Saturday Night Wrestling

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                            American Wrestling Alliance 
                                   Proudly Presents 
                         AWA Saturday Night Wrestling

                         Live from the Crockett Coliseum
                                    Dallas, Texas
                                   May 7th, 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 Alex Martinez has been assaulted by Royalty
after accusing Mark Langseth of being The Dragon.  The seven footer is
down on his chest on the elevated wooden platform with one-half of the
National Tag Team Champions, Dave Cooper, yanking the arm 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 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:  Gordo, Memorial Day is just a few weeks away but for me, tonight is
a holiday in its own right!

GM:  A holiday?

BW:  That's right.  Tonight is the night that Juan Vasquez LOSES the
National Title!  It's gonna be a cause for celebration when Robert
Baldwin pins his shoulders to the mat for the one-two-three and walks
out of Dallas as the top dog in this business!

GM:  We'll see about that in tonight's Main Event but we've got so much
more in addition to that here on Saturday Night Wrestling but before
anything else, Bucky... the champ is here.

BW:  Ugh.

[We promptly cut to a shot of AWA National Champion, Juan Vasquez,
standing in the middle of the ring. Juan is dressed in a navy blazer, a
faded Tex Violence t-shirt underneath, and jeans. Around his waist, is
the also gorgeous, AWA National title. Juan has a serious look on his
face, not looking all that excited about whatever he's going to say...]

JV: There's something important that I'd like to talk about.

[There's some shouts from the crowd, but Juan quickly dismisses them
all.]

JV: No...it's not about Robert Baldwin and the Blonde Bombers. I've
already said my piece on that and I'll take care of business
tonight...but, I suppose they're apart of this too.

[A sigh, before continuing on.]

JV: It wasn't too long ago when my good friend, Sweet Daddy Williams
came out here and warned the AWA that dark times were coming.

And he was right.

Dark times are here.

[A frown forms on his face, almost as if he's disappointed at his own
inaction.]

JV: The Unholy Alliance, The Dragon and his minions, The Russians and
Sharif, Royalty... all of them have been running wild, doing whatever
they damn well please to take over that spot as the most despicable
bastards in all of wrestling, that The Southern Syndicate left behind!
There's been people fighting the good fight, but it just hasn't been
enough.

Brian Von Braun, The Aces, Vernon Riley, Alex Martinez, Sweet Daddy
Williams... the list of casualties are piling up week after week. The
evil forces in the AWA are getting bolder and more dangerous with each
passing day. In fact, it's looking like no one's gonna' be able to stop
any of these fools from taking over!

Well, you know what I say to that?

[He shakes his head defiantly.]

JV: No.

[The crowd cheers loudly, as if this was news they've been waiting to
hear for quite some time. Juan repeats himself once more...with
feeling.]

JV: NO!

[The look on his face grows fierce with determination.]

JV: Never _again!_

[His face turns red and his eyes grow wide, the anger boiling inside him
and rising to the surface.]

JV: When the Southern Syndicate was breaking bones, ending careers, and
holding the AWA National Title hostage...it was Juan Vasquez that led
the fight to run'em out! Well...this ain't any different. Maybe the
numbers are a bit bigger, the odds are stacked just *that* much higher
and the danger might just even be greater...

[He takes a deep breath.]

JV: ...but you know that I don't make empty promises or meaningless
threats! I'm as good as my word! I don't care if it takes another twelve
months or even twelve _years!_ I promise you, just like before...to all
you lowdown, no good, worthless cowards...

[Juan stares right at the entrance, making clear that he's addressing
this to everyone listening in the back.]

JV: I _will_ stop you.

[Big pop! And with that, Juan spikes the microphone on the canvas,
exiting to the cheers of the crowd.]

GM:  Alright!  How about that, Bucky?

BW:  He talks a big game for someone with busted up ribs and who is
obviously on borrowed time holding that belt around his waist.  And by
borrowed time, I mean less than two hours, daddy!  Haha!  I can't wait!

GM:  In addition to that National Title match, we've also got a rematch
from last Saturday Night Wrestling with Sultan Azam Sharif tangling up
with Corax again.  Corax scored a victory last time out- 

BW:  A tainted victory thanks to that moron Sudakov.

GM:  So you say.

BW:  I ain't the only one, Gordo.   Ivan Kostovich believes me... so do
a lot of other people.  And Sudakov paid for it two weeks ago.

GM:  Kolya Sudakov will be on The Money Pit later tonight to address
that situation and I hope he throws off these binding chains once and
for all.  We've got all of that, fans, plus much, much more including a
trip to the Memorial Day Mayhem Control Center where we'll get one step
closer to finding out exactly what'll go down in a few weeks' time.  But
let's get things started up inside the ring with our opening contest! 
Take it away, Phil Watson!

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

PW: The following contest is scheduled for one fall... introducing
first...from Beverly Hills, California, and weighing 265 pounds... Troy
DeMang!

[A man with, how shall we say, a spare tire on his midsection and badly
dyed peroxide blonde hair raises his arms to the crowd, not drawing much
reaction.
And now it's Ram Jam's version of "Black Betty" playing over the PA
system, signaling the arrival of the opposition.]

PW: And his opponent is from Louisville, Kentucky, and weighs 270
pounds... he is "THE LOUISVILLE SLUGGER" TYLER LEE!

[Tyler Lee is dressed in a pair of black trunks with white kneepads and
wrestling boots. He holds aloft a Louisville Slugger baseball bat,
marching down the aisle toward the ring.]

GM: And here he is... the man who has set his sights on the Russians,
Tyler Lee!

BW: And he's the man who is gonna be on the receiving end of what
happened to Koyla Sudakov two weeks ago!

[As Lee approaches the ring, he lowers his Slugger and then bangs it a
couple of times on the elevated wooden platform, before stepping through
the ropes into the ring.]

GM: Lee has made it no secret he wants Ivan Kostovich in the ring,
although the Russian has indicated no plans to come out of retirement.

BW: Lucky for Lee, because Kostovich would tear him a new one! Even so,
Vladimir Velikov will be happy to do the honors.

GM: That remains to be seen... Lee has set that baseball bat aside and
this one is underway.

BW: How can Jim Watkins keep letting that man carry around a dangerous
weapon?

GM: The same way he allows Velikov to carry around that chain.

BW: That's not a weapon! It's an authentic Russian relic!

GM: Will you stop it?

[Lee and DeMang are now circling each other, the two men locking up, Lee
immediately shoving DeMang back to the corner.]

GM: Tyler Lee has DeMang trapped in the corner... the referee calling
for the break...

BW: Lee backs up... and the fool paid for it!

GM: DeMang with some hard shots to Lee's head... now he drives his head
into the turnbuckle!

[But Lee just stares back at DeMang.]

BW: Well, that's a mistake... you can't hurt Lee by hitting him in the
head.

GM: DeMang tries it again... but still no effect!

BW: As I was saying, Gordo...

[And then, Lee grabs DeMang by the head and rams his head into the
buckles several times, the audience happily counting along.]

"ONE!"
"TWO!"
"THREE!"
"FOUR!"
"FIVE!"
"SIX!"

[And yeah, that's all it takes for DeMang to look dazed and fall
backwards to the canvas.]

GM: Lee taking control of the match... he drags DeMang up... sends him
into the ropes... back body drop follows!

BW: He may be able to bully around DeMang, but he's gonna find that a
lot harder to do against the Russians!

GM: Lee drags DaMang up again... a quick kick to the midsection and
another Irish whip... and there's a clothesline!

[Lee turns to the crowd to salute them, with some of the fans returning
the salute.]

BW: Well, there's one mystery solved.

GM: What are you talking about?

BW: We now know the secret handshake for Idiots Incorporated!

GM: Knock it off, Bucky... Lee dragging DeMang off the canvas... DeMang
with a desperation shot to the ribs... now a poke to the eyes.

BW: Hey, any way you can take control, you gotta do it.

GM: DeMang now backing Lee up into the corner... an Irish whip
follows... but it's reversed.

[As DeMang comes stumbling out of the corner, Lee suddenly spins
around.]

GM: He hits The Slugger! That patented discus punch sends DeMang down to
the canvas!

BW: That's a closed fist, Gordon! How can the referee allow that!

GM: Lee dragging DeMang up again... sends him into the ropes... spinning
spinebuster slam!

[Lee then rises to his feet, holding one hand up in the air as he
marches to the corner, the fans cheering as they know what's coming
next.]

GM: Lee goes to the corner... turns around... three point stance...

BW: This isn't football, you imbecile!

GM: DeMang to his feet... Lee charges... running spear tackle!

BW: OK, so the Louisville Lunge puts the guy down, I'll give him that.

GM: It does indeed... one... two... three... this one's over!

[Lee rises to his feet, allowing the referee to raise his arm in
victory.]

PW: Here is your winner... "THE LOUISVILLE SLUGGER" TYLER LEE!

[Lee salutes the crowd once more, then he goes to the corner to grab his
Louisville Slugger and depart the ring.]

GM: Tyler Lee with another victory under his belt.

BW: Well, DeMang is one thing, but I don't think he's gonna push
Vladimir Velikov around so easily.

GM: Lee will certainly look forward to the day he meets Velikov in the
ring... and who knows... Ivan Kostovich may answer his challenge at some
point.

BW: Well, if he does, Lee's in for a world of hurt because Kostovich
doesn't like anyone trying to disrupt his peaceful retirement.

GM: Kostovich is anything but peaceful, Bucky... right now, let's go to
Jason Dane who will get a few words from Tyler Lee!

[We cut to Jason Dane at the interview platform, where Lee has joined
him.]

JD: Tyler Lee, another impressive victory... what everyone-

[Lee holds up his hand.]

TL: One minute, Jason... I want to start by giving my thanks to the men
and women who proudly serve this great country of ours... for too long,
there was a man who did terrible things to this nation and had been
escaping justice for far too long... but about a week ago, justice was
finally served, thanks to those brave soldiers serving overseas! To all
of you who serve our fine country and did your job well that day... I
salute you!

[He then salutes the camera and, yep, the crowd just has to cheer.]

JD: Certainly I join you in thanking all the men and women who serve our
country and I'm certain they are grateful for your praise.

TL: Thank you, Jason... now, let's talk AWA business.

JD: The starting point is certainly The Russians... you saw what
happened to Koyla Sudakov two weeks ago... what are your thoughts on
what Velikov and Kostovich did to him?

TL: I've told everyone that I never met a Russian I could trust... but
understand one thing, Kostovich and Velikov... what you did to Sudakov
most certainly crossed the line! You were the ones that insisted he
stick his nose where it shouldn't have been, and when it didn't work
out, you decided to beat him to a bloody pulp. Well, that doesn't sit
well with Tyler Lee... hey, I know my methods are to go crack skulls,
but that's only when they absolutely need to be cracked... and that's
certainly the case with the two of you forcing Sudakov to do your dirty
work for you, then taking it out on him when it backfires!

JD: I don't suppose you and Supernova are feeling a little more
sympathetic to Sudakov now.

TL: I don't have sympathy for the man, Jason... I just know a coward
when I see one and cowards are people who don't want to do anything for
themselves because they don't want to get their hands dirty. But I
understand that sometimes you've got to get your hands dirty if you want
to get the job done... and that's exactly what I plan to do with those
Russians! And I hope Velikov has the guts to get himself into the
Memorial Day Rumble, because I'd love nothing more than to knock his
brains out!

JD: Hold on... you said the Memorial Day Rumble... you haven't been
entered yet.

TL: Well, Jason, consider this my official entry into the Rumble... and
whether it's someone I consider a friend or a foe, or some lowlife scum
like Velikov or the Sultan of Salami, understand one thing... the
Louisville Slugger isn't afraid to get his hands dirty no matter what,
and that's bad news for anyone who stands in my way of winning... big
boy!

[With that, he turns to salute the cheering crowd and departs the
interview platform.]

JD:  Tyler Lee, the Lousiville Slugger, is the eleventh man to enter the
Memorial Day Rumble, fans!  And you've gotta think the battle-tough
brawler from Kentucky certainly has what it takes to make a major impact
in that big 30 man match coming up in a few weeks' time.  Fans, let's go
backstage to my good friend, Mark Stegglet, who is with a special guest.

[Crossfade.  Mark Stegglet is standing by with a smirking, bespectacled
Louis Matsui, dressed in a dark blue suit, lavender shirt and red tie. 
Instead of MAMMOTH Mizusawa, however, he is accompanied by a man in a
black executioner-style mask and black cargo pants: another of Matsui's
associates, Engel Ubelmacht.]

MS: For almost a month now, we have not seen any sign of MAMMOTH
Mizusawa. The fans and the rest of the AWA locker room want to know, has
Juan Vasquez vanquished the giant from the AWA?

