Saturday Night Wrestling

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                            American Wrestling Alliance 
                                   Proudly Presents 
                         AWA Saturday Night Wrestling

                         Live from the Crockett Coliseum
                                    Dallas, Texas
                                   April 23rd, 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 "TWO WEEKS AGO" where Robert Baldwin of the Blonde Bombers is
scaling the ropes.]

GM:  Baldwin's going up top!  He's going for the kill right here!

[But Juan Vasquez ain't done yet, climbing back to a knee...

...and HURLING himself into the ropes, causing Baldwin to crotch himself
up top!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  And Robert Baldwin's gonna be singin' soprano for a while, Bucky!

BW:  There goes the Bombers' victory party plans!

GM:  Baldwin's stretched out up top... and look at this... Vasquez is
going up after him...

[Vasquez steps up to the middle rope, throwing a pair of big right hands
to the skull of his opponent.  Leaning forward, he hooks a front
facelock before slinging Baldwin's arm over his neck...]

GM:  Vasquez is gonna try a superplex here!

BW:  With those banged up ribs?  You gotta be kidding me!

GM:  The National Champion is all heart and you just never know what
he'll be able to pull off, Bucky!

[The champion grits his teeth, trying to hoist Baldwin into the air...]

GM:  What the-?!

[The crowd jeers as the Masked Menace reaches up, yanking Alex Martinez
off the apron by the back of the tights.  The Menace squares up, fists
at the ready...

...and Martinez lets him have it with a big haymaker to the jaw!]

GM:  MARTINEZ AND THE MENACE ARE BRAWLING ON THE FLOOR!!

[The referee races over, shouting at Martinez and the Masked Menace...

...which gives Larry Doyle the chance to wiggle out of his cowboy boot,
tossing it up to Johann Avalon who dashes along the length of the apron,
stepping up to the middle rope, and PASTING Vasquez in the injured ribs
with it!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[Avalon chucks the boot to the floor as Baldwin simply shoves Vasquez
backwards, sending him crashing down to the canvas.]

GM:  Another illegal tactic by- wait a second!

[Avalon slips into the ring quickly, moving to the corner where Baldwin
steps up top...

...and reaches up, hurling his own partner off his perch, sending him
sailing through the air...]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  ROCKET LAUNCHER!!  ROCKET LAUNCHER!!

[Baldwin quickly recovers from having sailed off the downed Vasquez,
crawling back towards him and diving across his chest while tightly
hooking both legs.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREEEEEEEE!!!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  I can't believe it!

[Baldwin rolls off the downed Vasquez, quickly being joined by his
partner who embraces him in the middle of the ring as Larry Doyle
celebrates out on the floor.  The Masked Menace's brawl with Martinez
cuts off as the big man spots his partner having been pinned.  A
frustrated Martinez slams an arm down on the apron before rolling into
the ring.]

GM:  The Blonde Bombers have done it!  The Bombers have won it!

BW:  They beat the National Champion AND the sure-fire Hall of Famer!

[Phil Watson makes it official.]

PW:  Your winners of the match...

THE BLONNNNNNNNNNNDE BOMMMMMMMBERRRS!

[Baldwin and Avalon exit the ring before Martinez can get to them,
joining their manager and bodyguard out on the floor.  A furious
Martinez leans over the ropes, pointing at the group who are now
taunting him.]

GM:  The Bombers have done it... I'm in shock, these fans are in
shock... the injuries were just too much for Martinez and Vasquez to
overcome here tonight in Dallas, Texas, where we're out of time!  Fans,
it's been one heck of a night and we'll see you next time with more
Saturday Night Wrestling!  So long everybody!

[The camera holds on Martinez kneeling next to a hurting Juan Vasquez...


... 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.  One of these platforms is the home of Todd Michaelson's
Money Pit, a "set" with fake walls and bags of money that is supposed to
look like everyone's vision of the inside of a bank vault.

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, welcome once again 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'm Gordon Myers and by my side, as always, is the three-time Announcer
of the Year, Bucky Wilde!

BW:  It's a great night to be alive, Gordo!  Juan Vasquez, the failure
of a National Champion, got pinned last week by a guy we hadn't seen
wrestle in months!  Alex Martinez' arm is being held on with spit and
bubble gum and yet, he says he's gonna unveil the Dragon here tonight! 
And if my sources are right, that fat, inbred hick City Jack is gonna
hang 'em up here on The Money Pit later on!  What a night!

GM:  There certainly have been persistent rumors all week as to why City
Jack has asked to appear on Todd Michaelson's Money Pit.  We know that
he attempted to retire so many months ago before Calisto Dufresne
dragged him to hell and back.  Perhaps he's going to finally get to do
that here tonight.  We just don't know.  But fans, we've got a huge show
in store for you so let's get right down to it with the #1 contenders to
the National Tag Team Titles - Violence Unlimited!  Phil Watson, take it
away!

[We crossfade to the ring in the middle of the roaring Crockett Coliseum
crowd where Watson begins to speak.]

PW:  Tonight's opening contest is a tag team matchup scheduled for one
fall with a ten minute time limit.  Introducing first... already in the
ring at this time... from Parts Unknown... The Shadows!

[Two hulking masked men throw up their beefy spandex covered arms to
jeers from the crowd.]

PW:  And their opponents...

[The sounds of Motley Crue's "Shout At The Devil" brings the crowd to
their feet with a crazed roar!]

PW:  At a total combined weight of 595 pounds... they are "The Hammer"
Jackson Haynes and Danny Morton...

VIIIIIOOOOOOLENNNNCE UNNNNLIMITED!

[The cheers intensify as Haynes bursts through the curtain, firing his
arm into the air.  Morton is a little more subdued as he marches through
the curtain in a red and white robe with the hood covering his head. 
The camera zooms in on Morton's face, etched in intensity and anger. 
Haynes is shouting a barrage of... stuff... at the crowd as he lopes
down the ramp towards the ring.]

GM:  Here they come, Bucky - the current #1 contenders to the National
Tag Team Titles and the team that everyone wants to see get another shot
at the champions!

BW:  Speak for yourself, Gordo.  In my book, these two had their shot
and they blew it... it's time to move on.

GM:  They blew it?!  Joe Petrow was directly involved in Violence
Unlimited losing that match at The Main Event - do you deny that?

BW:  He played a part, for sure, but at the end of the day, you just
said it yourself.  They lost.  There are other top challengers looking
for a shot at the titles too, Gordo.

GM:  I can't imagine ANYONE else getting a shot at that gold until these
two get one more.  The people - the fans of the AWA - will not sit still
for Violence Unlimited trying to duck these two men!

[Haynes doesn't even wait for his partner, stepping through the ropes,
and charging the nearest man which is luckily one of his opponents.]

GM:  Here we go!  Shadow #2, I guess we'll call him that, steps out to
the apron while his partner is getting hammered by Jackson Haynes - no
pun intended!

[Haynes quickly gets the masked man back into the corner where his right
hand dances off the temple over and over, knocking him down to a knee...

...where a well-placed BOOT to the side of the face knocks him flat! 
Haynes spins away from the corner, letting loose a loud roar to the
cheers of the crowd as he slaps the hand of his tag team partner.]

GM:  There's the quick exchange to Danny Morton...

[Morton drags the masked man to his feet...

...and hoists him right up into a gorilla press, holding him high for a
moment...]

GM:  Good grief!  Look at the power!

BW:  The Shadows are not small men, Gordo!

GM:  They certainly aren't.

[And with a mighty throw, Morton tosses the first Shadow in the
direction of his corner...

...and then points at Shadow #2, shouting "Make the tag, you yella
sumbitch!"]

GM:  Whoa!  We apologize for that, fans... obviously, Danny Morton and
Jackson Haynes are quite worked up over what they went through back at
The Main Event when the newly-formed Royalty actually made these two men
kiss the feet of Mark Langseth!  Disgusting!

[Shadow #2 reluctantly tags in, charging in quickly to throw a pair of
right hands to the body of Morton who simply holds his ground...

...and snaps off a standing clothesline before sticking out his tongue
and striking a big pose.  The crowd roars as Morton drags him up by the
eyeholes of the mask, slapping the hand of Jackson Haynes.]

GM:  In comes Haynes off the exchange... into the ropes they send 'em...

[The crowd EXPLODES at the sight of the two men dropping down into
matching three point stances and rampaging right over the stunned Shadow
#2, knocking him flat.  Morton delivers a hard stomp to the stomach
before marching out of the ring, leaving Haynes to drag him back to his
feet, hurling him into the corner...]

GM:  Here comes the Hammer...

[BOOM!  Big running clothesline in the corner shakes the ring before
Haynes grabs the arm, throwing him to the opposite neutral corner...

...and delivers another big running clothesline!  Haynes spins away,
holding up an extended taped thumb!]

GM:  Uh oh!  Look out here!

[And as the Shadow wobbles out of the corner, he gets a thumb jammed
hard into the side of the throat!]

GM:  WHISKEY LULLABY!!  That'll do it!

[With the Shadow down on the mat, legs kicking limply from the throat
strike, Haynes drops down to cover.]

GM:  One... two... uhhh ohhh.

BW:  He pulled him up!  And these fans cheer?!  You talk about
disgusting, daddy!

[Haynes yanks the masked man the rest of the way to his feet, slapping
the hand of Danny Morton who steps in.  Haynes steadies the man...

...and they DRILL him with a double sandwich lariat to either side of
the torso!]

GM:  Good grief!

[And before the Shadow can slump to the mat, Morton hooks him around the
waist, easily powering him up...

...and DUMPING him down on the back of the head and neck!]

GM:  There's the Backdrop Driver... and that's gotta do it.

[Morton drops down, planting both fists in the chest of the Shadow and
pressing himself up with his tongue outstretched as the referee easily -
and quickly - count to three.]

GM:  A brutal victory here for Violence Unlimited - a team who certainly
appears to be on a mission.  Jason Dane is going to speak with them here
in a moment but before that, Bucky, call the replay action for us...

[We fade from the ring to a slow-mo shot of Jackson Haynes delivering
that jaw-rattling boot to a kneeling masked man.]

BW:  Alright, first, you see Haynes making the Shadow #1 eat some shoe
leather - makin' sure he'll have to call his dentist in the morning
'bout a whole new set of chompers...

[Then we see Morton hoisting the same Shadow with a military press, not
even struggling as he sends him sailing across the ring.]

BW:  Pure power right there.  Danny Morton shows why many in the AWA
believe he's the strongest man walkin' in that locker room.  Then the
other poor Shadow gets himself involved... BOOM!

[The "BOOM!" is for the double three-point stance shoulder tackle.]

BW:  These two bullies could've finished this at any point... like right
here...

["Right here" is the Whiskey Lullaby, a taped-up thumb being slammed at
high velocity into the side of the throat... which fades right into
Morton's spine-demolishing Backdrop Driver.]

BW:  And there's the Backdrop Driver - ain't no one gettin' up from
that.  Violence Unlimited are your winners... but it ain't gonna do 'em
much good since Rough N Ready's got bigger fish to fry!  Haha!

GM:  We'll see about that, Bucky.  Jason Dane is standing by.  Jason?

[Crossfade up to the interview platform where Dane is standing between a
still-angry-looking Haynes and Morton.]

JD: A very impressive showing, Violence Unlimited. Now, we've heard that
you two have had some trouble securing a rematch with Rough N Re-

[Haynes' huge right hand envelopes itself over the microphone as he cuts
Dane off.]

JH: Ya' don't have to cover for those cowards, boy. We all know what's
goin' on with Rough N Ready.

THEY'RE DUCKIN' US!

[He points a finger at Dane.]

JH: _You_ know it! [Points to himself] _I_ know it! [Points to Morton]
_Danny_ knows it!

The whole damn _WORLD_ knows it!

[The crazed brawler from Moscow, Tennessee shakes his head in
disbelief.]

JD: Now, Rough N Ready might argue that you two were defeated by them at
The Main Event and that there are other worthy challengers to the
title...

[Haynes gives Dane the stink eye.]

JH: And some people might say that we never landed on the damn Moon!
That don't mean that they're right! Just ignorant!

[He wipes his hand vertically down his face, as a bug-eyed, angry look
appears on that grizzled face. Morton steps in, as Haynes just throws up
his hands in frustration and begins pacing around.]

DM: We're not surprised they're trying to give us the run around. Those
boys know that they screwed up. They screwed up big! 'Cause now it's not
just about pride and titles. Now...

[Morton rubs his hands together and laughs ominously.]

DM: Now it's personal! It's about lives! It's about blood!

[He suddenly slaps himself in the chest as his look becomes intense.]

DM: So...I can't blame Rough N Ready if they want to run. I can't blame
them if they don't want another match with Violence Unlimited! But last
time I checked, we _are_ the number one contenders and that's a fact
that you _can't_ run away from!

[Pop!]

DM: Now, there's one man in the back that I know we can all trust to
give the people what they want! One man that can clear up everything
with three simple words!

[A shout of "Hook'em up!" can be heard from the crowd.]

DM: Big Jim Watkins! Can you please come out here?

[A moment or two pass as we wait... and sure enough, "Big" Jim Watkins
comes striding out from the locker room area dressed in a pair of blue
jeans and a black sportscoat over an AWA polo.  He reaches the interview
platform, shaking hands with the two Violence Unlimited members before
he leans over Dane's offered mic.]

JW:  Gentlemen... I was in the back in front of a monitor... I heard
what you had to say.  And you know what?

[Pause.]

JW:  I agree with ya.

[Big cheer!]

JW:  In my view and the view of the Championship Committee, you guys are
the number one contenders... and not only that, you guys deserve another
shot at those belts.

[Another big cheer!]

JW:  And I can tell you right now that THAT is the matchup the Committee
has been trying to set up for Memorial Day Mayhem. We want to see
Violence Unlimited challenge Rough N Ready for the National Tag Team
Titles as much as you do... and as much as these great fans do!

[Those cheers keep on a-comin'.]

JW:  But I can also tell you right now that I just don't think it's
gonna happen.

[The cheers turn to jeers and VU looks quite upset.]

JW:  Look, as much as we want to make it happen, it takes two to tango,
boys.  And right now, we just can't get Joe Petrow - the acting
representative for Rough N Ready - to sign the contract.  We've
negotiated and negotiated, we've added financial incentives, we've
offered the opportunity for them to select a stipulation.... none of it
is working.  They just won't sign a contract that lists you two as the
challengers.  Petrow says that this group - this so-called Royalty - he
says they pick their own opponents.

Guys, he says they've beaten ya... he says you're done... and he says
you're not worthy of another title shot no matter what me and the
Committee... or these fans for that matter... have to say about it.

[Jackson Haynes looks fit to be tied as Danny Morton silently seethes.]

JW:  Danny, Jackson... you know I'd do it if I could.  You boys are cut
from the same cloth that I am - big, tough roughnecks who like to fight.
 I like that.  And I wish I could do something 'bout this situation but
right now...

[Watkins throws up his hands.]

JW:  My hands are tied, boys.  I'm sorry.

[Violence Unlimited are silent for a moment, before Morton lifts his
head, his face still filled with determination.]

DM: Mr. Watkins, if you can't do anything about this...

[The Oklahoman pauses briefly to glance at Haynes, who also wears a
similarly hardened expression on his face, before turning back to
Watkins with a smirk.]

DM: ...then it looks like we're going to have to take matters in our own
hands.

[And on that ominous note, Violence Unlimited storm off towards the
back, leaving behind a somewhat stunned Watkins, who shakes his head at
the trouble that's certain to come.  Watkins exits a moment later,
leaving Jason Dane to wrap things up.]

JD:  Well, fans, it appears as though these men will have to find some
other way to get another shot at the titles 'cause Joe Petrow's not
buying it!  We'll be right back, fans, so don't you dare go away!

[But before fading to commercial, we fade to the locker room area where
Mark Stegglet is standing by with a smirking, bespectacled Louis Matsui,
dressed in a dark blue suit, lavender shirt and red tie. Still
conspicuous by his absence is the seven-footer MAMMOTH Mizusawa.]

MS: Louis Matsui, two weeks ago, you stormed off, leaving us with more
questions than answers as to the whereabouts of MAMMOTH Mizusawa and
where you plan to go from here. You seem in a better position this week
to possibly answer some of those questions.

LM: To be honest, Mark? I don't know. I don't know where we go from
here. You see, I watched as Juan Vasquez take down my monster with the
Assassin Spike... The Matsui Corporation watched as he put our
investment to sleep... But, you see, Vasquez, that is all you have done:
put the giant to sleep, and you and I both know that sleeping giants do
not lie sleeping for very long. And when the sleeping giant awakes,
Vasquez, the AWA, all of you will feel the force of his
rousing. But, in the meantime, Stegglet, all I can say is wait and see.
And trust me, Mark, Louis Matsui and the Matsui Corporation will be
watching... Waiting and watching.

[Matsui flashes his signature smirk as we fade 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 Mark Stegglet at the
interview platform, standing next to Eric Preston. Preston's dressed to
wrestle, and wears a gray AWA hoodie with the sleeves cut off. He nods
at Stegglet as he begins to speak.]

MS: Standing next to me right now is Eric Preston, who's got a return
match against Johnny Sone in just a few moments. You promised to start
giving back the receipts you owe, Eric, and tonight is round one.

EP: Tonight's a big night, baby, tonight's a huge night. Every time you
got a chance to do your thang in the Crockett Coliseum is a big night,
and on this particular night I start to right a few wrongs. Now don't
get my wrong, daddy, I've got no ill will towards Johnny Sone. He's a
good man and a good wrestler, and I've got nothin' but respect for him.

But facts are facts, and the man owns a win over me. Excuses don't pay
the bills, Marky, what if's don't buy the groceries, and I'm not about
to stand out here and whine to ya. What I'm gonna do is tell ya that I'm
a man of my word, and I promised these people something to be proud of,
something they could believe in. I promised I'd repay the love and the
faith and the support that they showed me when I needed it most, and I
fulfill the first part of that promise tonight.

Johnny Sone, you're a good man and a good wrestler, and if I wanted to I
couldn't say a cross word about ya. But that don't mean a thing to me,
because tonight you are my enemy. Tonight you stand across that ring
from me, and you stand between me and a promise to the people. And if
that means I gotta drop ya on your head a few times and re-arrange your
face, well then brother so be it. I'll shake your hand afterward, I'll
respect you in the morning, but tonight I'm fixin' to _own_ you.

[Preston backs away as the fans cheer, and he nods his head
emphatically.]

MS: Strong words Eric, and it does seem like you've got a new lease on
life. But I need to ask you about James Mo-

[Eric holds up his hand, and shakes his head "no".]

EP: No you don't, Mark, no you don't. Don't even say it.

Todd Michaelson is a friend and mentor to me, which everyone knows. And
everyone knows that Todd's an executive within the AWA, brother, he's
not on the active roster. He doesn't get in the ring every night. But he
defended his wife like any decent man would do and someone cheap shotted
him because of it.

So I watched his back. Like any decent friend would do.

He needed help, so I helped out. Simple as that. Nothin' else to it.

MS: Nothing else to it?

[Preston leans in so he's crystal clear.]

EP: Nothing.

MS: So you don't plan to resume your fi-

EP: No. End of conversation.

[Preston puts his hands on his hips and looks at the crowd, leaving Mark
Stegglet to scramble for a segue.]

MS: So... what _are_ your plans?

EP: My plan is to keep the promise I made to the folks behind us, and to
pay back alllllll the people who chalked one up in the win column when
yours truly wasn't right. I'm not a revenge guy, daddy, but I have an
extra long memory and I've kept all those things in here...

[Preston points to his head.]

EP: ...and in here.

[The South Carolina native points to his heart.]

EP: Johnny Sone, as said, much respect, much love. But that won't stop
me from taking care of business in that ring, and getting back the win I
fumbled to you in the first place. Adversity only makes you stronger...
and tonight Johnny Sone finds out just how strong I can be. It's a big
night, partner, lace 'em up.

[And with that, Preston claps Stegglet on the shoulder and starts
walking towards the entrance ramp as the voice of Phil Watson rings
out.]

PW:  The following contest is set for one fall with a ten minute time
limit.  Introducing first... already in the ring at this time... from
Los Angeles, California... weighing in at 217 pounds... 

JOHNNY SOOOOOOONNNNE!

[Sone is dressed in green and silver wrestling shorts with boots to
match.  He raises an arm to cheers from the crowd before settling back
into the corner.]

PW:  And his opponent...

[The opening chords to "Slither" by Velvet Revolver start to play in the
Crockett Coliseum as the fans erupt in cheers. They turns towards the
entrance as the song kicks into high gear and erupt again as the
spotlight hits Eric Preston on the entrance ramp.]

PW: From Greenvile, South Carolina... weighing 251 pounds...

ERIC PREEESSTTOOOOOOONNNN!!

[Preston throws up a fist to the crowd, and then zig zags down the
aisle, slapping hands and exchanging war whoops. The chiseled Preston
wears dark green tights with a white and silver diamond pattern at the
waistline, white boots with black laces that have the outline of a star
on the outside of each in red. A thick black elbow pad is on his right
arm. His wrists are heavily wrapped in white athletic tape, and as he
climbs into the ring he lets the officials check him out, before
loosening up his shoulders in the corner.]

GM: New music and a new look for Eric Preston, Bucky, and it seems like
this young man has gone through quite the change in his outlook.

BW: One win don't set the world on fire, daddy, and I don't know what
the big deal is. Once you're broken, you're broke. They couldn't put
Humpty Dumpty back together, and ain't no one can put Eric Preston back
together either.

GM: Eric Preston certainly seems to think that something has clicked for
him, and he's coming into this match with a world of confidence. We'll
find out if it carries over.

BW: Don't count on it.

[Preston reaches the ring, stepping through the ropes to more cheers. 
He points across the ring at Sone, dropping down in a respectful bow
before settling into his own corner and waiting for the...]

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

GM:  And here we go!

[Preston moves quickly from the corner, meeting the smaller Sone in the
center of the ring in a collar and elbow tieup.  The two men jostle for
position for a moment before Preston establishes an overhand wristlock,
forcing Sone down to a knee.]

GM:  Preston looking to use his size and leverage to his advantage here
in the early moments of this one...

[Sone tries to power back up but Preston's hold is tight...

...so Sone opts to throw a palm strike into the midsection of Preston,
loosening his grip.  A second one breaks the hold and Sone immediately
goes the rest of the way down to the mat, hooking Preston's legs with
his own and taking him down with a drop toehold.  The crowd cheers for
the scientific takedown as Sone rolls over the downed body of Preston,
winding up with a side headlock applied on the Combat Corner trainee.]

GM:  Nice reversal by Johnny Sone and the third-generation star winds up
cranking on a side headlock.

[Sone hangs on to the side headlock as Preston slips a knee underneath
him, pushing his belly up off the mat...

...and promptly rolls to the side, pushing Sone's shoulders down to the
mat.]

GM:  One!  Two!  Oh, and Sone rolls back the other way.  He nearly got
him there, Bucky.

BW:  If Sone gets pinned by a side headlock reversal this early in the
match, he'll find himself on the first flight back to Los Angeles
tomorrow morning, Gordo.

GM:  Anything can happen in the AWA at any time, Bucky... you know that.

[Preston holds his position for a moment, trying to push his fingers
between the side of his head and Sone's arm to break free...

...but Sone cranks up the pressure, forcing Preston's hand back down. 
The South Carolina native struggles but manages to force his way back to
his feet.  Still in the headlock, he throws a pair of forearms to the
ribs to loosen Sone's grip before firing him off into the ropes...]

GM:  Into the ropes goes Sone...

[The rebounding Sone comes under a clothesline attempt from the larger
Preston, slamming to a halt behind him where he snaps off a pair of
kicks to the thigh of Preston before snap maring him to the mat...]


"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[...and rattles his spine with a brutal kick to the back!  Preston
cringes, grabbing his back and rolling from the ring to the floor.]

BW:  I told ya, Gordo.  Once you're broke, there ain't no comin' back.

[Preston paces around the ring a bit, glaring up at Sone.  As the
referee's count reaches six, Preston climbs up on the apron.  He stands
there for another count or two before stepping through the ropes
again...

...and getting taken down by a running, leaping head scissors by Sone!]

GM:  Whoa!

[Sone springs back to his feet, catching a rising Preston with a
spinning back kick to the midcage.  He pops him under the chin with a
kneelift that sends Preston falling back into the ropes.  Grabbing him
by the arm, Sone goes to whip him across...]

GM:  Irish whi- reversed!

[Preston uses his power edge to flip the whip, sending Sone into the
ropes instead where the smaller man bounces off, again ducking a wild
clothesline attempt, leaping up to the middle rope on the approach...]

GM:  ELBOOO- OHHHHH!

[The crowd echoes that as Sone attempts to backspring off the middle
rope into an elbowsmash and catches both of Preston's feet squarely in
the back of the head instead!]

GM:  What a counter by Eric Preston!  He had that move well-scouted and
Johnny Sone paid for that one in a big, big way!

[Preston moves with some urgency now, pulling Sone into a front
facelock, slinging an arm over his own neck...

...and SNAPS him over in a bone-rattling suplex, floating into a lateral
press.]

GM:  He's got the cover for one!  For two!  But that's all!

[Preston pushes up off the mat, backing off as he measures Sone who is
struggling to get back to his feet, clutching the back of his head from
the dropkick counter still...

...and gets ROCKED with a second standing dropkick, this one catching
him flush in the mouth and knocking him from the ring to the cheers of
the crowd!]

GM:  Preston sends Sone out to the floor with the dropkick... and look
out now...

BW:  What the heck?  This guy's nuts, Gordo!  Nuts!

GM:  Preston looks like he's setting up for something here!  

[Leaning against the far ropes, Preston waves his arms up, bringing the
cheering fans to their feet as Johnny Sone gets to his feet, checking
his dental work as he does so...

...and Preston breaks into a full-sprint, charging across the ring at
top velocity, HURLING himself through the ropes in a bullet tope that
sends Sone crashing back into the barricade!]

GM:  OHHHH!  WHATTAMANEUVER, BUCKY!!

BW:  A suicide dive through the ropes!  And Eric Preston just put it all
on the line there.  If he'd missed that, we'd be talking about another
missed opportunity for him.  Which made me think for sure he'd miss it! 
He's like a powderkeg out there... just when will the spark come that
makes him blow it?

[Preston moves a little slower now, climbing back to his feet.  He lifts
an arm to the cheers of the crowd before moving to pull Sone back to his
feet, firing him back under the ropes into the ring.]

GM:  Preston puts Sone back in... now where the heck is he going?

BW:  He's going up top!  Here it comes, Gordo!  Here it comes!

GM:  What?

BW:  The moment we've all been waiting for when he screws up and gets
back on that losing streak!  I can feel it, taste it, smell it, sense it
in the air!

[With the cheering fans behind him, Preston steps up to the middle rope,
then climbs the rest of the way to the top.  He holds both arms high,
waiting for Sone to rise...

...and THROWS himself into the air, sailing towards Sone!]

GM:  HIGH!  CROSS!  BOD-


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


BW:  HE MISSED!!  HE MISSED!  I TOLD YA, GORDO!

[Johnny Sone flattened out at the very last moment, causing Preston to
sail over him and crash down in a heap on the canvas.  Sone quickly
flips him to his back, dropping into a lateral press.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREEEEE!!!  HE GOT HIM!!

[But suddenly the referee leaps up holding two fingers in the air.]

GM:  NO HE DIDN'T!  I'm sorry, fans!  I got a little excited there!  I
thought this match was over but Eric Preston managed to get a shoulder
up just in time to prevent the pin.

BW:  Not for long!  Do whatcha gotta do, Johnny! 

[Johnny Sone climbs to his feet, reaching down to slap the canvas with
both hands as he waits for Preston to get up.  Preston reaches his
knees...

...and gets CREAMED with a spinning back kick to the jaw!]

