman not spared him the trouble and
de-finned the San Jose Shark before MAMMOTH Mizusawa could rip the limb
right off. And, then, Rhodes eliminated Freeman and my client eliminated
Rhodes, so that pretty much puts him at the top of the food chain and
earns him a shot at the title.

On the other hand, Calisto Dufresne did earn his Anytime, Anywhere shot
at the title before my client earned his. And, on the third hand... On
the third hand... Actually, Marcus, what have you done to earn a shot at
the title? Some agreement you made with Juan Vasquez?  That agreement is
about as legitimate as Vasquez's reign as champion can ever be... Sure,
you might have been a former National champion...  The first, in fact,
but since your return, Marcus, all you've done is ride the coat-tails of
others... All your victories have been because there were others around
to carry your weight and make up for your inadequacies... In fact, just
look what happened when you tried to captain a team...

[Heel pop.]

LM: That... That is what happens when you try to lead the pack, Marcus.
And, yet, you have the gall to ask for a title shot? Who are you trying
to appeal to, Marcus? Are you trying to appeal to Vasquez's sense of
honor and fair play? His word is as cheap as his victories, Marcus, and
he's got you begging for scraps! You're right; you're not the good
soldier at the side of Admiral Vasquez... No, all you are to him is a
galley slave, part of the machinery that drives his HMS Ego... And he'll
keep you on that ship of fools, Marcus, till you outlive your
usefulness. Forget First Mate, Marcus, because all you'll ever be...
Is... Second... Rate... And you can stick _THAT_ in your crawk-

[Louis Matsui chokes on the last word as Marcus Broussard, having heard
enough, grabs him by the tie. He drops the mic as the San Jose Shark
draws a fist back. The fans go wild...]

SMAAACK!!!

[But the punch never lands because MAMMOTH Mizusawa lets loose with a
massive brain chop to the top of Broussard's head. Dazed, he releases
Matsui, as Gordon Myers and Bucky Wilde scrambles out of the ring.
Mizusawa throws off his jacket and Matsui, breathing easier now, starts
shouting
instructions to his monster.

Mizusawa nods, grabbing Broussard by the throat.  The crowd buzzes as
Mizusawa drags him to the middle of the ring, looking for a chokeslam...

...and instead getting a boot to the groin!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  Fans... fans, I hope you can hear me.  Bucky?

BW:  Did you see that?!  He kicked Mizusawa in the Matsui Corporation
jewels!

[A fired-up Broussard uses the low blow to rally, throwing wild
haymakers to the skull that knocks Mizusawa all the way back into the
corner.  With a whoop, the San Jose Shark leaps up on the middle buckle,
balling up his fist...

...and batters the skull of Mizusawa, landing blow after blow after blow
to the temple!]

GM:  Broussard's beating the heck out of the giant!

[Seeing his man in trouble, Louis Matsui rushes forward, grabbing
Broussard by the back of the pants and yanking him down off the middle
rope.]

GM:  Ohh!  Look at that!

BW:  Matusi's trying to help his man!  He's trying to-

[HUUUUUUGE CHEER!]

GM:  BROUSSARD JUST FLATTENED MATSUI!!  WHAT A RIGHT HAND!!

[And an angry giant DRILLS the first National Champion with a
clothesline to the back of the head that knocks him flat.]

GM:  Ohh!  What a shot!

[A furious Mizusawa reaches down, grabbing Broussard by the throat and
pulling him back up to his feet...

...where he throws him bodily back into the turnbuckles.]

GM:  Broussard's in the corner... Mizusawa backing up...

[And with a loud shout, the giant stampedes across the ring...]

GM:  AAAAAVVVVAAAALAAAAANCH-

[BIG CHEER!]

GM:  HE MISSED!  HE MISSED!  BROUSSARD GOT OUT OF THE WAY!!

[With the San Jose Shark having narrowly avoided being squashed in the
corner, he grabs the giant by the back of the head...

...and SLAMS his face into the turnbuckles!]

GM:  Facefirst to the buckles goes the giant!

[Mizusawa stumbles, turning around in the corner as Broussard again tees
off, throwing heavy rights and lefts to the ribs of the giant.  A dazed
Louis Matsui rolls out to the apron, trying to recover as the first
National Champion switches to big knees to the body.]