LM: Would it make you feel safer if that were the case, Stegglet?

[As if to make his manager's point, Ubelmacht steps menacingly towards
the interviewer, regarding him, as a predator would regard its prey,
from beneath the mask. With a smirk, Louis Matsui brings his hand up as
if to hold the masked German back.]

LM: You see, Mark, just because you have not seen the work of myself and
the brain trust at the Matsui Corporation, it does not mean that we have
been idle. These past couple of weeks, I have been in talks with a few,
shall we say, interested parties and we are close to an agreement... A
plan, shall we say, to deal with the problem that is Juan Vasquez.

MS: Care to ela-

LM: In the meantime, Stegglet, the Matsui Corporation has granted the
fans in Dallas, even though these cowpokes do not deserve it, the
privilege of watching another star from its stable of talent. [Motioning
to Engel Ubelmacht.] You've seen what this man can do in the Open
Invitational Battle Royal at the third anniversary show and you can be
sure that he will wow you again in the Memorial Day Rumble.  

MS:  Do you mean-

LM:  That's right, Mark, in Mizusawa-san's absence, Engel Ubelmacht will
be my representative in the Rumble. But before we get to the feast,
these fans in the Colisseum will get a small taster of what this man can
do.  Engel, come!

[Tomoyasu Hotei's 'Battle Without Honor or Humanity' starts to play over
the Crockett Colisseum sound system as the smirking, bespectacled Louis
Matsui leads the masked Engel Ubelmacht down the ramp. Cut to Phil
Watson, standing by in the ring with Ubelmacht's opponent.]

PW: The following match is scheduled for one fall with a five-minute
time limit. Already in the ring at this time, hailing from Portland,
Maine and weighing in at 221 pounds... Chris Choisnet!

[The clean-cut Chris Choisnet raises a hand, acknowledging the crowd. 
Cut back to Louis Matsui, jawing with the fans at ringside, knowing that
the masked German has his back, should any of them be crazy enough to
jump the barricade. He turns to his charge and, after giving him some
last minute instructions, points towards the ring. With a slight nod,
Engel Ubelmacht climbs quickly and effortlessly into the ring.]

PW: And his opponent... He represents the Matsui Corporation, hails from
Hamburg, Germany and weighs in tonight at 205 pounds... He is...
ENGEL... UBELMACHT!!!

GM: There you have it, Bucky, the German competitor has got a couple of
inches over young Chris Choisnet, but Choisnet has got about six pounds
over Ubelmacht.

BW: The way Engel slinks about and moves, he's like a cat, Gordo, a cat
that can kick you in the face and then drive you face-first into the
mat. There's a reason he's called the One-Man Luftwaffe.

GM: Chris Choisnet on the other hand is a pretty back-to-basics kind of
guy with a solid grasp of the fundamentals. This will make for an
interesting contrast of styles, Bucky.

BW: There's nothing fancy about this kid, except maybe his name, this
Chris Schwanay!

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

[Indeed, the two competitors circle each other, sizing each other up,
and very quickly lock up with the collar-and-elbow. Choisnet seems to
have the the strength advantage, but Ubelmacht quickly lets go of
Choisnet's elbow, positions himself behind and slightly to the side of
his opponent and takes him down with a forward Russian leg sweep.]

BW: Face-first to the mat! What did I say, Gordo?

GM: But Ubelmacht failing to stay on him; you can't do that with a
competitor like Chris Choisnet.

BW: He's stalking him; playing with his fallen prey. That's what big
cats do.

[Ubelmacht is crouched near the corner, waiting for Choisnet to regain
his vertical base. As soon as Choisnet is up, Ubelmacht charges out of
the corner with a jumping spin kick...]

GM: Ubelmacht misses! Choisnet ducked! And now Choisnet has Ubelmacht.
Side slam! Pin!

BW: Only one! You don't put away an opponent like Engel with a basic
move like that!

GM: Both men back to their feet... Choisnet with a go-behind!

[Staying on top of Ubelmacht, Choisnet looks like he is going for a
facelock of some kind, but the German scrambles quickly out of the
predicament and makes a grab for the bottom ropes. He motions for the
referee to keep his opponent back as Louis Matsui scurries over to that
side of the ring for a consult.]

GM: The youngster is rearing to go, but Matsui and Ubelmacht seem to be
stalling.

BW: You call it stalling, Gordo, I call it putting their combined brain
trust to work. You'll see, they'll pull one over Chris Schwanay soon
enough.

[Getting more and more impatient, Chris Choisnet tries to push himself
towards Engel Ubelmacht, but the referee gets between them. While they
are tangled near the ropes, Ubelmacht gets a cheap shot at Choisnet. 
The irritated Choisnet makes a lunge for Ubelmacht, but finds himself
falling to the mat instead, courtesy of an assist from Louis Matsui. 
Choisnet scrambles quickly to his feet, but in yelling at Matsui, takes
his eyes off Ubelmacht, who lands a spinning heel kick to the back of
Choisnet's head.]

BW: Oh, that'd rattle whatever little brain mush Schwanay has in his
noggin.

GM: The ropes seem to be the only things keeping him up, Bucky.

[Choisnet tries to shake the impact to his head away, but as he turns
away from the ropes, he is met with a forearm uppercut. Grabbing an arm,
Ubelmacht whips Choisnet into the ropes on the opposite side of the
ring.]

GM: Ubelmacht catches Choisnet, wraps an arm around his neck... Ohhh!
Drives the back of his head to the mat!

BW: I believe he calls that Depravity's Descent, Gordo, a reverse
bulldog and that should be it for Chris Schwanay!

GM: Cover! ONE! TWO!  THREE!

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

PW: Here is your winner... ENGEL UBELMACHT!!!

[Engel Ubelmacht stands over Chris Choisnet, looking down on his felled
opponent, as the referee raises his hand. He is soon joined in the ring
by a grinning Louis Matsui, who pats his charge approvingly on the
back.]

GM: We've seen Engel Ubelmacht in action twice now; we know he's a
talented competitor and a dangerous individual, but I guess we'll have
to wait just under a month to find out if that reverse bulldog will be
any use in the Memorial Day Rumble.

BW: We know there's more in Engel's arsenal, daddy; we just haven't seen
it all, yet. Maybe we'll get the chance at the Rumble and I, for one,
can't wait!

GM:  He's the twelfth man to join the Rumble, fans, and we'll find out
even more names in that big, big match throughout tonight's show.  But
for now, we've gotta take a quick break!

[With Matsui still in the ring congratulating Ubelmacht, we cut to a
very long shot of the exterior of a pretty dingy looking building.]

"Have you ever dreamed of fame?"

[Cut a little closer.]

"Of glory?"

[A little closer.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Two young students are grappling on the canvas.]

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

You want to wrestle!"

[Fade to a graphic that has all the info on the AWA Combat Corner.  We
freeze there for a moment and then fade back up to live action in the
middle of the ring where a wild-eyed James Monosso is hammering Chris
Choisnet's head with forearm smashes in the corner.]

GM:  Fans, we are back live in Dallas and James Monosso came out of
nowhere during the break and is absolutely destroying this young man
inside the ring!

[Monosso grabs Choisnet by the head, SMASHING the back of his skull into
the top turnbuckle, causing him to slump down to a knee.  Monosso grabs
the top rope, slamming his own head into the top turnbuckle a few times,
letting loose a crazed scream as he stalks across the ring to the far
corner, turning to face the dazed Choisnet...]

GM:  No, no!  Somebody stop this!  Somebody get this guy out of here!

[Monosso backs into the corner, clawing at his own face, tearing at his
own hair, and lets loose another blood-curdling shriek as he dashes
across the ring...

...and gets SPEARED off his feet by an incoming Juan Vasquez!]

GM:  VASQUEZ!  VASQUEZ!

[The National Champion climbs atop the downed Monosso, battering him
with right hands to the skull.  The crowd is roaring as their fan
favorite hammers the madman into the canvas...

...and then ERUPTS into jeers!]

GM:  UNHOLY ALLIANCE!!  LOOK OUT!!

[The crowd roars a warning to Juan Vasquez as Anton Layton, Nenshou, and
Polemos come tearing down the aisle towards the ring.  Nenshou gets
there first, slipping through the ropes...

...and coming up empty as the National Champion bails out just in time,
yanking Choisnet under the ropes to the safety of the floor as Layton
and the God of War, Polemos, reach the ring as well.]

GM:  Whoa!  Whoa!  Juan Vasquez just narrowly got out of there in time,
fans!  The Unholy Alliance was comin' for him and they were comin' hard!
 

BW:  What the heck is Vasquez doing out here?  Why is he getting
involved in their business?

GM:  Hey, Juan Vasquez said that the beginning of the end was here
tonight for this dark cloud that's hanging over the AWA!  Juan Vasquez
said he was personally going to lead the charge and I think he just
showed the entire world that he means business.  This is over!  This
ain't happening on his watch!

BW:  Juan Vasquez versus The World?  Now THAT I want to see!

GM:  Fans, let's go backstage where Jason Dane is standing by with the
Lynches!  Take it away, Jason!

[Crossfade.  Jason Dane stands backstage, flanked by Travis, James and
Jack, the Lynch brothers.  All three of them wear their wrestling gear. 
None of the boys look happy.  Indeed, this might be the most serious
weve ever seen the brothers.]

JD:  Lets get right to it.  Mr. Lynch...

[But before Dane can finish, Jack Lynch steps forward.]

JL:  No Jason, let me ask you somethin.

[Dane looks confused, but nods.]

JL:  Did you happen to see what happened two weeks ago?  Did you see all
the back jumpin that occurred? Did you notice all the people getting
hit from behind, only to be left lying?

Did you see, Dane?

[The strident note in Jacks voice makes Dane nod quickly.]

JL:  Yeah, we saw it too.  And do you know who else saw it?  Our daddy,
Blackjack Lynch.  Know how I know that?

Couple nights after we went off the air, I was in a bar, drinking in a
corner, minding my own business, when a shadow fell across the table.  I
knew, without even havin to look up, who it was.  When ya grow up a
Lynch, you learn how to recognize a shadow that long.

Son, he said to me, what is going on?

I looked up at him Jason, and I knew what he meant.  You see, when our
father sold Premier Championship Wrestling, he didnt just sell some
videotape.  It wasnt just some contracts he sold.  What he sold to the
AWA was his legacy.  His, to use a word familiar to AWA fans, heritage.

Blackjack Lynch is not the sorta man wholl ask another person for
something. He doesnt go around, expecting other people to do his work
for him.  But when he put PCW in the AWAs hands, he sent us three here
for a reason.   To protect his legacy, and to make sure no one ever
tarnishes our heritage.

So when he turns on the TV and he sees stuff like Dick Bass and his
bullwhip, or Royalty beating the hell out of Alex Martinez, or the
Unholy Alliance celebrating being evil?  Well, he wants to know whats
going on.

And he wants to know what were going to do about it.

[Jack turns around, looking at his brothers.]

JL:  So brothers, why dont you tell him what were going to do about
it?

[James Lynch is first to jump in and follow his older brothers lead.]

JL: We were raised with a strong sense of loyalty.  To support and stand
tall against _all_ odds no matter the costs for what we believe in.  Our
father taught us the importance of honor and loyalty.  We helped bring
back the glory days of Texas wrestling inside the PCW.  We used those
qualities in helping PCW reach the airwaves all across Texas.

[James pauses but only for a moment.]

JL: AWA is now our home and all these cheatin SOBs that are used to
getting away with whatever the heck they want is about to change. 
Numbers may not be on our side.  We may be looked at as the new kids on
the block.  In the end we are going to go about our business the exact
same way we did back home.  And thats standing side by side and
standing tall for the AWA.

[Travis and Jack support their brother as he continues.]

JL: So its statement time.  The Rumble is where you make your name in
the AWA.  And all those cheatin SOBs we just talked about they are
going to have their names in the mix.  What better way to make that
statement then to have one of us three _WIN_ that Rumble and show the
world that the Lynch way stands tall and will soon become the AWA way.

And if it comes down to just us inside that ring?  Well we have thrown a
few punches at one another growing up.  I guess it could happen again.

[Laughs from all. Travis grabs a hold of the microphone that Dane is
holding and pulls the mans arm towards him, he flashes his pearly
whites for a brief moment before he begins to speak.]

TL: You said it yourself Jason, its like gang warfare out there. Each
faction trying to sink their grasp into the AWA and call it their own.
But you know what the Lynches see when they look at all the back jumpin
... we see men that are as scared as a sinner in a cyclone.

Not one man in the Unholy Alliance, Foreign Legion or Royalty is man
enough to handle their business eye to eye. Oh no, not them ... they
need to do it from behind  handle it three on one  some men they are.