GM:  OHHHHH!  THAT MIGHT DO IT!!

[Sone dives atop Preston again.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE-  SHOULDER UP!!  SHOULDER UP!!

BW:  ARRRGH!  KICK!  HIM!  HARDER!

[Sone looks questioningly at the official who confirms a two count.  The
third generation competitor is shaking his head as he pulls a dazed
Preston back to his feet, throwing two kicks to the thigh and then a
snapping kick to the midsection.  With Preston doubled up, Sone steps in
with his right leg behind Preston's right leg.  He hooks an arm loosely
back around Preston's waist, almost like setting up for a gutwrench as
he rests Preston's right arm over Sone's neck...]

GM:  What in the world is he-

[A desperate Preston lashes out with a pair of elbows to the back of
Sone's neck, breaking his grip.  Preston quickly dashes to the nearest
ropes, rebounding off...

...and CREAMING Sone with a running, leaping kneelift to the jaw!]

GM:  OHHH!  He told me he's calling that the Dream Machine!

[Sone is flat on his back when Preston throws his arms apart to his side
to the cheers of the crowd.]

GM:  Preston says it's over - and I wonder if we're about to see...

[The young man pulls his smaller opponent to his feet, tugging him into
a front facelock near the ropes...]

GM:  I think we are, Bucky!  You wanna see a blast from the past?

[Preston powers Sone up into the air, bringing his legs down on the top
rope to slingshot him back up...

...and Preston spins to the side, snapping that suplex into a
powerslam!]

GM:  OH YEAH!!

[The crowd roars out of recognition for the move as the referee dives to
the mat to count.]

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


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  He got him!  Eric Preston just unveiled his version of Hall of
Famer "Crimson" Joe Reed's Kentucky Backsmasher - a move that Preston
has told me he calls the Blue Ridge Buster!

BW:  Joe Reed?  JOE REED?!

GM:  A tribute to one of the all-time greats of this business and Eric
Preston has claimed his first victim with it, young Johnny Sone, who put
up one heck of a fight but ultimately comes up short in this one.

[The camera catches a grinning Eric Preston who looks into the lens,
lifting his right hand with one finger up - "That's one!"]

GM:  Eric Preston is your winner, fans... and... you know what?  I think
I'm going to get some comments from him.

BW:  More?  We have to hear him talk again?!

[Ignoring his colleague, Gordon gets up from the announce position to
head up into the ring.  He quickly climbs into the ring and shakes hands
with Preston, who shoots a fist to the crowd in triumph.]

GM: Another big win tonight, Eric, after months of tough defeats. It
must feel great to get back on the winning track.

EP: It feels terrific, Gordo, and after months of the short end of the
stick, I appreciate it on a different level. Johnny Sone, nothin' but
respect for you and I hope we can get a rubber match in down the road.

GM: I'm sure we'd all like to see that match if it happens, Eric. The
big question on my mind for you is this: what has changed? You're a
totally different person than the one we saw just a few short weeks ago.

EP: Time. Perspective. When you hit rock bottom, you find out what
you're made of. I could have quit three or four times, daddy, coulda
called it a career. But when you get so far in the hole that there's
nothing anyone can do to help you, ya got two choices.

Lay back and get buried.

Or grab a shovel and start diggin'.

[Preston nods, focused.]

EP: I was tired of people feelin' sorry for me, tired of making excuses.
We got great fans who pay their hard earned money to watch us compete,
who work hard at their jobs to put food on the table and clothes on
their back. Who provide for their family by keeping jobs that don't pay
'em enough, don't give 'em enough time off and don't appreciate 'em.

And here I was, feelin' bad because things weren't goin' my way. That's
shameful, brother, that's what that is. Shameful.

I didn't wanna be that guy no more, didn't wanna be that guy making
excuses and feelin' bad, didn't wanna be the guy waitin' for the magic
word to make it all better.

Bottom line, I got sick and tired of getting beat down, so I decided to
own my mistakes instead of cry about 'em, and do something about it.

So here we are, one receipt taken care of...

[Preston holds one finger in the air.]

EP: ...with a few more to be delivered. And one of those receipts
belongs to my old training pal Juan Vasquez. If you remember, it was
about a year ago that he and I locked up, and he taught me a lesson in
the ring. Well, a year later, I'm curious to see just how far we've
come, and I intend to deliver one of those receipts to our National
Champion.

Which is why I've entered into the Memorial Day Rumble!

[The crowd cheers on Preston, who pumps his fist as he announces it.]

EP: It's a long away away, Gordon, with a few more bricks to be laid...
but on Memorial Day, I'll collect my shot at my old pal Juan... and
we'll see what happens from there.

[A surprised Myers watches as Preston jumps onto the second rope and
salutes the fans one more time, and then takes his leave.]

GM:  You heard the man!  Write it on the board, another man is in the
Rumble - and that man in Eric Preston!  Fans, let's go backstage where
Sweet Daddy Williams is standing by with Jason Dane!  Jason?

[We crossfade to the locker room area where Dane is standing with a
grinning Atlanta fan favorite who is dressed in blue jeans and a black
AWA t-shirt.]

JD:  Thanks, Gordon... and Sweet Daddy Williams, for a man who climbs
into the ring with the Unholy Alliance later tonight, you sure seem
happy.

[Williams claps his hands together.]

SDW:  Why shouldn't I be happy, baby?  You were in Laredo, you saw it
yourself firsthand!  I pinned Nenshou in the middle of that squared
circle!  I took his greasy mop, slammed it flat with the Riley Roundup -
love ya, Big Vern - and got the ol' one-two-three.  You know what that
means, JD?

JD:  Tell me.

SDW:  It means that yours truly is the Number One contender to the
Longhorn Heritage Champion!  El Number Uno!  The top dog!  The big
chief!  And there's a lot of Number One contenders gettin' the shaft
'round here right now like Jackson and Danny... but I ain't goin' out
like that.

Nenshou, Childes... I'm comin' for that gold.  It may not be tonight. 
It may not be tomorrow.  It may not be Memorial Day Mayhem... but
eventually, you're gonna have to put that gold on the line against yours
truly.  

And when you do?

[He grins.]

SDW:  Airport security's gonna get a whole lot rougher for the Sweet
Daddy carryin' ten pounds of gold, baby.

[With that grin plastered on his face, Williams walks out of view,
leaving a grinning Jason Dane behind.]

JD:  The Number One contender to the Longhorn Heritage Champion is
looking to cash in that status in the very near future!  Will Nenshou
and Percy Childes accept that challenge?  We'll find out soon enough. 
Fans, let's go back down to ringside for more action!

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

PW:  The following contest is set for one fall with a ten minute time
limit. Introducing first... in the ring at this time hailing from
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.  He stands six foot three inches tall and
weighs in at 270 pounds... James Reed!

[Reed raises his arms in the air and yells at the crowd getting positive
feedback from the crowd. He wipes his boots on the mat and slaps
opposite shoulders with his palms as he awaits his challenger, still
bellowing to himself and the crowd.]

PW:  And his opponent...

[The beginning chords of Country Boy by Aaron Lewis begins to play.]

GM: This could mean only one thing, Bucky. "Dirty" Dick Bass is about to
make his presence known.

BW: You got that right, Gordo.  Last Saturday Night Wrestling, he showed
the AWA just how tough and mean he truly is and I dont see that
changing tonight, daddy.

[Back to Phil.]

PW:  Coming down the aisle and hailing from Tampa, Florida... he stands
six foot four and weighs in at 265 pounds...

"DIRTY" DICK BASS!

[On cue, Dirty Dick Bass walks into view to a shower of boos from the
Texas crowd.]

GM: These fans not forgetting what transpired two weeks ago, Bucky. 
When Dick Bass used his bullwhip he likes to call Delilah to choke the
life out of poor, young up and comer Rashan Hill.

BW: Dirty Dick Bass wanted to send a message, Gordo.  And I think he
got his point across loud and clear.

[The big man is decked out in the same attire as last time we saw him.
Black trunks, knee pads, boots, and a leather vest - all in the same
color.  His menacing brown eyes nearly hidden underneath his black
Stetson he has tipped close to his brow. Thick handlebar moustache
rainbows his tense lips, while the trusty whip Gordon Myers and Bucky
Wilde were referring to is clutched in his heavily taped right hand. As
the norm, Dick Bass looks to be in a bad mood as he hits ringside.]

GM: Look at that glare from Dirty Dick Bass towards James Reed. Is it
possible to hate somebody before you even know them, Bucky? 

BW: I dont think Dick Bass likes anybody - period!

[By this time, the tough guy from Florida has climbed the steps.  He
glares at the crowd before holding his Stetson and ducking between the
ropes...

...and immediately cracks the whip just like before, sending everyone in
close proximity scurrying from the ring.]

GM:  My stars!  Once again Dick Bass, threatening and endangering
everyone around him with that darn whip Delilah. Somebody is going to
get hurt, Bucky, and it will be on his conscience.

BW:  You think this guy's got a conscience, Gordo?

[Dick Bass smiles cruelly as he holds Delilah" in the air, staring at
her with nothing but respect. He ignores the ref who demands he get rid
of his beloved bullwhip.  The official continues to berate him until
Bass threatens to crack the whip again in his direction.  From ringside,
James Reed shouts up into the ring.]

GM:  James Reed telling Dick Bass to put away Delilah. 

BW:  Did he just call him a "pansy?"

GM:  I think so.  I dont know if calling Dirty Dick Bass a pansy is
the right thing to do.

BW: I wouldnt call it smart because now he has his attention and thats
never good.

[Dick stares at James a moment before smiling cruelly and acknowledges
him with a tip of the hat. He gently coils his bullwhip around the outer
ring post then motions for James Reed to climb in the ring who complies.
 The two men stand across from the ring, glaring at each other.]

"DING! DING! DING!"

[Both men run at each other and meet in mid ring. Both swing for the
fences, neither backing down as the rights and lefts fly.]

BW: Forget the armlocks and leglocks, Gordo!  We got ourselves a brawl
in the Crockett Coliseum tonight, daddy!

GM: Both men throwing with everything they got!

[Bass and Reed continue to throw huge haymakers.  The ref tries to tell
them to wrestle, but even he knows its no use and backs off.  The
crowd is into it as the two tough guys land bombs on each other. 
Dirty Dick cracks a smile, still swinging and taking shots as he
does!]

GM:  Dirty Dick Bass is actually smiling, Bucky!  He loves this.  Hes
getting hit with big punches and he seems to enjoy it!

BW: I told you he was tough. This is right up his alley. 

[Both men start to slow down as the toll of throwing big shots has
caught up with the two. Dirty Dick Bass eats a big left hand but stuns
Reed with a huge return right, staggering Reed into the corner.]

GM:  What a shot that was!

BW:  He ain't done either, Gordo.

[Bass never relents as he follows him into the corner and drops Reed on
his rear end with a measured right hand between the eyes. Bass puts his
foot on his throat and applies pressure, holding onto the top rope for
added leverage. Reed grabs at the boot on his throat in a panicking
manner as the ref begins his count.]

GM:  Come on, referee!

BW:  He's counting, Gordo... what more do you want?

GM:  I want him to do his job!

BW:  His job is to count!

[At the count of four, the big man breaks and fakes chasing after the
ref while wiping sweat from his brow. The ref scurries away as Reed
shows his mettle, slowly getting up with help from the ropes.]

BW:  This kid's got some fight in him, Gordo.

GM:  Certainly does.

[Bass sneers and stops him in his tracks with a nasty kick to the liver.
Dirty Dick doesnt stop there as he kicks Reed over onto his back,
measures him up then drops a knee, leaving it over Reeds throat for
added emphasis.]

GM: The ref has to get in there and break this up. Dick Bass is showing
everyone why he got the moniker Dirty. He definitely has no friends
here in the Crockett Coliseum, Bucky.

BW: Does it look like he cares?  Look at him, Gordo.  Hes choking the
life out of some dim wit, the ref is trying to admonish him and he just
does whatever he wants. You go break it up.

GM: Id rather not, Bucky.

BW: Good call. Probably the best one youll make all night.

[Bass breaks the chokehold to the referee's relief.  With a handful of
trunks, Bass drags Reed up off the mat...

...and gets caught with a forearm to the temple!  Big cheer!]

GM:  Reed's fighting back!

[He lashes out with a boot to the gut of the stunned Bass, letting out a
whoop as he does so.  He shouts again as he hammers a heavy forearm down
across Bass' wide back once... twice... three times.]

GM: James Reed showing his mettle here tonight. I thought it was going
to be another landslide victory for Dick Bass, but James Reed not out of
this yet.

BW: All he is doing is making this guy meaner and angrier, Gordo.  This
is just a small hiccup to the formality, nothing more, nothing less.
Mark my words, this guy is going to be crying for his momma before you
know it, [mocking tone]  Oh boo hoo somebody help me!

GM: Would you stop?

BW: What? Im just giving you a preview of what is going to happen.

[Back in the ring, Reed continues his assault on Bass, backing him into
a corner.  He shouts to the crowd again, motioning for a big chop before
bringing it hard across his opponent's chest.  He shouts again,
repeating the motion...]

BW:  He's too worked up trying to get these fans behind him.  He's gonna
pay the-

[Before Reed can land another chop, Bass simply steps out of the corner,
grabbing the back of the trunks, and FIRES him through the ropes into
the ringpost!]

GM:  OHHH!  REED'S SHOULDER HIT THE POST!!

[Reed grabs his shoulder, collapsing back down to the canvas inside the
ring where Bass goes to work, instantly driving boots into the shoulder
before propping him up and clamping on a nerve hold.  Reed cries out and
desperately tries to grab at the ropes. Bass sneers and presses down,
adding to the pressure.]

GM: Good mechanics by Dick Bass here. Proving he is more then a brawler.
He banged up that shoulder and now exploiting it.

BW: What I like is this Reed kid in is a considerable amount of pain
and Dick Bass couldnt be happier. Look at that smile on his face.

[Indeed.  Dick Bass has a cruel grin on his face as he presses on the
hold as hard as he can.  Reeds head slowly starts to drop as the pain
looks to be too much to bear. The ref checks closer then raises James
free arm in the air. It drops like a rock, Bass presses even more as the
ref raises the arm again with the same result.]

GM:  One more time and it's over.

[The ref acknowledges two to the timekeeper and crowd as he raises it
again. The ref lets go, but it stays up. The crowd is hot as boos rain
down]

GM:  Dick Bass released the hold and kept James Reeds arm from falling
for the third time! What kind of man does that?  Why wouldnt he want
the match to end, get a victory and leave this kid alone?

BW: Because that isnt Dick Bass' style, Gordo. He just doesnt want to
win, I dont even he think he cares to tell you the truth. This is about
making a point. Its about letting your opponent and everyone else know
and see, what happens when you climb in that ring with Dirty Dick
Bass.

[The ref tries to discipline Bass but quickly scurries away as Bass
raises a threatening taped fist in his direction.]

GM:  And he threatens the official again!  Give me a break!

[Bass slaps Reed hard across the back of the head, smirking as he drags
him off the canvas...

...and then promptly scoops him up, slamming him down hard to the mat. 
Slowly lifting his right arm, he measures his man, and droping the point
of the elbow on the sternum!]

GM:  Good grief!  Brutal precision on display by the bad man from
Florida.

[Getting back to his feet, he drops a second elbow to the chest before
rolling to his knees, grabbing a handful of hair and letting off a
series of peppering right hands to the forehead. The ref begins to count
and again Bass stops at the count of four.]

GM:  This guy is bending and breaking every rule in the book, Bucky!

BW:  You sound so surprised.  This is what Dick Bass does!  Ask those
milk-drinkin' Lynch boys about it!

[Dragging the wobbly Reed up by the wrist, Bass nearly takes his head
clean off with a short-arm clothesline.]

GM:  Gaaah!  What a shot!

[Shaking his head at the jeering crowd, Bass hauls Reed up a second
time, repeating the clothesline, this one somehow more brutal than the
first, laying him flat out on the canvas.]

GM:  Listen to these fans letting Dick Bass have it!

[Bass stands over the fallen Reed, soaking up the jeers from the crowd
with a grin on his face.  He wipes a hand across his brow as he looks
out at the Crockett Coliseum fans.]

GM: The fans here giving Dick Bass the business, Bucky. They arent too
happy with his actions and neither am I. James Reed is down, he is hurt
just pin him. Show some mercy.

BW: Hes delivering a point

GM: Well, that point has been proven!  Okay, so dont mess with Dick
Bass. We get that. The fans get that, heck even James Reed knows that. 
But there is a certain line you shouldnt cross, Bucky.  A line of
respect and Dick Bass has stepped way over that line.

[He looks down at Reed, shouting "Get up, boy!" as Reed tries to crawl
to the ropes, looking for a way to defense himself.  A smirking Bass
plants his boot on Reed's back, shoving him with it to knock him down to
the mat again.]

GM:  He's just toying with this kid now!

[Pulling the rising Reed to his feet, Bass hooks a side waistlock.]

GM:  Suplex coming up perhaps?

[But instead, he drops Reed crotchfirst on the top rope!]

GM:  Oh, come on, referee!  Stop this match!  That's gotta be a DQ!

BW:  That's totally at the referee's discretion and Marty Meekly ain't
ringin' the bell, daddy.

[Grabbing the top rope, Bass bounces it up and down, making the move
twice as bad.  Reed grimaces in pain, his eyes bulging out of his head
before he finally topples off the ropes, grabbing his groin area in
pain.]

GM:  Stop the match, ref!  For the love of- 

[Bass yanks Reed to his feet by the hair, pulling him into a double
underhook where he easily powers him into the air, dumping him across a
bent knee.]

GM:  Ohhh!

BW:  You wanted the match stopped?  There you go, Gordo!  The Bass
Breaker does it every time!  That double underhook backbreaker is
guaranteed to end a match so you can stick a fork in em, hes done.

GM:  Thank the stars for that because this kid had had enough a long
time ago!

[Bass looks at his handiwork from his knees then easily rolls the
squirming Reed over and goes for the lateral press.]

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

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

[Bass slowly gets to his feet, ripping his arm free from the referee who
attempts to raise his hand.  He threatens the official with a backhand,
sending Marty Meekly running for it.  Moving to the corner, Bass grabs
his Stetson and his "leading lady" before heading up the ramp towards
the interview platform.]

GM:  Jason Dane is going to be with this individual in a moment.  Bucky,
you want to take the replay for us?

BW:  Gladly.

[We cut to a slow-mo replay where we see the opening moments of the
match with the two competitors hammering each other with haymakers.]

BW:  Well, this was early on... right after the bell where they were
both about even, taking each other to town...

[The replay dissolves into Bass violently hurling Reed shoulderfirst
into the ringpost.]

BW:  Ouch!  That's how you turn the tide in a match, daddy! 
Shoulderfirst to the post - just the way I like it!  And from there...

[Bass slaps on the double underhook in slow motion, powering Reed into
the air, and flips him down into the backbreaker.]

BW:  It's the Bass Breaker and ain't no one gettin' up from that one,
Gordo.

GM:  Another win for Dick Bass... and let's go up to Jason who is
standing by with him now.  Jason?

[Crossfade to the interview platform where Dane looks a little nervous
as Bass towers over him.]

JD: Dick Bass, another solid win for you here tonight.

[Bass scowls at Dane who flinches a little. The big man from Florida
wipes his brow and points a finger with the hand he holds his coiled
Delilah with.]

DB: Thats right, Jason Dane.  Another win for me and more proof that
Im for real, just in case I didnt get the point across the first time.
Now I bet youre going to ask me What point? 

[Bass glares at Dane who look flabbergasted. He simply shrugs at the man
who stares holes through him. Bass shakes his head.]

DB: Well, I wont keep you or anyone as dumb as you in the dark anymore.
The point is real simple. 

[points at the ring]

DB: You climb into that ring with me and you better be ready to put it
all on the line. I dont hold back, I dont play games. Im here to hurt
people, plain and simple. Thats the way it is Dane, so all those
prima-donnas in the back have been warned.

JD: Whoa, whoa wait just a minute! Who are you talking about? 

DB: Ever since I came to the AWA all I have seen is guys flipping their
hair and trying their best to make these women croon for them. All I see
in the back is vanity lights and mirrors, so these guys can look their
best. 

[stares menacingly at Dane.]

DB: Well Im a whole different breed of person, Jason Dane. I didnt
come here to look good. I dont have fancy jackets or attire. All I
have...

[Dane backs off making Bass smile as he uncoils his bullwhip and stares
at it lovingly] 

DB:  ...is my main girl. But dont get the wrong impression, shes as
nasty as they get.

[smiles coldly at Dane]

DB:  And you all know Im not afraid to let her loose. 

[Bass cracks his whip on the platform, making Dane nearly jump out of
his skin. Bass chuckles for a moment before getting serious once again.
He points a finger at nobody particular.]

DB: So here it is, plain as day. I want them prima-donnas in the back to
hear it straight from my mouth so theres no confusion.

[wipes sweat from his brow.]

DB: Whenever youre done fixing your make-up, brushing your hair and
looking all pretty for these hogs out here. 

[The crowd starts to boo; Bass raises his voice to talk over top of
them.]

DB: Whenever youre done tip toeing around backstage like a bunch of
pixies and youre looking for a fight. You knock on my door pretty boys
and I promise 

[holds up his taped right hand coiled with Delilah and smiles
cruelly.]
 
DB:  I promise I wont mess up your pretty little faces too badly. 

[Dirty Dick Bass smiles like a crooked used car salesman as he slowly
coils up Delilah. He tips his hat to Dane before walking off the
platform and through the curtains] 

JD:  Dick Bass with a very clear message to all the AWA superstars in
the locker room!  Fans, we'll be right back with more Saturday Night
Wrestling so don't you dare go away!

[We fade to black.

And then fade back up to a black screen with the AWA logo splashed
across it.  A voiceover begins.]

"The American Wrestling Alliance is hotter than ever and as they inch
closer to Memorial Day Mayhem - do not miss your chance to catch your
favorite AWA stars in person before they hit the road for the summer!"

[The logo scales down to the top of the screen as white lettering
appears on the black background.]

"SUNDAY, APRIL 24TH - THE DALLAS GALLERIA"

VO:  Don't miss it when third generation star, Johnny Sone, comes to the
downtown Galleria mall for a special personal appearance.  Johnny will
be signing autographs and taking pictures with all the fans in Dallas!

[The text changes.]

"TUESDAY, APRIL 26TH - SAN ANTONIO CHEVROLET"

VO:  Take a test drive - get a photo with some of the AWA's hottest
stars in San Antonio this Tuesday.  The Rockstar Express will be there! 
Violence Unlimited will be there!  Robert Donovan will be there!  YOU
should be there too!

"FRIDAY, APRIL 29TH - ARENA EVENT IN AUSTIN!"

VO:  The AWA comes to Austin on April 29th for a special arena show
at the Luedecke Arena!  On the show, you will see James Monosso,
"Hotshot" Stevie Scott, Eric Preston, and Sultan Azam Sharif!  The TV
cameras will be in the house in Austin and you just never know what's
gonna happen!

"SATURDAY, APRIL 30TH - ARENA EVENT IN WACO"

VO:  Waco, Texas - get ready!  The AWA is comin' to town and we'll be
jammed into the Ferrell Center for another night of awesome AWA action! 
It's a special non-televised appearance by the AWA National Champion,
Juan Vasquez, when we come to Waco plus Mark Langseth, The Moonshiners,
and the world-famous Lynch brothers!

[The AWA logo fills up the screen.]

VO:  For more information on there and other upcoming AWA events, visit
the AWA website for all the details and we'll see YOU at the matches!

[Fade to black.

And then come back up to a pre-taped segment:]

Voice Over: What is Justice?

[The screen flashes from black to various scenes: a hangman's noose...a
guillotine...the electric chair...a gas chamber...a shiv...a cross...a
black baseball bat...]

Voice Over: In the course of human history, there has been one constant
- man has engaged in selfish and hurtful behavior against his fellow
man.  From Caine's murder of Abel through the Dark Ages and into today,
the one constant in human history is Man's ability to inflict injustices
upon his fellow Man.

[Images flash on the screen of some of the more famous Crimes Against
Humanity in history.  Shots of the Vietnamese General shooting the
prisoner in the head...of the gates of Auschwitz...of the mass graves
found in Chile...of the shell shocked children of Darfur...]

Voice Over: And just as constant throughout human history is the one
simple truth: For evil to triumph, all that need occur is for good men
to do nothing.

The question that raises is this: Does AWA have Good Men?  It certainly
has many that seem to fit the bill...many that look the part...clearly,
there are good men in the AWA...men of principle...men of character.

But its that very characer that stands in their way...

[Shots of Lee...of Supernova...of Sweet Daddy Williams...of the Rockstar
Express...of Juan Vasquez]

Voice Over: So clearly...what is required is a monster.  Someone willing
to do things that their conscience tells them is abhorrent...someone
willing to walk through the fire...to break the same rules...to wallow
in the horror that grips AWA.

[Cut to a shot of Corax.]

Voice Over: Vengeance is here.

[Fade to black...

...and then back up to live action to the interview position where we
find Jason Dane standing with the National Tag Team Champions, Rough N
Ready. Dave Cooper is dressed in khakis and a white button-down shirt
and Eric Matthew Somers is dressed in blue jeans and a black T-shirt.
Each wrestler has a tag belt slung over his shoulder. Standing beside
them is a sullen Joe Petrow, sporting a Wall Street banker look this
week]

JD:  Welcome back to Saturday Night Wrestling, fans... and I'm here with
the National Tag Team Champions, Rough N Ready, who have agreed to an
interview with me, despite the protests of one Joe Petrow.

JP: These men suffer enough fools inside the ring, they don't you
irritating them further!

JD: But be that as it may, I have quite a few questions to ask of the
tag team champions.

DC: Jason, the only reason we are allowing you the chance to talk to us
is because we have a few things to get off our chest after what went
down on the last show. But first of all, let the record show that we are
still fighting champions as we gave Sweet Sensation their opportunity to
face us for the tag team titles.

JP: It just goes to show that, while our so-called champion Juan Vasquez
is off taking a siesta, Dave Cooper and Eric Michael Somers are busting
their tails day in and day out, proving that they are the fightingest
AWA tag team champions of all-time!  And if you don't believe me, then
just go track down the former champs in their trailor park and ask them
for yourself!

JD: But everyone wants to know when you will grant Violence Unlimited
another shot at the titles and...

DC: And that is what we want to get off our chest! Danny Morton...
Jackson Haynes... you got your win for the Stampede Cup and you got your
shot... and then you lost! Now, if you had just been willing to be
patient and get in line with other contenders, we just might have
considered giving you another opportunity. But last week, when you stuck
your nose in our business, you just cost yourself any chance of getting
another shot at our belts!

JD: Now hold on... you sound like you're using this as an excuse to duck
Violence Unlimited... to not defend your titles at the next big AWA
show, Memorial Day Mayhem...

[Jason stops as Eric bumps him on the shoulder and gives him a menacing
stare. Petrow just smiles but Dave puts his hands up.]

DC: No, Eric... he's like Violence Unlimited... not worth the trouble
any longer.

[Eric stares at Jason for a bit longer, but then grunts and turns away
from him in disgust.]

DC: Now let's clear one thing up, Jason... we absolutely will be putting
these titles on the line at Memorial Day Mayhem and we will prove we are
still fighting champions. But there are a lot of teams in the AWA that
are lining up for a tag team title shot... isn't that right, Joe?

JP: From The Hive to The Rave, we take on nothing but the best
competition that the AWA has to offer!  And to PROVE that our Royal
Blood is superior to all other, these men WILL defend their tag team
titles against the highest ranked team that they have yet to annihilate:
The Aces!

[The crowd cheers at that news!]

JD:  The Aces?  We're about to see The Aces in tag team action down
there in the ring... and there's no doubt that they're worthy
competition!  The current #2 contenders to the National Tag Team Titles
but Mr. Petrow, the AWA and it's fans want to see Violence Unlimited get
a *fair* shot at those titles!