GM:  Broussard's trying to show the world he deserves that National
Title shot!

[Broussard throws a big knee to the face of the doubled-up giant,
knocking him back into the corner.  With a nod to the crowd, Broussard
turns away, walking out to the middle of the ring...

...and spins around, rushing back in, leaping into the air, and SMASHING
a forearm to the jaw!]

GM:  What a shot!

[The San Jose Shark backs away, looking to deliver the same blow
again...

...and finds a dazed Louis Matsui screaming at Broussard from the
apron!]

GM:  Look at Matsui! 

BW:  He's trying to buy his man some time to recover.  A smart move.

GM:  Not if Broussard lays him out again!

[The San Jose Shark stalks towards Matsui, fists raised in warning as he
approaches.]

GM:  He's coming after Matsui!  Broussard is-

[But as he draws near, Matsui leans over the ropes, grabbing both of
Broussard's wrists and pulling him chestfirst into the corner, holding
the arms...]

GM:  Wait a second!  Matsui's got his arms!  What is he-

[The crowd roars with concern for Broussard as Mizusawa barrels across
the ring...

...and AVALANCHES the exposed back of Broussard!]

GM:  OHHHH!  AVALANCHE IN THE CORNER!!

BW:  Look at Matsui!  Matsui's holding the arms and shouting, "AGAIN! 
AGAIN!"

[The giant nods as he backs across the ring, slapping a hand against his
420 pound frame...

...and rushes in again, sandwiching Broussard between his massive body
and the turnbuckles!]

GM:  AGAIN!!  AGAIN TO THE BUCKLES!!

[Broussard slumps against the buckles, his face resting on the top rope
as Matsui continues to hold the arms, his face turning red with exertion
as he screams in Japanese to his charge.]

GM:  My god... no.  Somebody's gotta stop this!

[The giant backs all the way across the ring once more, leaning against
the turnbuckles for a long moment...

...and then comes stampeding across, throwing his entire body mass into
the exposed back of the San Jose Shark!]

GM:  AGAIN!  THREE AVALANCHES IN THE CORNER!!

[Matsui finally releases the arms, allowing Broussard to slump backwards
out of the corner, collapsing on the canvas.  The camera zooms in,
revealing a trickle of blood coming from the mouth of the San Jose
Shark.]

GM:  He's bleeding - we've got blood coming from the mouth.

BW:  That could be a sign of internal bleeding, Gordo... it could be-

GM:  NO!

[At a shout from Matsui, Mizusawa backs into the ropes, slowly bouncing
off...

...and LEAPING into the air, dropping his 420 pounds down across
Broussard's prone form once more!]

GM:  SPLASH!!  

[And at a LOUD roar, Juan Vasquez comes sailing through the entryway,
title belt in hand.  He dives through the ropes, ready to throw down but
Matsui is able to get his giant out of the ring before he can.]

GM:  Juan Vasquez makes the save but...

BW:  But it's too little, too late, Gordo.  Marcus Broussard is all
sorts of busted up thanks to MAMMOTH Mizusawa with an assist from Louis
Matsui.  And that oughta teach Broussard to not try to jump to the head
of the pack.  MAMMOTH Mizusawa just showed Broussard EXACTLY who the
number one contender is, daddy!

GM:  We need to get some help out here... Marcus Broussard is... my god,
I can't even - I don't want to speculate what has happened to the San
Jose Shark but that blood flow is coming steady from the mouth and...
he's hurt, fans.  He's hurt bad.

[Vasquez kneels beside Broussard, glaring down the aisle as Mizusawa is
forced back by Louis Matsui as an AWA medical team rushes down the aisle
to the ring and we fade to black...

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

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

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

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

JD:  Hello, Mr. iPhone.

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

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

JD:  Well, actually I did.

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

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

[Thankfully, a voiceover starts.]

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

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

[Fade back to black...

Shot crossfades over to Jason Dane, who stands by with one half of the
main event - Supernova and Kentucky's Pride.]

JD: City Jack, Tin Can Rust, Supernova - in mere moments you take part
in a big six man tag match against Vladimir Velikov, Sultan Azam Sharif,
and -

CJ: And one straight-yellow-lined back coward!