The Longhorn Heritage Champion blows black goo into the faces of his
challengers  disgusting  heck Rough N Ready are ducking challengers
and those they cant duck they take out from behind so they can maintain
their flimsy grasp upon championship gold.

[Travis Lynch shakes his head side to side slowly.]

TL: As Jack said theres a shadow lingering  a dark shadow covering the
AWA  and honestly I wish it was Blackjacks covering the AWA cause at
least then 

[Travis points motions to himself and his brothers.]

TL: We would know what to expect.

[Jack and James grin.]

TL: Its time though for the light to shine through the shadow. Its
time for the Lynches to make their presence felt and extinguish the
shadow. At Memorial Day Mayhem twenty seven men and the Lynches step
into the ring to crown a number one contender 

[Travis flashes his pearly whites once again.]

TL: And all I have to say to everyone else in the AWA is if ya cant
run with the big dogs...stay on the porch.

[The Lynches stand together as we crossfade back down to ringside where
the Unholy Alliance is still standing.  Anton Layton, the Prince of
Darkness, has the mic and is stalking back and forth across the ring.]

AL:  VAAAAAASSSQUEZ!

[The demonic howl of Layton leaves no doubt towards his lack of mental
stability.]

AL:  Juan Vasquez wants to be a hero.  He wants to be a savior to you
people.  

[Layton sneers.]

AL:  The entire locker room is surging towards the gates with men
looking to be heroes and saviors.  Men like Sweet Daddy Williams who
months ago saw a dark cloud coming...

...and now isn't seeing much of anything!

[The crowd jeers the obvious punchline as the face-painted Nenshou nods
in agreement.]

AL:  Men like the Lynches...

[Layton spits on the canvas.]

AL:  Three corn-fed cows being led to the slaughter by their no-account
senile father!  Your daddy wants you to be the law around here, Lynches?
 It's touching.  It's sweet.

It's also naive.  

You have walked into the belly of the beast, boys... and within that
belly?  

[Layton grabs the top rope, leaning towards the camera.]

AL:  There is NO law!  The Unholy Alliance makes the rules in these
parts now... and are rule shall not be challenged by anyone.  

Even you, Vasquez.

[Layton shakes his head violently, swinging it from side to side until
you think it might just fly off his shoulders.]

AL:  Heroes and saviors, heroes and saviors.  My Master had had to deal
with heroes and saviors for a long, long time now, Vasquez.  A great
many have stepped up to battle the forces of evil over the course of
eternity and time and time again, my Master has shoved them back through
the gates of Hell to where they came from... usually taking a large
piece of their soul on the way!

You want to be a hero, Vasquez?  You want to be a savior?

[Layton scoffs.]

AL:  I'd prefer you be a martyr.

[Layton throws back his head in a cackle before throwing down the mic,
waving towards the locker room.]

GM:  Some disturbing words there from Anton Layton... and apparently
this is going to be a Longhorn Heritage Title defense for Nenshou coming
up we're being told.  

BW:  What idiot would charge out here into - as Layton put it - the
belly of the beast to wrestle the Asian Assassin, Gordo?

GM:  We're about to find that out, I think.

[Phil Watson steps into the ring, sidestepping the massive God Of War to
begin the introductions.]

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

Introducing first... in the ring at this time... being accompanied to
the ring by Anton Layton, James Monosso, and Polemos... he is the
current reigning and defending Longhorn Heritage Champion...
representing the Unholy Alliance...

NENNNNNNNSHOU!

[The crowd jeers wildly as Nenshou whips his cloth hood off, spewing
green mist into the air.]

GM:  Gaah... and there's that vile green mist that was sprayed into the
eyes of Sweet Daddy Williams two weeks ago.  The fan favorite from
Atlanta had to be rushed for immediate urgent care following that
incident and is staying home under a doctor's orders here tonight. 
We're told there was no permanent damage however and I understand that
Sweet Daddy Williams will be speaking to us LIVE via satellite during
the Control Center later tonight.  I know you're looking forward to
that, Bucky.

BW:  If I wanted to see a fat man crying his eyes out, I'd watch The
Biggest Loser.

[Watson continues.]

PW:  And his opponent...

[The sounds of "Stranglehold" by Ted Nugent starts up to a HUGE cheer
from the Texas crowd!]

GM:  Are you kidding me?!

[The curtain flies apart as James Lynch comes jogging down the ramp,
already pulling off his orange jacket and tossing it to the side as the
barefooted wrestler heads down the ramp ready for his AWA singles
debut.]

BW:  This guy's got a lot of nerve, Gordo!  He's climbing in there with
the Longhorn Heritage Champion... he's getting a shot at the title in
his singles debut?!  What kind of ship is Jim Watkins runnin' around
here?!

GM:  Well, we've seen what James can do in tag team wrestling standing
in his brothers' corner.  I am interested to see how he does on his own.

BW: We've already talked about this.  He wrestles barefoot, Gordo! 
Nenshou should pick up the victory with little effort.

[Lynch steps into the ring, hands at the ready as Nenshou darts towards
him, pulling back in a feint as he moves quickly back and forth.  The
rest of the Unholy Alliance exits the ring, Layton in particular
shouting and screaming at Lynch.]

GM:  Layton's out there ranting and raving like a lunatic, Bucky.

BW:  He IS a lunatic, Gordo!

[The referee signals for the bell.]

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

[James Lynch, seemingly on instinct, extends his hand to Nenshou.]

GM:  A great show of sportsmanship by James Lynch but I'm guessing
that'll be lost on a man like Nenshou.

BW: So he is barefoot and soft.  Not the qualities that Blackjack taught
his sons I can tell you that.

[Nenshou cocks his head, staring at the offered hand, and slaps it away
as the 
two men begin to circle around one another.  After a few moments, they
lunge into a collar and elbow tieup.  Nenshou quickly spins out with a
grip on the wrist, twisting Lynch's arm around and hooking it into an
armbar.]

GM:  Nenshou into the armbar right off the bat... and you know, as much
as we get lost in Nenshou's dastardly tactics with the Unholy Alliance,
never let it be forgotten that he is one heck of a wrestler, Bucky.

BW:  Arguably the best in the world in my opinion.  As Percy Childes
says, he is the future of this business.

GM:  Speaking of which, where IS Percy Childes tonight?

BW:  No idea but don't you worry about it.  Nenshou's in good hands with
the rest of the Alliance.

[Nenshou cranks on the arm to the jeers of the crowd...

...but Lynch isn't having any of it, using his quickness and versatile
skills as he does a front roll to relieve the pressure, kipping up to
his feet, and throwing Nenshou down to the mat with an armdrag!]

GM:  Whoa my!  Nice counter by James Lynch and-

[And the crowd cheers as Lynch immediately takes to the air, catching
Nenshou under the chin with both feet.]

GM:  Standing dropkick by James Lynch!  Picture perfect!  And Bucky,
James is known out of the three at being the most versatile and the most
adaptable of the Lynch brothers.  It's why he makes such a good tag team
partner for either one of his brothers.

BW: That tells me that Jack and Travis carry him.

[Nenshou pops back up... 

...and gets taken right back down with another armdrag.  Lynch hooks the
arm under his armpit, applying an armbar of his own down on the mat as
Nenshou slaps at his own arm, looking for an escape.]

GM:  Lynch sinks in that armbar, really wrenching on it... and can
someone shut up Anton Layton?

[Layton has been shouting at Lynch the entire match so far, drawing the
jeers from the crowd.]

BW:  Layton's discussing strategy, Gordo.

GM:  Is he?  Sounds to me like he just wants to rant out there at James
Lynch!  I understand that Layton is quite sore that James Lynch got
involved in that six man tag at one of our arena events recently.  This
might be Layton trying to get payback of some sorts.

[Nenshou pushes up to his feet, stretching his arm out, and snapping off
a beautiful cartwheel to relieve the pressure...

...and BLASTS Lynch across the upper body with a knife-edge chop!]

GM:  Good grief!  Nenshou drilled him with the chop!  And another!

[Nenshou grabs Lynch, shoving him off to the ropes.]

GM:  Lynch off the ropes... cho-

[But Lynch ducks under a thrown knife-edge chop, leaping up to the
middle rope, and flinging himself off backwards!]

GM:  CROSSBODY OFF THE MIDDLE ROPE!!  WHAT A COUNTER!!

[Lynch tightly hooks the leg as the referee dives to the mat.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  

[But Nenshou fires a shoulder up before three.]

BW:  NO!!!  Nenshou doesn't want to be the man in the back with losing
to a barefooted wrestler on his resume.  That is career suicide right
there, Gordo.

[Lynch is the first to his feet, meeting Nenshou as he climbs up as
well, and shoves him back into the corner.  A few right hands connect
before Lynch grabs the arm, flinging Nenshou across the ring...]

GM:  Big whip by Lynch...

[Nenshou stumbles out of the corner from the impact, becoming an easy
victim to be scooped up off the mat, and slammed down hard to the
canvas!]

GM:  BIG BODY SLAM BY LYNCH!!

[Lynch promptly hits the ropes, rebounding off...

...and leaps up high, aiming a legdrop for the chest of Nenshou!]

GM:  LEG DR- OHHHH!

[The crowd groans alongside Gordon as Nenshou rolls out, causing Lynch
to smash down on his tailbone on the canvas!  Nenshou promptly gets to
his feet...]


"WHAAAAAAAAAAAP!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  HEAD KICK!  MY STARS, WHAT A HEAD KICK!!

[Nenshou throws himself across the prone Lynch, signalling to the
official.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  TH-

[But Lynch fires a shoulder off the mat, breaking the count.]

GM:  Lynch kicks out at two!  This is a tough kid that looks to have a
big future in the AWA.  He's completely holding his own in there with
the Longhorn Heritage Champion on essentially NO notice!

[Nenshou reaches down, hauling Lynch to his feet.  He catches him with a
couple more knife-edge chops, backing Lynch to the corner.  Grabbing the
arm, he whips Lynch across...

...and breaks out a picture-perfect cartwheel into a handspring, sailing
backwards to smash his elbow under the chin!]

GM:  OHHH!  

BW:  Move over Dominique Wilkins, Nenshou IS the human highlight reel!

[Grabbing a handful of Lynch's hair, Nenshou dashes out of the corner,
leaping into the air, and SMASHING his face into the canvas before he
rolls into another lateral press.]

GM:  Another cover - one!  Two!  Thr- Lynch kicks out again!

[Nenshou glares at the official from a kneeling position next to
Lynch...

...and then HAMMERS the Texan with an overhead chop that comes real
close to the throat.  Nenshou climbs to his feet with the referee
reprimanding him for a near illegal strike.  At Layton's shouted orders,
Nenshou delivers a few stomps to the chest of Lynch before leaning over
to pull him up again...]

GM:  INSIDE CRADLE!!!  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR-

"OHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

GM:  He almost got him, Bucky!  We were a half count away from a new
champion!

BW:  James Lynch tried to sneak a victory out of here but Nenshou kicked
out in time. 

GM:  Both men trying to get up, a footrace to get to a vertical
position...

[A wildly thrown high kick by Nenshou sees Lynch ducking, pulling
Nenshou down in a schoolboy rollup!]

GM:  ANOTHER ROLLUP!!  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR-

[But the shoulder flies up again.  James Lynch grabs his head in
frustration as he kneels on the canvas.  Nenshou gets to his feet...

...but Lynch hooks him around the race, shoving him back hard against
the buckles!]

GM:  Ohh!  Into the corner!

[Lynch hooks a front facelock, dragging Nenshou out of the corner.]

GM:  He's going for a suplex here... setting up for the vertical
suplex...

[The Texan tries to hoist him into the air...

...but Nenshou catches him with a pair of knees to the skull, forcing
Lynch to put him back down.  The Asian Assassin immediately drops to a
knee, slamming a taped-finger thrust into the windpipe, leaving Lynch
gasping for air as he falls back into the corner!]

GM:  Nenshou moves into the corn- oh, come on, referee!

[The crowd cheers a blatant choke in the corner, both of Nenshou's hands
wrapped around the throat of the challenger.  The referee's count hits
four before the Asian Assassin breaks the illegal hold...

...and snaps off a high kick to the sternum, causing Lynch to stumble
out of the corner, falling chestfirst down to the mat.]

GM:  Good grief!  What a kick!

[Nenshou uses his foot to flip Lynch to his back...

...and leaps into the air, dropping all his weight down in a senton
across the chest of Lynch!]

GM:  Ohh!  Backsplash by Nenshou... into another cover... we've got one!
 We've got two!  We've got- no!  Again, James Lynch is out at two!  And
James Lynch is showing the entire AWA what he's made of here tonight. 
These Texas fans already knew but now everyone else does as well!