JP: Fair shot!?  Did Lord David and Lord Eric complain about "fairness"
when they stepped into a 2 on 5 situation at SuperClash last year!?  No,
they just went out there and beat the Blonde Bombers into something
unrecognizable!  VU, you had your shot, and you blew it!  These men want
a CHALLENGE, they want to face a team that actually WON at The Main
Event, and regardless of what you, the AWA, or [singsong, mocking voice]
"the fans" want, these men are staying true to their mission to make the
AWA tag team championships worthy of Royalty!  C'mon men, we've wasted
enough time here.

[Royalty stalks out of the shot, Eric Michael Somers giving Jason Dane
an extra hard stare to put the kibosh on any complaints.]

JD:  Well, fans, you heard it right here first.  Joe Petrow says that
his men, Rough N Ready, will defend their National Tag Team Titles in
just about a month's time against The Aces at Memorial Day Mayhem!

[Another cheer!]

JD:  Speaking of which, let's go down to the ring and see The Aces in
action!

[Crossfade to Phil Watson.]

PW:  The following tag team contest is scheduled for one fall with a
fifteen minute time limit.  Introducing first... already in the ring at
this time... from Tijuana, Mexico... they are the team of El Lobo Gordo
and Supreme Tiger!

[The two masked men raise their arms to a mixed reaction.]

PW:  And their opponents... 

[The sounds of The Atari's cover of "Boys Of Summer" starts up to a big
cheer.]

PW:  At a total combined weight of 415 pounds... from Jacksonville,
Florida...

"Sweet" Stevie and "Delicious" Danny...

THE AAAAAAAACES!

[The two fan favorites burst through the curtain to a big cheer!]

GM:  Oh yeah!  The two men who will face the National Tag Team Champions
in just about a month with the gold on the line! 

BW:  A good challenge for the champions.  Maybe that'll shut everyone up
who think they're duckin' people!

GM:  They ARE ducking people, Bucky!  They're ducking Violence
Unlimited!  I think that's pretty clear!

BW:  They BEAT Violence Unlimited, you nimrod!  What does it take to get
that through your thick skull, Myers?

[The Aces are slowly making their way down the ramp, slapping the hands
of the ringside fans...

...when disaster strikes!]

GM:  WHAT THE-?!

[The crowd EXPLODES in jeers as Rough N Ready comes back out on the ramp
with Joe Petrow.  Eric Matthew Somers immediately bowls over both
members of The Aces with a running double clothesline to the back of the
heads, knocking them flat before they even know what's happening!]

GM:  The champions- they struck from behind!

[Joe Petrow shouts instructions to Dave Cooper who nods his head,
hopping off the entrance ramp to the concrete floor as Somers grabs
Danny Tyler, dragging him to his feet, and throwing him back down on the
ramp with a thunderous body slam.  Petrow leaps into action, helping
Somers deliver kicks and stomps to Tyler's prone form as Cooper grabs
Childes by the foot...

...and SLAMS the back of his knee down on the edge of the wooden ramp!]

GM:  OHHHHH!

[The crowd jeers wildly as Childes howls with pain at Cooper's vicious
assault.  Not wasting a single moment, Cooper grabs the foot again,
SLAMMING the back of the knee into the ramp again!]

GM:  These cowardly son of a-

BW:  Easy, Gordo.

GM:  This is why they accepted the match with The Aces!  This is exactly
why!

[Cooper slams the knee into the ramp a third time before climbing back
up on the ramp.  He grabs Childes by the now-injured leg, flipping him
to his stomach and applying a half Boston Crab that has Childes
screaming and wailing with pain, clawing at the wooden ramp as Cooper
tries to rip the knee apart.  A cackling Joe Petrow helps out, kicking
the bent knee as Cooper applies an extreme amount of pressure on it.]

GM:  We need some help out here!  We need to get some help for these-

[A hard boot to the ribs of Danny Tyler sends him off the ramp to the
concrete floor, allowing Somers to take up a protective spot, waiting
for someone to try and help the screaming Childes.  A swarm of AWA
officials rush down the ramp...

...but run right into Joe Petrow and Eric Matthew Somers who are forming
a human wall, shoving officials back as they try to get through!]

GM:  Somers and Petrow are stopping these officials from helping!  I
can't believe-

[A big cheer rings out as Scotty Storm and Marty Morgan, the Rockstar
Express, come rushing into view, trying to help as well...

...but Somers ain't about to let that happen, dishing out right hands to
both men, trying to keep them back.  Petrow does the same, throwing a
haymaker to a stunned Scotty Storm's skull!]

GM:  The Rockstar Express is out here - they're trying to help their
friends, The Aces, but-

[HUUUUGE CHEER!]

GM:  VIOLENCE UNLIMITED!!  VIOLENCE UNLIMITED!!

[The sight of an incoming Danny Morton and Jackson Haynes who are fit to
be tied gets Petrow to rally his men, hopping off the platform and
making an exit through the crowd...

...with Violence Unlimited chasing right behind them!]

GM:  VIOLENCE UNLIMITED IS CHASING THE CHAMPS OUTTA THE BUILDING!!

[The camera follows the pursuit for as long as they can...

...and then cuts back to the elevated ramp where Scotty Storm and Marty
Morgan are kneeling next to a wailing Stevie Chides, screaming for
medical help as we fade to black.

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

Kid #1: This is boring.  

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

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

Kids: *gasp*

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

Kids: Juan Vasquez!

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

Kids: WOAH!

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

AL: Ehehehehehehehe!

Kids: THIS IS AWESOME!

[And cue the sales pitch!] 

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

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

Announcer: Relive the greatest matches!

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

Announcer: Create new dream matches never before seen!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Announcer: Ages 8 and up!

[And cut.

We come back to live action where a steaming Marty Morgan and Scotty
Storm are standing alongside Jason Dane.]

JD:  Fans, we're back on-

SS:  I'm sick of this, JD!  SICK!  OF!  IT!

JD:  What do-

SS:  Every time I turn around lately, someone's gettin' jumped around
here.  Whether it's Alex Martinez fightin' off an army of paid
assassins... or it's Sweet Daddy and Donovan battlin' the Unholy
Alliance...

MM:  Or our boy Supernova tanglin' with Sharif and his goons.

SS:  That's right.  Everywhere we look, there's bad people doin' real
bad stuff... and now you got these idiots callin' themselves Royalty
tryin' to be the baddest of 'em all.

You did it, boys.  You done did it now.

JD:  What did they do?

[Morgan looks furious.]

MM:  Well, first of all, they smashed up Stevie's knee but good.  I
ain't ever heard him scream like that and we put the man through the
wringer on several occasions now.  That knee is a mess and the doctor
thinks he's gonna be out a good, long while.

SS:  We don't know nothin' 'bout that.  We ain't doctors, JD.  But what
we are?  We're friends of those two men you just jumped on, Cooper...
Somers... Petrow.  Those two men and us... we put each other through
hell and back to see who the better team was... and along the way, we
gained a whole lot of respect for each other.

MM:  That's right... so we don't take too kindly to anyone decidin'
they're gonna put 'em out.  And make no mistake, boys, that's exactly
what you just tried to do.  You tried to take 'em out 'cause you KNEW
that if you had to face 'em at Memorial Day Mayhem, we'd have new
National Tag Team Champions - just like we would if you two had the
stones to step in there with Violence Unlimited again.

SS:  And JUST like we will when we get through with you that night.

[The crowd cheers!]

JD:  Wait a second!  Are you saying-

SS:  That's right, JD.  If they ain't gonna fight Haynes and Morton...
and if they're gonna take out The Aces...

Then they're gonna deal with us!  

[Another cheer!]

MM:  Memorial Day Mayhem, the Rockstar Express is comin' for ya and
we're comin' for gold, baby... woooo!

[The Rockstar Express storms off the stage to the cheers of the crowd.]

JD:  You heard 'em, fans!  The Rockstar Express want to step in for
their friends, The Aces... and they want to face Rough N Ready for the
gold at Memorial Day Mayhem!  But will Joe Petrow and Royalty accept
that challenge?  We'll find out later tonight!  Now, let's go back down
to Phil Watson for more Saturday Night action!

[Crossfade back to the ring to Phil Watson.]

PW: Introducing first, already in the ring from Jamestown, Colorado he
stands in at an even six feet and weighs two hundred and twenty one
pounds... Kyle Houlder! 

[Very little reaction for the man from Colorado.]

PW: And his partner from Bonesteel, South Dakota  he stands in at 64
and weighs two hundred and eighty pounds  Madhouse McWesson.

[McWesson glares at the fans as they boo him.  Suddenly, "Tom Sawyer" by
Rush hits the speakers to a HUGE reaction!]

PW: And now, their opponents... at a total combined weight of four
hundred and ninety-five pounds... from Dallas, Texas...

JAMES AND TRAVIS... THE LYNCH BROTHERS!

[The curtain pulls back to reveal the middle Lynch brother James Lynch,
the dirty brown hair, clean cut, young Texan.  James wears a grey
lightly zipped jacket and yellow speedo wrestling trunks.  He's also
barefoot. The youngest of the Lynch clan strides into view.  The screams
of the ladies in the crowd nearly down out the sounds of Rush.  A
grinning Travis heads down the aisle in his classic white trunks with a
yellow and black stripe along the top.  He's also sporting white boots
and kneepads.]

GM:  And would you listen to this reaction for these young men, Bucky?

BW: I dont see the love affair the fans have with them at all.

[Halfway down the entrance ramp, the Lynches break out into a little
jog, leaning down to slap the hands of the fans lining the elevated
walkway. Reaching the ropes, Travis steps down the staircase onto the
floor, making his way over to the barricade where the fans reach over to
slap his arms and shoulders.  A rather enthusiastic young lady nearly
throws herself over the railing, wrapping her arms around Travis neck
yanking him into a kiss on the cheek before security steps in to free
him up.  James smiles as he slides under the bottom rope into the ring
as Travis also smiles at the reaction, Travis slides under the bottom
rope, popping to his feet to throw a muscular arm in the air to even
more cheers as the referee points him back...

...and then calls for the bell!]

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

GM: The bell sounds and James start the match off for his team and it
looks like Madhouse McWesson will be starting it off for his team. 

[McWesson and James circle one another slowly.]

BW: Look at the size difference between these two. McWesson has him by -
what? Seventy pounds easily.

GM: Its closer to fifty pounds, Bucky.

[The two men lock up and McWesson quickly uses his size advantage to
push James into the ropes. The referee orders a clean break and McWesson
gives it to him for a split second before driving a right hand into the
head of James. The crowd boos McWesson.] 

BW: And the man mountain showing James how things are done in the AWA.

GM: McWesson drives his knee into the mid-section of James now. 

[James doubles over and McWesson drops to his knee and fires an uppercut
into the jaw of James. James staggers back as Madhouse stands up and
drills a kick into the mid-section of the middle Lynch forcing him to
double over once again.]

BW: Madhouse is owning James right now as he clubs him across the back
with that massive forearm.

GM: James is in a world of hurt as he drops to a knee. 

[McWesson smirks as he waves mockingly at the crowd. James uses the
moment to leap up and catch McWesson with a dropkick that staggers the
bigger man to the ropes but doesnt knock him down.]

BW: And the mountain doesnt fall! 

[James grabs the right arm McWesson and sends him into the far side side
ropes. James catches McWesson with another drop kick that once again
sends the near three hundred pounder reeling backwards.]

GM:  Another dropkick but the bigger man STILL won't go down!

[James rushes towards the near side ropes and catches McWesson with a
clothesline that knocks the big man flat!]

GM:  And down he goes!  That'll do it as James Lynch is looking to lock
on a body scissors!

BW: Thats how you take away a mans size advantage.

GM: I thought you disliked the Lynches.

BW: I do. I was just stating a fact, Gordo.

[James Lynch has the body scissors locked in but Madhouse reaches and is
able to grab the bottom rope causing the referee to order for a break.
James shakes his head in disappointment but releases the hold.]

GM: Madhouse was too close to the ropes but James did some damage.

[McWesson grabs his ribs as he gets to his feet and James catches him
with a chop to the chest. The crowd cheers as James continues to use the
chops forcing the big man back into the ropes ]

GM: Another Irish whip... 

[McWesson stumbles out of the corner where James drops his head,
powering McWesson up and over.]

GM:  BIIIIIIIIG BAAAAAAACK BODY DROP!

[James is quick to his feet as he drops driving his fist into the skull
of Madhouse.]

GM:  Driving fist drop to the skull!

BW:  A closed fist, I might add.

GM:  And the referee's warning him for that right now.

[The referee reminds James to keep the fists open as James pulls
Madhouse up and makes the tag to his brother Travis.  The ladies in the
arena scream as the youngest Lynch steps into the ring.]

BW: Security needs to get those fans under control.

GM: What for?

BW: No one needs to squeal at such high pitched tones.

[Travis drives a forearm into the mid-section of McWesson and follows up
by driving his skull into McWessons who staggers back.]

GM:  A headbutt!  Didn't expect to see that one.

BW:  Me neither.  Lynch might bust up his pretty face by doing something
like that.

[Travis smiles before slapping a side headlock on McWesson.  Lynch takes
a quick three-step run before jumping up, smashing his opponent's head
into the canvas!]

GM:  Bulldog headlock by Travis Lynch - and there's a cover!

[Lynch earns a two count before Kyle Houlder rushes in to break up the
pin with a stomp to the head!]

BW:  Kyle Houlder extracting a bit of revenge from the last Saturday
Night Wrestling when Travis stole a win with the closed fist!

[Travis shakes his head as he gets to his feet.  He throws a quick glare
at Houlder who exits the ring...

...and gets caught with an eyerake from McWesson as he turns around!]

GM:  Cheapshot by McWesson!  He goes to the eyes!

BW:  And that serves Travis Lynch right for taking his eye off the ball.
 He got distracted and paid for it right there.

[Seizing the advantage, McWesson powers Lynch up into the air before
putting him down with a hard bodyslam.]

GM: McWesson coming back now as he stomps away on the prone Lynch
brother. 

[The crowd boos loudly as McWesson continues to stomp away on Travis. 
McWesson waves the crowds reaction off and grabs Travis by the arm,
pulling him to his feet.]

GM: And Kyle Houlder is tagged into the match for the first time. 

[The crowd begins to boo again as Houlder connects with a series of
right hands into the side of Travis face. The referee warns him to open
the fists and Houlder shakes his head before lifting Travis up with a
big suplex, slamming him down to the mat again.]

BW: Travis isnt looking good right now, which doesnt surprise me at
all. The Lynches are flash in the pans.

GM: The Lynches are a staple of Texas wrestling, Bucky.

BW: A staple of mediocrity. 

[Houlder reaches down to pull Travis to his feet but...]

GM:  IRON CLAW! 

[HUGE CHEER!]

GM:  Travis locked that on out of nowhere!

[The crowd goes wild as Houlder flails his arms around wildly in an
attempt to fight off of the Iron Claw.  Lynch gets to his feet,
switching his grip to grab the left wrist with his right hand to try and
lock the hold in tighter...

...but Houlder is too close to the ropes, slapping the hand of Madhouse
McWesson to make the exchange.]

BW: Tag!  Kyle Houlder was able to the make the tag to Madhouse!

[McWesson comes in fast, kicking the back of Travis' knee to break the
hold.  To the annoyance of the fans, McWesson follows up by raking his
fingernails down the back of Lynch, sending him staggering to the
ropes.]

GM:  A backrake?  Are you kidding me?  Stay on this man, referee!

[McWesson spins Lynch around on the ropes, smashing an overhead elbow
down across the crown of the skull.]

BW:   McWesson is in charge now...

[Pulling Lynch off the ropes, McWesson hoists him into the air again,
throwing him down in a big slam before launching into a series of stomps
to the skull of Travis Lynch.]

GM:  Travis Lynch is in some trouble here and he could really use a tag
out to his partner... his older brother, James, who is cheering him on
from the corner, looking for a tag...

[Seeing James Lynch's outstretched hand, McWesson walks towards the
corner and takes a swing at him...

...which brings a fired-up James Lynch into the ring!  Big cheer!]

GM:  Here comes James!  He's not about to stand for that, Bucky!

BW:  Yeah, but look at what's happening as the referee tries to get
James Lynch out of the ring!

[McWesson waves Houlder into the ring, the two men firing Travis Lynch
across the ring and flooring him with a double back elbow before they
take turns stomping him repeatedly to the jeers of the crowd.  James
Lynch continues to try to force his way past the official to aid his
brother.]

BW: James Lynch is causing his brother to take a beating right now!

GM:  He's certainly not doing Travis any favors.

[James screams at the referee to turn around but he stands his ground
and continues to order James out of the ring.  McWesson exits the ring
as Houlder drags Lynch to his feet, dropping him in a backbreaker as the
referee finally turns around, dropping to the mat as Houlder applies the
lateral press.]

GM: ONE!! TWO!!

[The crowd cheers as Travis kicks out.]

BW: Houlder showing that he should have beaten Travis as hes made him a
whipping boy right now!

GM: Yeah, because those straight right hands hes driving into Traviss
face are legal. 

[The referee's count reaches four... then five... but instead of calling
for a DQ, the official grabs Houlder by the shoulders and pulls him off
of Travis to the cheers of the crowd.]

GM:  Whoa!  The referee getting physical in there!

BW:  And I don't like that one bit, Gordo.  That ain't his job!

[Houlder shoves the referee to the side and pulls Travis up, whipping
him into the ropes.]

GM:  Off the ropes... Lynch ducks the clothesline...

[And off the far side, Lynch leaves his feet, flooring Houlder with a
leaping shoulder block!]

GM:  DOWN GOES HOULDER!!

[The crowd roars, clapping and screaming as Travis Lynch crawls on his
hands and knees to the corner...]

GM: TAG! James Lynch is back in! 

[James Lynch promptly catches the incoming McWesson with a dropkick on
the button.  Getting back to his feet, he spots Houlder rising and
catches him with a dropkick as well!]

GM:  Ohh my!  James Lynch is a house of fire in there!

[Getting back to his feet, James Lynch turns to pursue McWesson who
rolls out to the floor.  Turning back around, he catches a right hand on
the jaw from a rising Kyle Houlder who grabs the arm, firing Lynch to
the corner...]

GM:  Here comes Hould- OHHH!

[Houlder runs right into James Lynch's raised bare foot!]

GM:  He caught him coming in!

[Houlder staggers, spinning away from Lynch...

...who rushes forward, throwing yet another dropkick, this one to the
middle of the back which knocks Houlder facefirst down to the mat!  The
crowd roars their approval!]

BW:  I've never seen anyone use as many dropkicks as this guy does.

GM: He uses them better than anyone Ive ever seen. 

[Pulling Houlder off the mat, Lynch hooks a gutwrench, tossing him down
to the mat in a suplex.  He throws himself into a lateral press,
reaching back to hook a leg with all his weight behind the cover!]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  

[The crowd deflates as Houlder's shoulder pops up off the mat just in
time.  James Lynch slaps the canvas with both hands, pointing to the
corner to a roar from the crowd.]

GM:  He's heading up top!  To the high rent district!

BW: I think the soles of his feet would be a bit too slippery for him to
be up there, Gordo.

[Lynch steps to the top rope, waiting as Kyle Houlder pushes himself to
his feet...

...and leaps off his perch, catching him solidly across the chest with a
crossbody!]

GM: Flying body press!

[Seeing the match in jeopardy, Madhouse McWesson rushes in to break up
the pin...

...but so does Travis Lynch, going into a full spin as he crosses the
ring!]

GM:  BOOM!

[The crowd roars as Lynch uncorks a Discus Punch that catches McWesson
solidly on the temple, knocking him flat as the referee hits the mat to
make the count on the crossbody!]

BW:  Again with the illegal closed fist, Gordo!

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

DING! DING! DING!

GM:  The Lynches score the win!

BW:  Travis Lynch used that illegal punch for the second show in a row. 
He should be disqualified for that, Gordo!

GM:  He wasn't the legal man... he didn't hit the legal man... and as
far as I know, that's at the referee's discretion whether to call that a
disqualification.

BW:  It's illegal!  It's an illegal punch and you know it!

GM:  Whatever you want to call it, I call it another victory for James
and Travis Lynch right here tonight in Dallas, Texas - and these fans
are loving it!  Fans, we've gotta take another break but before we do,
let's get some words from Robert Donovan just a little while before that
big tag match still to come!

[One quick cut to the back later and the camera is filled with the big
man who once called South Laredo, TX his home away from home, none other
than Robert Donovan.  He's already dressed to wrestle, fists taped,
elbow brace secured, black jeans, boots and blood-red double-strapped
singlet.  In addition to being dressed for action, the look on his face
suggests a certain eagerness to be out in the ring doing violence upon
those who have earned such treatment.]

RD:  Now, to my lack of surprise, Sweet Daddy Williams an' I got nary a
clue as to who's comin' out to face us tonight.  Could be any
combination o' that sorry crew -- Nenshou, Polemos, Monosso, Layton,
whoever else they got lurkin' in the weeds. Could be two guys nobody
ever heard of, new recruits, whatever.

[Donovan shrugs.]

RD:  Doesn't matter that much ta me.  See, most guys would get up here
an' bluster 'bout how they didn't care who came out 'cause they were
gonna kick their tails no matter what it took...an' I'd be lyin' if I
didn't feel that way, sure.  Thing is, the reason I don't care who they
send out is ain't a one of 'em that ain't done me wrong, in fairly
recent history to boot.  Don't think I gotta explain what Nenshou did,
an' continues to do, at this point...Layton?  Slimy little snake an' his
giant pet cost me a shot at number thirty, an' let's be honest, Layton's
just unpleasant to be around in general.

[A slight grin creases the big man's face, briefly.]
 
RD:  Polemos?  Aside from yankin' me outta that ring after I pasted the
guy holdin' his leash, an' havin' a damn near unbreakable death grip on
my neck not long ago, he runs with the wrong crew, an' I'm old enough at
this point ta gladly dole out guilt by association.  Monosso, same deal,
'cept that guy's such a jerk that I'd take a swing at 'im on general
principle.  Ain't a member o' that crew I wouldn't mind gettin' my hands
on, so for that reason, they can keep it a mystery right until go time
as far as I'm concerned.

[Donovan rolls his neck, creating an unpleasant popping sound.]

RD:  The real question here, Childes, is if ya wanna send somebody out
ta take the bullet for Nenshou, or if he's got the guts ta come out an'
take it himself?

[Fade to black.

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

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

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

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

[Another cut.  Another angle.]

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

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

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

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

[Animated Dane strokes his animated chin.]

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

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

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

[Fade to black.

And then back up to live action where at the interview stage stands
Percy Childes, the infamous "Collector Of Oddities".  Bald and pudgy
(though he's been losing weight slowly over the past year or so) with a
sinister-looking goatee, the nefarious manager is smiling broadly.
Childes is wearing a light-blue dress shirt, mauve tie, and black
pants... in his hands are the Longhorn Heritage Championship and his
crystal-tipped walking stick.

Standing nearby is the man who is the legal possessor of that longhorn
Heritage Title, Nenshou.  Cloaked, hooded, and motionless, Nenshou
stands in some kind of meditative stance.  The black cloak is marked
with bronze designs of some kind, and the hood resembles a demon's head.

Jason Dane is standing by, as always, with the interview.]

JD: Percy Childes, I hope you're proud of yourself.  Last week, you led
the Unholy Alliance on an ambush of Brian Von Braun, and the news is
dire.

PC: I haven't heard the news, Dane, but let me guess it.  May I?  

JD: He...

PC: Of course I may; I stand next to Nenshou, and because of that, I may
do just exactly as I please.  And I wield the power of James Monosso, in
case you've forgotten that.  And I'm always on the lookout... I am a
collector, you know.  The Unholy Alliance may grow at any time, Dane, at
any time.  How does that make you feel?

JD: Nauseous.

PC: Fear.  I saw your face drain of color.  And it will likely make you
feel the same when I inform the public that Brian Von Braun... is blind.

[Shocked hush!]

PC: Not "is blindED".  "IS BLIND".  Note the difference.

JD: If you already knew, then that confirms it!  It was intentional! 
You deliberately blinded a man!

PC: Of course.  He put his hands on me, Dane.  I told you what happens. 
I told Von Braun what would happen.  All he had to do was admit defeat! 
But he made the unforgivable cardinal mistake of laying his filthy hands
on me, and now?  He'll never see the light of day again!

[BBBBOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!  Oh, they're furious now... the fans are enraged at
this horrible news.]

JD: What was... that horrible black mist?!

PC: There are many different varieties of the neurotoxin my Nenshou
employs.  If you ever did learn of its formulation, Dane, you would
carry that secret to your grave.  IMMEDIATELY.  

[Jason takes a step back.]

PC: But since you remain safely ignorant, I will formally announce to
the entire AWA that the black mist is the consequence for the most
unforgivable of offenses.  Nenshou does not employ that tactic lightly. 
The colors have effects that vary in type and severity, but the black...
is permanent.  And I will go on record to say that we will not use it
again... 

...unless someone ELSE is stupid enough to attack me!

[BOOO!]

PC: And then, on top of that, we did to Von Braun what we did to Riley. 
To Houston.  And to... well, we haven't done that YET, so I shouldn't
spoil the surprise, now, should I?

[Percy cackles, drawing even more hate from the fans.]

PC: But I will specifically address a few of our most vocal doubters. 
Robert Donovan, I hope that even you can now understand that this is no
mere game we're playing.  The Unholy Alliance cares nothing for your
sentimentality, your loyalty, or any other Quixotian delusion that
inhabits your mind.  If you wish to challenge my Nenshou for his
Longhorn Heritage Championship?  Granted!  We accept.  If you wish to
make it something more than that, then you are a fool who deserves what
torment is coming to him.  Anton told me that Polemos was most anxious
to test his power against you... in or out of a match.

And to you, Sweet Daddy Williams.  You are unworthy to stand in the ring
with my Nenshou!  While you have successfully fooled almost everyone
into believing that you are a simple clown who cares only for vice and
foolish things... no, we know better.  You have manipulated the likes of
Vasquez and Scott in the past to obtain championship bouts.  You do
possess the instincts of a fighter.  We are not taken by your 'aw
shucks' routine and your insipid dancing, by your slovenly appearance
and overall illiteracy.  No.  You are a base opportunist who uses
deception and treachery to get ahead.  You used Stevie Scott, you used
Juan Vasquez, you are going to use Donovan and whomever else you can
under the guise of some 'war' against the Unholy Alliance as a cover to
steal my championship.

Well played, Williams.  I respect that.

[The fans are absolutely rabid about this slandering of Sweet Daddy.  It
makes Percy smile.]

PC: You gullible fools don't believe me?  He has you in the palm of his
hand.  Admirable!  I wonder if he can be persuaded to employ his gifts
of deception, intrigue, and beguilement in the service of a new...
Master.

In any case, Sweet Daddy Williams... Nenshou also senses your true
nature, and will gladly test his great skills against you. But only if
you come as your true self would you have a chance.  Ah, to expose your
lies... I almost don't want to do it, as I do love to see the general
public played for the idiots they are.  But the faces of these sheeple
when their hearts collectively break, ah, that would be priceless.

JD: That's enough... you're trying to turn the people against Sweet
Daddy Williams, and they're not going to believe a thing you say!

PC: Name one thing I have said that has proven untrue.

JD: You've been lying for almost a year and a half now!

PC: I said we'd destroy Vernon Riley.  Where is he?  Destroyed!  I said
we'd ruin Eric Preston... one win over a rookie in the past six months
shows me that he'll never be the threat he could have been!  I said that
Nenshou would take the Longhorn Heritage Championship... and see where
it is!  And I said that we'd remove Brian Von Braun from this sport...
the only person who didn't see that happen...