[Jack, obviously still hot over the year lost, stares at Dane.]

CJ: That boy doesn't deserve to be named, Jason! Not a first and not a
last! The only thing that boy should be known now as is nothin' but
"coward"!

[Tin Can Rust shakes his head.]

TCR: Fed his own partner to the wolves, too, just to avoid you, Jack.
The boy's nothin' but running scared now.

JD: Obviously, you're talking about the third opponent for you tonight -
the so-called last surviving member of the Southern Syndicate, Calisto
Dufresne.

[Jack bristles at the mentioning of Dufresne's name.]

CJ: Jason... Every day, Dane. Every damned day, I looked through what
vision I had left to see that boy livin' it up here in the AWA. For
three-hundred and sixty five days, that coward had it going all his way.
Money, fame, titles, running this place with his fella chicken-hearted
"friends".

TCR: And now look at him - alone! No Waterson, no Scott, no Freeman,
nobody else.
 
S: Well, he’s not exactly alone tonight… he’s got two more snakes in the
grass on his side. 

[Jack nods.]

CJ: Every day in that hospital bed, every day laid up at home - every
day, I placed one more red "X" on the calendar. One day gone was one day
closer to me comin' back and...

[City Jack pauses, shaking his head as he uncharacteristically loses his
train of thought.]

JD: Jack?

CJ: Jason, I ain't got the spirit to explain it. I don't even think my
words can give it justice how much I've hated life for the past year!
And it's all because of that damned coward! When I see him tonight, I
ain't waitin'! I don't care none about a match, a bell, a tag team! I'm
goin' in there and rippin' his damned head off!

[Dane stands back a bit as Jack, breathing heavy and seething, shakes
his head and waves his hand a bit as he walks off in disgust.]

TCR: Uh... You... You gotta excuse the man. I'm sure he's sorry for what
he's said, but... 

JD: I understand, Rust. Will he be ready for tonight?

[Rust looks over to Supernova and sort of wearily nods.]

TCR: Sure. Sure. I mean, look at the Cup. Push came to shove and Jack
put it down as much as he could. Tonight? I -

[Rust looks over in the direction of where Jack walked off.]

TCR: I guess he can do it again. I guess...
 
[Supernova slaps Rust on the shoulder.]
 
S: Hey, I’ve got confidence in him and confidence in you.
 
But as far as who is on the other side.
 
[Supernova now gets a bit agitated.]
 
S: I heard Adrian Bathwaite complaining about me putting his hands on
him… how I should have more respect for a 62-year-old man… respect for
my elders, perhaps! Well, as they say, no matter how old you are,
respect is earned, not given! This man right here [motioning to Rust]
has earned my respect and the man that this man calls his close friend
has earned my respect. But you, Bathwaite, have earned nothing but
contempt from me!
 
While I won’t compare what happened to Koyla Sudakov to what happened to
City Jack some time ago… there is still a principle that I share with
Rust here, and that’s called standing by a friend in his time of need.
 
Bathwaite, your role in stacking the deck against my friend Sudakov is
something I won’t stand for, and if the Shiek feels he has to defend
whatever honor he pretends you  have, then I’ll just have to take it out
on him before I get to you. I’d take it out on Velikov, but he’s already
felt the heat once before and I guarantee you he doesn’t want to feel it
again!
 
As far as Dufresne goes… well, if he thinks he was running scared now…
just wait until he gets a load of me!
 
[And then, a slight smile.]
 
S: Of course, I’ll gladly hand Dufresne over to Jack or Rust the instant
they say the word.

[Rust pats Supernova on the back.]

TCR:  Just a hunch, kid... but I'm guessin' Jack'll be sayin' the word
quite a bit.

[And with that, the two men exit the scene leaving Jason Dane behind.]

JD:  This is gonna be something else.  Take it away, Mr. Watson!

[We crossfade to the ring where Phil Watson is standing in a ring filled
with people.]

PW:  The following contest is a six man tag team match scheduled for one
fall with a fifteen minute time limit.  Introducing first... already in
the ring at this time... they are accompanied to the ring by Count
Adrian Bathwaite... the team of "Ladykiller" Calisto Dufresne, Vladimir
Velikov, and Sultan Azam Sharif!