[Nenshou grabs two handfuls of Lynch hair, dragging him up...

...and Lynch breaks the grip, popping Nenshou with a right hand!]

GM:  Big right hand!

[A second one sends Nenshou stumbling backwards to the ropes.  Lynch
grabs the arm, attempting an Irish whip...]

GM:  Big whip, no... reversed!

[The rebounding James Lynch ducks under a spinning back roundhouse kick,
hitting the far ropes, and connecting with another dropkick to the jaw,
knocking Nenshou flat to the cheers of the crowd!]

GM:  Another beautiful dropkick by James Lynch!


"FIVE MINUTES HAVE EXPIRED!  FIVE MINUTES REMAIN!"

[Nenshou is flat on his back, seeing stars.  Pointing to the fans with a
nod, James Lynch quickly climbs his way to the top rope.  His back is
turned to the downed Nenshou.  Lynch turns his head slightly, keeping an
eye open to make sure Nenshou's still in the right spot...

...but a barrage of insults from Anton Layton on the floor grabs Lynch's
attention!]

GM:  Wait a second...

BW:  This is a mistake for Lynch, Gordo!  He had Nenshou in trouble and
now he's trading words with Layton.  Now he's-


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  WHAT A DIVE!!  WHAT A DIVE!!  LYNCH DIVES OFF ONTO THE ALLIANCE!!

[Having knocked down Layton and Monosso, Lynch pops up to his feet to
the cheers of the crowd.  Polemos, the monstrous God of War, approaches
slowly, stalking Lynch like a monster out of a horror movie.  Lynch
quickly flees the scene, scaling up onto the ring apron...

...and grabbing the incoming Nenshou's skull in the palm of his hand. 
HUGE ROAR!]

GM:  CLAW!!  HE'S GOT THE CLAW ON NENSHOU!!!

BW:  But the big idiot's out on the apron!  He can't win the match from
there!

GM:  But he's got Nenshou trapped in the Iron Claw!  He's not getting
out of that!  

[Nenshou's arms are flailing, trying to escape as the official shouts at
Lynch, trying to get him back into the ring...

...but it's not the official who breaks the hold, nor Nenshou.]

GM:  OHHHH!  COME ON!!

[The crowd explodes in jeers as James Monosso yanks Lynch's legs out
from under him, sending him smashing his own jaw into the edge of the
ring apron!]

GM:  Good grief, Bucky!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  The referee calls for the bell on that one but we've got trouble!

[Monosso pushes Lynch's throat against the edge of the ring apron,
screaming loudly as he strangles the air out of James Lynch's body. 
Anton Layton climbs back to his feet, pummeling Lynch with right hands
to the skull as Monosso chokes him...

...and suddenly the crowd ERUPTS!]

GM:  HERE COMES THE LYNCHES!!  

BW:  AND VASQUEZ!!

[The crowd roars at the sight of Jack and Travis Lynch alongside the
National Champion as the three men hit the ringside area hard, throwing
right hands at everyone in sight, chasing them off of James Lynch.]

GM:  James Lynch is down... he's hurting... but it could've been much,
much worse, Bucky.

BW:  It certainly could have.  The Unholy Alliance could've sent this
punk Lynch off to see Sweet Daddy Williams or Ron Houston or Vernon
Riley... and man, would I have loved to see that!

GM:   You're sick, Bucky... absolutely sick.  Fans, James Lynch has won
this match by disqualification.  A DQ victory over the Longhorn Heritage
Champion which, just like his brothers Travis and Jack, continues the
winning ways of the Lynch clan here in the AWA.  His father, Blackjack,
has gotta be proud of him - of all of them, Bucky.

BW:  Before you get too excited, Gordo, let's see how they do in the
Rumble.

GM:  The whole world will see how they do in the Rumble in just a few
weeks' time.  Let's go back to Jason.

[Crossfade.  AWA banner, Jason Dane, thick dude in a red hooded
sweatshirt, back to the camera.  Go!]

JD: Fans, I've been told by my producer to come here and interview
another participant just added to the Memorial Day Rumble.  And sir ...
sir, I'm not sure how to announce you.  Who are you, exactly?

[Whipping around in frantic animation, the figure simultaneously pulls
his hood down, revealing the balding head of a flame-colored clown!]

JD: GAH!

ZDK: Jason Dane, as I live and breathe, hoo-hoo-hoo!  Pleased to make
your acquaintance my fine little youngster, as I am ZYPPO D. KLOWN! 
Tell me Jason, are you the birthday boy in this fancy party?

[His skull-like white-painted face and scalp are highlighted with red,
yellow and orange accents to simulate a cartoonish flame around his eyes
and mouth.  Doing a little dance as he waits for Dane to reply, Zyppo
does nothing to dissuade people from being creeped out.]

JD: Ah.  Well...  Zyppo, you're the thirteenth entrant in the Memorial
Day Rumble joining the Lynches, the Sultan, titans such as Robert
Donovan and the legendary Alex Martinez as well as many others.  Would
you like to comment on the Rumble?

ZDK: Ohhh, such a serious boy you are, hoo-hoo.  Isn't there anything
else you'd rather do?  Ooh, don't you want to know what the D. in my
name stands for?

[That feels like a loaded question and Dane's shifty look reveals that
he sees it too.  Just for the sake of argument, however, he bites
anyway.]

JD: Okay, what does the D. stand for?

ZDK: DESTRUCTION, Damage, Doom, Death and, of course, the Dimples in my
cheeks!

[Searching for something to say, Dane slowly raises a finger to point at
Zyppo's face.]

ZDK: Wrong cheeks, little Jason, hoo-hoo-hooo!

[Dane curls his lip in disgust at this revelation.]

ZDK: And if all those little boys and girls want to fill the playpen
past capacity, who am I to cite health and safety regulations!? While
others like to throw water on a fire, I prefer kerosene.  It's.  Just. 
Who.  I.  Am.

[Abruptly, Zyppo throws an arm around Dane's shoulders and brings him
close to speak confidentially.]

ZDK: Do ya wanna know a secret, Jason Dane?

JD: Huh!?  Oh, sure, I guess.

ZDK: The truth is that ... I used to be just like you!  Nine-to-question
mark, straight laced, not silly, and all I found in my cubicle was pain
and a half-drunk cup of coffee from the Tim Hortons.  Whose coffee was
that, Jason Dane?  Whose?

JD: Was it ... yours?

ZDK: No!  I don't know whose it was!  But I'll tell you this much; it
had too much hazelnut creamer!  Also it was cold.  Then it gave me a
cold sore for some reason!

[It should be noted that Zyppo still has Dane around the shoulders.]

ZDK: Then I found my calling.  This...

[Like a magician Zyppo engages in a little sleight of hand, pulling,
seemingly from nowhere, a book of matches, flicking one of them while
it's still in the book and holding its flame up for everyone to see.]

ZDK: This is what I mean.

JD: I don't--

ZDK: Hush.  Look at it.  Take in it's beauty...

[Five seconds pass as Zyppo stares intently at the match and Dane's eyes
flick back and forth between the flame and Zyppo's face.  As the match
comes dangerously close to igniting the rest of the pack, Zyppo douses
it on his tongue and makes a snack of the charred stick.]

ZDK: You look so tense Jason, aren't you enjoying your party?

JD: It's ... it's okay?

ZDK: Here, I'll make you a balloon animal.  No, even better!

[Ten seconds elapse as Zyppo rapidly withdraws and inflates a
pencil-thin balloon then, huffing and puffing, extends a finger to the
nervous Jason Dane, imploring him to wait.]

ZDK: Now here ... here comes the trick!

*SQUEAKEDY SQUEAKEDY SQUEAK (etcetera)!*

[Sounding like fingernails on a chalkboard the balloon sculpture is
crafted in green rubber.  On completion it's squeezed down over his head
to rest on his neck as the interviewer stares, stunned at Zyppo.]

ZDK: There you go!  A nice tie for the button down funless wonder!

[Note: It doesn't look like a necktie.  It looks like a noose.]

ZDK: Oh look out, here comes a stiff breeze!

[Zyppo turns the "tie" so that it faces up and to one side on Dane.  Now
it looks like Dane is hanging from his balloon noose. Inspecting his
handiwork, Zyppo looks Dane up and down, then nods emphatically.]

ZDK: I love you, Jason Dane!

*SMACK!*

[No, he didn't hit Jason.  He kissed him, Bugs Bunny style, and when he
releases the stunned interviewer Dane looks like he's just seen a ghost.
 Oh, also, his lips are bright red.]

ZDK: Oh-ho, kiddies, if you think that was something--

[Zyppo turns to the camera, his eyes wide with manic energy.]

ZDK: --stick around!  Hoo-hoo-hooo!

[Slipping off, stage right, Zyppo leaves a speechless Jason Dane in his
wake.  Jason almost looks like some sort of sick clown himself and can't
quite get it together to close out the segment.  Cut!

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, MAY 8TH - DALLAS HOMETOWN BUFFET"

VO:  It's Mother's Day like only the AWA can do!  Take your mom out to
dinner at the Hometown Buffet in Dallas and meet the number one
contenders to the National Tag Team Titles, Violence Unlimited!

[The text changes.]

"TUESDAY, MAY 10TH - HOUSTON COMMUNITY COLLEGE"

VO:  The campus of Houston Community College will be on fire this
Tuesday night with a special live arena event featuring the Rockstar
Express, James Monosso, and the Blonde Bombers!

"FRIDAY, MAY 13TH - ARENA EVENT IN EL PASO!"

VO:  The AWA comes to El Paso for a special arena show at the El Paso
County Coliseum!  On the show, you will see Supernova, Tyler Lee, and
Kolya Sudakov in action!  The TV cameras will be in the house in El Paso
and you just never know what's gonna happen!

[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 focus upon the dimly lit shaved bald skull of a
man, which is lowered towards the floor. As the lighting slowly
increases a a spider web tattoo, which covers his entire skull, is
revealed. Only the sounds of his deep, slow breathing can be heard.]

Voice: Im six foot three 

[The slow breathing continues.]

Voice: Im three hundred and forty pounds 

[Ever so slowly the head raises.]

Voice: Im big 

[Finally the face of the man can finally be seen. An angry scowl is
plaster upon the mans face. Around his eyes are dark circles that seem
to force his dark brown eyes deeper into his face.]

Voice: Im bad 

[His face is covered in a full beard and as he speaks it is obvious his
front two teeth are missing.]

Voice: Im Bruno Bradley and Im your worst friggin nightmare!

[The screen fades to back and the words "Coming Soon" flash upon it
before fading to black.

And then coming back up to live action at ringside.]

GM: Welcome back, fans, and it's been one heck of an exciting night so
far.  We've seen Juan Vasquez pledge that he's going lead an end to the
so-called dark cloud we've all been talking about as of late and he
certainly seems prepared to do exactly that, Bucky.

BW:  Vasquez is out here stickin' his nose into everything that's going
on and somebody, somewhere, sometime is gonna knock it right off.  And
it just might be Robert Baldwin here tonight on the way to becoming the
new National Champion, daddy.

GM:  That remains to be seen.

BW:  You know what DOESN'T remain to be seen, Gordo?  What a bizarre
freak that Corax is!  The AWA asked me... yes, me... to interview him
earlier today about his match tonight with Sharif and... well, just
watch this...

[The camera cuts down to a simple AWA backdrop with "EARLIER TODAY" on
the screen, where Bucky Wilde stands, mic in hand with the enigmatic
Corax.  The face-painted vigilante stands in his black trenchcoat, arms
crossed across his chest as Bucky stares up at him, then at the
camera...then back over his shoulder, then back at Corax.  On his
shoulder, his raven Azrael 'caws' loudly, flapping his wings as its
beady black eyes stare at the garishly dressed announcer.

Bucky steps back, clearly at least as nervous about the bird as he is
about the wrestler standing across from him, but a deep breath re-sets
his nerve as he fires away.]

BW: Okay, freak job...I could beat around the bush and ask a lot of
other questions, but the thing on everyone in AWA's mind is the same
one: How can you possibly justify striking an elderly man with a
baseball bat?  And an elderly man descended from NOBILITY at that!? 
What do you have to say for yourself.

Corax: ...

[Standing impassively, Corax simply looks down at Bucky, not saying a
word.  His eyes are locked onto the other man's...the black and white
face paint making the facade he's presenting nearly impenetrable.

His breath is the only sound he makes...steady and even.]

BW: So you're ashamed of yourself and you've gone speechless, or you
just forgot how to talk?  Daddy, you gotta give me something to work
with!  You show up here with that bird and a bat, start whackin' away at
people...sending in creepy videos about justice and being crazy, and now
you've got a chance to say your piece and you're standing there like
some sort of mute!