...was Brian Von Braun!  HA HA HA HA HA HA!

JD: That's it!  This interview is over!

[Childes walks away laughing, with Nenshou following close behind. 
"Raijin's Drums" by George Sakalis begins to play as the two men head to
the ring.]

GM:  Wait a second!  Does this mean that Nenshou is going to compete in
the tag team match alongside Anton Layton?

BW:  It certainly looks like it!

[After a moment, Anton Layton emerges from the locker room in his
jet-black hooded robe, walking a few steps behind Nenshou and Childes as
they make their way down the elevated ramp.]

GM:  And what about that interview we just heard from Percy Childes? 
What a... what a....

BW: Genius!  I never saw it!  Sweet Daddy Williams is a low-life
backstabbing manipulator!

GM: HE IS NOT!

BW: And all this time I thought he was just a general-purpose low-life. 
Wow.  Sweet Daddy, I apologize for callin' ya stupid.  I don't apologize
for callin' ya dirty, smelly, or fat.  But hey, I'll go on record,
Gordo.  He fooled me.  Well done, Sweet Daddy!

GM: And you're trying to help him!  Childes is trying to erode that
great fan advantage that Sweet Daddy Williams enjoys! These are obvious
and blatant lies!

BW: Percy Childes is a genius, daddy... absolute genius.  In one
interview, he made sure that no one will ever attack him again, that
Sweet Daddy isn't gonna have any SMART fans cheerin' for him, an'
accepted two challenges to Nenshou's title that'll make him look like a
million bucks when he wins them easily.

GM: And now we know that, on top of that, that he INTENTIONALLY BLINDED
BRIAN VON BRAUN!

BW: Well, he saw that the Dufrense Method wasn't permanent enough.

GM: That black mist... all of that mist!  It should be banned!

[Nenshou has arrived at the ring, stepping through the ropes as Anton
Layton does the same.  A grinning Percy Childes, clutching the Longhorn
Heritage Title belt to his chest, gestures at Nenshou who rips off his
cloth hood, falling to a knee, and letting loose a spray of green mist
into the air to the jeers of the crowd.  Layton is pacing back and forth
by the ropes, mumbling to himself as the crowd boos both men wildly. 
Phil Watson steps through the ropes, raising the mic.]

PW:  The following contest is- 

[Watson's words are cut off by Layton snatching the mic out of his
hand.]

AL:  WILLLLLLIAMS.... DONNNNNNNOOOVANNNN!  Your time has come!

[Layton throws down the mic, shrugging out of his robe.  He steps up on
the middle rope, howling loudly as...]

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

[The self-styled sounds of "I'm Gonna Be Your Sweet Daddy" blasts over
the PA system as Sweet Daddy Williams and Robert Donovan emerge from the
locker room area.  The crowd cheers as Donovan and Williams come
marching down the aisle towards the ring.  Reaching ringside, Donovan
steps over the ropes...

...and gets assaulted by Anton Layton who stops him from coming in!]

GM:  Layton's on Donovan like white on rice!

[Moving off the ramp, Williams pursues a quickly-running Percy
Childes...

...and gets caught in the side of the face with a baseball slide
dropkick!]

GM:  Ohh!  Nenshou caught him!

[Sliding to the floor, Nenshou grabs Williams by the arm, WHIPPING him
into the ringside barricade to a loud "CLANG!"  The ringside fans jump
back as the railing sails a few feet in.  The Asian Assassin moves right
in, battering Williams with chops against the steel.

The camera shot cuts back inside the ring where Layton continues to
hammer Donovan...

...who simply piefaces Layton backwards, sending him stumbling down to
the mat.  Donovan gets the rest of the way into the ring as Layton
surges back in towards him.]

GM:  We've got a fight out here!  The referee just rang the bell but I
haven't the slightest clue why!  This thing is nowhere near being in
control!

[Donovan catches Layton with a series of haymakers, sending him falling
back into the ropes.  Grabbing an arm, Donovan fires Layton across...

...and knocks him flat with a running clothesline!]

GM:  BIG clothesline by the seven footer knocks Layton flat!

[The big man drops to his knees, wrapping his massive hands around the
throat of the Prince of Darkness.

A quick camera cut finds Nenshou with Williams' neck draped over the
steel barricade, pushing down on the back of the neck to choke the life
out of him.  The ringside fans are all over Nenshou, shouting at him...]

GM:  Nenshou's choking Sweet Daddy Williams over the railing!

[Breaking the choke, he snaps off a pair of overhead chops to the back
of the neck, driving Williams' throat into the railing a couple more
times.  The Longhorn Heritage Champion drags Williams off the railing,
dragging him towards the ringpost...]

GM:  No, no, no!

[Nenshou attempts smashing Williams' head into the post but the fan
favorite blocks it!]

GM:  Blocked!  Williams blocks it!

[And a back elbow to the gut breaks up the attempt, freeing up Williams
to grab Nenshou by the mop of hair and SMASH his face into the post,
knocking him flat on the floor to the cheers of the crowd!]

GM:  NENSHOU GOES DOWN!!

[And Williams takes a big swing at a nearby Percy Childes that comes up
empty to the dismay of the crowd.  Williams rolls under the ropes,
moving in on Anton Layton who is stomping Donovan in the corner...

...and smashes him with a double axehandle from behind!]

GM:  Ohh!  Williams drills Layton!

[Spinning Layton around, the Sweet Daddy fires him to the opposite
corner.  He quickly helps Donovan up, grabbing his arm...]

GM:  Big whip on Donovan... BOOM!  Running clothesline in the corner!

[Donovan steps back, waiting as Layton staggers out...

...and wraps his massive paw around the throat of Layton!]

GM:  He hooks him!  He's gonna chokeslam him, Bucky!

[The seven footer spins Layton around, showing him off to the entire
building...

...and then Percy Childes leaps up on the apron, swinging his cane back
and forth.  Donovan throws Layton aside, moving towards Childes!]

GM:  HE'S GOT CHILDES!!  DONOVAN'S GOT CHILDES!!

[But not for long as Childes DRIVES the end of the crystal-topped cane
into the midsection of Donovan, breaking the grip.  Donovan stumbles
backwards, clutching his midsection as Williams rushes in, chasing
Childes off the apron...]

GM:  Williams is in pursuit of Childes - he's coming for Perc-

[The Atlanta fan favorite leans over the ropes, trying to grab Percy
Childes by the hair...]

BW:  MIST!

[The crowd roars in response as Nenshou unleashes a mouthful of green
mist into the eyes of Sweet Daddy Williams!  The referee frantically
calls for the bell!]

GM:  AHHH!

[Williams falls backwards, hands immediately shooting up to his face. 
He cries out in pain, rolling back and forth on the canvas as Anton
Layton snatches the cane away from Percy Childes...

...and DRIVES it down across the back of Robert Donovan's head, knocking
the big man flat!]

GM:  LAYTON FLOORS DONOVAN!!

[The Prince of Darkness stands over the seven footer, driving the
crystal-topped cane down onto the head and neck of Donovan over and over
again.  Nenshou rolls back in as well, green liquid dripping from the
corner of his mouth as he stands over a screaming Sweet Daddy Williams. 
He points down at Williams, lifting his taped thumb to drag it across
his throat...

...and moves to the corner, quickly stepping to the middle rope, then to
the top, and backflipping off in one motion, smashing down across the
chest of Sweet Daddy Williams!  Percy Childes rolls under the ropes,
promptly slapping his hand into the canvas three times!]

BW:  He did it!  He pinned Sweet Daddy Williams!

GM:  He did not!  This match was over on the mist!  That god-awful mist
to the eyes of Sweet Daddy Williams and-

[Suddenly, the ring fills with AWA officials - alongside the Rockstar
Express, Tyler Lee, the Lynches, and a few others - sending the Unholy
Alliance scurrying from the ring, leaving the bodies of Robert Donovan
and Sweet Daddy Williams laid out behind them.]

GM:  The Unholy Alliance has struck again, Bucky!  They've struck Robert
Donovan and Sweet Daddy Williams and again - AGAIN! - we've see that
horrible mist sprayed into someone's eyes!

BW:  Be happy it wasn't the black mist - we know what that's capable of.

GM:  I'm not happy about any of this, Bucky.  Not one bit.  We've got-
we need some help out here for Sweet Daddy Williams.  We'll... fans,
we'll be right back with more action.

[We quickly cut to the backstage area where the interview area has been
occupied by the First Family. Eve, pacing back and forth in front of the
camera, is dressed in her white blouse and white dressed and carrying a
Bible.  Brother Cain is standing motionless in the background, his face
obscured by the black mask. Taking center stage is, as always, Adam. The
First Man is wearing a white suit, red shirt and a white tie. There is a
serene smile on his face before he raises the microphone to his lips.]

A : Ah, people of Dallas  how good it is to stand in your midst again,
to feel your respect, your adoration and yes, your _love_ for the First
Family again.

[Adam seems to be deaf to the jeers and boos that can be heard
throughout the Crockett Coliseum at their every appearance.]

A : I know that you have not forgotten us, my brothers and sisters! You
are aware that we are doing the good work in His name, as a shining
example to all of you! It lifts my heart to know that, by serving our
Lord, I can lead all of you to salvation!

[He raises a triumphant and lecturing index finger towards the sky. Eve
imitates the move behind him.]

A : By punishing the sinners, I can show you that their ways are wrong
and immoral and success will not be possible in a world where His
instruments dispense the divine justice!

At The Main Event, they tried to shun us!

[Eve echoes shun us and even without a mic, her shrill voice can be
heard.]

A : The First Family was not supposed to be there and just watch while
the heathens put on their show, defiant to His will! But there is no
escape from His will, or His wrath, or His  justice. They found a way 
we found a way  to make our presence known!

Martin Morgan, Scott Storm  as long as you blame us for your setbacks,
you will never bask in the light of righteousness again! Your penance is
far from over! You riding high on your wave of sinfulness and disrespect
is about to come to an end at our hands and when we clash there can only
be one outcome  the First Family ascending and you two suffering  a
Fall!

[As Eve starts to maniacally scream Rejoice! Repent!as the camera
zooms in on Adam who folds his hands, his smile etched into his face
sinister as we fade to black.

Slowly, the words "MEMORIAL DAY MAYHEM" appears on the screen in white
lettering.  The letters slowly fade to be replaced by "2008."  The
screen stays dark, we can only hear the sounds.]

"Ladies and gentlemen... after twenty-eight minutes and six seconds of
hard-fought action... your winner of the match...  And the FIRST AWA
NATIONAL CHAMPION... MAAAAAARRRRCUS BROUUUUUSSARRRRRRD!"

[The sounds fade as the lettering does - both replaced by "2009."]

"OH MY STARS!  STEVIE SCOTT HAS DONE IT!  STEVIE SCOTT HAS DONE IT! 
STEVIE SCOTT HAS DONE IT!"

[The sounds fade again as "2009" is replaced by "2010."]

"Both men on the apron!  Both men on the apron!  Rhodes is down!  Rhodes
is on a knee on the apron!  RUNNING KNEEEEEEEE!"

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

"Ladies and gentlemen... here is your winner of the Memorial Day
Rumble...  RAPHAEL RHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOODES!!"

[The sounds fade.  The letters fade.  A completely black screen remains.
 Slowly one final batch of text arrives.]

"What will 2011 bring?"

[And then we fade all the way to black.

We fade back up on Jason Dane, who is up by the interview platform, as
always, ready to do his job.  No matter how unpleasant it may be.  And
considering who is filing in, it looks to be getting rather unpleasant.

Vladimir Velikov takes point, dressed to wrestle for no particular
reason as he's not scheduled, his heavy metal Russian chain draped over
his shoulders.  Behind him strides Ivan Kostovich, who is dressed to
impress, a stylish olive green suit and an ever-growing evil goatee. 
Hobbling behind him is Count Adrian Bathwaite; the silver-haired
Eurasian manager is wincing, with heavy Ace banadges over his ribs
(which is made all the worse by the fact that his dress shirt is about
the same color as an Ace bandage.  Bathwaite leans heavily on his cane
for support as he glares out at the jeering fans. Bathwaite raises a
backhand to threaten one, but immediately clutches his ribs in pain. 
Last of all, keeping rear-guard, is the stoic form of Kolya Sudakov,
also dressed to compete and increasingly irritated by everything going
on around him.]

JD: With me at this time, the group that is becoming known by the AWA
fans as the Foreign Legion.  Ivan Kostovich, Vladimir Velikov, Kolya
Sudakov, Count Adrian Bathwaite... and conspicuous by his absence is
Sultan Azam Shar... OW!

[Bathwaite is never too hurt to JAB THE CANE.]

CAB: Do you think I would want my man out here getting all worked up
about what happened to me, Dane?  Do you know what he might do if he
caught you disrespecting me in my condition?  Thank your lucky stars,
Dane, because I don't want the bigoted anti-Muslim redneck cops in
Dallas to tase my man for upholding justice!  He'll have a more... legal
format to do that later on.  

As for me, I'm not cleared to be out here...

[CHEER!]

CAB: Shut your collective holes, you needle-neck serfs!  My physicians-
the best physicians that money can buy, in accordance with my privileged
status- have given me doctor's orders to not come to the arena tonight. 
Who do those peasants think they are, to give their betters orders?!  I
fired them all, hired new physicians, and those ones asked me with
proper servitude to not endanger my life by going anywhere near those
insane ruffians!  And immediately after my business here, I will be
taking that good advice.  The Sultan won't need me to take care of a
lowlife dirtfarmer who needed a deadly weapon to take on a sixty-five
year old man!  If you needed a weapon for that, you slovenly peon, you
won't have enough hands to carry all the weapons you need to take on an
Olympian; the best pure wrestler in the world today, Sultan Azam Sharif!
 And after he gets done with you, you won't have enough hands to wipe
off that stupid-looking Maybelline, either!

But I'm not here to take care of that rabble.  I have bigger fish to
fry!  Jim Watkins!  Your presence is required.  Here.  NOW.

[Bathwaite stands back and waits.]

JD: Uh, Jim Watkins is the Chairman of the Championship Committee, you
can't just... OW!  OW!

CAB: GET OUT OF MY SIGHT BEFORE I HAVE YOU SKINNED, YOU LOWBORN DROOLING
PEASANT!  Ivan, would you please show this idiot his place?

IK:  Dane, you have been warned.  Hand me your microphone before I'm
forced to put my servant, Sudakov, to work on you.

[Dane starts to protest when Kostovich steps forward, takes the
microphone from Jason's hand, puts a big meaty hand on the scruff of his
neck, and walks him to the edge of the platform.  A slight shove forces
Dane to hop off the platform.  He lands on his feet on the floor, looks
up in outrage... before a glare from a chain-wielding Velikov makes him
wisely decide to just walk away.]

IK:  Jim Watkins, it appears you feel as though your position in this
company means you do not answer to us.  You would do well to remember
where you come from - and where men like myself, Mr. Bathwaite, and Mr.
Velikov  have PUT you in the past.  Your position here is of no
importance to us.  You WILL come out here to address us or there will be
dire, dire consequences.

[After a moment, Jim Watkins walks through the curtain yet again,
looking disdainfully towards the interview platform.  He slowly
approaches, eyeing the men now essentially on all sides of him.  His
eyes fall on Kolya Sudakov for a long bit of time as Kostovich snaps his
fingers.]

IK:  Over here, Watkins.

[An increasingly-angry Bathwaite speaks up.]

CAB: Listen to me, Watkins.  I'll give you that you've exceeded your
birth, and you do normally run a half-decent organization.  None of us
would be here otherwise.  You have done an acceptable enough job, so
far.  But you saw two weeks ago how a maniac with a... bizarre
half-breed between a wicket and a cudgel...

JW: It was a baseball bat.  How do you not know what a baseball bat is?

[The crowd mockingly laughs at Bathwaite who gets even more enraged.]

CAB: I don't follow your mindless Yank peasant games!  It was a deadly
weapon, that's all anyone needs to know, and he attacked me with it! 
ME.  Not only am I a retired legend of this sport with exemplary
standing, to whom the younger generation owes undying respect and
adulation, but I am also nobility!  Highborn!  Blooded!  And this
nameless zookeeper who slathers his face in Oil Of Olay and jumps from
the shadows to waylay people with a deadly weapon, did in fact ambush
his better.  With said deadly weapon.  And I am sixty-five years old! 
Just because I have the best artificial hips that money can buy does not
obviate the fact that I am no longer in suitable condition to fight!  I
never attacked him! But I've been punched by Supernova and now beaten
with a lethal weapon!  Look at me!  He broke my rib!

[Watkins spins his hand in front of him in a "can we move along"
gesture.]

JW: Speed it up, Count.  I have a show to run.

CAB: DON'T RUSH ME, YOU... *exhale* Fine.  We expect this Corax to be
banned for life, for his vile assault on me.  If he somehow gets his
fellow thugs to pull him out of the fire tonight, he is to never set
foot in an AWA arena again!  And while you're at it, you can levy the
punishment that you've undoubtedly been waiting to heap on Supernova for
accosting me and Comrade Kostovich as well!

[Watkins pauses, nodding his head.]

JW:  You know, Count... a lot of what you say makes sense.  I mean... I
can hardly justify someone assaulting ANYONE with a baseball bat.  Let
alone attacking some old man who cries up a storm every time someone
lays a finger on him.  Of course, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised by
that.  You always were a bit of a crier, Bathwaite.

[The crowd cheers as Bathwaite shouts something in Watkins' direction. 
Watkins raises a hand to silence him.]

JW:  Bathwaite, considering as much as you've stuck your nose in
EVERYONE'S business since the moment you and Sharif showed up here, I
think you should consider yourself lucky someone didn't bust you up
much, much worse with that bat.  I know there are plenty of people who
would - given the chance.

So, to answer your request - I will NOT be banning Corax for life.  I
won't even be suspending him for a single second of the day!  As far as
I'm concerned, if what Corax did two weeks ago means you won't be out
here causing trouble later tonight, I think he did us all a favor!

[The fans cheer.  Bathwaite is about to blow up, but someone else beats
him to it.  Somewhat surprisingly, it is Vladimir Velikov.]

VV:  You speak too much, Jim Watkins.  I have - how you say - held my
tongue lately to allow Comrade Kostovich to serve his role as a
legendary figure in my country.  That is what you call respect, Watkins.
 Comrade Kostovich deserves respect.  Mr. Bathwaite, HE deserves
respect.

You?  

[Velikov snorts with derision as he steps forward, invading Jim Watkins'
personal space.]

VV:  Watkins, you seem to have a very short memory.  Your people have
saying about those who fail to remember history being doomed to repeat
it, yes?

[Watkins doesn't reply.]

VV:  Do you remember this?

[Velikov holds up the chain.]

VV:  Do you remember it wrapped around my fist, drawing your blood?

[Kostovich grins from behind Velikov.]

VV:  Do you remember it wrapped around YOUR throat, stealing your life? 


[Velikov sneers.]

VV:  You remember.  I see it in your eyes.  Yet you refuse to show my
comrades the proper respect.  A decision that could be very.... very....

[He holds up the chain again.]

VV:  Dangerous... for you.

[Watkins glares at the steel chain being held up in front of his eyes
for a long moment and then turns his gaze onto Velikov.]

JW:  You're right, Velikov.  I remember everything.  I remember the
steel... the blood... the choking... and I remember that when it was all
done, I was standing over you...

[Watkins is getting fired up now.]

JW:  BLOODIED... BRUISED... BUSTED UP... BATTERED... WHATEVER YOU WANNA
CALL IT, BOY!

[Watkins shoves a finger in the face of Velikov.]

JW:  But I was still standing... and you?  Your filthy Russian carcass
was laid out like the trash you and your "comrades" are!

[Velikov is seething now, eyes bulging.  Ivan Kostovich steps forward,
throwing an arm in front of Velikov's chest.]

IK:  You speak with too much bass in your voice, Watkins.  You believe
yourself invincible because you hold the power... because you wear that
suit...

[Watkins steps back, pulling off his sportscoat, throwing it with
emphasis down on the ramp.]

JW:  There ain't no suit between us now, Kostovich!  I've been wantin'
another piece of you for years!  Let's hook 'em up!

[Kostovich looks surprised for a moment, shaking his head...

...and then makes a hand gesture in the direction of Kolya Sudakov whose
eyes narrow in... anger?  Nonetheless, he obediently steps forward,
ready to strike.  Velikov is nodding as he wraps the heavy metal chain
around his fist.  Even Bathwaite picks up his cane to wield like a club.
 Kostovich leans over the mic again.]

IK:  In my experience, there is no power that can not be overthrown...
violently...

[Kostovich throws down the mic as Jim Watkins steps back again, fists
clenched and at the ready as the crowd roars with anticipation.  Sudakov
moves closer as Kostovich's barked order...

...when suddenly the crowd ERUPTS in cheers!]

GM:  Here comes the cavalry!

[The arrival of Supernova, Corax, and Tyler Lee - the latter two
wielding baseball bats, seems to make the foreign contingent rethink
this moment, making their exit off the ramp and back towards the exit of
the building.  Corax stands at the edge of the ramp, pointing at the
fleeing rulebreakers with his jet-black baseball bat as Supernova checks
on Jim Watkins, making sure the Chairman of the Championship Committee
is alright.]

GM:  What in the world just happened there, Bucky?

BW:  We just saw the REAL Jim Watkins!

GM:  What?  What do you mean by that?

BW:  Jim Watkins just showed the whole world his blatant favortism!  He
admitted that he wouldn't punish Corax because it was Bathwaite who got
hit with the baseball bat!  Watkins should be investigated and
potentially even suspended for that!  

GM:  Give me a break, Bucky!  Adrian Bathwaite has interfered countless
times and-

BW:  And that merits a 65 year old man being hit with a baseball bat?! 
Your sense of justice and honor is as warped as Jim Watkins, Myers!

GM:  And you think it was okay for a group of FOUR men to threaten Jim
Watkins?!  Who knows what would have happened if it hadn't been for
Supernova leading those guys out here to clear the scene!

BW:  Watkins was gonna get a cold taste of justice... Russian style.

GM:  This situation just got even uglier than I thought possible.  What
in the world can happen next between those two sides?  

BW:  We may find out later tonight when Corax has to deal with Sultan
Azam Sharif!

GM:  You're right about that... and right now, let's head back down to
the ring for more action!

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

PW:  The following contest is set for one fall with a ten minute time
limit.  Introducing first... from Durham, North Carolina... Rick Tate!

[The scrawny Tate lifts an arm to no reaction.]

PW:  And his opponent...

[The sounds of Ugly Kid Joe's "Everything About You" draws a big mixed
reaction from the AWA faithful.]

PW:  Weighing in at 228 pounds from St. Louis, Missouri... he is a
former AWA National Champion...

"HOTSHOT" STEEEEEEEVIE SCOTT!

[After a moment or two, "Hotshot" Stevie Scott jogs through the curtain
into the view of the fans.  He pauses on the ramp, arms outstretched to
soak up the reaction of the crowd, and then does a little jump before he
starts down the aisle towards the ring.  He steps through the ropes...

...and Rick Tate rushes him before the bell!]

GM:  Here we go!

[Tate quickly goes to work on Scott, hammering him with rights and lefts
to the body.  He grabs an arm, flinging him across the ring...]

GM:  Big right han- slide through by Scott!

[The Hotshot slides between the legs of Tate, popping to his feet...

...and jabbing a finger into the eye of Tate as he turns around!]

GM:  Ohh!  Stevie Scott goes to the eyes!

[Tate staggers away from Scott who spins him around by the hair, pasting
him between the eyes with a right hand that knocks him flat.]

GM:  Right hand!  What a shot!

BW:  I think that Stevie Scott has been a lot more aggressive inside the
ring since his return, Gordo.  He's definitely got a much rougher style.

[A barrage of stomps forces Tate to slip under the ropes and out to the
floor.  Scott steps out on the apron, leaping off with an axehandle
across the skull!]

GM:  Down goes Tate again.

[Out on the floor, Scott takes the time to jaw with a ringside fan
giving him a hard time before he pulls Tate up by the arm, wheeling him
around...

...and WHIPPING him right into the rail where the fan he was arguing
with was standing!]

GM:  OHHH!  INTO THE STEEL!!

[A chuckling Stevie Scott pulls Tate off the railing, firing him back
under the ropes into the ring.  He mockingly "tips his cap" to the fan
before rolling back into the ring.  A few more kicks to the ribs puts
Tate under the ropes on the other side of the ring.  The former National
Champion reaches over the ropes, hauling Tate to his feet.  He hooks a
front facelock, slinging Tate's arm over his neck...

...and brings him over the top with a suplex!]

GM:  Scott into a cover for one... for two...

[But Tate slips a shoulder up at two.  Scott promptly grabs his head in
a loose side headlock, smashing his fist into the temple repeatedly.  He
jumps up to his feet, grabbing Tate by the legs...

...and falls back, catapulting him facefirst into the corner!]

GM:  Ohh!  He hits the buckles hard!

[Scott pops up, throwing his arms apart with a "YEAAAAAH!" before he
heads to the corner, turning Tate around.  He promptly throws a right
hand into the body... then a left... then a right... then a left. 
Moving upstairs, he begins flailing at the upper body and head of Tate
with a barrage of haymakers that brings the referee to the corner to
complain!]

GM:  Good grief!  Stevie Scott is all over this kid!

[Grabbing the arm, Scott fires him from corner to corner, rushing in
behind him with a big running clothesline in the buckles!]

GM:  Big shot in the corner!

[As Tate stumbles out, Scott hooks him around the waist, hoisting him
off the mat, turning to the side...

...and HANGS him out to dry throat-first over the top rope!]

GM:  OHHH!  HOTSHOT!!

[Scott rolls Tate onto his back, applying the lateral press for a quick
three count.]

GM:  Stevie gets the win!

[Scott pops up to his feet, a big grin on his face as the referee raises
his hand in victory.]

GM:  The Hotshot's going to be joining us here in a few moments for some
comments but Bucky, take the replay if you will!

[The shot fades to slow-motion footage of Stevie Scott teeing off with
haymakers in the corner.]

BW:  Not a lot to call on this one, Gordo.  The Hotshot just rocked this
guy with some big rights and lefts.

[And then the shot we just saw, Scott hoisting Tate over his shoulder
and dropping him throatfirst over the top rope with the Hotshot for the
one, two, three.]

GM: So another easy win for "Hotshot" Stevie Scott in his return to the
AWA and here he comes now...hopefully tonight he may have a few more
answers for us as to his intentions specifically for Juan Vasquez.

[Scott strolls into the scene, mockingly wiping sweat off his forehead.]

GM: Stevie, in your first two appearances here in the AWA since your
return, you seem to somewhat be dancing around the answers to the
questions that both Bucky and I have asked.

HSS: You want answers?

GM: Well, yes.

HSS: You want the truth?

[Seeing where this is going, Gordon does not try to play along.]

GM: I-

[But it doesn't work.]

HSS: YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE TRUTH!

[Myers rolls his eyes, while Stevie laughs at his own lame joke...or
moreso because it annoyed the commentating duo.]

HSS: OK...OK...one question.  Ask it and I will answer it in a way so
simplistic, even you two can understand it.

GM: Fair enough.  Do you intend to exact revenge on Juan Vasquez for
almost putting you out of wrestling for good?

[Stevie pauses for what seems like an eternity.  He looks up, rubs his
chin.]

HSS: Juan...Vasquez.  Juan...

[Longer pause than an ellipsis can handle.]

HSS: ...Vasquez.

[Stevie pauses again, looking up...down...left...right...all around the
arena before looking at Myers.]

HSS:  You want to know how I feel about the man who came within inches
of ruining my career.  I don't mean that figuratively.  I mean that
literally.  Two more inches, the doctors said...two more inches of
compression in my neck and spine, and the way I roll would be in a
wheelchair.