[The crowd jeers the rulebreaking trio as Dufresne leaps up on the
middle rope, taunting the Crockett Coliseum fans.]

PW:  And their opponents...

["My Old Kentucky Home" by Stephen C. Foster starts up to an ENORMOUS
REACTION!]

GM:  Listen to these fans here in Dallas!  They're on their feet paying
tribute to the man about to walk through that curtain...

[Or in this case, run!]

GM:  HERE COMES CITY JACK!!

[The large Southerner comes tearing down the ramp, Louisville Slugger
resting on his shoulder as Tin Can Rust and Supernova come sprinting
down the ramp as well.  Supernova ultimately passes up City Jack...

...and LEAPS over the ropes, tackling both Sharif and Velikov down to
the canvas!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[City Jack is right behind him, coming into the ring, baseball bat in
hand, and rushing towards Calisto Dufresne who quickly bails through the
ropes to the floor.  He grabs referee Michael Meekly, pointing at City
Jack who is leaning over the ropes, pointing the bat towards Dufresne as
Tin Can Rust joins his partners inside the ring as Supernova pulls
Sultan Azam Sharif off the mat, blasting him with a haymaker that knocks
Sharif back against the buckles!]

GM:  What a wild start to this one!

[A reluctant City Jack gives up the bat, stepping out to the apron
alongside his tag team partner as Supernova continues to blast Sharif
with chops across the chest in the corner.]

GM:  Big knife-edge blows by the youngster...

[Grabbing the arm of Sharif, Supernova hurls him from corner to
corner...]

GM:  Look out!  Supernova's trying to end it early!

[The young lion dashes across the ring, leaping high into the air...

...and eating a chestful of turnbuckles as the devious Calisto Dufresne
pulls Sharif out of the corner by the arm, forcing Supernova to crash
into the buckles.]

GM:  Tag!  The Ladykiller tags himself into the match...

[Dufresne enters the ring, spinning Supernova around with his back
against the buckles...

...and DRIVES his shoulder into the midsection!]

GM:  Ohh!  Big shot down low by Dufresne!  Trying to take the wind-

[The crowd ERUPTS as City Jack comes through the ropes, charging
Dufresne...

...but Michael Meekly throws himself in Jack's path, holding him back.]

GM:  The referee's trying to keep City Jack at bay but who can blame
City Jack for just wanting to get in there and beat the tar out of
Calisto Dufresne?  The man tried to end his career, Bucky!

BW:  He did but Jack needs to compose himself.  He does his team no good
this fired up.

GM:  I don't think Jack cares about the match one bit right now.  He
just wants to get his hands on Dufresne in the worst possible way.

[The official somehow manages to get City Jack out of the ring as
Dufresne drags Supernova into the rulebreakers' corner, slapping the
hand of the Russian veteran.]

GM:  Tag to Velikov...

[Dufresne hooks a front facelock, allowing Velikov to deliver a hard
front kick to the ribcage, knocking Supernova down to his knees. 
Grabbing the young man by the hair, Velikov pulls him back up, scooping
him up into the air and slamming him down hard!]

GM:  Big slam by the burly Russian... and listen to Count Adrian
Bathwaite shouting encouragement from the floor...

[The three hundred pound Russian measures the downed Supernova, leaping
up to drop his knee down into the ribs.  He grinds his knee back and
forth in the ribs for a moment before pulling Supernova up by the hair
and pasting him with a right hand.]

GM:  A very physical offensive style on display by Velikov.  He'd just
as soon punch someone in the mouth as put on a headlock, Bucky.

BW:  At Velikov's age, he'd rather try to end the match quickly and a
punch to the mouth does that much quicker than a wristlock.

[Velikov hauls Supernova back to his feet, slapping the hand of Sultan
Azam Sharif.]

GM:  In comes the man from Iran...

[Sharif and Velikov each grab an arm on Supernova...

...and HURL him spinefirst back into the buckles!]

GM:  Ohh!  Nice doubleteam by the international duo.

[Sharif lays in a few boots to the ribs before grabbing Supernova by the
arm, dragging him out of the corner and firing him across the ring.]

GM:  Whip by Sharif... backdr- Supernova with the leapfrog!