[Corax raises his left eyebrow slightly...and that's all.  The bird caws
loudly once again, pecking at the mic that Bucky holds up to Corax's
face, causing him to snatch it back quickly.]

BW: This isn't some sort of joke, and it's not Halloween.  You hurt that
poor old man, and you've got a former Olympian on the warpath to set
things right!  Do you have anything to say about that?

[Mic back in face...Corax once again impassively looking down at it,
then back up at Bucky.]

BW: Yeah...you're a great interview.  Thanks for the assist there,
daddy.  Lots of input.  I'm sure that Sharif is gonna be quaking in his
perfectly legal boots.

Corax: He should.

[Bucky jumps slightly at the first words out of Corax's mouth...holding
the mic up to see if any others will follow.  The face painted avenger
speaks again, his voice calm and quiet.]

Corax: I operate by a simple rule...and one that Sharif should be all
too familiar with: and eye for an eye.  Bathwaite and Sharif have
claimed a lot of eyes in their time here in AWA.  I can't give back what
they've taken, but I can assure you that I'll take from them exactly
what they've taken from their victims.  You express outrage that I would
strike an old man?

He deserved far worse...and he'll receive far worse, in time.

Call me a vigilante if you want.  Call me a servant of karma.

I don't terribly care what you call me...but too many men here in AWA
have run a credit with their behavior.

I'm here to see that debt paid...and Sharif's balance is coming due now.

[With a loud 'caw' from Azrael, Corax turns and heads off camera,
leaving Bucky frowning behind him as we fade back to live action to
Gordon and Bucky.]

BW:  You see?  You see what I have to put up with around here?  Like
it's not bad enough that I have to sit here every week and watch
Michaelson try to steal my thunder with that stupid Money Pit... but now
they've got me interviewing deluded maniacs with a friggin' killer
attack bird!  Unbelievable.

GM:  Are you finished?

BW:  I suppose.

GM:  Good, 'cause we've got more AWA action comin' up right now!  

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

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
Catania, Sicily , Italy . He stands six foot two inches tall and weighs
in at 250 pounds... The Sicilian Stud!

[The girls croon at the Stud who is decked out in a green singlet with
the Italian flag on the back, white boots and white knee pads. He
acknowledges the cooing ladies with a million dollar smile and a wave.]

GM: The Sicilian Stud seems to have a small fan base of female fans in
the crowd tonight, Bucky.

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

BW: Yeah? Well I bet this guy isn't a fan of his.

[Watson continues.]

PW: And his opponent... 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: Two weeks ago, Dick Bass made it very clear that he was ready to
face anybody, anywhere, and at anytime, Bucky.

BW:  And so far nobody has stepped up to the plate. He called them all a
bunch of pretty boy pixies and still nobody took up his challenge. I
love his style, Gordo.  He doesn't pull any punches. He says what's on
his mind and doesn't care if you like it or not.

[Dick Bass is half way down the aisle, snarling at the booing crowd and
even making some fans jump back as he threatens to unleash his leading
lady. Dressed in the usual garb of all black trunks, knee pads, boots
and leather vest, the big man peers at his opponent under the brim of
his black Stetson that is pulled low to the brow. He stops at the ring
ropes and just glares at a fan who gives him the business. Bass shakes
his head and then ducks through the ropes.]

GM:  The Stud better be careful here. We all know "Dirty" Dick Bass is
not afraid to use Delilah, that bullwhip of his, Bucky.
 
BW: That is one my favorite things about Dick Bass, Gordo. He just
doesn't care about the rules. He does what he wants! 

[The Stud knows what is coming and exits the ring as the ref clears
house as well. Dick Bass smiles nastily

...and immediately cracks Delilah with authority!]

GM: The ref trying to regain some kind of order here, demanding Bass put
that whip away Bucky. I think the more you try and tell him what to do,
the worse he gets!

BW: Why mess with a guy that has a whip? I mean, come on, seriously.
Just let him to do what he has to do and leave the guy alone. All he's
doing is giving Delilah a stretch, it was a long walk down to the ring,
she could have a cramp.

GM: Are you serious? Its a bullwhip, Bucky! Its not a human being.

BW: You go tell HIM that!

[Dick Bass smiles cruelly as he holds Delilah in the air, staring at her
with nothing but respect. He finally gets annoyed with the ref and
threatens to crack the whip again, warning the ref with a pointed
finger. Feeling the ref knows his place, Bass hangs a coiled Delilah and
his Stetson from the ring post, before turning towards his opponent who
just entered the ring once again. Bass rubs his shaved head and rolls
his shoulders as the two circle and the bell rings.

GM:  And here we go.

[Stud goes to lock up but is immediately kicked in the stomach. Bass
grabs him by the waist and hoists him over with a gutwrench suplex.]

GM:  Goodness!  

BW:  That's how you start a match, Gordo!

GM:  I suppose so.  Bass showing a little wrestling in his arsenal,
Bucky. This guy continues to surprise me more and more every time I see
him.  Now he's dragging the Stud up by the hair...

[With the Stud on his feet before him, Bass looks at him a moment before
snarling and driving a thumb in the Italian's eye!  The crowd jeers and
the referee shouts as the Stud stumbles backwards into the ropes.  Bass
smirks, shoving past the official to deliver three big haymakers between
the eyes.]

GM:  Hard shots by Bass... ohh!  Headbutt!

[The headbutt knocks the Stud flat and Bass smirks as he puts a foot on
his throat and presses down.]

BW: I knew it was only a matter of time before Dick Bass does what he
does best. That's it Bass, go after him!  Choke him, poke him in the
eye!

GM: Could you try to be professional here?  You're supposed to be an
unbiased commentator!

BW:  I'm sorry, I'm sorry... I don't know what came over me.

[The referee steps in to force a break.  Bass steps back for a moment,
then shoves past the official again as the Stud tries to get to his
feet.  But a half running knee to the chin stops any of that.]

GM:  Ohh!  What a shot to the jaw!

[The referee steps in again, warning Bass against pushing the official
around.  Bass shouts a "YOU GET OUTTA MY FACE, BOY!" at the referee to
the boos of the crowd before he drops to his knees, grabbing the Stud by
the back of the head and driving a series of short right hands between
the eyes.]

GM:  Oh, come on!  Those are illegal, ref!

BW:  Why are THOSE illegal and not Travis Lynch's discus punch?

GM:  I'm not sure I-

[Bass looks out at the jeering crowd, ignoring the protests of the
official...

...and sinks his teeth into the forehead of the Stud!]

GM:  He's biting him, Bucky!  My stars, he's biting the Stud!

BW: That's what happens when the AWA doesnt supply a pre-match meal,
Gordo!

GM: Would you stop?! The ref is trying to pull Bass off of The Stud, who
is screaming in pain.

BW: Not so pretty now, is he?  'Hi, my name is the Sicilian Stud, yeah
don't mind the bite marks in my forehead... that's a birthmark.'

[Bucky is laughing hard as Bass breaks the biting, dragging the Stud to
his feet.  He flings the Stud into the ropes...

...and nearly takes his head off with a high impact clothesline, dumping
the Stud down to the canvas!]

GM:  Goodness, what a shot!  This one should be over right there!

[But it's not as Bass chuckles at the booing crowd, planting his boot on
the left eye of the Stud, and twisting his foot!]

GM:  Ohh!  Another cheap shot!  Another illegal tactic by Dick Bass!

[The official is right on Bass again, screaming at him.  Bass steps off
the downed Stud, moving to the corner and grabbing Delilah!]

GM: Dick Bass going for Delilah, Bucky! The ref is threatening to call
the match if he does so. But I don't think Dick Bass cares!

BW: He doesn't, Gordo.  This isn't about wins and losses to this guy. 
It's about getting in that ring and kicking some butt.  Look at him,
Gordo.  That ref is as pale as that time you invited me over to meet
your wife's cousin.

GM:  What does that mean?  My wife's cousin is a beautiful lady!

BW:  Yeah, if you're into a woman who could haunt a house.

GM:  BUCK-

BW:  Look, he's decided to leave his leading lady where she is for now.

[Bass points a warning finger at the official as he steps away from the
corner, turning his attention back onto the Stud who is helping himself
up using the ropes.  The bad man from Florida buries a forearm into the
back before grabbing him around the waist, taking him down with a
belly-to-back suplex.]


"OHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  Down HARD on the back of the head and neck at the hands of Dick
Bass!

[Bass rolls to his knees, dusting off his hands as the Stud lies
motionless on the mat.]

GM:  Good grief, Bucky.  The Stud landed high on the shoulders and neck
there.  Dick Bass could have seriously injured this kid right there and
he just doesn't care one bit!

BW:  There is nothing crisp and clean about Dick Bass, Gordo.  He's a
tough, brutal man who likes to hurt people and doesn't much care about
what happens to them when he does.

[Bass smirks at the booing crowd before climbing to his feet.  He stands
with his hands on his hips, looking down at the Stud.  The crowd jeers
as the youngster rolls to his side, clutching the back of his head in
pain.  The official implores Bass to make a cover.]

GM: Good to see the kid is moving around at least.

BW: I don't know, Gordo.  By the look on his face, I'd say Bass ain't
too happy about it.

[Bass slowly reaches down, dragging the Stud off the mat by the hair. 
The official shouts at Bass who pulls the Stud close, shouting something
loud, violent, and full of spittle into the face before yanking the Stud
hard into a double underhook...]

GM:  Oh no.

[Bass looks around at the jeering crowd with a sneer of his own before
hoisting the Stud into the air...

...and DROPPING him down across a bent knee!]

GM:  OHHH!  BASS BREAKER!!

[The crowd jeers Bass as he glares at the downed Stud from his knee
before lazily applying a lateral press.]

GM:  No doubt about this one.  One.  Two.  And there's the three.

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

BW:  Dick Bass wins again!  And I'll tell you, Gordo.  I'm glad the AWA
signed this guy from the PCW roster.  It's a nice relief from that
stench from those other PCW guys, the Lynch boys.

GM:  Dick Bass is a very tough competitor and a nice addition to the
AWA.  But to say that he's a better addition than the Lynch boys?

BW:  I bet I could take Travis.

GM:  What is with you tonight?!

BW:  What?  I'm just saying!

GM:  Fans... Jason Dane has got Dick Bass standing by with him for
comments.  Jason?

[Crossfade.  Dane is with Bass.  Man, Gordon sets the scene well.  Bass
still looks to be in a bad mood, the Stetson hat pulled low over his
eyes while the coiled-up Delilah is gripped in his right hand once
more.]

JD:  Thanks, Gordon.  Dick Bass, what in the world did you-

[Bass engulfs Dane's hand with his own weathered hand. He yanks the mic
at his own face, almost sending Dane out of view.]

DB: Lets get one thing straight, Jason Dane. You, the guys in the back,
the people watching in the stands and on television knew that punk the
Sicilian Stud, didn't have a hope in you know what of beating me. I told
all of those yellow bellied prima donnas in the back, you want a real
fight? 

[A smirk.]

DB:  Then you come see Dick Bass. 

You want to test your mettle against somebody?  You just holler my name
and Ill be more then happy to put ya to the test.

[Glares at Jason Dane.]

DB:  But something funny happened, didnt it, Dane?

JD:  I  um have no clue what you mean

[Bass snarls]

DB: None of them pretty boys had the guts to step up to the plate!  You
know what else is funnier then that though, Jason Dane? Huh do ya?

JD: No, Mr. Bass I

[Bass talks right over Dane, pointing a finger at the camera.]

DB: The funnier thing is that I knew none of them would! When it first
caught wind all I heard was Dick Bass, youre going to get more then
you bargained for in the American Wrestling Alliance! or You wanted
tough, Dick Bass? Well you will get your fill there! 

[Bass spits as he chuckles in disgust.]

DB: Well guess what, Jason Dane?  I haven't seen squat since I came
here. All I have seen is guys huffing an puffing and making threats. 
All I have seen is guys flipping their hair for the crowds and making
sure they have the flashiest clothes.  I see a federation filled with
some of the biggest cowards I have ever seen.

[Dick Bass gets right in Danes face, making him recoil a bit as the big
Florida native glares at him.] 

DB:  So Im going to have to ask you, Jason Dane, where are all the
tough guys that are supposed to be walking around the American Wrestling
Alliance? Where are the guys who drink Jack Daniels from the bottle
instead of some fruity drink I see all these cowards sippin? Where is
all the stand up guys who supposedly never backed down from a challenge?

JD: Im- 

[Bass shakes his head in disgust]

DB: Youre about as useful as a nipple on a toad, Dane. I can tell you
though! [points off set] They're not in the back here, thats for sure.
All that is back here is guys with hairbrushes and putting on makeup so
their face looks pretty for the kids.