So yeah, you want to ask me about Juan Vasquez.  You want me to give an
honest, straight-from-the-heart answer about Juan freakin' Vasquez?

I wasn't kidding when I said you couldn't handle the truth.  But since
you want it?  Here we go.

[A collective hush falls over the crowd.  Even Myers and Bucky are
standing completely still, awaiting the answer.]

HSS: Ya see, when you spend the better part of four months in rehab, you
get a lot of time to think.  And think I did.

About Juan Vasquez.  And about how badly I wanted to get back into
shape, back into condition, so I could get back in that ring one more
time...

...and stare Juan Vasquez right in the eye.  Stare him right in the eye
and let him know that even though I took his best shot...he didn't
finish me off.

[Abruptly, Scott turns toward the camera, a bit wild-eyed.]

HSS: Take a good look at me, Vasquez.  Take a good look, let it register
in your brain that I...am..._back_!  You may have taken my belt...but
you didn't take my heart.  You didn't take my career. You didn't-

[Before Stevie can finish, he's cut off by a humongous roar from the
crowd! The  cause for the sudden outburst is immediately made apparent
as Juan Vasquez steps into view. The National champion doesn't look
happy, quickly making his way down the ramp towards the ring...

...and heading down the stairway until he is once again standing
face-to-face with his most hated adversary.]

JV: You wanted to stare me in the eye?

[He points to his face.]

JV: Then shut your mouth and start staring.

[The electricity in the crowd is gone, replaced by an uneasy feeling
that an ugly explosion of violence is imminent.]

JV: So you're back.

[Without changing his expression, Juan brings his hands up...and
mockingly slow claps at Stevie.]

JV: Bra-vo, amigo.

Bra-vo.

[Through all this, Stevie keeps his eyes on Vasquez, smirking all the
while.]

JV: I always knew you'd be back. It was only a matter of time. Even if I
ran Ben Waterson outta' town and left the Southern Syndicate dead and
buried...I _always_ knew in the back of my mind that a title-obsessed,
scum of the Earth like you wouldn't just let me get away with what I did
to you at SuperClash. 

[A short sigh.]

JV: And you're right. I didn't take your heart and I didn't take your
career. You took my best shot and somehow...you survived. But if you're
so damn eager to give me one more try to put your sorry butt out for
good...

[The slightest of cruel smiles appears on Juan's face.]

JV: Well, I'm sure that a rematch can be arranged.

[Big pop!  Stevie and Juan stare hard at each other for a few seconds
that seem like an eternity.  Slowly, a smirk appears on Stevie's face,
and that soon turns into a big grin.]

HSS: Whoa now, take it easy there, Mexidude Numero Uno.  I appreciate
the offer and all, but the time just ain't right yet.  See, when we
finally have the rematch.  The war to settle the score...

[Stevie turns to Myers.]

HSS: Has that already been done?

[Myers opens his mouth to answer, but Stevie's already shaking his
head.]

HSS: The brawl to settle it all?  The fight to make it right?  The
battle to stop the prattle?

[The Hotshot shrugs.]

HSS: Anyway, when we have the whatever it ends up getting called...we
both need to be in tip-top shape.  We need to make sure that when we're
in the ring together again that we're at the apex of our abilities so
all the people watching will get their money's worth.

Let's face it, I'm not quite my old self in the ring just yet.  I still
got some rust to work off, some strength and agility to regain.

And you?  Well...we need to make sure you're not coming off just getting
pinned by Robert Baldwin.

["Oh, snap!" pop!  Juan raises his eyebrows and starts to talk, but
Stevie holds up a hand and cuts him off.]

HSS: I kid, I kid.  C'mon, man, we've sent each other through hell and
back more than once.  Can't we laugh a little bit?

[Judging by the expression on Juan's face, his answer to that is "no." 
Stevie shrugs.]

HSS: Alright, it's cool, I can see you're not ready for that part of our
relationship yet.  So let me go ahead and cut to the chase.  There
_will_ be a time in the very near future where you and I _will_ meet in
an AWA ring. 

[And...a Steviegrin~!]

HSS: But I'm gonna leave you wondering as to when.

[Without hesitation, Stevie pats Juan on the shoulder twice...causing
the National Champion to flinch back...and promptly walks away, leaving
the champion glaring after him...

...as we fade to black.

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

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

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

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

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

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

[A shot of Stevie Scott holding the belt high in the air.]

"And now, it can be yours!"

[A final shot of Juan Vasquez, battered yet triumphant with the gold
belt held in both hands 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 Robert Palmer's "Addicted To
Love" is already playing over the PA to the jeers of the crowd.  Clad in
a black robe which is draped over an expensive looking suit, Johnny
Casanova strolls down to the ring. To his left - Big Mama, is another of
those jaw-droppingly sequined black evening gowns. To his right - Jack
Holland, walking down rather reluctantly and trailing behind. As Johnny
C and Big Mama get to the ring, they pause, then Cas looks pointedly at
Holland, who sighs, before holding the ropes open for the other two to
enter.  Casanova grins as he enters, grabbing a mic from a ringside
attendant.]

JC: It's me, it's me, it's Johnny C!

[Boos from the crowd.]

JC: I know, I know, I'm delaying the big match coming up. I'm sorry to
y'all. But, ya know, I'm out here to ask a question. I'm out here, in
fact, to DEMAND an explanation. Cause I can see lots of advertising for
tonight's show. I've seen the way they were hyping up Eric Preston
against Johnny Sone... Ess Dee Dub and Robbie Donovan taking on the
Unholy Alliance... and the Sultan Azam Sharif fighting Corax.  

Now, I'm sure they're all gonna be fine matches...

[The crowd jeers Casanova.]

GM:  You think this guy's ego even lets him realize some of those
matches already happened?

[Casanova is all smirks at the booing crowd.]

JC:  But the PR department, they seem to have missed out the one
everyone wants to see.

[More boos.]

JC: I'm sorry, guys. Ya just gotta let me talk briefly! I'll get outta
the way and let ya see the match ya wanna see right now... My man here
Jack Holland against Kendall Stanton! 

Now why the sam hill have they not been advertising this one?

[Casanova looks around quizzically.  Big Mama shrugs.  Jack Holland
looks on expressionless.  After a few moments of this, the crowd cheers
a bit as Kendall Stanton, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, walks slowly
down to the ring, stepping through the ropes.]

JC:  Look, Jack... here's your opponent now!

[The crowd boos as Stanton looks down at the mat.]

JC:  Hey, kid... do YOU know why this match hasn't gotten the press that
it deserves?

[Stanton slowly raises his head, leaning over the mic.]

KS:  I know this is all really funny to you, Casanova.  But you know
exactly why no one's talking about this match you set up.

[Casanova looks puzzled.]

KS:  I can't wrestle.

[Johnny gasps in mock shock]

JC: Jeez, kid!  Ya got a little crisis of confidence going on here? Ya
gonna be fine, trust me. It's a five minute time limit match, how bad
can ya be?

[Stanton looks really irritated now.]

KS:  You know what I mean.  I can not wrestle here tonight for these
fans.

[Casnaova fires back.]

JC: Ya really couldn't wrestle every other time ya stepped in the ring
either, boy, and that never stopped ya.  I'm kinda impressed that ya got
the brains to realize it at long last, but it's kinda inconvenient, so
if ya could just hold off on ya retirement for 5 minutes or so, I'd
appreciate it.

[Stanton is furious.]

KS:  You know what I'm-

[Casanova jerks the mic away.]

JC:  Still?  Well, maybe we've got something that can persuade you.

[He looks over at Big Mama, who pulls a wad of cash out of her purse and
hands them over to Johnny, who throws the bills one by one on the floor
in front of Stanton.]

JC: What the heck, we can afford it - call it a bonus to get ya on ya
feet at the start of your retirement.

[Stanton glares at the money with rage in his eyes.  He grabs Casanova
by the wrist firmly, jerking the mic in front of him.]

KS:  I...am not... retiring!

[The crowd cheers!]

KS:  You know that I can't wrestle tonight because I'm not medically
cleared.  The doctors told me that I'm still suffering that concussion
that the Moonshiners gave me and-

[Casanova jerks his arm free, speaking again.]

JC: Ah... sorry, kid!  That's too bad for ya.

[He rubs his chin with his free hand.]

JC:  It's too bad for me too though 'cause I said Jackie here's gotta
beat ya in 5 minutes or less to get a position in Playboy Enterprises,
and I hate to go back on my word. 

Any ideas what we could do instead?  How can I make him earn his spot?

[Stanton looks stunned at Casanova expecting him to go along with this.]

KS:  Maybe you should see if he can toss you on your head and beat YOU
in less than five minutes!

[Big cheer!  Holland even cracks a grin unseen by Casanova who shakes
his head.]

JC:  No, no... that doesn't seem right to me. 

[Casanova looks off in the distance as Stanton turns to leave the ring. 
Suddenly, he snaps his fingers.]

JC: I got it!

[He turns to Holland, pointing at Casanova.]

JC: Hit him over the head, will ya?

[Holland gives Casanova a stunned look, the crowd jeering the order.]

GM:  Did he just order Jack Holland to hit a man with a concussion in
the head?!  What is wrong with that man?

BW:  He wants a bruiser, a cold-blooded son of a gun in his employ.  He
wants to see if Holland's got the killer instinct to do it!

[Holland shakes his head at Casanova who just motions again at Stanton
who has paused now.  Holland looks defiant...

...until Casanova rubs his fingers together in a money gesture.  Holland
glares for a long moment...]

GM:  Don't do it, Jack!  There's gotta be other ways!  There's gotta be-

[Finally, Holland marches across the ring, grabbing Stanton by the arm
and swinging him around by it.  He rears back his right hand, ready to
coldcock Stanton...

...but pauses just long enough for Stanton to throw a right hand of his
own!  The crowd roars!]

GM:  Stanton caught him with a right hand!

[Holland shakes his head of the effects, nods, and throws a right hand
of his own... right on the jaw of Stanton, knocking him down to the
canvas as Big Mama claps gleefully.  Casanova shouts into the mic!]

JC: There ya go, Jackie! Just what the doctor ordered!

[Holland does not look too pleased with himself as Casanova slaps him on
the back.  Big Mama and Johnny C make their exit, motioning for Holland
to follow. Holland stares down at Kendall Stanton who is clutching his
jaw and skull. Shaking his head, Holland finally follows his new
employer.]

GM:  I can't believe it, Bucky!  I can't believe he just hit a man with
a concussion!  And for what?  Money?

BW:  The man has serious issues - serious financial issues - and he did
what it took to try to help those issues.  Johnny Casanova was the only
man who offered to help him.  I didn't see you offerin' up a loan,
Gordo!

GM:  Kendall Stanton is still down, holding his jaw.  Luckily, I don't
believe he hit his head during all of that... he got that moment to
ready himself when Holland didn't throw that right hand immediately...
he might have been able to protect his head.  Hopefully.  Kendall
Stanton is rolling out of there now, heading back to the locker room. 
Fans, it's been a wild night of action here in Dallas but we're nowhere
near done yet.  We've still got a lot of action to come plus Alex
Martinez has sworn to reveal who he believes the Dragon is!

BW:  And City Jack retires!  RETIRES!

GM:  We don't know that, Bucky!

BW:  Dare to dream, Gordo.

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

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

PW:   Introducing first, already in the ring, hailing from Apple
Springs, Texas.  He stands five feet ten inches, and weighs in tonight
at two hundred and fifty pounds.  Here is...  RICK SCOTT!

[The mulleted Scott thrusts his fists in the air, drawing boos from the
crowd.  In preparation for his match, Scott begins throwing punches in
the air.]

PW:  And his opponent...

[Hard Row by the Black Keys hits the speakers, as loud cheers erupt
from the audience.]

PW:   Also hailing from Dallas, Texas.  Standing six feet, seven inches,
and weighing in tonight at two hundred and fifty pounds...

JAAAAAAACK LYNCH!

[The curtain pulls back to reveal the tall, lanky form of Jack Lynch. 
The tall Lynch is, as always, dressed all in black.   Atop his head is a
black cowboy hat.  His body is covered by a long black coat.  Its open,
and beneath it, we can see black wrestling trunks, and a black pad on
his right knee.  The only color is the silver trim on the toes of his
black cowboy boots.  On his right hand is a fingerless glove made of
black leather.  Lynch takes his time getting to the ring, and takes his
coat and cowboy hat off before he enters.  Once inside, he goes to his
corner, waiting for the bell.]

BW:  Oh jeez, here we go again!

GM: Bucky! What is it you have against the Lynch family? 

BW:  They make sick!  You see them, Gordo?  You got the barefoot one
walkin  around with hardly anything on, you got the one who does
nothin but smile at the girls, and then you got this one who... who...

GM:  Who what, Bucky? 

BW:  You know what he does!  I dont need to explain it to you. 

GM:  Oh brother. 

[Inside the ring, Jack Lynch and Rick Scott tie up, with the slightly
larger Jack pushing Scott back into the corner.  The referee slides
between them, and Jack releases the hold.]

GM:  Jack Lynch, showing the sportsmanship his family is known for, as
he gives the clean break.  

BW:  Dont buy it for a moment.  Thats what these Lynches do? 

GM: Bucky! Will you stop? 

[But as Jack backs away, the aggressive Scott reaches out, slapping
Lynch across the face.  The boos from the crowd follow immediately, as
Jack strides forward, until the referee blocks him and pushes him back,
which gives Scott the opportunity to charge forward, driving a knee into
Jacks stomach, doubling him over.]

BW:  Get him!  

GM:  Rick Scott seems to be taking your advice Bucky, hes laying in the
punches and kicks to Jack Lynch right now, keeping the oldest Lynch off
balance.  

[Scott sends Jack into the ropes and ducks his head, but Jack recovers
quickly enough to send a boot right into Scotts mouth.  That causes
Scott to lift his head and stumble backwards, and Jack launches himself
at him, hitting him with a clothesline that turns Scott inside out.]

BW:  Look at that!  Lynch is lifting Scott by his hair.  Why isnt he
being disqualified? 

GM: Calm down Bucky.  You didnt seem to care a minute ago when Rick
Scott was using closed fists. 

BW:  Thats different, and you know it!

[With Scott doubled over, Jack lifts him up by the waist, only to drop
him down again with a gutwrench suplex.  Then Jack sends Scott to the
ropes, and comes flying at him, knee lifted in air, connecting solidly
with Rick Scotts face.]

GM:  Jumping knee strike!  A patented Lynch family maneuver, no doubt
learned from the legendary patriarch, Blackjack Lynch!

BW:  If Id spawned those three kids, Id spend all my time kneein em
in the face too! 

[Jack whips Scott into the turnbuckle, and comes in after him, again,
the referee tries to intervene, but this time, Jack uses his arm to
block the referee and bypass him.]

BW:  He just shoved Meekly!  Disqualify him now!

GM:  It wasnt a shove so much as a nudge, and Meekly seems to be
willing to allow this. 

[With Scott backed into the corner, Jack hauls his hand back and...]

OOOOOOOOOO.....

GM: And Jack Lynch just slaps the taste out of Rick Scotts mouth. 

BW:  How is Meekly allowing this? 

GM:  You have to think thats payback Bucky.  Jack Lynch seemed content
to wrestle respectfully in the early going, until Rick Scott slapped
him.  If theres one thing I know about Jack Lynch, its that if you
upset him, hes as aggressive and violent as they come.

[Meekly finally pushes Jack out of the corner, and Rick Scott comes
charging forward, blindsiding Jack with a kick to the face that makes
Lynch stumble backwards.  Scott bounces himself off the ropes, and using
the momentum, hits Jack in the chest with a dropkick that brings Lynch
to the mat.  Scott bounces off the ropes again, and drives a knee into
Jacks ribs.]

BW:  All right! Here we go.  Get him, daddy!

GM:  One day, youre really going to have to explain your animosity
towards the Lynch family. 

BW: I already did, werent you listening?  These smiling, baby kissing
kids just make me sick!

[Scott goes to the middle turnbuckle, and waits for the dazed Jack to
get to his feet,.  With Lynch on his feet, Scott leaps forward, but gets
caught by Jack, who spins around, driving Scott hard into the mat with a
powerslam that draws a loud reaction from the crowd.]

BW:  No!  You were so close!  

[Jack stands behind Scott, waiting for him to get him, when he does, a
fired up Jack Lynch goes to work on him, sending him to the ropes and
dropping him with a dropkick of his own. Thats followed by another
Irish whip and a high back body drop, before Lynch drops a fist into the
prone Scotts face.   A huge atomic drop draws cheers from the crowd and
sends Scott chest first into the turnbuckle.]

GM:  And now, Jack is looking towards the crowd.  

[And why is he looking towards the crowd? Because theyre all chanting
one thing.]

CLAW CLAW CLAW CLAW!!! 

[Jack looks to the audience and grins, saying Wait for it!  to the
continued cheers of the crowd.]

GM:  Scott slowly coming out of the corner, turning around towards Jack
Lynch, could we be seeing the Iron Claw the fans are clamoring for? 

BW:  We better not!  I cant take any more bad news tonight!

[But its not the claw that comes, as Jack locks his arms around Scotts
waist, and lifts him up, dropping him back down with a big belly to
belly suplex.   Then, Jack stands and backs up, looking over his
shoulder.  The words its time pass his lips, and he lifts his right
hand up, fingers curling forward.]

GM:  Here it comes! 

BW:  NO NO NO!

[A dazed Scott gets to his feet, and moves forward, stumbling right into
the hand of Jack Lynch.  Everyone is on their feet now!]

GM:  IRON CLAW!! HE HAS IT ON TIGHT!

BW:  Isnt the claw illegal?

GM:  It is not illegal! Stop right now!

[Jack squeezes as hard as he can.  The eldest Lynchs own face turns
red, as he cranks his fingers into Scotts skull.  The look of
determination on Jack Lynchs face is intense, as he applies steadily
increasing pressure, until Scotts arms flail helplessly and his legs
buckle, his shoulders hitting the mat.  Jack bears down harder, placing
a knee on Scotts chest as he holds the claw.]

GM:  COVER! ONE TWO THREE!

PW:  Your winner of the match, JAAAAACK LYYYYNNNCHHHH!!!

[Jack Lynch thrusts his arms in the air as Hard Row by the Black Keys
begins to play throughout the arena again. The cheers from the females
in the crowd get louder as Travis Lynch, still wearing his wrestling
attire and a tight fitting black t-shirt and James Lynch, also in his
wrestling attire make their way to the ringside area to join Mark
Stegglet.]

GM: Here come the rest of the Lynch clan.

BW: Dont they ever talk on their own? 

[Travis pats Mark Stegglet on the shoulder and claps as his eldest
brother exits the ring and joins them.]

MS: Another night and another series of impressive wins for the Lynch
boys here tonight.

[A high pitched I LOVE YOU TRAVIS! comes forth from a lovely female in
the front row and Travis flashes his pearly whites at her as he takes
the microphone from Mark Stegglet.]

TL: I love you too honey.

[The woman smiles widely and looks as though she is going to faint.]

TL: What you just witnessed tonight Mark was what the PCW lived night
after night. The Lynch boys stepping into that squared circle in any
combination and racking up the wins.

[Travis smiles again as he looks at his two brothers.]

TL: And that shouldnt come as any surprise as the blood that pumps
through me is the same blood that pumps through Jack and James as well. 

[Travis pats James on the shoulder and then points quickly to the oldest
of the Lynches.]

TL: The bond of Lynch brothers is stronger than anything else going the
AWA today. We dont care if you teamed for five minutes or five years.
Weve been a unit all our lives  we know one another better than our
own dad knows us.  

[Travis nods in agreement to his own statement.]

TL: And its that fact that will continue to help us rack up the wins
here in the AWA.

[The Lynch boys are all smiles today.  The AWA fans have embraced the
famous Texas wrestling family.  James Lynch backs what his brother says
as he takes the microphone.]

JL: After a few shows now the boys in the back are starting to find out
that we can back up the hype that has been attached to our name.  In
Texas we built a following by sticking by the Lynch way and being darned
good at it.

[Jack and Travis nod.]

JL: Now we have said it before, but let me say it again for those who
are a little hard at hearing.  WE are here to wrestle the best the AWA
has to offer.  We were taught at an early age to never back down from a
fight.  And AWA is the place to be!

[Pro AWA POP!]

JL: Our dance card always has room for more.  We arent hard to find. 
Look for all the ladies surrounding Travis. 

[The Lynch boys are full of smiles.]

JL: But you better bet your bottom dollar that when you step inside the
ring with one or more of us.  You are going to have a fight to the end
on your hand.  We only know how to live in this business one way. 

Respect the business.

Stand by your brother.

And _never_ back down.

[James turns and underhand tosses the microphone to the oldest brother,
Jack.  The gravel voiced elder brother wipes some sweat from his brow,
and then begins to speak.]

JL:  First off, I wanna say...

[But the Jack curse strikes the Lynch in black, as hes cut off by a
high pitched female voice screaming LET TRAVIS TALK AGAIN!  Jack
shakes his head and reaches out, taking his black cowboy hat from the
ringside attendant, slowly putting it on.]

JL:  Now, now, Travs already had his turn. 

First thing I wanna do is thank Scotty Storm for welcoming us to the
AWA.  Nothing makes me happier than to know that theres good men like
Scotty and Marty here in the AWA.  Any time you two boys wanna get
together, the first round will be on us. 

Now then, there is something else to address.  And Im afraid it aint
good news.  Theres a sickness deep in the heart of the AWA.  Yeah, we
just got here, but maybe it takes a newcomers perspective to see it.

But what I see is guys like Nenshou spittin mist in poor Brian Von
Brauns eyes, and then I see that maniac Monosso smashin his leg.  I
see the tag team titles around the waists of two thugs whose only
ambition seems to be kow-towin to the likes of Mark Langseth and Joe
Petrow.  I see our National Champion, a guy _every_ wrestler should
respect, getting hit with a loaded boot and pinned by those damned
Bombers.  I see paid assassins gunnin for a true wrestling legend.  And
on and on and on, right down the line.

Now, some people might look at this as nothing but business as usual. 
But I know better.  I aint that old, but Ive been up and down the road
a couple of times.  And I know what happens when things like this pile
up and go unchecked.  That kinda corruption, it rots a place from the
inside out.

So, I ask myself, whatre we gonna do about it?

[Jack tilts his hat back and lifts his head, staring straight ahead.]

JL:  Well, its real simple.  The Lynch family aint never been much for
following.  Weve always been leaders.  So thats what we do.

We lead by example.

James already showed the way in Laredo, when he lent a hand to Williams
and Donovan.  The call came out for help, and James was right there, his
bare feet carryin him as fast as they could towards helping a man out
when he needed it.  Thats what well do every time out.  Were not
gonna come out and stick our noses in someone elses business.  But if
the call goes out for help?  Then fellas, you got it.  Just think of
Travis, James and Jack as the cavalry.  You send out that smoke signal,
and one, or all of us, will come running, guaranteed.

One last thing, then Ill shut up so you ladies can spend a couple
silent moments admiring Travis.

[High pitched pop, as the camera flashes to Travis, his winning smile
shining.]

JL:  Add three more to the Rumble! And the rest of you? Watch out!

[The crowd roars for the announcement.  The brothers pose for a moment,
before stepping away, as we cut back to Bucky and Gordon.]

BW:  WHAT?!  All THREE of them are in the Rumble?  How is that fair?!

GM:  What's wrong with that?  You didn't mind when the entire Southern
Syndicate joined the Rumble last year!

BW:  That was different!

GM:  How?

BW:  It just... it was, Myers!  Don't argue with me!

GM:  Jack, James, and Travis Lynch have joined the Rumble and they've
put the entire AWA on notice!  The cavalry has come to town, fans!  And
they're going to-

[The crowd buzzes, and the cameras soon swivel to show James Monosso
walking down the aisle.]

GM: James Monosso is coming to ringside, Bucky!

BW: There's nobody else out here, Gordo!  *gulp*  If he starts headin'
this way, I'm out of here!

GM: Oh, no... get your track shoes on!

[Monosso is indeed heading for the broadcast position.  Now most of the
fans see him, and boo loudly.]

BW: Look, all I know is that he's got no cause ta be lookin' for me. 
But all them things you said about him?  So I'm sorry, Gordo.  It was
nice knowin' ya.

[James grabs the house mic, and points at the booth.]

JM: Alright, I came out here for YOU...

BW: Can I have your car when you're gone, Gordo?

JM: ...Bucky Wilde!

BW: And your- OHMYGODDIDHEJUSTSAYBUCKYWILDE?!

JM: GET OVER HERE.

[Bucky is pale as vanilla ice cream as he slowly stands up, a look of
horror on his face.  Monosso just seems impatient.  The crowd isn't sure
how to react to this; most still boo, though a couple people cheer
because they want to see poor Bucky get hurt.  They're probably all
Slush fans.  Just sayin'.]

GM: Wait just a minute, Monosso!  You can't just...

JM: Myers, if you don't want me to staple your upper lip to that table,
you'll stop it right now.  I want Bucky Wilde right here, right now!

[Bucky sort of staggers over, shaking in fear.  He starts rambling at
high speed, and a somewhat higher pitch than usual.]

BW: What'd I do?  What'd I do?  It wasn't you that I cut off in the
parkin' lot, was it?!  I swear I thought it was Sweet Daddy Williams! 
Oh... oh... don't tell me that was your lunchbag I took from the locker
room!  Seriously, I thought it was Jim Watkins'! ...wait, NO!  I THOUGHT
THAT WAS GORDON'S WALLET!  I only took the cash!  Here, I'll give it ba-

JM: SHUT UP.

BW: Shutting up, sir!

JM: I called you out here because... I'm tired of Jason Dane.  He never
listens to anything I say, and so I have to rehash myself over and over.

BW: Well, uh, they have him do that for new viewers and to refresh pe-

JM: HE'S AN IDIOT.  So I'm gonna have you interview me, 'cause you're a
lot better at this than he is.  Here.  Go.

[James hands Bucky the microphone.  Suddenly, it sinks into Wilde's head
what Monosso is saying.  The whole 'utter fear' reaction changes in a
flash, and it's back to pompous, smiling, cocksure Bucky Wilde.  This is
accompanied by booing, of course, as heels showing favoritism to heels
is never welcome.]

BW: That's right, and I personally apologize for underestimating your
class and intelligence, Mr. Monosso.

JM: Accepted.

GM: Oh, brother...

BW: So, we'll go right to the topics you haven't covered.  Why did you
go after Lori Dane and Melissa Cannon on the Main Event.  Ha, Jason
didn't even ask and that's his own sister!

JM: Tell me about it.  I strangled the wrong one.  But anyway.  I want
to issue a formal apology.  When I saw Michaelson's reaction last week,
I realized that I made a big oversight in all this.  I did something
that I had no need to do, and I'm sorry.

[Beat.  The crowd is puzzled.]

JM: To Melissa Cannon.  Sorry, Melissa.

[The fans boo... not because of his apology to Melissa, but because of
the implication by omission.]

JM: She's maybe one of a handful of people here that never did me wrong.
 I wasn't bein' paid to choke her like that.  Not like Percy was ta have
Nenshou spit in her face.  Now... if I _was_ paid to do that, I would
have.  But that's sort of Nenshou's thing, you know.  Anyway, I didn't
need to be choking Melissa.  She was just kinda there and I got carried
away.  I didn't even realize I did it until I went back and looked at
the tape.  Sometimes that happens... ya know, randomly-triggered killing
rage.  You know how it is to be able to snap at any time and just start
annihilating people, Bucky?

[The shaking is back, and Bucky wilts juuust a bit.]

BW: Not... personally.

JM: Good.  It means people won't annoy you by asking about it.

[Bucky has to think long and hard about whether he wants to ask the next
question.]

BW: Well, James... ya know, as the
At-Least-Three-Time-Announcer-Of-The-Year, I have to ask the questions
that my subjects don't like sometimes.  So I gotta ask, then... why'd ya
go after Lori Dane?  Did somebody pay ya ta do it?