[The youngster hits the far ropes, rebounding off...

...and FLOORS Sharif with a big running clothesline!]

GM:  Down goes Sharif!

[Vladimir Velikov rushes in to help his partner...

...and gets greeted with a high lifting hiptoss!]

GM:  Down goes Velikov!

[And Calisto Dufresne steps into the ring as well, starting in on
Supernova before a leaping dropkick catches him on the chin, sending him
back down to the mat, rolling out to the floor!]

GM:  Supernova just cleaned house on the-

[As Velikov gets to his feet, Supernova charges in, connecting with a
big clothesline that takes the Russian over the ropes and down to the
floor below!]

GM:  HE CLEARS OUT VELIKOV WITH A CLOTHESLINE!!  OH YEAH!

[A fired-up Supernova bounces back out to the middle of the ring,
stomping around the squared circle before throwing back his head in a
howl.]

GM:  This kid is jacked, Bucky!

BW:  He's too excited.  This is his first Main Event and it's showing,
Gordo.  He needs to take things down a notch... breathe deep... save
some energy...

[Pulling Sharif off the mat, Supernova shoves him back into the corner
where he slaps the hand of Tin Can Rust to a big cheer.]

GM:  There's the tag to Tin Can Rust, the grizzled veteran.

[Each grabs an arm, firing Sharif across the ring...

...and knocking him flat with a pair of back elbows under the chin!]

GM:  Ohh!  Down goes Sharif again!

[Rust bends his arm, aiming the point of the elbow, and drops it down
across the chest before attempting a lateral press.]

GM:  Cover for one!  Two!

[But the man from Iran slips a shoulder up at two to break the count. 
Rust pushes up to his knees, shouting a word of warning at Calisto
Dufresne who is crawling back up on the apron.  Rust angrily pulls
Sharif to his feet...

...and shoves him into his own corner, ordering Dufresne to tag himself
in.]

GM:  Uh oh!

[The crowd roars as Dufresne, wide-eyed, stares at Sharif standing in
the corner with his hand raised.]

GM:  Sharif wants the tag but you know that Calisto Dufresne wants no
part of Kentucky's Pride, Bucky!

BW:  Especially that lunatic City Jack.  Did they get that bat away from
him yet?

[Dufresne slaps the hand of Sharif, stepping into the ring...

...and gets overwhelmed by a charging Tin Can Rust who batters him back
to the corner with rights and lefts.  Against the buckles, Dufresne
tries to cover up but a series of hooking body blows all find the mark.]

GM:  Rust is pounding him in the corner...

[Grabbing the arm of Dufresne, Rust goes for a whip that sends him
straight towards City Jack who has his right arm cocked...

...but the Ladykiller drops down in a baseball slide, pulling up short
from the corner.]

GM:  Ohhhh... I thought Jack had him there and-

[A big cheer goes up as Rust floors the rising Dufresne with a running
clothesline.  He reaches down, grabbing the Ladykiller by the hair to
drag him up...

...and the crowd EXPLODES as he points to City Jack!]

GM:  Oh yeah!  The moment these fans have been waiting for!  

[Rust drags Dufresne towards the corner where Jack has his hand
outstretched...

...but Dufresne sticks a thumb in the eye of Tin Can Rust, fleeing
across the ring as City Jack tags in, charging in hot pursuit!]

GM:  Get him, Jack!  Get him!

[But Dufresne slaps the hand of a still-dazed Sharif before bailing out
to the floor again...

...and an angry City Jack brings Sharif in the hard way by snapping the
top rope to slingshot the Iranian down to the mat!]

GM:  He almost got his hands on Dufresne... so close there.

[With Sharif down on the mat, Jack raises his large arm, dropping a
heavy elbow across the chest.  He rolls back to his feet, lifting the
arm again, and dropping the elbow again.]

GM:  Two big elbows... here comes a third...

[And after the third connects, City Jack regains his feet, pointing a
finger of warning at Dufresne...

...and leaps into the air for another big elbowdrop across the chest!]

GM:  Four king-sized elbowdrops by City Jack!  Sharif may be out after
that.  Jack should go for a cover here.

BW:  No chance.  He wants Dufresne too badly.  Stupid oaf.