[Bass backs off Jason Dane and puts his hands on his hips again,
studying Jason Dane, who eyes Delilah carefully. Bass notices and smiles
a little as he brings Delilah up eye level. He stares at her almost
memorized as he speaks again.]

DB: So this is how its going to work, Jason Dane, and you can tell
Big Jim. Since the fight wont come to Dick Bass

[Smiles cruelly]

DB:  Ill just have to bring the fight to them. 

See, there was two ways we could have done this. One of them could have
stepped up and accepted my challenge.

[Bass studies Delilah a little more, before his hand slowly drops as he
glares at Jason Dane who looks nervous.]

DB:  Or I can just put myself in the Memorial Day Rumble and make them
fight. 

So, since the hair flippin, face paint wearing cowards didnt want to
do it the first way

[again the tough guy smiles nastily.]

DB:  Ill see 'em all, Jason Dane where none of 'em can hide. 

[Smirks as he turns to the camera.]

DB:  In the Memorial Day Rumble. 

[tips his Stetson at the camera]

DB:  You can bet on that.

[Bass turns back to Dane and stares at him with a smirk. Like a flash he
snaps his whip, making Dane jump and scurry off camera as the big man
just laughs and we fade back to ringside.] 

GM:  Dick Bass is in the Rumble!  The fourteenth man in the Rumble!

BW:  That's HUGE, Gordo!  Dick Bass may not be the biggest name in but
you can bet he'll be one of the TOUGHEST men in there.  Bass could win
the whole thing easily in my opinion, daddy!

GM:  You could be right.  He's really made a big impression in his first
couple months here in the AWA and what better way to make a HUGE
impression than to win the Rumble and go on to face the National
Champion!  Fourteen men are in the Rumble - almost halfway there, fans,
and we'll have more names to add to the list in the hour or so still to
come in this one.  Fans, we'll be right back with more Saturday Night
Wrestling!

[Crossfade to the locker room area.  Mark Stegglet is waiting backstage
for an interview but there's no wrestler to be seen. There is, however,
a gorgeous - at least in her own mind - Big Mama, in a dark blue evening
gown which is looking like it was ordered for her much smaller sister.
Thankfully, we're spared the sight of Big Mama's cleavage by a massive
necklace covering her up.]

MS: Big Mama, great to see you here. But I understood I was going to be
interviewing Johnny Casanova?

[A voice from off screen booms.]

JC: Ya got me, Steggy!

[Mark turns to meet the Playboy, who strides on, in a new sequinned blue
robe with his name on the back above 'Playboy Enterprises'.]

JC: It's me, it's me, it's Johnny C! The chairman of Playboy Enterprises
is here in the house, Steg! Ask me if I'm ready for my match with Eric
Preston.

[He pauses and waits. Stegglet also waits. So does Big Mama.]

JC: Well, ask me!

[Stegglet sighs.]

MS: Johnny Casanova, are you ready for your match tonight with Eric
Preston?

JC: Aww, heck yeah Steggy! I'm pumped, I'm fired, I can't wait!  Because
as good as it was beating Eric a few months ago when he was losing to
John Doe, Joe Blow, Juan Vasquez's pool boy, and the rest, now that he's
starting to get back on track, it'll mean a lot more.

MS: You've changed your tune from last time you faced Preston, Johnny.

[Casanova nods.]

JC: Ya know, last time I went up against Preston, I got a little bit of
respect for him. He ain't no MAMMOTH Mizusawa... he ain't no Mark
Langseth... and he sure as shootin' ain't no Johnny C! But he's a
hard-working kinda guy and I have ta give him credit for that. The truth
is though, Eric, ya can be as hard-working as ya like, ya can talk the
talk, ya can dream the dream, and ya can even pretend to be Joe Reed.
But what ya can't do, is beat the Playboy. Last time around, ya couldn't
do it. And that was when it was just me and Big Mama. But when ya take
on me, Big Mama, and the Playboy Enterprises bodyguard
Jack Holland... ya ain't got a hope.

MS: Are you saying that Holland will get himself involved in the match,
Johnny?

JC: I'm saying that Jack Holland, as ya saw last week, will do what he's
darn well paid to do. He ain't gotta like it, he ain't gotta be happy
about it, he ain't gotta smile when he's doing it. But if he wants some
of the Playboy Enterprises wealth to go his way, he's just gotta do what
he's told. And believe me, Steggy, he wants that money real bad.

[A self-satisfied smirk from Casanova, and we cut 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 the back and to Robert Donovan, who is wearing his
wrestling attire for reasons unknown, as he isn't scheduled for the
night.]

RD:  Now, I ain't ever been accused o' bein' one of the greatest minds
in our business, but, despite somebody doin' their best to make sure my
ear never worked again via brute force an' busted glass...

[Donovan reaches up, briefly touching his mangled-looking left ear.]

RD:  ...I do believe I heard that my challenge to Nenshou was accepted. 
Now, I don't pretend to know Nenshou as a man -- who could?  Dude never
says a word, doesn't do anything unless he gets told to by the man
holdin' his leash.  He assaults women for no good reason, but he also
fights like a damn demon inside that ring, an' he'll do whatever it
takes to win.  Some of that's admirable -- but a lot of it ain't.

[Donovan crosses his arms over his chest.]

RD:  Now, I been around long enough to know how things work.  Just
'cause he accepted a challenge, that don't make a match.  I'm not the
number one contender, an' there's at least one man with as much of a
bone to pick with Nenshou an' the entire Unholy Alliance as I got.  I
ain't 'bout to step in his way, an' if he manages to take Nenshou down
for the belt, that's fine by me.  I'll get my hands on Nenshou one way
or another, Childes, an' if it happens to be for the belt, so much the
better.  If I'm the one that gets to take it away from ya, I'll be sure
to leave you a lastin' impression -- upside the head, prob'ly.

[Donovan smirks.]

RD:  I'm sure the higher ups are watchin' this, at least to make sure I
don't break any o' the rules regardin' language 'at can be used
publicly, if for no other reason.  Lemme just say this now -- I think
the Unholy Alliance has proven themselves incapable of not cheatin' like
hell, so if Sweet Daddy Williams gets his shot at Nenshou, I'd like to
be there to try to prevent that -- an' when I get my shot at him, title
or no title, I got a few things in mind for the match.  I'd tell ya what
it is on air, but I get the feelin' I'm gonna have to plead to get the
stips I want, an' it just ain't right for a man o' my size to be beggin'
on air.

[Donovan chuckles briefly.]

RD:  Sweet Daddy Williams, know this:  I've got your back.  I'll do my
best to make sure, whatever the result may be when you get your shot,
it's a result comin' from nothin' but what you an' Nenshou bring to that
ring.  An' Childes, if you decide to stick that nose -- or that damned
cane -- where it don't belong...

[Donovan rolls his neck, making an unpleasant crackling noise.]

RD:  ...I'mma put that cane someplace else it don't belong.

[Donovan grins, turns, and walks out as we fade back to the ring.]

PW:  The following contest is set for one fall with a ten minute time
limit.  Introducing first, already in the ring, he hails from Jamestown,
Colorado, and weighs in tonight at two hundred and twenty one pounds....
KYLE HOULDER!

[The arrogant Houlder thrusts his arms up in the air, as the crowd boos
him.]

GM:  I think its safe to say that Kyle Houlder is about to face the
challenge of his young career tonight.

BW:  Whats he gonna do, teach the big dummy algebra?

#Its all right...#

PW: And now, coming to the ring.  He stands seven feet tall, and weighs
in at three hundred and fifty pounds.

[There's a buzzing in the crowd, as eyes turn towards the entranceway.]

#Its all right...#

PW: Hailing from Los Angeles, California.

[The buzz begins to build into a roar.]

#Its all right, I'm just a...#

PW: The one and only...

[And then the crowd gets...]

#LITTLE CRAZY#

PW: ALEX MARTINEZ!!!!

[Martinez steps out into the entranceway.  He wears his black leather
jacket over a bare chest, white tape still visible under the jacket. 
The big man moves a little slower than usual, in obvious pain after the
months of abuse hes taken since coming to the AWA.  Martinez stoically
walks past the cheering crowd, moving towards the ring.]

GM:  MWF Diamond champion, MWF Mainstream champion, IWF/WOW North
American champion, UEW American champion, UEW Ultimate champion, RCW
River City Champion, UWF Television champion, UWF World champion, EMWC
World champion.  Even you have to admit, thats an impressive resume,
Bucky.

BW:  You can play your alphabet soup game all you want, Gordo... and
Martinez has done a lotta things, no doubt about that.  But none of that
means a thing to me 'cause he ain't done nothin' here in the AWA yet. 
And besides, the Dragons
got his number, you can bet on that, daddy!  Look at him, I dont even
know how hes standing.  James Monosso kicked his tail for two months
straight, and last week he got a ROYAL beatdown.   You gotta think that
the Dragons scaly heart is warmed by all that!

GM:  No doubt Mark Langseth is watching right now.

BW:  Dont you start that talk.  Langseth says he aint the Dragon!  And
I believe him.

[Martinez and Houlder move to the center of the ring, the referee
checking both for foreign objects.  A painful wince crosses Martinez
face as the referee presses his fingers against the tape on Alexs
shoulder.]

GM: Despite all hes accomplished, despite his legendarily high
threshold for pain and resistance to injury, I have to wonder about the
wisdom of Alex Martinez stepping into the ring tonight.  He clearly
hasnt recovered from the absolutely brutal match he had with James
Monosso, and all the brutality he suffered in the weeks leading up to
that match.  Compound that with the heinous attacks by the Blonde
Bombers and the Masked Menace, as well as the attack from Royalty two
weeks ago, and theres no doubt that Alex Martinez is the walking
wounded.  Youd think hed take some time off to heal.

BW:  Well, any intelligent man would do that Gordo.  But the only times
Alex Martinez and does the smart thing belong in the sentence is if
the word never is between them!

"DING! DING! DING!"

[With the bell ringing, both men lock up.  The taller and stronger
Martinez forces Houlder back into the corner.  Ignoring the referees
warnings, Martinez turns to the side, and begins driving the point of
his elbow into Houlders chin, staggering Houlder and causing his knees
to falter.   But Martinez has to stop and step back, shaking his taped
arm.]

BW:  I smell an upset, daddy!  Youre about to see the Badboy go down!

GM:  I wouldnt count Alex Martinez out yet.  Hes injured, no doubt,
and as I said, he ought to be at home in Los Angeles, recovering. But
Alex Martinez has been a man on a mission since coming to the AWA, and
now, hes even more focused.  And a determined Alex Martinez is a
dangerous thing.

[Still shaking his arm, Martinez ignores Houlder, which gives the latter
a chance to recover.  Houlder ascends to the second turnbuckle, and
leaps forward, catching Martinez with a clothesline.  Thats enough to
knock the giant off his feet and leave him prone on the mat.  Houlder
bounces off the ropes and leaps, dropping his knee into Martinez
injured shoulder.]

BW: Im tellin you! I can smell it!  Here it comes!

GM:  Houlder goes for the cover.

[But Martinez isnt out yet.  After a one count, Martinez musters his
considerable strength and launches Houlder off of him.  But Houlder is
the first one to his feet, and he stomps on Martinez shoulder, to the
boos of the fans.]

GM:  Houlder has got Martinez up, hard whip into the turnbuckle.

[Houlder comes charging at Martinez, and leaps in the air.]

GM:  Martinez caught him!  HUGE INVERTED ATOMIC DROP!

BW: Thatll have you singing in a higher octave!

[A clothesline follows the atomic drop, and Houlder hits the mat hard. 
Martinez is still favoring his arm, but adrenaline seems to take over,
as he comes up from behind and lifts Houlder up, dropping him to the mat
with a huge belly to back suplex.   Anger seething in his face, Martinez
draws his legs back and kicks Houlder as hard as he can in the ribs. 
Houlder doubles up to protect himself, but it only results in Martinez
stomping on his head.]

GM:  Now were seeing the vicious side of Alex Martinez.  Hes screaming
at Houlder to get up, and every time Houlder proves unable to, hes
taking more abuse from the giant.  Hes got to be seeing the faces of
Mark Langseth and Royalty right now.

BW:   Well, that big goof is easily confused!

[Martinez has lifted Houlder up by the hair, and holds him prone, as he
drives fists into the dazed Houlders face.  The referee continues to
try and get Martinez to break it up, but his calls fall on deaf ears.]

BW:  Let me tell ya somethin Gordo.  It doesnt matter what he does to
Houlder.  It doesnt even matter whether or not he gets his hands on
Langseth.  The Dragon, whoever he is, has proven one thing  hes got
unlimited resources.  Hes got the money to pay any man, at any time, to
put Martinez on the shelf.  Every man in the AWA is a potential enemy,
and so is anyone whos ever laced up a pair of wrestling boots!   How
you gonna stand up against that?