JM: No.

BW: But didn't ya say that money was your only motivation?

JM: Yes.

BW: So, then... how does that make ya money?

JM: It doesn't.

BW: I'm... confused.

JM: Well, let me help you understand something.  Do you remember all
that stuff I said about this wrestlin' business bein' a horrible death
trap that eats us wrestlers alive?  How it's like livin' through your
own death, protracted for twenty or more years?  An' you're not
qualified ta do anything else, the promoters make sure of it, they make
sure ya can't get a normal job so they own ya an' can pay whatever they
feel like.  The things I said about how this life is a hellish waking
nightmare of pain and failure, you remember?  And we have people like,
guess who, Todd Michaelson tryin' ta sucker new people in?

So here we had Lori Dane try to drag poor dumb Melissa back down into
the pit she almost escaped.  Tryin' to show all the young girls out
there to never give up on their dreams!  Oh, what an inspirin' story,
about how your dreams of bein' a crippled shell of a human being by age
thirty, with nothin' but ten-to-twenty more years of slow torture before
the serious torture of homelessness, destitution, and complete physical
disability kick in!

And you're upset I choked her?  I SHOULDA GOT A MEDAL!

[BOOOOOOOOOO!]

JM: I showed all them young girls to STOP chasin' your dreams!  Do you
dream of this?  DO YOU DREAM OF THIS?!

[Monosso steps over to the ring apron and begins pounding it with both
fists.]

JM: YOUR DREAMS ARE NIGHTMARES, YOU IDIOTS!  GO PUT "THE WRESTLER" ON
REPEAT IN YOUR DVD PLAYERS UNTIL YOU GET A CLUE!  All Melissa Cannon did
was get used as a tool ta sucker in some more dumb kids to this sport...
ya know what?  Now that I think about it... I take back my apology.  I
shoulda chokeslammed BOTH of them!

[HAAAATE!  The jeering is intense, but Monosso just sneers at the
crowd.]

JM: If any of you young girls are inspired by Melissa's "dream match",
then get inspired by this: most women in this sport are just sellin'
their bodies, an' half of these drunks in the crowd think that means
they're free for the taking any time!  Do you know how often I usedta
hafta break some fool's arm or leg because they started goin' after
female 'talent' at a hotel or out on the street?  If yer gonna do that,
go all the way and be-

[The audio cuts out for a moment - seven second delay?]

JM: - stay out of this sport!  At least then you won't have a broken
back to go with your broken pride.

[Bucky's eyes are like saucers, that Monosso would even go in this
direction.  The fans boo vehemently.]

JM: So that's why I choked Dane.  And was gonna slam her straight on her
back, too!  But then the OTHER enabler came out! Well, ya know what? 
Next time you walk into the Combat Corner, Michaelson, I want you ta
remember everything I just said. An' I want you ta show this interview
ta all your dumb kids.  An' tell 'em why I'm wrong!  Go on... lie!  I
want them ta know it, so when they find out for themselves I told the
truth... just like Preston is slowly gonna find out as he goes on this
dumb quest for 'redemption'... they'll treat you with all the respect
you deserve.

Just like I did two weeks ago.

[BOOOOOOOO!]

JM: And you'd have to be INSANE to think otherwise!

[Monosso marches off, leaving Bucky behind to just stare in amazement.]

BW: That... was a man who's on a mission, I guess.

GM: That was disgusting!  I can't believe he said...

BW: That part was true, though!  Most of these men in the crowd wouldn't
know howta treat a dog, let alone a lady!  Yeah, women in this sport
have a hard time outside the ring sometimes.  Ain't that one of the
reasons Johnny Casanova is lookin' for a bodyguard?  See, Monosso
doesn't just make stuff up!  He was tryin' ta do the world a favor when
he went after Lori Dane!

GM:  Monosso's... where is he going?  He's just wandering around the
ring now, shouting at people!  Look out!

[Monosso flips over the timekeeper's table with a roar, sending AWA
employees scurrying.

Suddenly, the Marine Corps Hymn starts to play over the PA!  The fans
start to cheer for the instantly recognizable patriotic theme!]

BW: Wait... waitaminute!  Don't tell me...

[For the first time in quite a long time, "Stars And Stripes" Clayton
Shaw marches down the aisle!  The well-built former Marine with the
black buzzcut and serious expression gets a big reaction from the fans
who remember him.  He wears an autumn-camo tight top with cutoff sleeves
under a two-strap black singlet, black combat boots with stars and
stripes on the sides, and taped wrists.]

GM: CLAYTON SHAW!  The patriotic former Marine became a top trainer at
the Combat Corner while rehabilitating various injuries.  Rumor had it
that he's been healthy for a while, and is ready to resume his own
career!

BW: I hope he rehabbed his brain cells while he was there, daddy,
because all that hand-slappin', baby-kissin', flag-wavin', fan-panderin'
nonsense didn't get him real far when push came ta shove.

GM: But it made him popular!  Listen to this!

[As Shaw enters the ring for his match, we hear a chant:

"WEL-COME BACK!  WEL-COME BACK!  WEL-COME BACK!"

Shaw nods and waves in response before heading to Phil Watson who hands
over the house mic.  Shaw glares outside the ring at James Monosso who
has decided to smash the steel ringside barricade with a chair for a
while.]

BW: This goof wasn't even scheduled tonight!  What's he doin'?

GM: He's about to explain himself, it seems...

[The fan favorite waits for the chant to die down, and speaks.]

CS: Thank you!

But tonight, this fight, is not about me.  See, I wasn't scheduled to
wrestle here tonight.  I got my clearance to wrestle back in December,
but I was busy training a good group of kids up at the Combat Corner.  

Tonight, you notice that I'm missing something.  I came to the ring
without something that I've never come to the ring without.  I'm not
carrying my flag.  My American flag.

[The crowd murmurs, not sure where this is going.]

BW: Maybe he smartened up and is gonna focus on himself for a change!

CS: I love my country, and every time I fight, I fight for my country! 
That's why I wave the flag.  But tonight... this is different.  I'm not
fighting for my country tonight.

I came in from a great time at the Combat Corner, with future world
champions and superstars mixed into a group of great young men.  Young
men that love this sport.  LOVE this sport!  They can't wait to be
professional wrestlers, man.  They live it and breathe it, and are
paying the dues... paying the price to be a wrestler.  It's not a small
price!  It is pain and sacrifice!  It is blood and sweat and tears!  But
they do it because they have dreams.  You can see it in their eyes. 
They re-energized me.  They made me remember!  They made me remember my
dreams, rekindled that love and that fire, and made me proud to be a
wrestler!

So I came back here tonight to talk about a return... and while I was in
the back a few moments ago, I heard something.  Something that made me
sick to my stomach!

I heard James Monosso.

[BOOOOOO!  Monosso's head snaps up, now glaring at the man who dared to
speak his name!]

GM:  Uh oh.

BW:  This guy's dumber than I remember.

[Shaw points a finger at Monosso, directly addressing him now.]

CS: Monosso, you piece of garbage!  You were a former World Heavyweight
Champion!  I was there in the arena the night you beat Jim Thorgen for
the championship... a steel cage match in New York.  You made him submit
with the Hangman.  Yeah... you say nobody remembers, but _I_ remember. 
I was in that crowd, and when I got out of the service, my love for this
sport brought me here!  And to hear you ATTACK THESE KIDS...

[The crowd roars their support for Shaw who is turning red with anger. 
Monosso cocks his head as he looks up at him, almost like a confused
animal.]

CS:  I didn't come here to fight for my country, because I came here to
fight for these kids at the Combat Corner.  Todd's kids... MY kids!  I
told the matchmakers that I wanted to take the place of whoever they had
fighting Monosso, because I'm gonna show those guys that James Monosso
is a bitter old man who is trying to blame this great sport for his own
failures!  I'm gonna show the world that when that dreams ARE worth
fighting for!  

And like I did with the Marines, I will do tonight... I'm going to show
the world that when the things you love come under attack... YOU FIGHT
FOR THEM!

[The fans cheer Shaw as he spikes the mic to the mat, waving for Monosso
to get into the ring...

Monosso stares at him for a long, long moment...

...and then lets loose an anguished scream.  There is no delay... an
irate Monosso, his eyes bulging with irrational hatred, leaps up on the
apron, trying to enter when Clayton Shaw attacks with a forearm as
Monosso steps through the ropes!]

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

GM: Clayton Shaw attacking immediately, because he knows Monosso will
not wait!  They are exchanging blows!

BW: And this guy is TEACHING the next generation?!  And he's trading
strikes with Monosso?!  I hope he don't teach strategy, Gordo!

GM: These blows doing nothing to Monosso, who... COME ON!

[Monosso fishhooks Shaw's mouth, and uses that to wrench him down into a
kneesmash... right into said mouth.  While the fishhook is still
applied.]

BW: Ow.  Ow.  OW.

GM: Brutal tactics by James Monosso, who is now blatantly choking
Clayton Shaw!

BW: What in THE heck was Clayton Shaw thinkin', Gordo?  He came here ta
FIGHT Monosso?  HOW?  Wrestle him, I could see that.  Pin him or beat
him... farfetched but possible.  FIGHT HIM?  He better have his old
Marines unit backin' him up, an' they better come armed, daddy.

GM: Never underestimate this man's heart.

BW: Or his stupidity.

GM: Monosso picking up Shaw, and bodyslamming him down.  And now...
using the bootlaces!  Disgusting!
 
BW: Raked them laces across his face!  That's an old school trick most
young wrestlers forgot, Gordo!  Monosso's a lot older than most guys
realize.  He's well into his forties.

GM: Indeed.  Choking Shaw on the mat... Clayton Shaw with an armbar to
escape!  This is what he must do, Bucky Wilde... Clayton Shaw is not a
standout technician, but rather a smashmouth wrestler.  Even so, he must
use the technical skills that he has in order to remove Monosso from his
dominant position.

BW: Yeah, but the problem is that Shaw is a fighter.  He likes ta mix it
up.  He's good at it.  But that don't matter against Monosso.  

GM: We'll see.  Every man has his breaking point.  Shaw using the armbar
to get Monosso up... armwringer... shortarm clothesline!  To the chest,
and that can take the wind out of the man!  And an atomic drop followup!

[Cheer!]

BW: This is a smarter tack, but he still hasta put him away somehow
eventually.

GM: Irish-whip into the corner by Clayton Shaw, and CHARGES IN WITH A
BIG CLOTHESLINE!  Monosso reeling!

BW: How long can he keep up the adrenaline, though?  

GM: Irish-Whip into the other corner... another big clothesline!  Shaw
on the second rope now... big punches from the mount!

ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
FOUR!
FIVE!
SIX!
SEVEN!
EIGHT!
N...O!

[The fans count along, but on the ninth punch, Monosso scoops the legs,
takes a big step out of the corner, and drives his man down with the
inverted atomic drop!  Shaw's face conveys the agony as he crumples to
the mat!]

GM: Inverted atomic drop, and well-executed by Monosso!  Clayton Shaw's
offensive flurry cut short there, and the madman not looking any the
worse for wear.

BW: Because ya can't wear him down, Gordo.  Not that way.

GM: Monosso with a vicious kick to the chest, and another!  Clayton
getting up, and Monosso taking him back down with a snapmare.  And
now... what is this hold?  THAT'S ILLEGAL!

BW: The Assassin's Spike, Gordo!  I knew he was focusing on the National
Ti-

GM: That is NOT the Assassin's Spike!

[Indeed, it is not.  Monosso has extended a thumb and is applying
pressure to the neck, in a manner very similar to the rechristened Asian
Spike.  But unlike the legal version which intends to close off an
artery on the side of the neck, this one is dug right ino the Adam's
Apple and trachea of Clayton Shaw!  The fans boo lustily, and Meekly
applies the count!]

BW: See?  See?  I told you the Assassin's Spike was an illegal hold!

GM: THAT IS NOT... for crying out loud, that's just a blatant choke!

BW: Like I've been saying all along!  You admitted it and the AWA
officials have obviously come to their senses.

GM: The referee having to physically force a break, which is a terrible
thing to do... Monosso could snap and go after him!  Just disqualify the
maniac if he insists on breaking the rules!

BW: But then he would definitely snap and go after you!

GM: James Monosso lifting up Clayton Shaw... and down across the knee
with a backbreaker!  Now... scooping him right off of his own knee, what
power... AND A BRUTAL POWER SLAM!

BW: That's it.  Call it a night, Private Shaw.  

GM: Monosso not going for the cover, instead he crashes down with the
elbow drop!  The look of sheer anger on his face, Bucky Wilde, tells me
that Clayton Shaw hit a nerve with him.

BW: Why in the name of Buckthorn Wilde you'd want to touch a nerve with
James Monosso absolutely flabbergasts me, daddy.  Just straight
befoozles me.  Why?  Did he take out life insurance and is tryin' ta
collect it so he can buy a new house?  Judgin' from what I see, he might
be that dumb!

GM: Now... what is this?  A Boston Crab?  A reverse Boston Crab?

[Monosso straddles the back of Shaw and hooks his feet under his arms,
just as if he was going for an Inverted Boston Crab.  With the lower
body thus elevated off the canvas, Monosso keeps his upper arms tight
against his body to keep the feet trapped, bends down to put pressure
on, grabs Shaw's ears, and starts rubbing his face into the canvas!  The
crowd boos the strange yet nasty move.]

BW: OW OW OW!

GM: What a horrible thing to do to a man!  The matburn on Shaw's face
will be exceedingly painful and last for days!

BW: Right, cause wrestlers build up a resistance; they get tough skin
because they get matburn all over all the time.  But rarely the face,
Gordo!  There's no resistance there!  Monosso is crazy, but he knows
EXACTLY what he's doin'.

GM: The madman pummels his face into the mat and lets go!  Clayton Shaw
started hot, but Monosso cooled him off in a hurry.  Monosso with a
headbutt... and a spinebuster!  

BW: Monosso is tearin' Clayton Shaw apart now.  

GM: Shaw downed, and Monosso off the ropes... KING KONG KNEEDROP...

[HUGE POP!]

BW: NO!  THE KING KONG KNEEDROP MISSED!

GM: IT DID, AND SHAW IS STILL ALIVE!  Clayton Shaw dragging himself up;
listen to these fans get behind him!

[Stomping and clapping to rally Shaw begins, and echoes across the
Crockett Colosseum.]

BW: Shaw's got one chance, daddy.  One!

GM: Big right hand by Shaw!  And... no effect!  Monosso with a left hand
to the ribs, and scooping Shaw overhead!  Shaw floats down behind... AND
SPIKES THE BACK OF HIS HEAD TO THE CANVAS!

[The improvised chinlock slam, what we might call an Edge-O-Matic in the
"real" world, brings the crowd to their feet even as Clayton struggles
to his.  Shaw pumps his left hand to draw more energy from the fans by
encouraging their cheers.  And then... he runs up to the middle rope,
turns, and strikes!]

GM: MISSILE SHOULDERBLOCK OFF THE SECOND TURNBUCKLE!

BW: That might knock the wind out of Monosso!  If Clayton can follow up
quick enough with some pin combination move or somethin'...

[Shaw backs up to a corner, and waves Monosso up.  James slowly drags
himself up, and Clayton dashes, executing another fourth-wall tribute
move to a huge roar from the fans!]

GM: SPEAR!  SPEAR!  HE GOT ALL OF IT!  

BW: NO!

GM: THE COVER!  ONE!  TWO!  ...NO!

[He got two, but barely that as Monosso powered out with a huge kickout.
 Shaw scrambles to his feet, gets behind a rising Monosso, and stretches
his arms out.  The fans react in anticipation!] 

GM: That couldn't defeat Monosso... but this could!

BW: Uh, oh!  Choking him out might work!

GM: HE HAS THE COBRA CLUTCH LOCKED IN!  THE _STARS AND STRIPES FOREVER_!

[MASSIVE ROAR FROM THE CROWD!  Monosso is struggling!]

BW: Oh, no!  

GM:  Shaw starts to swing him around... if he gets his feet off the
canvas, it's over!

BW: NO!

GM: Swinging... swinging... GOOD NIGHT!

[* T H U D ! *]

[The cheers are cut off in one fell, merciless swoop, along with the
swinging cobra clutch.  Monosso gets his feet under him, stops his
momentum and transfers it to Shaw by gripping his clutch wrist, forcing
his way out of the hold with sheer power, and turning Clayton Shaw into
a shortarm short chokeslam that shakes the ring!]

BW: Clayton Shaw's gonna be SEEIN' stars forever after that one, daddy! 
Wham!

GM: And Monosso off the ropes to follow up... AND THIS TIME THE KING
KONG KNEEDROP CONNECTS!

[The high-impact kneedrop, featuring Monosso swinging his knee up to
nearly head level before bringing it down with a leap and an axe-like
motion, smashes Shaw flush.  The fans react for that vicious-looking
maneuver.]

BW: He can pin him right now, Gordo.

GM: I don't think so.  Clayton Shaw is NOT your average man.

BW: Monosso ain't even average for a horror movie monster, daddy.  He'd
make Freddy Kreuger move outta Elm Street.

GM: And look at... what... is Monosso... what is he DOING?

[The uncharacteristic blubbering by Gordon is triggered by James
suddenly pacing aimlessly around the ring, talking to himself in anger. 
He gets more and more furious the more he goes.  Finally, he stops,
bends down, and screams in the ear of a rising Clayton Shaw...]

JM: "YOU WANT TO JUDGE ME, YOU HYPOCRITE?!"

[And with that, Monosso uncorks a second King Kong Kneedrop, this one
from a standing position, and this one crashing into the back of Shaw's
head as he was on his hands and knees.  Clayton's head spikes into the
mat at high speed, and the fans are in shock at how vicious that
looked.]

GM: OH GOOD GRIEF!  NOW I believe he could pin him!

BW: And now I believe he's just gettin' started.  Shaw ain't never gonna
run his mouth about James Monosso again!

GM: Monosso scooping Clayton Shaw off the mat... and a kneelift right to
the ribs sends Shaw through the ropes to the floor!

[The instincts of the former Marine serve him well, as Clayton hooks the
ropes to arrest his momentum.  He still hits the floor, but the impact
is much more manageable.]

BW: Got good news and bad news for ya, Private Shaw.  Good news is ya
cushioned your fall.  Bad news?  Ya set yourself up for worse!

[The fans pick up on it quickly.   Monosso steps out onto the apron as
Clayton Shaw stands up right next to said apron.  They try to warn him,
but the fans' screams are not heard and processed in time... Monosso
runs down the apron and plants his size seventeen boot into Shaw's head
with the running stomp!  This is ike the ceiling coming down on your
head; Shaw flops flat on his back, flattened by the hard blow to the
crown of the skull!]

BW: Ha ha ha!  Oh, man, I haven't seen him do that one in a while.  Love
it!  It's like a six foot tall guy standin' straight up in a five foot
tall room! 

GM: It is a highly effective tactic.  The stomp conveys much more body
weight than a kick, and having the high ground to stomp the head of a
standing opponent down... that is much, much worse than a normal stomp
or kick.  And on top of that, you only have a concrete floor to land on.

[James runs all the way down the steps, and approaches Shaw.  He picks
up the downed Marine, and scoops him over his shoulders!  The people
stand as this could get ugly!]

GM: Now the referee cannot allow this!

BW: He's countin'.  Relax.

GM: No!  He needs to act to protect the well-being of... OH, NO!  NO!

[*CLANG*THUD!*]

BW: WOO!  THAT'S IT, DADDY!  NO MORE CLAYTON SHAW!

[With his man up in the fireman's lift, Monosso ran at the ringpost,
bashed Clayton's head into it, and used the momentum from that to slam
him backwards onto the concrete floor!  The reaction is horrified, and
the fans shriek, then boo their hearts out.]

GM: HAPPY VALLEY DRIVER!  HAPPY VALLEY DRIVER USING THE RINGPOST TO THE
CONCRETE!  THAT WAS A DELIBERATE ATTEMPT TO END THIS MAN'S CAREER!

BW: Gordon, let me sum up Clayton's pre-match comments: "James Monosso,
please kill me."

GM: No excuse!

BW: It's like dippin' yerself in meat sauce, handin' Hannibal Lecter a
knife an 'fork, an' doin' the Chicken Dance in front of him!

GM: NO EXCUSE!  THAT WAS DEMENTED!

[The sociopathic Monosso lifts up Clayton... presses him overhead... and
dashes towards the ring.  He heaves his opponent over the top rope into
the ring, yelling:]

JM: "GET BACK IN THERE!"

BW: Ha!  It was an Inverted Get-Out-Of-Here, daddy!  Showin' that
adaptability!

[As the crowd continues to harangue him, Monosso follows his man in.  He
then bends down and screams at his barely-moving opponent.]

JM: "YOU JUDGE ME?!  YOU WANNA PROVE ME WRONG?!  YOU WANNA PROVE ME
WRONG?!  THEY'LL SEE I WAS RIGHT WHEN I CRIPPLE YOU, YOU HYPOCRITE!"

GM: Oh, no!  Monosso declaring his intentions, and they're inhuman! 

BW: Inhuman?  Clearly, you ain't familiar with th' track record of th'
human race, Gordo.

GM: Monosso scooping a barely-conscious Clayton Shaw off the mat...
WHIPS HIM THROUGH THE TURNBUCKLES INTO THE RINGPOST!  NO!  YOU KNOW WHAT
THIS MEANS!

BW: CONCUSSIONIZER!  COMIN' UP!

[As one, the capacity crowd pleads for Shaw to move.  He is
semiconscious, his head stirring next to the ringpost into which his
shoulder collided just moments ago.  His upper body rests on top of the
middle turnbuckle.  Monosso steps onto the apron, gets a running
start...]

GM: MOVE, CLAYTON!  MOVE!

[...and smashes his foot right into Clayton Shaw's skull, crushing it
into the ringpost!  All two-eighty-eight comes in behind it, using
Shaw's head to arrest his momentum!]

GM: ...no.

BW: Oh, yes!  Someone send this guy's brain ta Boston for study, daddy!

GM: That's NOT funny!

[The fans are silenced mometarily, as that move secures the end.  Shaw
is out.  He remains slumped on the turnbuckles, and Monosso continues to
scream, rant, and rave.]

JM: "TAKE A GOOD LOOK!  YOU DUMB KIDS!  GET OUT OF THIS SPORT!  THIS IS
WHAT WILL HAPPEN TO ALL OF YOU!"

[And with that... he backs up down the apron again.  The place ERUPTS. 
Boos come down from everywhere!]

GM: NO!  NO!  DEAR LORD, NO!  NOT TWO OF THEM! 

BW: We're gonna go from a Concussionator to a scene from Scanners!  I
mean, what do ya call a move that explodes a head?!

GM: DON'T LET HIM DO THIS!

BW: Oooh, ooh, I got it.  I'll call this one!

[Monosso lines it up, and rushes down the apron...]

BW: HERE COMES... THE FOOT OF THE NORTH STAR!

[The foot connects... with the ringpost!  The fans cheer like crazy! 
And Monosso just glares down from the ring with a hateful rage at the
reason for his miss:

Todd Michealson.

The Combat Corner headmaster, and the man who has been verbally and
physically abused by Monosso of late has come to the ring and pulled out
Clayton Shaw before the final strike could land.  The former wrestler
and broadcaster scoops his friend and employee in a fireman's lift, and
takes him down the aisle as quickly as he can.  AWA Security closes
ranks behind him, ready to intercept should Monosso chase.]

GM: THANK GOODNESS!  TODD MICHAELSON MAY HAVE SAVED CLAYTON'S CAREER!

BW: HE HAS NO BUSINESS DOIN' THAT!

GM: Monosso has no business trying to deliberately cripple and destroy
the lives of other human beings!  

BW: Then if the consequeces are so bad, Gordo... it's simple!  Don't
trigger 'em!  Didn't ya hear Childes earlier, talkin' about what the
Alliance did ta Von Braun?  This is the same!  If ya don't want the
horns, don't mess with the bull!  How simple is that?!

[Monosso reenters the ring, and shouts over the ropes at a retreating
Michaelson, who has his escape covered by armed men.  As he does,
referee Meekly reaches ten.]

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

GM: Monosso will win by countout, but he's not satisfied!  LOOK OUT!  HE
TOOK A SWING AT THE REFEREE!

BW: Meekly ain't dumb, Gordo... he was runnin' when Monosso turned
around!

GM: That should be grounds for a reversed decision!

BW: Unlikely!  One, he didn't connect, an' two, that'd be grounds for a
funeral.  Meekly's funeral!

[Phil Watson makes it official.]

PW: The winner of the match, as the result of a countout... JAMES
MONOSSO!

[The crowd jeers the announcement.]

GM: Monosso gets the win, but he's acting as if he lost!  Monosso out of
the ring now, and... he just threw a chair across the arena!  That could
have hit a fan!

BW: It didn't, so he might have to try again!

GM: MONOSSO GOING INTO THE CROWD!  HE IS ATTACKING A SECURITY MEMBER! 
JAMES MONOSSO HAS LOST IT!  MONOSSO HAS SNAPPED, AND HE'S IN THE CROWD!

BW: Oh, man.  Hope we got that litigation insurance!

GM: WE HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE, AND GET TO COMMERCIAL!  SOMEBODY GET
THIS MADMAN UNDER CONTROL!

[We cut to commercial as Monosso takes a big looping swing at some fans,
which thankfully misses wildly.

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

"Have you ever dreamed of fame?"

[Cut a little closer.]

"Of glory?"

[A little closer.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Two young students are grappling on the canvas.]

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

You want to wrestle!"

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

...and then back up to live action where Jason Dane is standing by on
the interview platform.]

JD: Alright, ladies and gentlemen, later on tonight: the big grudge
match between the enigmatic Corax and my guest at this time, Sultan Azam
Sharif.

[The fans boo as Sharif stomps out.  He is flagless at the moment, and
despite the baggy flowing reddish-brown bisht and white kaffiyeh
obscuring most of his body, it is very easy to read his body language. 
He went way past 'pissed off' and is hovering somewhere near 'about to
axe-murder someone'.  More notably than that... he's alone.]

JD: Sultan, we've heard reports that Count Adrian Bathwaite has left the
building here tonight after what happened earlier.  Is that true?

[Sharif takes a moment to compose himself.  He makes a gentle motion,
palms down, to indicate that he needs a moment to calm down.  When he
finally speaks, he does so in a low but clearly edgy tone.]

SAS: Na'am, yes, dot is cooruckt.  Mistair Jahsun Dan, aasef, aasef, but
I gotta ask dot all deh peepell, tousan-tousan peepell in Dallus Texus
here in Crockut Coaloseum, un all deh meelyun peepell vatching on TV: I
gotta ask you peepell to please, if you have young chaildrun, sond them
avay from TV.  If you have young chaildrun here in arena, Dallus Texus,
please sond them home.  Cause vat Corvax do, ven he hit old man vid
club, he start sometaing dot only gonna end in blood!

[And now he's getting irritated again.]

SAS: Yah!  Corvax!  Vat it vas dot you tink ven you hit sixty-five year
old man vid woodun club?!  How you joostufy dot?!  Il-ghargan yitt-allag
bil-shabou!  You taught you vus out for joostice... BUT RAMEMBAH!

[Aaaaand now we're in
apeshit-screaming-and-ripping-off-his-kaffiyeh-and-bisht mode.]