[Pulling Sharif off the canvas, Jack scoops him up, slinging him over
his shoulder...

...and drops the Iranian facefirst on the buckles!]

GM:  Ohh!  Sharif just rolled snake eyes, Bucky!

[And Jack again points at Dufresne who stands out on the floor, looking
on in panic as Jack delivers a few hard kicks to the torso that rolls
Sharif under the ropes.]


"FIVE MINUTES HAVE EXPIRED!  TEN MINUTES REMAIN!"


GM:  Sharif's out on the apron - the Count right there to advise him...

[But Jack ignores Bathwaite, reaching over the ropes to pull Sharif up
to his feet.  He hooks a front facelock, slinging Sharif's arm over his
neck, powering him into the air...

...and suddenly toppling down to the mat, Sharif crashing down across
his chest as Bathwaite yanks Jack's leg out from under him!]

GM:  Ohhh! 

BW:  Count!  Count!

[The referee dives to the mat, slapping it once, twice, but that's all
as Jack fires a shoulder up.]

GM:  Bathwaite with an illegal assist there but City Jack's out at
two... and I wouldn't think Bathwaite would want to add any more enemies
to his list.

[An angry Jack sits up on the canvas...

...and eats a Sharif curved boot to the face!]

GM:  Ohh!  A hard kick to the mush by Sharif!

[The Iranian grappler lays in a few hard kicks to the ribs before
grabbing Jack by the foot, dragging him into his corner where he slaps
the hand of Vladimir Velikov.  The big Russian steps in, bouncing off
the ropes, and drops a heavy leg across the throat!]

GM:  Velikov drops a leg... 

[And the Russian promptly slaps the hand of Calisto Dufresne.]

GM:  In comes Dufresne with City Jack!

[The crowd buzzes with anticipation as Dufresne lays in kick after kick
to the body of the veteran.  Jack rolls to his stomach, pushing up off
the mat...

...and gets drilled between the eyes with a right hand!]

GM:  Ohh!  Nice shot by Dufresne!

[But City Jack ain't goin' out like that, throwing a haymaker of his own
to the midsection of Dufresne!  Big cheer!]

GM:  Jack's firing back!  A big right hand!

[A second right hand lands, causing Dufresne to stumble backwards.  The
big Southerner gets to his feet...

...and is helpless to watch Dufresne slap the hand of Vladimir Velikov
before bailing out to the floor.]

GM:  Oh, come on!

BW:  It was a legal tag - whatcha cryin' 'bout, Gordo?

GM:  Dufresne needs to be a man and get in there to fight City Jack!

BW:  He was just in there.  You goin' blind, old man?

GM:  Jack wasn't fighting back and the moment he started to, Dufresne
got out of there.

BW:  He needed to get the fresh man in.

GM:  Give me a break!

[Velikov hammers City Jack across the back of the neck with a forearm
smash, shoving him back into the corner where he promptly wraps his
hands around Jack's throat.]

GM:  That's a choke, ref!

BW:  The man's counting.  What more do you want?

[At the count of four, Velikov backs off, hands raised.  The referee
pursues, shouting at him...

...which allows Calisto Dufresne to slip an arm across the throat from
outside the ring, strangling City Jack in the corner.]

GM:  And Dufresne again waits for Jack to be helpless and jumps in there
to attack him!  This man is as cowardly as the day is long, Bucky.

BW:  You call it cowardice... I call it expert strategy.

[An angry Tin Can Rust shouts at the official from the opposite corner
but as soon as Michael Meekly turns around, he finds nothing illegal
going on.]

GM:  Velikov pulls Jack out of the corner... look at this...

[The crowd buzzes as Velikov powers the large City Jack into the air,
slamming him down hard to the canvas.]

GM:  My stars, what a slam!

BW:  He almost put Jack THROUGH the ring, Gordo!

GM:  I don't know about that but there was a heck of a lot of impact on
that one.  And look at Velikov... Velikov up to the second rope now...
standing tall...

[The big Russian leaps off the middle rope, dropping a forearm all the
way down across the chest of City Jack before applying a lateral press.]

GM:  Cover for one... for two... for- that's all.  Jack's out at two.