GM:  Well, Martinez has formed an alliance with the National Champion.

BW:  And?  Look, no doubt about it.  Alex Martinez is as tough as they
come, and Juan Vasquez is a great wrestler.  But no two men can fight
off an army, thats just the way it is.  Especially with Vasquez
declaring war on the half the men in the locker room earlier tonight!

GM:  You might be right, Bucky.

[Martinez whips Houlder into the ropes.]

GM:  Big boot! And now Martinez lifts Houlder from the mat.  Hes got
his hand on Houlders throat!

[Houlder is thrust high into the air, as the crowd cheers.]

GM:  FIREBOMB!! COVER!!!

[Three seconds later, the bell has rung, and Meekly is holding Martinez
arm up in the air.]

PW:  Here is your winner.... ALEX MARTINEZ!!!

[After having his hand raised, Martinez lingers in the ring.  He pulls
on his leather jacket, but even something as simple as that causes him
to clutch his shoulder and wince in pain. But a deep breath steadies
him, and he motions for a microphone.]

BW: Great, now that big idiot is going to talk. Fans, I know youre all
going to be tempted to change the channel, but I urge you not to.

GM: Bucky!

BW: Some of you, after hearing the Last American Dumbell speak might be
tempted to donate to a the United Literacy Fund, or some other program
that helps the mentally challenged. But I assure you, despite all
appearances, Alex Martinez is not a spokesperson for the stupid.

GM: Bucky! Will you stop?

[Martinez stands in the center of the ring, and looks towards the
entranceway.]

AM: Jealousy does strange things to a man. It twists a man up inside,
makes him forget who he is, and what hes accomplished. Gives him
delusions. Makes him think hes soemthin he ain't.

It makes a man think hes a dragon!

[Boos fill the air, not for Martinez, but because the AWA faithful know
the man hes talking about.]

AM: See, what made me famous was puttin the hurt on Mark Langseth. 
First World Title I ever won? I won after I sent Marky crashin through
the ring. Hurtin men is what I do best, and when it comes to Marky...
no one is better at smashin him than me.

I shoulda known, right from the start, that it was you Marky. I shoulda
known that no other man would go to such lengths. Jealousy drives ya.
Jealousy that for all youve done, you just dont measure up. Ya got a
ring already, but no ones talkin about that. You done a whole lotta
things, but all anyone remembers is you bein beat by yours truly.
Everything youve done is just tryin to cover that up, aint it? Your
whole life is nothin but one smokescreen to hide the fact that between
you and me, youll always be number two.

Well, Im puttin an end to it.

So why dont ya come out here, Mr. Hall of Famer? And when I say that, I
mean it. Why dont _you_ come down here? Not the eternally useless
champion of the outhouse Joe Petrow, and not your two little lap dogs
Soft and Useless. Just you, all by yourself.

Cmon down Marky. I dare ya.

[Before "Save Yourself" by Stabbing Westward can even start, Mark
Langseth steps out of the entrance with an enraged look on his face. 
Dressed in a dark brown suit, powder blue dress shirt, and chestnut
shoes, Langseth's didn't come to the ring for a fight... but also
doesn't show any sign of fear as he storms down to the ring.]

ML: Didn't your THICK head get it the FIRST time I said it? Didn't you
hear my words the last Saturday you had the audacity to accuse ME of
this game?

[Martinez doesn't react as Langseth draws closer, holding up his Hall of
Fame ring to the face of his archenemy.]

ML: You see this, Martinez? You know what this is? Oh, I'm sure you
don't cause it's something you'll never have... It's a sign of the
GREATEST of the GREATS. The LEGENDS in this sport. This is the pinnacle
of the wrestling profession.

[Langseth drops his hand as he stares up at Martinez.]

ML: And it's also a sign that I don't have to play games. Martinez, fact
is? You're beneath me and-

[The crowd immediately jeers that remark.]

ML: NO! No! It's true, people! It's all true! Alex Martinez is beneath
me AND I have NO need whatsoever in toying around with caped goons and
riddles. So I'll say it again, "big man"...

[Langseth steps up towards Martinez once again (though, there's still
quite a bit of space between them).]

ML: I'm man enough to say it to your face... I hate you - I always have
and I always will. I don't respect you - I never have and never will.
And the day that you can't wrestle anymore is the day that I rejoice...
But I came back to the ring for a purpose, ok? And despite what your
MASSIVE ego thinks? It's not all about you... It's not all about taking
down the "great" Alex Martinez...

[Langseth takes a step back.]

ML: Not that I can't, mind you... Not that I HAVEN'T ALREADY!

[Langseth smugly smiles.]

AM: Yeah yeah, Ive heard it all before. Twelve years ago, our paths
crossed for the first time. And youre singin the same song ya used to
sing then. I know you Marky, I know ya better than I know some of the
members of my family. I know what youre all about, and I know when
youre lyin. Hell, usually its when your mouth is movin.

But I didnt come out here to engage in a war of words. Im done
talkin, to you, and to your little Minion. Im gonna deal with you the
way I dealt with Monosso.

[Langseth sneers.]

ML: Is that a threat? You trying to scare ME?!

[Martinez shakes his head.]

AM: No, Im challengin ya to a match.

So what do ya say, Marky? You ready to go to war again?

[Langseth is fuming now.]

ML: A match!? A mat-

"Tonight's story is somewhat unique, and calls for a different kind of
introduction."

[Michael Jackson's "Threatened" barely gets started before the
suit-wearing founder of Royalty storms out of the back, with the
decidely non-suit wearing AWA National Tag Team champions Rough 'n Ready
a step behind.  Petrow has his own mic, and jumps into the fray
immediately, Dave Cooper and Eric Matthew Somers standing guard over the
situation.]

JP: My apologies for the interruption, Mr. Langseth.  But we all know
what this troglodyte is capable of, so a full assemblage of Royalty is
needed to keep this conversation gentlemanly.

[Petrow turns angrily, jabbing a finger in Martinez' direction.]

JP:  As for you Martinez...so you want a match with the Hall of Fame
Legend Mark Langseth?  Well pal, all you had to do was ask!  Because at
Memorial Day Mayhem, you'll damned sure get your match!

[The crowd pops, Alex looks amused, thinking this was too easy, that the
other foot is about to drop...]

JP: ...on three conditions.

[Martinez rolls his eyes, and can be heard to say "Oh really, just
three?"]

JP: First of all, you will not have ANY physical contact with any member
of Royalty outside of the confines of an official match, and that begins
right now!

[Judging by his expression, Martinez, doesn't like this, but nods his
head in agreement all the same.]

JP: Comprende? Gracias!  And next...

[Petrow, now confident that he isn't going to be attacked, calmly walks
closer to the giant.]

JP: You gotta understand something Alex.  These past months, you haven't
just disrespected the Hall of Fame Legend.  You haven't just
disrespected Royalty.  You have personally disrespected ME!  AND all
that I stand for!

Now, these days, I'm content with wearing the fine Armani suits, I'm
content with organizing and facilitating the needs of the greatest
collection of wrestlers this sport has ever seen!  But when the time
calls for it, you better believe I still got some fight left in me!  So
if you want a match with your so-called "Dragon", then first you're
going to have to come out here on the next show, step into this very
ring, and defeat Joe Petrow!

[The crowd gets excited about the chance to see someone finally put
Petrow in his place. Alex seems much more willing to accept this stip,
and raises his microphone.]

AM: Lemme see if I got this right. In order to get a fight with Marky,
Im gonna have to beat you up first? Heck Petrow, if I didnt know
better, Id think you were in charge of seein to it that _I_ get
everything I want. See, about the only thing Im gonna enjoy more than
relivin all the times I hurt your boss is destroyin another man who
comes from Portland.

[Petrow smiles, knowing something that Alex doesn't...yet.]

JP: Not so fast pal.  Yes, straight up, no tricks, IF you beat me on the
next show, then the match with Mr. Langseth is yours!  BUT...if you
LOSE...and trust me Alex, you _will_ lose...you are not going to be
wrestling Mr. Langseth on Memorial Day.  You will, however, be doing
something different.

Because after all this time, you STILL owe this great man, this legend,
an apology for the way you've treated him.  But we already know that you
are not to be trusted with doing this on your own.

So on Memorial Day, after you lose to me, you will step into that ring,
with a prepared statement of my creation. You will read that statement
VERBATIM, incurring all the potential FCC fines that may come about, and
with 100% SINCERITY!  And then, in lieu of a match where Mr. Langseth
can prove his superiority, you will get down on your hands and knees,
and you will pay Mr. Langseth the PROPER respect, that Violence
Unlimited have already demonstrated!
Failure to do this, will result in your BANISHMENT from the AWA for
LIFE!

Now DO we have a deal, MISTER Martinez!?

[Martinez nods.]

AM: Its a deal. Now, Id shake your hand, but frankly, I got a pretty
good idea of where its been. And there aint enough sanitizer in the
world to kill them germs.

[Martinez looks past Petrow a moment, and turns towards his old enemy.]

AM: Ya call yourselves Royalty, right? Well, I dont know a hell of a
lot about royal families and all that. Heck, the only time I see crowns
is when Im playin cards. But that seems fitting.

I mean, ya got a king...

[Martinez points at Langseth.]

AM: Over there ya got two jacka-

[Martinez pauses and smirks at the tag team champions, Cooper holding
back an enraged Somers.]

AM: Yall know what I was gonna say.

[A cheer from the crowd confirms that they do.]

AM: And right here, ya got a queen...

[Martinez points at Petrow as the crowd cheers again, while Petrow
begins screaming invectives at Martinez.]

AM: A regular house of cards. But boys, dont matter how stacked the
deck is. All it takes is a good swipe from me, and itll all come
crashin down. Ya might think, Marky, that ya got one over on me with
this Dragon business. But all it did was place ya in harms way.

You remember that, when youre recoverin from the worst beatin youve
had since the last time we fought.

[Petrow's face is a mask of...confidence?  Misguided or not, Petrow
walks even closer, standing nose-to-chest with Martinez.]

JP: Alex, you just don't get it. I walked over twenty nine other people
to get my title.  I ain't gonna have a problem with just one giant.

And one more thing...I have a message for you from Portland.

[Petrow lets loose, and spits a big white goober right on Alex
Martinez's jacket! Alex is about to lose it and destroy Petrow when...]

JP: DO IT! Blow your shot, like you've blown everything else in your
life!

[Alex slows, then finally stops himself from touching Petrow and losing
his chance at a match with his "Dragon"]

JP: That's right. I knew you didn't have the guts. Two weeks from now,
I'm gonna kick your seven foot...body, so far down the ladder....

That you're gonna be able to say "Hello" to your son the instant before
you splat!

[Petrow slams his mic down and he and Royalty stalk away triumphantly,
Martinez stands seething in the ring, letting the gang clear out.]

GM:  Alex Martinez versus... Joe Petrow?!

BW:  In two weeks!  In two weeks, we FINALLY see that big lug Martinez
get what he's got coming to him!  I can't wait!

GM:  What a match that's gonna be!  A dream match of epic proportions
right here in two weeks but right now, fans, let's go backstage where
Mark Stegglet is standing by!

[We cut to backstage where Mark Stegglet is standing next to Supernova.
The young blonde wrestler has his face painted and wears blue jeans and
a black AWA T-shirt. (on sale now, $19.95 plus shipping and handling!)]

MS: I am here with Supernova, who two weeks ago, came to the aid of
Koyla Sudakov after he was mercilessly beaten down by The Russians...
but then, Supernova, you just left him behind. What's going on there?

[Supernova sighs.]

S: Mark... all I can say is that I hope what happened two weeks ago is
the wake-up call Koyla Sudakov needed... I've tried to give him the
benefit of the doubt, but I have to wonder what is going through his
mind. I remember what my friend Tyler Lee said a few weeks back about
how Sudakov should have stood up to Kostovich and Velikov by now... and
we all saw the result of him failing to do that.

[He turns to the camera.]

S: Koyla... all I can tell you... is that you better show a willingness
to stand up to those punks and let it be known you aren't gonna take it
any more... because I don't know how much more I can keep giving you the
benefit of the doubt.

MS: Perhaps maybe you believe another one-on-one matchup with Sudakov
might be the way to settle things... perhaps at Memorial Day Mayhem.

[Supernova turns to Mark, his eyes widening.]

S: Funny you mention Memorial Day Mayhem... and no, I'm not challenging
Koyla to a match... at least not for the time being... but there is
another challenge I'm going to bring up.

[A slight laugh.]