SAS: KIL MIN YILEESA!  YOU PUNK, YOU VANNA HIT A MAN VID A CLUB?!  YOU
VANNA HIT MAN VID VEAPON, COME HIT ME!  COME HIT ME!  KIL MIN YILEESA! 
YOU UN DOT JAHBRONIE SUPAIRNOVA UN DOT FOT TYAILR LEE!  YOU PUNKS!  IN
IRAN, OLDEST COUNTRY IN VURLD, VE KILL YOU FOR DOT VAT YOU DID!  VE HANG
YOU IN PUBLIC UN LET ALL DEH OLD MEN HIT YOUR BODAY VID CLUBS UNTIL YOUR
HEAD POP OFF YOUR NECK UN DEH BUZZAIRD EAT YOUR FLOSH!  YOU PUNK!  VAT
IS VAS YOU TINK VAS GONNA HOPPEN?!  LAQAD 'AEZARA MAN ANZAR; ILLI
TIZRAEU TUHSUDU!  COME HIT ME!  I AM NOT OLD MAN!  I FIGHT BOCK!  COME
HIT ME!

[Sharif has progressed to stomping around the area, waving Corax on. 
The crowd has caught the energy that Sharif is ranting with and are
returning it in an ever-increasing reaction.  It's not all booing, for a
couple of reasons: one, they like to see a heel this angry; two, they
wouldn't mind a fight right now; and three, Sharif has a valid point
about hitting an old man with a baseball bat.]

SAS: CORVAX, YOU VURTHLESS COWAIRD!  COME HIT ME!  YOU NOT GONNA PUT
YOUR HONDS ON MY MANAGAIR! I AM NOT OLD MAN!  I AM OLYMPIC SHAMPWON!  I
AM GUNNA PUT YOU IN CAMAIL CLOOTCH UNTIL YOUR BACK BREAK!  DEN YOU GUNNA
KNOW!  YOU GUNNA KNOW YOUR PLACE!  YOU GUNNA BE HUMBAIL!  LAQAD 'AEZARA
MAN ANZAR!  MY HONDS ARE CLEAN!  YOU GUNNA GET VAT YOU DASAIRVE!  ILLI
TIZRAEU TUHSUDU!  ATQAA ALLAH!  ATQAA ALLAH!  ILLI TIZRAEU TUHSUDU!

[Okay, he's totally forgotten what language he's supposed to be
speaking, and is just screaming the same few phrases over and over. 
Jason Dane slowly walks away, and Sharif continues to rant and rave as
we cut to the booth.]

GM: BRO-THER.

BW: It was nice knowin' you, Corax.  Except it really wasn't.  And all
we know is you're a nutcase with a bat.  Who is about fifteen minutes
away from a lifetime of parapelegia an' humility, daddy!

GM: I have never seen Sharif even remotely that worked up.  But I
suppose you can't blame him.

BW: Oh, poor Corax.  I wonder if we'll be able to hear the snap from
here?

GM: I find it highly unlikely, that if Corax was trained alongside
Supernova, that he'll be a pushover.

BW: And?  Sharif's an OLYMPIAN.  Don't forget what that means!  You can
be th' fastest guy in your state, Gordo, an' when Usain Bolt shows up ta
race ya, ya better get a good look at his face before he starts cuz
you'll only see his back after that!

GM: Point well taken, but Sharif's sublime Olympic wrestling skills are
only part of the complete package of a professional wrestler.  

BW: He's undefeated, Gordo.  UNDEFEATED.  In almost a full year.  Just
sayin'.

GM: That unbeaten record is the least of Sharif's concerns tonight
against the mysterious Corax, who operates from the shadows in some
quest for justice.  He will not have the luxury of those shadows
tonight, but at the same time, we have little notion of what the man can
do.  Fans, Memorial Day Mayhem is just about a month away and we just
know a small portion of what's going to happen on that night.  We're
going to take a quick break right here but when we come back, it's time
for the Control Cent-

["They Reminisce over You" by Pete Rock and CL Smooth begins to play as
the crowd erupts with excitement when they see the AWA National
champion, Juan Vasquez emerging from behind the curtain.]

GM:  Apparently the National Champion has something to say, Bucky!

BW:  Where does this jerk get off interrupting you, Gordo?  You should
go tell him off!

GM:  I don't think so.  The champ can come out here whenever he wants in
my opinion.

[The champ is dressed in Nike AW77 black-and-gray hoodie, rocks an EMWC
"Redemption" tshirt, and thrusts the AWA National title belt into the
air to a loud roar from the crowd. 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 and holds the title up one more time
for the crowd before beginning to speak.]

JV: When I won the AWA National title, I told the world that I was
gonna' be the most fighting champion they'd ever seen. Until now, I've
been hit with too many outside distractions to defend the title as much
as I wanted, but I intend to start keeping my promise starting...now!

[Big pop for the promise of a National title match!]

JV: I intend to come out here every show with the title, rain or shine,
for better or worse, in sickness and in health, 'til death do us
part!...and put out an open challenge to all the boys in the back...

[A short pause as Juan furrows his brow and frowns.]

JV: ...but this week, I got some personal business to take care of.

[Juan drops his head and slumps his shoulders, sighing heavily.]

JV: On the last edition of Saturday Night Wrestling...I was pinned.

[He closes his eyes as he says "I was pinned", almost as if he's too
embarrassed to face the situation with eyes wide open.]

JV: Everyone tells me not to sweat it. Everyone says that if I didn't
take a loaded boot to the ribs, things would've turned out differently.
They tell me that it was a fluke and that if I tried to get even, that
the Blonde Bombers would just take that win and go running scared...

[Slowly, the expression on Juan's face turns into a grim, angered
visage.]

JV: ...but I can't let this go.

[His head turns up the aisle and towards the back.]

JV: Robert Baldwin.

[He doesn't shout the name or damn it with anger, but there's clear
animosity in his voice.]

JV: You pinned the champ. You've had two weeks to brag about it and
laugh it up...but play time's over now.

I'm callin' you out!

[There's a big cheer from the crowd at that proclamation.]

JV: You heard me right. The National champion is callin' _you_ out.

Not Larry Doyle.

Not Johann John Jacob Jingleheimer Schimdt.

[He shakes his head.]

JV: You. Robert Baldwin. I'm talkin' straight to you, amigo.

[Juan walks up towards the ropes and leans over them, leaving no doubt
who his words are directed to.]

JV: I know you're back there listening to me right now and you're
probably looking over at Larry Doyle, asking him what to do.

[The champion drops his head for a second and chuckles, before snapping
back up with an angry, wide-eyed look on his face.]

JV: _Stop_ looking at him!

[The calm is gone now, as Juan slowly gets more and more agitated.]

JV: The champion's calling you out, Baldwin! He's giving you a shot at
the title! You already pinned him in the middle of the ring! What the
hell is there to think about!?

Be your own damn man for once!

Accept his challenge!

[Juan backs off a little and holds his head up, taking a deep breath to
compose himself.]

JV: Unless of course...what you did *was* a fluke and you *are* scared.

[There's a sly grin on his face now. He's obviously just trying to goad
Baldwin.]

JV: Whatta' ya' say, amigo? 

[Suddenly, a fired-up Robert Baldwin comes storming through the entrance
curtain.  Shouting something unheard by the mics in Vasquez' direction,
Baldwin marches down the ramp towards the ring where Vasquez has yanked
off his hoodie and t-shirt and is ready to rock.]

GM:  Here comes Robert Baldwin!  

BW:  But where's Larry Doyle?

GM:  Better question - where is a referee?!  If this is a title match-

[The crowd ROARS as Baldwin steps through the ropes and throws a right
hand at Vasquez, catching him on the jaw.  Vasquez fires right back,
throwing a big haymaker of his own.  The two men are squared up in the
middle of the ring, each throwing wild shots as fast as their bodies
will let them with the crowd roaring for each and every blow!]

GM:  This isn't a wrestling match, fans!  This is a fight!

[Baldwin starts to wilt under a barrage of big rights from Vasquez...

...so he slips a knee up into the injured ribs of Vasquez, stopping him
in his tracks.  The crowd jeers as Baldwin swings the National Champion
around, backing him into the corner.  Baldwin leans over, grabbing the
middle rope, and lunges forward with a shoulder tackle to the body!]

GM:  Ohh!  Big tackle to the ribs!  Those injured ribs are a bullseye
for every member of the AWA roster right now, Bucky!

[A second shoulder connects with the midsection of Vasquez and a third,
causing him to cry out in pain.  A smirking Baldwin straightens up...]


"SLAAAAAAAAP!"
"OHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  He slapped the champion!  Baldwin just paintbrushed the National
Cham-

[A furious Vasquez throws a hard right hand to the jaw of Baldwin,
knocking him a step back.  Grabbing Baldwin by the hair, Vasquez
prepares to headbutt him but Baldwin breaks the grip with another knee
to the ribs, shoving him back to the buckles where he hammers away with
right hands to the injured body!]

GM:  Baldwin's all over the champion in the corner!  Right hand after
right hand to those injured ribs and-

BW:  HOLLYWOOD!

[The crowd jeers loudly as an angry-looking Larry Doyle comes marching
down the ramp towards the ring, shouting towards the squared circle with
every step.  The Masked Menace is a few feet behind him, taking up a
protective watch as Doyle draws closer.]

GM:  What's gotten into Larry Doyle?  What's he so steamed about?

[Baldwin continues to hammer the ribs of Vasquez.  He spots Doyle out of
the corner of his eye, turning to wave him off with a "I got this!"
gesture before turning back to Vasquez...

...and getting drilled with that headbutt!]

GM:  Ohh!  Juan caught him coming in!

[Swinging Baldwin back to the corner, Vasquez rears way back and throws
a hard right hand to the jaw.  A second one follows suit before Vasquez
can grab the arm, firing Baldwin across the ring...]

GM:  HARD into the corner!

[Baldwin stumbles out...

...and Vasquez lifts him straight up, holding him high for a split
second before dropping him facefirst to the canvas!]

GM:  FLAPJACK!!  A ONE-MAN FLAPJACK BY THE CHAMP!!

[On the floor now, Larry Doyle is losing his mind at that, slamming his
pudgy arms into the canvas as he shouts at Baldwin.]

GM:  Larry Doyle is not pleased by this turn of events, Bucky.

BW:  Doesn't sound like it.

[Back on his feet, Vasquez yanks Baldwin up by the hair, muscling him up
over his shoulder.]

GM:  City of Angels!  Vasquez is going for the City of Ang-

[Without warning, Larry Doyle climbs up on the ring apron, gesturing
wildly at Vasquez who pauses, Baldwin slung over his shoulder...

...and then dumps him off, glaring at Doyle with his hands on his hips,
a momentary distraction that allows the Masked Menace to reach under the
ropes, hauling Baldwin to safety by the foot.  The crowd jeers as
Vasquez spins around, finding his "opponent" being pulled from the ring.
 An angry National Champion kicks the bottom rope where Baldwin's head
was a moment ago and glares down at the Menace who slings Baldwin over
his shoulder and heads towards the back, Larry Doyle retreating up the
ramp.]

GM:  Juan Vasquez wanted a chance to defend his title here tonight - and
he wanted to do it against the man who pinned him two weeks ago but it
was not to be.  Larry Doyle and the Masked Menace just pulled Robert
Baldwin from the ring, dragging him out of- 

"HEY!"

[The shout of Larry Doyle now aided by a mic cuts off Gordon Myers.]

LD:  HEY, CHAMP!

[Vasquez turns towards the source of the voice, glaring down the ramp at
Larry Doyle.]

LD:  You think YOU call the shots around here, huh?

[The National Champion steps up on the middle rope, waving Doyle back to
the ring.]

LD:  I don't think so.  You want to face Robert Baldwin?  The man who
PINNED you clean as a whistle in the middle of that ring two weeks ago?

[Doyle grins at the description, smirking at the jeering crowd.]

LD:  You do it when WE say so, chump!

[Doyle throws his head back, cackling at that.]

LD:  But you'll get your shot, Vasquez... you'll get it.

[Doyle nods his head confidently.]

LD:  In two weeks.

[With a grin, Doyle drops the mic and strides to the locker room
arrogantly, the crowd jeering him the whole time.  A disgusted Juan
Vasquez waves off Doyle, grabbing his title belt off the mat and posing
on the middle rope with it for a moment before heading back up the ramp
as well.

As we fade to black.

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

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

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

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

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

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

[A shot of Stevie Scott holding the belt high in the air.]

"And now, it can be yours!"

[A final shot of Juan Vasquez, battered yet triumphant with the gold
belt held in both hands 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 on a big Memorial Day Mayhem that pulls up to reveal
the words "CONTROL CENTER" with Jason Dane standing in front of a bank
of television monitors.]

JD:  Hello, fans, and welcome to the Memorial Day Mayhem Control Center!
 We are just about one month away from the big event that will be coming
to you LIVE from Tulsa, Oklahoma - right here on WKIK.  It's one of the
biggest events of the year for the AWA and this year promises to be no
different.

Of course, the centerpiece attraction of that night is the annual
Memorial Day Rumble itself.  In the past, we've seen Ron Houston, Stevie
Scott, and Raphael Rhodes win the Rumble - but who will join that
esteemed list of winners in 2011?  

Thirty men will enter the ring that night in Tulsa but only one will
walk out with a GUARANTEED shot at the AWA National Title.  Who will it
be?  Let's take a look at the list of men who have declared their entry
into the Rumble so far!

[Photos of the men entered into the Rumble appear as Jason reads off
their names.]

JD:  How about the man who WON his spot at The Main Event?  Sultan Azam
Sharif!  Sharif enters the Rumble with a bit of an advantage, fans, as
he won the coveted #30 spot in that match!

[Dane pauses.]

JD:  What about former World Champion, Alex Martinez?  The big man will
be in the Rumble as well and he has a history of doing quite well in
this type of matchup!

Plus, Texas born and bred - the Lynch family, Travis, James, and Jack -
they'll ALL be in the Rumble!

As well as Atlanta's favorite son, Sweet Daddy Williams!

[Dane grins.]

JD:  That's six spots taken... twenty percent of the field already in
place... but who else?  Who else will enter this field?  We also found
out earlier tonight that Eric Preston will be one of thirty looking to
win a shot at the National Title!  Will Preston celebrate turning things
around by winning the Rumble?

Now, the Rumble's not the only thing that happens that night.  

Earlier tonight, we heard two title challenges - Sweet Daddy Williams
wants a shot at Nenshou and the Longhorn Heritage Title... and the
Rockstar Express wants a shot at the National Tag Team Champions, Rough
N Ready!

Neither of those challenges have been answered as of yet but we hope to
have answers to both next time... here on the Control Center!  So long
everybody!

[We fade from the Control Center back to a panning shot of the Crockett
Coliseum for a few moments before...

Suddenly, the O'Jays' "For the Love of Money" blasts over the PA and all
heads turn to the section of the interview area that is now set up for
The Money Pit. A deep voice cuts over the top of the classic track...]

"Ladies and gentlemen...

TODD MICHAELSON!"

[The camera cuts to a "set" made of wooden walls that are painted and
dressed to be a mockup of a bank vault. There are also various stacks of
(presumably) fake money and bags of money all over the ground.  Sitting
in the middle of it on a wooden stool, Todd Michaelson is dressed to the
nines, a smile plastered across his face.]

TM: Welcome to The Money Pit!

[Big cheer!]

TM:  And the AWA officials in the back have made me promise that things
will go a little smoother out here this week than what happened last
week.  I've been told that extra security has been stationed all over
the building to make sure that happens.

[Michaelson nods.]

TM:  But Monosso, any time you feel like trying to prove something to
me... the Combat Corner... my kids there?  You come find me.  You hear
me, you twisted freak?

[Michaelson's cold glare into the camera punctuates his challenge.]

TM:  James Monosso likes to talk about the wrestling industry chewing
people up and spitting them out.  He likes to talk about superstars who
are tossed aside and forgotten by the fans.

I'm here to bring out someone who will NEVER be forgotten by these fans!

[Big cheer!]

TM:  Ladies and gentlemen... it is my distinct pleasure to introduce to
you all... one of my favorite people in this business... my good
friend... 

CITY JACK!

[The crowd cheers as Chet Atkins' "Classical Gas" starts up, bringing
the fans to their feet as the man who overcame all at The Main Event
steps into the Crockett Coliseum. City Jack - dressed in a pair of
jeans, a black "KENTUCKY" T-shirt, and black boots - steps down to the
Money Pit set showing the ill effects of his war against Calisto
Dufresne.

He sports a black eye - the same one that he nearly lost total sight -
and his walk is labored. With each step, he winces a bit and every few
feet, the big man has to stop briefly from the shots of pain. But
finally, with the fans still cheering, City Jack takes to the center of
the Money Pit.  He pauses, shaking the hand of Todd Michaelson who
embraces the veteran, handing off the mic and backing away to give him
center stage.]

CJ:  Thanks, Todd.

[Jack stands in the middle of the Money Pit, looking around the Crockett
Coliseum.]

CJ:  Fans...

[The roar of the crowd interrupts City Jack who looks up with some
surprise.]

CJ:  Fans, I-

[Jack looks around at the crowd, still on their feet and still cheering
loud for Jack.]

CJ: Now I -

[Jack takes a step back as the fans continue to cheer and, for once in a
long time, a smile comes up on the face of the Liberty native.]

CJ: No, thank YOU all. Really. Without ya, I'd never would be back...
and I never would be standin' here, right now.

[City Jack nods as the fans' applause starts to die down.]

CJ: Now I gotta say - and I hope to God almighty that it's all true
words - but that chapter of my life? The past seven long years of
chasin'? As God is my witness, I can say - I can declare...

[Jack cocks his head upwards and closes his eyes.]

CJ: It's over.

[The fans let out another cheer as Jack lower his head, shaking it a
bit.]

CJ: Thank the Lord above that it! Is! OVER!

[The big man lets out a huge breath.]

CJ: It didn't take me until I stepped back, right now, to realize it
all. To know that it's done. That I ain't... I ain't needin' to be
chasin' nothing no more. That I ain't need to step back into that dark,
dark place again. That finally, I... I can rest.

[Jack's shoulders lower a bit, a showing of a bit of relaxation from him
- as best as his bruised and battered body can show.]

CJ: But like I just said, the chase is over. I ain't lying none that
sayin' my body's been puttin' in overtime to get that chance I just had
at the Main Event. And I ain't lyin' none that...

[Again, Jack shakes his head.]

CJ: That when I stood here one year ago, to hang 'em up... It WAS
sincere.

[The fans, starting to get the drift of Jack's words, start to grumble a
bit.]

CJ: I been fightin' for so long now... I've done racked up the wrecks
mighty good on this here ol' sob of a body. And I -

[Jack lets out another big sigh as the fans start a "Jack don't go!"
chant. This goes on for a good ten to twenty seconds before Jack puts up
his hand.]

CJ: Now, now! I ain't leavin'... Just yet.

[The fans let out a brief cheer as Jack continues on.]

CJ: I talked this over with my brother in this sport, Tin Can Rust... I
talked it over with my family... And I talked it over with every one I
dare call a friend. And...

[The crowd's quiet now, intent on hearing Jack's declaration.]

CJ: That before I leave... Before I go away into that Western Sun... I
want to have one more shot. One more chance! One more time to hold... 

[Dramatic pause.]

CJ:  ...that title belt!

[A big pop sounds from the fans as Jack nods.]

CJ: I'll admit it, I'm a hog of many things and glory's sure on one of
'em! And I know that it's gonna kill me if I never get that chance to be
the main man!

[Jack, looking far from a top contender in his state, directs his
attention into the camera.]

CJ: Now I don't care if I got to get down on two bended knees and beg
for it, but... 

[The crowd cheers for Jack as he points a finger to the camera.]

CJ:  But Mister Juan Vasquez? 

[BIG CHEER!]

CJ:  Champ? Give this here ol' broken down wrestler one last shot.
PLEASE!

[Jack tosses the mic to Todd Michaelson who stands, smiling as he
applauds his friend.  The crowd picks up Jack's cue and a "ONE!  LAST! 
SHOT!" chant starts to ring out over the building.  The grizzled veteran
nods to the chant, pumping his fist in the air in rhythm to the chant as
it echoes through the building...

...and we fade to black.

Slowly, the words "MEMORIAL DAY MAYHEM" appears on the screen in white
lettering.  The letters slowly fade to be replaced by "2008."  The
screen stays dark, we can only hear the sounds.]

"Ladies and gentlemen... after twenty-eight minutes and six seconds of
hard-fought action... your winner of the match...  And the FIRST AWA
NATIONAL CHAMPION... MAAAAAARRRRCUS BROUUUUUSSARRRRRRD!"

[The sounds fade as the lettering does - both replaced by "2009."]

"OH MY STARS!  STEVIE SCOTT HAS DONE IT!  STEVIE SCOTT HAS DONE IT! 
STEVIE SCOTT HAS DONE IT!"

[The sounds fade again as "2009" is replaced by "2010."]

"Both men on the apron!  Both men on the apron!  Rhodes is down!  Rhodes
is on a knee on the apron!  RUNNING KNEEEEEEEE!"

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

"Ladies and gentlemen... here is your winner of the Memorial Day
Rumble... RAPHAEL RHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOODES!!"

[The sounds fade.  The letters fade.  A completely black screen remains.
Slowly one final batch of text arrives.]

"What will 2011 bring?"

[And then we fade all the way to black.

We fade back up on the Crockett Coliseum, a nice panning shot of the
sold out crowd still buzzing about what they just saw and equally as
excited about what they're about to see.

We crossfade to Phil Watson in the middle of the ring.]

PW:  The following contest is set for one fall with a fifteen minute
time limit and is your MAIN EVENT of the evening!

[Big cheer!]

PW:  Introducing first...

[As the first sounds of this Iranian traditional folk song's vocal
opening are heard, Sultan Azam Sharif is bolting to the ring at a power
walk.  He's still not very fast; mobility isn't his thing, despite being
in good physical condition.  The black-haired, mustached, and goateed
Persian wears a baggy white modified sirwal tucked into shiny gold boots
that are hooked in a galesh-like design.  A gold sash around his waist
and wristbands completes his attire.  His body has several scars of
varying lengths, depths, and shapes in a variety of areas, adding a
war-tested finish to his extremely sound musculature.  The man truly
looks dangerous.

He is flagless, managerless, and left his bisht and kaffiyeh up at the
interview stage almost a half-hour ago.  And he doesn't care.  For while
he is not accompanied to the ring by Count Adrian Bathwaite tonight, he
is accompanied to the ring by rage.]

MC: Introducing first... from Shiraz, Iran... weighing two-hundred
fifty-two pounds... SULTAN AZAM SHARIF!

[Sharif ascends the steps, enters the ring, and immediately turns to
face the ring entrance.  He starts yelling "COME HIT ME!" as he slaps
his chest and wipes off the sweat.]

GM:  I don't know that we've ever seen Sharif quite like this, Bucky.

BW:  We haven't!  Corax crossed a line that no one else has gotten close
to... and now he's gonna pay for it, daddy!

[Sharif is pacing back and forth, angrily shouting every so often in the
direction of the entrance ramp as the music drastically changes to "The
Vampire Song" by Concrete Blonde.]

PW:  And his opponent... from New Orleans, Louisiana... weighing in at
245 pounds...

CORRRRRAX!

[Sharif is standing on the middle rope now, slapping his powerful chest
and shouting in something unintelligble down the ramp...

...when suddenly the crowd begins to buzz!]

GM:  The crowd is reacting to something... I don't see Corax, do you?

[The camera stays on the curtain, not showing anyone walking into sight
but the crowd noise is growing louder and louder...]

GM:  HERE!  HERE!  

[The shot abruptly cuts, revealing Corax coming through the crowd,
hurdling over the steel barricade.  He slides headfirst under the bottom
rope, slowly climbing to his feet.]

GM:  CORAX IS IN THE RING!  HE'S IN THE RING, FANS!!

[On his feet, Corax stands in his long black trenchcoat...

...and slowly lifts the wooden baseball bat in his hand, pointing it
right at the exposed back of Sharif!  The crowd is going mental at this
point, waiting to see if Corax takes the bat to Sharif!]

BW:  Turn around, Sharif!

[Finally, Sharif turns around to complain to the official about the lack
of Corax entrance...

...and he spots the face-painted enigma pointing the bat right at him!]

GM:  Look at this!  Sharif's in shock!  He didn't know he was there!

BW:  Now what's gonna happen?!

[Showing no fear, Sharif charges forward...

...and gets the business end of the bat slammed into his midsection to
the roar of the crowd!]

GM:  Ohh!  

BW:  Now he hit Sharif with the bat!  Come on!  How can people cheer
this guy?!

[With Sharif doubled up, Corax grabs the bat with both hands, rearing
back waaaaay overhead...]

GM:  Oh my stars!  Oh my stars!

[But before Corax can "dispense justice" on the back of Sharif, the
official grabs the bat with both hands, clinging tightly to it and
snatching it free from Corax's grasp!]

GM:  MARTY MEEKLY JUST SAVED SHARIF!!

[Meekly throws the bat to the floor...

...and soon finds himself in the grasp of Corax who has him by the shirt
collar with his left hand!]

GM:  Uh oh!  Now Corax is going after Meekly!

[The referee signals for the bell, starting the match...]

GM:  The match is underway!  If Corax strikes now, this match is-

[The crowd groans as Sharif buries a knee into the kidneys of Corax!]

GM:  Ohh!  

[A hard double axehandle to the back of the neck follows, sending Corax
stumbling into the ropes.  Sharif moves forward, clubbing Corax with a
forearm across the back of the neck, dropping down to a knee.]

GM:  Sharif really laying in some heavy shots here... ohh!  A hard
forearm to the jaw knocks Corax all the way down to the canvas...

[With the face-painted enigma on the mat, Sharif lays in a hooked boot
kick to the ribs... and another... and another, all forcing Corax to
roll under the ropes to the floor.  The official steps in, shouting at
Sharif to back off.  Ignoring the referee, Sharif reaches over the ropes
to haul Corax up by the hair, pulling his head back over the ropes...

...and CLUBS him with a forearm across the upper chest!]

GM:  Ohh!  Hard shot by Sharfi!

[With Corax's arms looped over the top rope, Sharif dashes to the ropes,
bouncing off...

...and connecting with a running shoulder tackle, a blow that sends
Corax sailing off the apron and SMASHING chestfirst into the steel
ringside barricade to the jeers of the fans!]

GM:  Good grief, Bucky!  Did you SEE that?!

BW:  He flew off the apron into the railing!  And his sternum SLAMMED
into the steel.  You ever hit your chest really hard, Gordo?

GM:  Can't say that I have.

BW:  It feels like someone just ripped all the air out of your body. 
And to make it worse, it feels like you may never be able to breathe
right again because it hurts so bad.

[Sharif drops down to his back, rolling under the ropes to the floor. 
He approaches Corax who is draped over the railing and buries a hooked
boot into the torso!]

GM:  Ohh!  Another hard kick with those boots - those boots have GOT to
be illegal, Bucky!

BW:  The heck they are, Gordo!  Don't be trying to take away the man's
ceremonial, traditional wrestling attire!  That's part of his culture!

GM:  It's an illegal advantage and you know it as well as he does!

[Another hooked boot kick to the ribs connects, knocking Corax down to a
knee up against the steel barricade.  A hard boot to the back of the
head smashes Corax's face into the railing!]

GM:  Oh, come on!  I thought Sharif was above using weapons!

BW:  He didn't use a weapon there.  He delivered a legal kick - it's not
HIS fault that Corax was sucking wind against the railing.

[Sharif delivers a pair of stomps to the chest of Corax before dragging
him off the floor, shoving him under the ropes into the ring.  He steps
up to the apron, climbing through the ropes.  He unleashes a barrage of
broken English towards Corax before delivering another kick to the
ribs.]

GM:  Sharif is hot, Bucky.  He's upset - more upset than we've ever seen
him.

BW:  I thought he was mad when he got tangled up with Supernova after
that punk hit Adrian Bathwaite a while back.  This is ten times worse.

GM:  It certainly is.

[Dragging Corax off the mat, Sharif hooks him around the head and neck
with one arm and between the legs with the other, hoisting the
face-painted enigma up...

...and dropping him down gutfirst on his bent knee!]

GM:  Ohh!  That'll knock the wind out of 'im!