[Velikov pummels City Jack on the mat for a few moment before reaching
up to slap the hand of Sultan Azam Sharif.]

GM:  In comes Sharif and the doubleteam is on once more...

[Sharif and Velikov fire City Jack into the ropes, linking arms for a
double clothesline...]

GM:  Double clothesli- ducked by City Jack!

[Jack rebounds off the far ropes, bouncing back...

...and LEVELS both men with a double clothesline of his own!  BIG
CHEER!]

GM:  JACK PICKS UP THE SPARE!!

[With both Sharif and Velikov down, Jack crawls on all fours towards his
corner, the crowd roaring their support.]

GM:  City Jack's drawing closer... almost there...

[You can almost feel the crowd hold their breath as Jack gets near...

...and makes a lunging tag to Supernova!]

GM:  TAG!!

[Supernova slingshots over the ropes, racing across the ring, leaping
up, and knocking Calisto Dufresne off the apron to the floor!]

GM:  Yeah!  He knocked Dufresne to the floor!

[As he turns around, he finds a rising Vladimir Velikov and drills him
with a right hand.  He spins slightly and does the same to a rising
Sultan Azam Sharif!]

GM:  Supernova's taking on two men!  Right hand to Velikov!  Right hand
to Sharif!  One to each again...

[Grabbing each man by the back of the head, Supernova SLAMS their skulls
together to a huge reaction!]

GM:  Listen to these fans!  Supernova is on top of the world!

[The young man pulls Sharif off the mat, firing him across the ring...

...and backing into the corner, throwing his arms back with a big howl.]

GM:  HERE HE COMES!!

[The crowd ERUPTS as Supernova runs pillar to post, hurls himself into
the air, and crashes into the chest of a dazed Sharif with a corner
splash!]

GM:  SUPEROVA CLEARS OUT SHARIF!!  What's he-?

[Grabbing the legs of Sharif, Supernova folds one on top of the other,
looking to turn him over...]

GM:  SOLAR FLARE!!  HE'S GOT IT HOOKED!!

[The crowd roars as Supernova leans back, causing howls of pain to
emerge from Sultan Azam Sharif...

...and suddenly the cheers turn to a puzzled buzz as Kolya Sudakov
strides out on the ramp.]

BW:  Sudakov!

GM:  Get him out of there!  He's told the world he might interfere here
tonight - he says he might not have any choice but I don't want him
here.  Get him out of there!

[The presence of Sudakov turns the official's gaze in his direction...

...and allows Vladimir Velikov to smash Tin Can Rust with a forearm on
the ear, knocking him off the apron.  He quickly tangles up with City
Jack, tumbling off the apron to the floor!]

GM:  Hold on!  Hold on here!

[The crowd jeers as Dufresne rolls back in, hooking a front facelock,
hoisting Supernova off the mat...

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

BW:  WHAM, BAM, THANK YOU MA'AM!!

[A motionless Supernova lies flat on his back, staring up at the lights
as Dufresne rolls Sharif on top of him.]

GM:  No, no... not like this...

[But the referee dives to the mat to count once... twice... three
times!]


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


PW:  Here are your winners... the team of SULTAN AZAM SHARIF, VLADIMIR
VELIKOV, and CAAAAALISTO DUFRESNE!

[Dufresne promptly bails out of the ring just as City Jack gets free
from the grasp of Velikov, trying to get at Dufresne one more time
before the Ladykiller gets the heck out there.]

GM:  Dufresne's running for it!  And Jack's heading after him!

[The crowd roars at the sight of City Jack chasing Calisto Dufresne out
of the Crockett Coliseum, leaving his partners behind as Tin Can Rust
kneels next to Supernova, checking on him as the medical team regroups.]

GM:  Dufresne stole this one!  He literally stole it for himself,
Velikov, and Sharif!  What a tragic miscarriage of justice this one is,
Bucky.

BW:  A win's a win, no matter how it happens.

GM:  That's your motto for sure.  Fans, we're out of time here on
Saturday Night Wrestling.  For Jason Dane, Mark Stegglet, Bucky Wilde,
and myself - we'll see you next time... at the matches!

[The camera focuses on the ring where Velikov and Sharif celebrate their
victory...

...as we fade to black.]