[Dumping Corax off his knee, Sharif applies a press, shouting "COUNT!"
to the official who obliges.]

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

[An angry Sharif gets up, ranting and raving at the official.  He drops
a heavy elbow into the chest.  Slowly climbing back to his feet, he
raises the arm again and drops a second elbow!]

GM:  A couple of heavy elbow drops to the chest... Sharif up one more
time...

[The Iranian grappler strikes a single bicep pose for a moment, dropping
a third elbow...

...but Corax rolls to the side just in time!  Big cheer!]

GM:  Sharif missed!  He missed the elbow!

[Corax rolls to his stomach, breathing heavily as Sharif staggers back
to his feet, cocking back the arm again...

...and missing the elbowdrop again!]

GM:  He missed it again!  I don't understand why he'd even attempt it
again!

BW:  Adrian Bathwaite's not here!  He's the one who can keep Sharif on
task - keep him focused!

GM:  Corax rolls under - out to the ramp now...

[An angry Sharif gets up again, stomping towards the ropes.  He reaches
over them, dragging Corax up...

...who responds by hooking Sharif under the arm, elevating him up and
over the ropes and down onto the wooden ramp!]

GM:  OHHH!  HE HIPTOSSED HIM OVER THE TOP!!

[Corax falls back against the ropes, breathing heavily as Sharif winces
in pain on the ramp. 

And suddenly, the crowd breaks into jeers.]

GM:  Oh, come on!

BW:  The Russians are coming!  The Russians are coming!

GM:  They've got no business being out here!

BW:  Hey, if Bathwaite can't be here, the Russians are going to back
their ally, Gordo.

[Kostovich leads the way, Velikov and Sudakov walking behind him.  Corax
stumbles away from the ropes, leaning down to drag Sharif back to his
feet.  Wisely, Corax hurls Sharif over the ropes into the ring, stepping
through the ropes himself.]

GM:  Smart move by Corax - trying to stay away from these Russians.

[Corax pulls Sharif up, shoving him back into the corner.  He steps up
with a knife-edge chop across the chest of Sharif.  The crowd roars in
response.  He lands a couple more chops before dragging Sharif out and
firing him into the ropes.]

GM:  Sharif off the ropes... 

[The face-painted grappler ducks his head, tossing Sharif up into the
air and down to the mat with a backdrop!]

GM:  Ohhh!  Sharif hits the mat hard!

[Stepping forward, Corax grabs the legs of Sharif, looking to turn him
over into a Boston Crab...

...but a shout in Russian from Ivan Kostovich draws his attention.  The
referee rushes to intercept Kostovich as Corax throws Sharif aside,
moving towards the Russian as well.]

GM:  No, no!  Stay on him, Corax!

[Corax points a warning finger at Kostovich...

...and gets caught with an atomic drop, sending him sprawling forward
into the ropes, his head and torso draped over the middle rope.]

GM:  Look out here!

[Sharif dashes to the ropes, rebounding off...

...and leaps up aiming to land on the upper back of Corax...]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[The crowd roars as Corax rolls aside, causing Sharif to sail through
the ropes, crashing down in a heap on the concrete floor!]

GM:  HE MISSED!  HE MISSED!!

[Corax staggers to his feet, grabbing the top rope as he casts a glance
over at the Russians who are still on the ramp.  At an order from
Kostovich, Velikov steps down the staircase to the floor, moving over
towards the downed Sharif.  A point from Corax gives him pause...]

GM:  Corax is in trouble here - he's got Russians all over the place!

BW:  He needs to stay focused though, Gordo.  If he loses focus for an
instant, you know Sharif will take advantage of it!

[Corax stalks over towards the ramp, shouting something at Kostovich who
shouts a response.  The referee wedges himself between the two, ordering
Corax to walk away.  With a shake of the head, the New Orleans enigma
marches to the rope, grabbing the top rope...

...and slingshots over the top, wiping out a stunned Vladimir Velikov! 
Big cheer!]

BW:  WHAT THE-?!  There's no call for that, Gordo!  No call for it!

GM:  Corax just dove over the top onto Velikov!  He could've continued
the attack on Sharif but he went after Velikov instead - and look at
Ivan Kostovich!  He's totally irate!

BW:  As well he should be!

[Corax climbs to his feet, glaring at the downed Velikov under him. 
Moving over to Sharif, he drags him off a knee, shoving him under the
ropes into the ring before climbing up on the apron...

...and heading up top!]

GM:  Corax is headed up top!  He's headed for the high rent district!

[Corax looks a little unsure of his footing as he steps to the second
rope, having to reposition himself before climbing to the top...

...where Sultan Azam Sharif charges the corner, stepping up to the
middle rope where he grabs Corax under both arms, pivoting his body to
toss Corax off the ropes and down to the mat!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  MY STARS!!  OH MY STARS!!  

BW:  It's over, Gordo!  Slap the Clutch on him, Sharif, and ring the
bell!

[Sharif kneels on the canvas, breathing heavily as Corax lies flat on
his back on the mat.  Kostovich can be heard shouting in English to
Sharif who slowly nods his head, crawling across the ring slowly...]

GM:  He's trying to get over to Corax and make a cover... it's taking
him an awfully long time though, Bucky...

BW:  Get there, Sultan!

[Sharif gets a few feet away, still breathing hard...

...and lunges, throwing an arm across Corax's heaving chest.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE- 

"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

GM:  SHOULDER UP!!  MY STARS, HE GOT THE SHOULDER UP!!

[An angry Sharif pounds his fists into the canvas, holding up three
fingers to Marty Meekly who timidly holds up two in response.]

GM:  That was so close!

BW:  It was but Sharif needs to shake it off.  He needs to forget the
near fall and sink in the Camel Clutch!  If he puts that on right now,
this one's over!

[Sharif slowly pushes himself to his feet, slapping his shoulders before
leaning down to turn Corax's body..]

GM:  He's positioning him!  He may have heard you, Bucky!

[Sharif nods to the jeering fans chanting "USA!" at him as he starts to
settle in for the Camel Clutch...

...but Corax suddenly rolls to his back, blocking the attempt.  An angry
Sharif leans down to grab him...]

GM:  SMALL PACKAGE!!  SMALL PACKAGE FOR CORAX!!  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR-

[But this time, it's Sharif who fires a shoulder up just in time!]

GM:  Another near fall there but this time it was Sharif who almost got
himself pinned!

[An angry Sharif hustles to his feet, beating Corax there and burying a
hooked boot into the ribcage.  He steps forward, grabbing Corax by both
arms.  He delivers a hard headbutt to the bridge of the nose, stunning
Corax...

...and then takes him up and over with a tossing suplex!]

GM:  Whoa!  Nice show of power by Sharif!

[Sharif sits up, nodding his head at the jeering fans.  He rolls over,
pushing up to his feet...

...and delivers another hard boot to the ribs, forcing Corax under the
ropes again.  The referee steps in, forcing Sharif to step back...]

GM:  Uh oh - look out here...

[...which allows Vladimir Velikov to pummel Corax relentlessly on the
apron, slamming his heavy forearm down into the windpipe time and time
again.  The referee and Sharif turn back around to find Corax gasping
for air and Velikov walking away without a sign of having done a thing.]

GM:  Sharif's moving in again... grabbing the legs of Corax...

[And the Iranian Olympian falls backwards in a catapult, smashing
Corax's throat into the bottom rope with great impact!  Sharif drags
Corax out from under the ropes, applying another press...]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR- Corax grabs the rope!

BW:  And that's another mistake that could have been avoided if Adrian
Bathwaite was out here!

[An angry Sharif climbs to his feet, throwing his foot up on the top
rope, and SLAMMING Corax's skull into the hooked boot!]

GM:  Ohh!  Facefirst into the hooked boot!

[Corax crumples backwards from the blow, falling facefirst to the
canvas.  Sharif pulls him up to his knees by the hair, revealing a
stream of blood coming down the forehead.]

GM:  Uh oh!  Corax got busted open with that boot!  And you're trying to
tell me that thing isn't illegal, Bucky!

BW:  It's not!

GM:  Give me a break!

[Sharif seems surprised by the blood but promptly smashing an elbow down
on the cut forehead, shoving Corax down to his stomach on the mat again.
 He nods his head at the jeering fans again, slapping his arms...]

GM:  He's going for the Clutch again!  He's trying to slap it on him!

[But Corax knows it's coming, frantically crawling to the ropes where he
wraps his arms around the bottom and middle rope.  An irritated Sharif
approaches, delivering hard stomp after stomp to the ribs to the jeers
of the crowd.  A well-placed hooked boot breaks Corax's grip on the
ropes, allowing Sharif to drag him to his feet.]

GM:  Iranian whip by Sharif...

[Corax rebounds off, approaching the grappler who drops his head for a
backdrop...

...and at the last moment, Corax grabs the back of his head, leaping
into the air, and SMASHING Sharif's face into the mat!]

GM:  BULLDOG!!  ONE-HANDED BULLDOG BY CORAX!!

[The crowd roars for Corax who is now kneeling on the canvas, hands
behind his head as he sucks air into his lungs.]

GM:  We're past the halfway mark in this one and these two men have put
their bodies through the wringer, Bucky!

[Corax pushes up off the mat, climbing to his feet, reaching down to
drag Sharif up by the arm, hurling him into the corner.  The
face-painted warrior follows him in, connecting with a back elbow under
the chin!]

GM:  Ohh!  What a shot!

[Corax grabs the arm again, hurling him across the ring.  He quickly
charges across in, throwing himself into the air, and connecting with a
big leaping clothesline to the chest!  The crowd roars again!]

GM:  Back to back corner shots by Corax!  He's got Sharif reeling!

[Grabbing the arm again, Corax fires him across, putting a little extra
on it as he falls to a knee.  Sharif's spine SLAMS into the corner,
causing him to slump down to a seated position in the corner...

...and Corax points a finger at Sharif like a gun, "pulling the trigger"
before sprinting across the ring, SLAMMING his knee into the face of the
seated Sharif!]

GM:  OHHHH!  CORAX SMASHED HIS FACE WITH THE RUNNING KNEE!!!

[Corax backs away out of the corner, nodding his head to the cheering
fans as a dazed Sharif sits motionless on the canvas.  Grabbing Sharif
by the feet, Corax drags him to the center of the ring, hooking the legs
under his arms...]

GM:  He's going for the Raven's Claw - that Boston Crab!

[But Sharif feels it coming, struggling with his powerful, muscular legs
to avoid getting turned over...]

GM:  Sharif's fighting it!  Can he turn it over?  Can he-

[Kostovich shouts something at Sudakov who glares at his master.  A
second shout sends Sudakov into motion, wrapping Velikov's dropped
Russian chain around his right arm as Sharif struggles against the
Raven's Claw!]

GM:  What is Sudakov doing?  Get him down from there!

[The former National Champion, standing on the edge of the ramp shouting
at Corax.  Corax suddenly turns, pointing a warning finger at Sudakov. 
The Russian stands his ground, shouting in response as Corax slowly
approaches...]

GM:  Sharif!  Sharif's getting to his feet!  Look out here!  Corax!

[The Iranian charges Corax's exposed back...

...but Corax sidesteps, causing Sharif to smash into Sudakov, knocking
the former National Champion down!  Sharif's head smacks into the
chain-wrapped arm, stumbling backwards!]

GM:  HE MISSED!!  SHARIF HIT SUDAKOV!!

[And Corax spins Sharif around, burying a boot into his gut before
hooking a front facelock...

...and DRIVING Sharif's skull into the canvas with a DDT!]

GM:  DDT!  DDT!! 

[Corax flips Sharif to his back, tightly hooking both legs.]

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


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


PW:  LADIES AND GENTLEMEN... HERE IS YOUR WINNER...

COOOOOORRRRAX!

[Corax pushes up to his knees, eyes watching Vladimir Velikov as he
rolls in, ready to bring the fight...

...but Corax rolls the other way, hurdling the barricade and making his
exit through the celebrating crowd as Velikov and Kostovich throw a
tantrum inside the ring!]

GM:  Corax just pinned Sharif with the DDT!

BW:  How can you claim that?  It was Sudakov!  Sudakov caused that to
happen!

GM:  Corax got the pin right in the middle of the ring, Bucky.

BW:  BECAUSE OF SUDAKOV!!

[Ivan Kostovich apparently feels the same way, shouting at Sudakov. 
Kolya replies in Russian, arguing with his "master."]

GM:  Ivan Kostovich is shouting at Sudakov, screaming at him...

[He orders Sudakov to get inside the ring, shouting and gesturing
angrily.  Sudakov ducks through the ropes, stepping into the squared
circle where Vladimir Velikov, his own Uncle, shoves him hard in the
chest!]

GM:  Oh, come on!  He didn't do it intentionally!

BW:  Are you sure about that, Gordo?  Sudakov's been angry about being
under Kostovich's thumb for months now and-

[Sudakov replies with a shove of his own, knocking his own flesh and
blood back.  The former National Champion throws the Russian chain down
to the mat, pointing an accusatory finger at the downed Sharif.]

GM:  It looks like Sudakov is blaming Sharif...

BW:  Of course he is!  He won't take responsibility for his own actions!
 HE cost Sharif this match!  Sharif was robbed and it's all Sudakov's
fault!

[Kostovich steps forward, jabbing a finger into Sudakov's chest,
continuing to shout at him.  Sudakov's head bows under the verbal
assault of his employer, absorbing the screams and insults.  The crowd
boos the scene inside the ring...

...boos that grow louder when Vladimir Velikov DRILLS his own nephew
from behind, smashing him in the back of the neck with a standing
Sickle, knocking him flat!]

GM:  Ohhh!  Velikov just hit his own flesh and blood!

[Kostovich can be heard shouting in Russian at Velikov who nods,
delivering kick after kick to the downed Sudakov.  The suit-wearing
Kostovich yanks off his jacket, throwing it down to the mat as he orders
Velikov to lift Sudakov off the mat.]

GM:  Velikov pulls him up... 

[The big Russian hurls Sudakov into the ropes, stepping aside as
Kostovich storms forward...

...and SLAMS his joined hands into the middle of Sudakov's chest,
knocking him flat!]

GM:  RUSSIAN HAMMER!!  DOWN GOES SUDAKOV!!

[Kostovich shouts at the downed Sudakov, wildly gesturing as Velikov
continues to rain down kicks on him.  The elder Russian grabs the
Russian chain, wrapping it around his hand as Velikov drags Sudakov off
the mat, pulling his arms behind him to hold him wide open...]

GM:  What in the world is he- NO!

[Kostovich uncorks a chain-wrapped right hand, smashing it into the
forehead of Kolya Sudakov, knocking him back down to the mat.]

GM:  Good grief!  

BW:  Justice is being served out there!  Sudakov made a huge error and
cost Sultan Azam Sharif the match... and this is what he gets for it! 
This is exactly what he gets for it!

[Velikov drags Sudakov to his knees, hammering the cut on Sudakov's
forehead to deepen the wound, now streaming blood down his face. 
Grabbing the chain's slack in his hands, Kostovich shouts at Velikov who
pulls the former National Champion into a front facelock...

...and holds him as Kostovich LASHES the metal links down across the
exposed back!]

GM:  OHHH!  He whipped him, Bucky!  He whipped him with a metal chain!

BW:  Sudakov is his property, daddy!  He can do whatever he wants to
him!

[Kostovich whips the chain down again, leaving angry red welts across
the back of Sudakov.  Shouting at Sudakov, Kostovich strikes him
again... and again... and again, the crowd roaring with derision as
Kostovich continues to assault his "employee."]

GM:  I can't-

[HUUUGE CHEER!]

GM:  SUPERNOVA!!  

[Supernova sprints down the ramp towards the ring, hitting the ring hard
with a series of right hands on Velikov.  Seeing his man in trouble,
Kostovich takes a powder, diving out to the floor alongside the
still-downed Sharif.  Supernova backs Velikov to the corner with a
barrage of blows to the head...]

GM:  Supernova's all over Velikov!

[Grabbing the arm, Supernova fires the large Russian across the ring,
throwing himself back into the corner...

...and is about to rock the Russian with the Heat Wave when Ivan
Kostovich pulls Velikov from the ring to the safety of the floor to the
jeers of the crowd.]

GM:  Supernova came out here... and he's here to save Kolya Sudakov! 
Sudakov was bloodied and beaten by his own flesh and blood out here and
it took Supernova to make that save!

[With the Russians and Sharif fleeing, Supernova points a warning finger
down the aisle, waving for them to come back.  After a bit, he moves
over to the downed Sudakov, helping him to a seated position.  The
camera zooms in on Sudakov, blood streaming down his face and
rapidly-reddening welts on his back from the chain links.  Supernova
looks down at Sudakov, shaking his head...

...and simply exits the ring, heading back up the ramp towards the
locker room as a pair of AWA officials help the bloodied Sudakov out of
the ring.  We cut back outside the ring where Gordon and Bucky are
standing.]

GM:  Well, fans, it's been an amazing night of action here on Saturday
Night Wrestling.  We've seen some fantastic action, Bucky.

BW:  We have, we have... and I still can't believe Sharif lost that
match.  It's a total disgrace!  I think that loss should be scrubbed
from the history books because of what Sudakov did!

GM:  Well, that's not gonna happen, Bucky.  Corax won that match in the
center of the ring with that DDT - that quick, impactful DDT...

BW:  And then ran for his life like a thief in the night!  And that's
exactly what he is, Gordo - a thief!  He stole it!  He literally stole
this match!

GM:  Well, I think we're going to have to disagree on that one... but
what about Juan Vasquez challenging Robert Baldwin?  The title will be
on the line in two weeks here when those two meet and-

"Tonight's story is somewhat unique and calls for a different kind of
introduction..."

[Boos rain down at the start of Michael Jackson's "Threatened", and
increase when the man associated with the song walks out to the top of
ramp. Joe Petrow is busting out the Wall Street banker look, complete
with suspenders and slicked back hair, and also supplies the sour puss
to match. Folding his arms and taking in the crowd with disgust for a
few seconds, he then waves to the back to cut his music, and addressed
the crowd with his own mic.]

JP: Danny Morton. Jackson Haynes. You two creatures are guilty of a most
grievous crime: preventing the Hall of Fame legend Mark Langseth from
receiving his due and proper respect! Understand what you've done
Violence Unlimited. You have proven that you are NOT worthy of honoring
the King of Wrestling! And you certainly are NOT worthy of holding the
AWA National Tag Team titles! The sentence for your crimes is a lifetime
of purgatory, because as long as Lord David and Lord Eric are champions,
you will NEVER have another chance to become champions yourselves!

But Rockstars, it seems that purgatory isn't good enough for you!  I
actually helped you guys out all those months ago, and _that's_ the way
you show your gratitude!?  You two punks are DEFINITELY not worthy of
honoring the King!  But...if you guys want to join your good buddies The
Aces, then on Memorial Day, Royalty would be happy to send you
two...straight...to...HELL!!

[The crowd does not like Petrow threatening to send two of their
favorites to Hell!]

JP: NOW! To proceed with unfinished business! 

[Petrow again gestures to the back, and immediately, two men of no
importance lay out the red carpet out about 15 feet to where Petrow
stands on the ramp] 

JP:  Even though NONE of your deserve it, allow me to introduce the
AWA's ONLY *UNDEFEATED*, *UNDISPUTED*, Hall of Fame KING of Wrestling,
the one, the only, MARK! LANGSETH!!!

[The boos grow louder as Langseth steps out of the entrance just beyond
the entrance curtain. Mark's clad in a black suit, dark purple dress
shirt, and a black tie which - upon a close up - shows an annoying "Hall
of Fame" pattern in gold all over the tie. The camera follow Langseth up
as he shows off his Hall of Fame ring to the jeering crowd.]

ML: Tonight -

[The crowd lets out an interrupting burst of boos, flummoxing Langseth
his grin fades to a look of frustration.]

ML: TONIGHT! Tonight I planned to not even show up. I planned on not
even coming out here to grace you people with the presence of living
wrestling history! In fact, I thought about just turning around right
now and... and just leaving you all!

[The crowd, as expected, cheers! Mark looks around and rolls his eyes
before continuing on.]

ML: After the last show - the complete and utter lack of ANY respect
shown to Mr. Petrow, Mr. Cooper, and Mr. Somers - by you fans... And by
those filthy, foul, buffoons, Violence Unlimited!

[The crowd cheers again - hey, he's on a roll (shame it's intended for
VU)!]

ML: But then I thought, "Why should I deprive the TRUE fans amidst the
unwashed masses - MY real followers, MY royal subjects?!?" So, since I
am a magnanimous leader, I went against better judgment and showed here
tonight to allow you a second chance at redemption! A second chance...
to pay YOUR proper respect!

[But its not respect the former World Champion receives, it's a clenched
right hand that comes flying out from behind the curtain and connects
solidly with Langseth's jaw! The crowd cheers as the camera pans around,
showing a massive figure stepping out from behind the curtain and
standing over the fallen Hall Of Famer. Who is it? One of Langseth's
oldest and most persistent enemies...]

GM: ALEX MARTINEZ!! ALEX MARTINEZ IS HERE AND HE'S JUST LAID OUT MARK
LANGSETH!!

BW: What in the hell just happened? What is Martinez doing out here, and
why did he just sucker punch Mark Langseth?

GM: Think about it for a minute Bucky. What did Alex Martinez say two
weeks ago?

BW: Wait, are you saying?

GM: Yes! Mark Langseth is the Dragon! Mark Langseth is the man who sent
James Monosso, the Blonde Bombers and the Moonshiners against Alex
Martinez. The Minion has been working for him all along!

BW: I don't believe it! Why would Langseth do all that?

GM: It all makes sense. Who hates Alex Martinez more than Mark Langseth?
Who has more reason to want him gone from the AWA? We should have seen
this all along.

[Alex Martinez has gone after Langseth viciously, first grabbing him by
the collar with one hand and driving his fist into Langseth's face with
the other. Now Martinez, his face red and locked in a mask of rage, has
both hands on Langseth's throat, and is throttling the leader of Royalty
with all his strength. Somehow, Langseth has managed to keep hold of his
microphone, and it picks up Martinez screaming at Langseth.]

AM: I KNOW how you work! You USE other people! YOU'RE the damned Dragon,
and I'm ending this right now!! YOU'RE GONNA PAY FOR THIS MARKY!!

[And on and on, until Martinez' words become incoherent sounds of rage
and hatred.]

GM: Wait a minute! Where did Joe Petrow go?

BW: You can bet he went and got some reinforcements, daddy!  And here
they are!

[And there they are, Dave Cooper, Eric Matthew Somers, Rough N' Ready!
The National Tag Team Champions swarm Alex Martinez, forcing him to let
go of Langseth.  Cooper and Somers hammer away at Martinez with blows to
the head, forcing him to break off the attack...

...and immediately drop him with a standing double clothesline!]

GM:  Ohh!  The tag champs just floored him!  They took down Martinez!

BW:  You know the tag champs are gonna be there when Petrow needs them!

GM:  It's a two-on-one assault! Cooper and Somers laying the boots to
Martinez.

[Martinez is trying to get to his feet, but he's cut off as Somers grabs
him by the throat.]

BW: And there's a man big enough to bully around Martinez!

GH: Somers with Martinez... he's just shoving him near the wall... what
is Cooper doing?

[Cooper has grabbed the microphone and is hammering it repeatedly into
Martinez's shoulder.]

GM: Cooper with a vicious assault... Martinez trying to fight them
off... 

[The big man lashes out with a kick to the gut of Somers, knocking him a
step back...

...but Cooper crowns him in the temple with the microphone, cutting off
his attack!  The shot only stuns Martinez, but it allows Somers time to
recover. He charges forward with a football tackle, connecting with
Martinez' injured shoulder, knocking him down to the ground!]

GM:  OHHH!  He threw all his weight into that tackle and SLAMMED into
Martinez' bad shoulder!

[Standing over the downed former World Champion, Cooper is stomping and
kicking the shoulder to the jeers of the crowd...]

GM:  Where the- where is Petrow going now?

[The man who orchestrated the creation of Royalty slips through the
curtain for a moment...

...and returns clutching a steel chair in hand!]

GM:  Oh no!

[Langseth - just now recovering as he rubs his throat - shouts at the
tag champs.]

ML: Make him pay for what he did! Make it cost him!

[Cooper nods, gesturing to Martinez as Somers gives a few stomps to
Martinez's shoulder for good measure.  With a wicked sneer, Cooper gets
down on the platform, grabbing the arm of Martinez...

...and yanking it back in a Fujiwara armbar!]

GM:  Oh my stars - look at the pressure on that arm!  Dave Cooper is
wrenching back on the arm and-

BW:  Somers has got the chair!  Petrow just handed the chair to the big
man!

GM:  What's he gonna do with it?

BW:  Alex Martinez is about to find out what happens when somebody
bigger than him gets his hands on him, Gordo!

[Releasing the armbar, Cooper pins the arm to the floor as Somers raises
the chair high...

...and SLAMS the end of the folding chair into the shoulder!]

"OHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

GM:  Good heavens!  Eric Matthews Somers just DROVE the end of that
chair into Alex Martinez' shoulder!  I can't believe it... I can't
believe that just happened, Bucky!

BW:  Well, you'd better start because-

"OHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

BW:  -he just did it again, daddy!

GM: Somebody has to stop this!

[Cooper grabs the arm again, reapplying the Fujiwara as Langseth gets
closer, microphone in hand.]

GM:  What a vicious assault!  We just got word from the locker room that
Juan Vasquez left the building already!  We saw Violence Unlimited chase
the champs out earlier - we're told they never came back after that! 
Alex Martinez is all alone out here with Royalty!

BW:  I love it, Gordo!  That big lug Martinez came out to accuse Mark
Langseth of being the Dragon but if Langseth's the Dragon, he's
breathing fire all over the big, dumb giant!  This is so great! 
Finally! That punk Martinez is about to learn about RESPECT!

[Sufficiently recovered, an irate Mark Langseth speaks.]

ML: I'M the Dragon?!? Me?!? Just who do you think you are, huh? You
accuse ME?! YOU!? You rotten-

[Langseth squares up, clenches his teeth, and lays a heel into the
shoulder of Martinez, grinding it down for a few seconds while Cooper
keeps the hold on.]

ML: I'd make sure you'd KNOW it was ME attacking you! I wouldn't be
hiding! You... You're going to pay for this, "big man"! You-

[Langseth's tirade, however, is cut short, as a cheer comes from the
crowd.]

GM:  The cavalry has arrived!

[Gordon is right, as the locker room seems to have cleared - the
Rockstar Express, the Lynch boys, Tyler Lee, Supernova, and Eric Preston
hit the scene, prompting Cooper to release his hold and he and the rest
of Royalty hurry away.]

GM:  I can't believe how out of hands things have gotten.  Look at
Martinez, Bucky.  He can't even get up on his own.

[The AWA fan favorites stand around Martinez, making sure that Royalty
is out of the picture as they try to help the big man off the ground...

...and Tyler Lee gets a one-handed shove several feet back from a
furious Martinez!  James Lynch gets one as well as the big man tries to
clear a path around him.]

BW:  And look at that! Alex Martinez angrily shoving them away!  What an
ingrate.

[Finally on his feet, Martinez stands at the top of the ramp, clutching
his injured shoulder with the opposite hand. His face remains angry and
determined, and he can be heard yelling for Langseth, and swearing
revenge.]

GM: What an event! Mark Langseth is the Dragon.

BW:  Are you insane? You heard what the Hall of Famer said!  And you
better respect Langseth's words! He says he's not the Dragon, then he
sure ain't.

GM: Well, whatever the case may be, Mark Langseth has now been marked by
Alex Martinez, and that's not a position any man would want to be in. 
We're out of time, fans!  We've gotta go!  We'll see you next time... at
the matches!

[A furious Martinez can be heard bellowing "LAAAAAAANGSETH!" as we fade
to black.]