S: Actually, it's a challenge I've already made... and because the guy
I've challenged is worrying more about Adrian Bathwaite's problems with
Corax, he's yet to answer it with an actual match!

MS: Hold on... you're talking about Sultan Azam Sharif!

S: That's exactly right, Mark!

[He turns to the camera, now looking more agitated.]

S: Sharif, you accepted my challenge to you just before The Main
Event... well, seeing as how that match hasn't been signed yet, I say we
get it done and make Memorial Day Mayhem the time and the place!

MS: But Sharif is already entered in the Memorial Day Rumble, Supernova.

S: Yeah, but Sharif also thinks of himself as a man of honor... although
I think of him more as a man being led around by Bathwaite like a puppet
on a string... and we all know Bathwaite has no honor.

[He points his finger to the camera.]

S: So, Sharif, if you are a man of honor, you will accept my challenge
for a one-on-one match at Memorial Day Mayhem, Rumble entry or not! Hey,
it's not like you have anything else to do while waiting for your number
to be called... and you can just tell Bathwaite to think of it as a
warm-up match for you.

Except, deep down, you and he both know it will be no warm-up match...

[He clenches his fists, his voice rising.]

S: IT'LL BE TIME FOR YOU TO FEEL THE HEAT!

[With that, he then cups his hands to his mouth and howls, before
departing the set.]

MS: There you have it... Supernova has challenge Sultan Azam Sharif to a
one-on-one match at Memorial Day Mayhem... will the Sultan accept,
despite his entry into the Rumble?  Back to you, Phil Watson!

[We crossfade back to ringside where Corax is already in the ring,
pacing back and forth with his black baseball bat hanging from his right
hand at the ready.]

PW:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit.  Introducing first... in the ring at this time, from New
Orleans, Louisiana...

COOOORRRRAX!

[Big cheers for the face-painted grappler.]

PW:  And his opponent... 

["Saz O Avaz Mahdor" by Mohammed Reza Shajarian kicks in to a DEAFENING
explosion of boos.  And on this of all weeks, it is predictably joined
by an immediate chant.]

"U-S-A!"  "U-S-A!"  "U-S-A!"

GM:  And you can hear the chants right away, Bucky!  There has been a
patriotic fervor whipping over the entire United States for the past
seven days and we're hearing that wash right over Sultan Azam Sharif
here tonight!

[Sharif stomps out into view alongside Count Adrian Bathwaite who is
moving quite gingerly.  They pause just beyond the entryway, Sharif
angrily throwing his keffiyeh down to the wooden platform.  He clasps
his hands over his ears, angrily shouting at the fans as Bathwaite tries
to calm him down.]

GM:  Sharif's not liking this one bit!  Perhaps he should've stayed home
this weekend, Bucky.

BW:  Oh, that's great, Gordo.  The man has done nothing wrong to this
country.  The man has done nothing but try to make a living in the
greatest sport in the world.  And you want him to stay home because of
his nationality and his religion!  This is exactly why the world hates
America!

GM:  I'm just saying that Sharif might be suffering from a case of wrong
place, wrong time.

BW:  And I'm just saying that these people are part of the problem!

[An angry Bathwaite winces as he points a finger down the ramp at
Corax...

...and then waves to the curtain, revealing Vladimir Velikov and Ivan
Kostovich.]

GM:  Uh oh.

BW:  Here comes the reinforcements to make sure that savage Corax
doesn't attack Adrian Bathwaite again.

GM:  And conspicuous by his absence is the former National Champion,
Kolya Sudakov, Bucky.  Could this be a sign of what we might hear in
just a short time from Kolya on The Money Pit?

BW:  If we hear from Sudakov what you're hoping to hear, it may be the
last time we ever see him in the AWA, Gordo.  Can you live with that on
your conscience?

[With the Russians taking up the rear, Bathwaite convinces Sharif to
make his way down the ramp towards the ring.]

PW:  From Shiraz, Iran... SULTAN AAAAZAM SHAAAARIF!

[Sharif is full of fire now, stomping down the rampway, and climbing
through the ropes...

...where he promptly bails back out to the ramp, falling to the platform
as Corax pulls the bat back and looks like he's about to let it fly. 
The crowd laughs at Sharif as he staggers to his feet, angrily shouting
at the official who is trying to disarm Corax.]

GM:  Whoa my!

BW:  That man is a menace, Gordo!  He should be fined, suspended, barred
from competing!  He just threatened a former Olympian with a baseball
bat!  Who does something like that?

GM:  He does!  Corax is out to deliver some payback for all the evil
that Sharif and his gang have done in the past few-

[The crowd ROARS as Corax throws the bat down, grabbing the top rope and
catapulting Sharif over the ropes into the ring!]

GM:  Oh yeah!  And there's the bell!

BW:  The bell?!  How is THAT fair?!  Sharif wasn't ready for this!

GM:  He'd better get ready or he'll be counting the lights two weeks in
a row!

[Corax promptly pulls Sharif off the mat, bashing him with a pair of
right hands that sends Sharif into the ropes.  The face-painted avenger
grabs Sharif by the arm, flinging him across the ring...

...and propelling him into the air, dumping him down to the mat with a
sky high backdrop!]

GM:  BIG!  BACK!  BODYDROP!!

[Sharif quickly gets to his feet...

...and gets dropped with a clothesline to the cheers of the crowd!  An
angry Adrian Bathwaite shouts from the platform.]

GM:  CORAX IS GOING FOR BATHWAITE!!

[The crowd explodes as Corax turns his attention to Bathwaite again,
marching over to the ropes and stepping through them to confront the
Englishman...

...but it's Vladimir Velikov, steel chain in hand, that he finds in his
way!]

GM:  Bathwaite's hiding behind the Russians!  He's hiding behind-

[But Corax doesn't even hesitate for a moment, promptly blasting Velikov
with a right hand... and a second... and a third.  He hurls Velikov into
the ropes behind him, causing him to rebound off...

...where Corax hoists him straight up by one leg, dropping him facefirst
down on the wooden ramp to another huge cheer!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  Good grief!  Velikov just got dropped!

[Corax gets right back up, pointing a finger at Ivan Kostovich and
Adrian Bathwaite who both look quite concerned at this point.  Kostovich
raises a hand, shaking his head at the approaching Corax who is
basically stalking his prey at this point.]

GM:  He's after them both now!

BW:  And these idiots are cheering it!  This guy is about to beat up a
couple of retired men and they're happy about it!  This isn't right! 
This isn't right at all!

GM:  Well, at least he doesn't have his bat, Bucky!

[Bathwaite drops to his knees now, pleading for mercy as Corax draws
closer.  The face-painted embodiment of vengeance pauses for a moment,
looking out to the roaring crowd...

...which gives Sultan Azam Sharif just enough time to rush down the
ramp, leaping up to drive a knee into the middle of Corax's back,
knocking him down!]

GM:  OHHHH!  Bathwaite distracted him and Sharif lowers the boom!

BW:  And now Corax is in for a world of trouble, Gordo.  You know how
Sharif feels about people assaulting Bathwaite!

[Bucky is quickly proven correct as Sharif lays in boot after boot into
the kidneys of Corax.  He leans over, jabbering away at him verbally as
he drags Corax up, scooping him up under his arm...

...and DROPS him on the wooden platform in a side slam!]

GM:  OHHHHH!  Good grief!  

BW:  Imagine it, Gordo!  Imagine the kind of jolt that sends up a man's
spine to get dropped on a solid wooden platform like that! 

[But Sharif's not done yet, pulling Corax up by the hair and hauling him
back up the ramp where he hurls him through the ropes into the ring
before climbing back in himself.]

GM:  Both men back in now...

[Sharif wastes no time in dropping a knee down into the lower back,
grinding the kneecap back and forth on the kidney area as he continues
to shout at Corax.]

GM:  I'd love to know what Sharif was saying to him right now.

BW:  He's speaking English, Gordo.

GM:  Oh really?

[A few more stomps to the lower back have Corax grabbing at his kidneys.
 Sharif measures him, leaping high to drop an elbow down into the back
to a burst of jeers!  He shoves Corax onto his back, applying a press.]

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

BW:  I'm a big fan of the Sultan, Gordo... but even I know you won't
beat Corax with an elbowdrop to the back.

[Climbing back to his feet, Sharif hauls Corax up with him.  He promptly
hooks a front facelock, slinging an arm over his neck before powering
him into the air, dumping him down with a vertical suplex!]

GM:  Big time suplex by Sharif... another cover for one... for two...
but again, that's all he gets.

[Sharif angrily gets to his feet, shouting at the official.  He slaps
his own shoulders before dropping another elbow, this time into the ribs
of Corax.  Sharif climbs back up...

...and buries a hooked boot into the ribs like a punter kicking a
football!  The referee immediately reprimands him for using the point of
the boot but Sharif shrugs him off, dragging Corax back up.  He leans
over, picking Corax up over his shoulder.]

GM:  Look at that - quite the show of strength by Sharif.

BW:  He's walking around the ring with Corax over his shoulder!  What's
he gonna do with him, Gordo?

[Reaching the middle of the ring, Sharif falls backwards, smashing Corax
under his bodyweight.]

GM:  It's a modified version of a Northern Lights suplex!

BW:  Sharif is a suplex master in there, Gordo.  You name a suplex,
he'll probably use it!

[With the wind knocked out of his opponent, Sharif applies another
press, earning another two count before Corax kicks out.]

GM:  And again, Sharif is hot!  He thought that was a slow count by
referee Michael Meekly!

BW:  It was!  These Meeklys are useless!

[Sharif lets loose a barrage of stomps and kicks to the ribs of Corax,
drawing the ire of the official who first counts to four and then drags
him off the face-painted grappler.  Bathwaite shouts at the official
from out on the ramp, gesturing wildly with his cane.]

GM:  Get him down from there, referee!

[Sharif shoves past the official, pulling Corax up to his feet.  He
moves him back against the buckles, leaning over to drive his shoulder
into the ribs of Corax.]

GM:  Ohh!  Hard tackle to the ribs!

[Sharif slams his shoulder home into the torso a few more times before
stepping out of the corner, grabbing the arm.]

GM:  Corner-to-corner whip by Sharif!

[The Sultan dashes across the ring, turning at the last moment to bare
his elbow...

...and SMASHES into the buckles when Corax dives aside!  Big cheer!]

GM:  CORAX MOVED!!  SHARIF HITS THE CORNER!!

[With Sharif stunned off the missed back elbow, Corax slips in behind
him as he stumbles out, hooking him around the waist.  He powers him up,
dropping him down on a bent knee!]

GM:  Atomic drop by Corax!!

[And with Sharif stunned, Corax hits the far ropes, rebounding off with
a head of steam...

...and barrels over Sharif with a running clothesline!  The crowd
roars!]

GM:  Sharif gets knocked flat... and Corax ain't done with him!

[Dragging Sharif to his feet, Corax fires him across to the opposite
corner, barreling in after him...

...and leaping into the air, smashing a clothesline into the chest of
Sharif!]

GM:  CORAX NAILED THE CLOTHESLINE!!

[Sharif stumbles out of the corner into a boot to the gut.  Corax steps
forward into a front facelock...]

GM:  He's going for the DDT!!

[But Adrian Bathwaite is ready for this one, jumping up and shouting at
the official who is drawn to him...

...which allows Vladimir Velikov to rush down the apron, chain wrapped
around his arm, and BASH Corax in the back of the skull, knocking him
flat!]

GM:  Ohh!  Come on!

[Corax crumples to the canvas, Sharif falling on top of him as Bathwaite
points it out to the official.]

BW:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREEEEEEE!!!

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

GM:  Unbelievable!  Sharif stole this one!

BW:  He did not!

GM:  Well, he might not have done it himself but Velikov, Kostovich,
Bathwaite - they're all in on it!  They all caused this to- oh, come on!

[Velikov climbs into the ring, promptly putting the boots to the downed
Corax.  Kostovich joins his fellow Russian in the ring, joining the
attack on Corax.  And finally, Count Adrian Bathwaite does as well. 
Bathwaite shouts at Velikov to pick up Corax.]

GM:  Velikov and Kostovich are holding Corax by the arms and-

[And Bathwaite JAMS the end of his cane into Corax's ribs!]

BW:  Haha!  I love it!

GM:  You would!

BW:  Bathwaite just did to Corax EXACTLY what Corax did to him! 
Somebody get Adrian that baseball bat!  Somebody get-

[BIG CHEER!]

GM:  THERE'S A BASEBALL BAT FOR HIM!!

[But it's certainly not the one that Bathwaite would want as Tyler Lee,
Louisville Slugger in hand, comes charging down the ramp, followed
closely behind by Supernova!  As they hit the ring, the remnants of the
Foreign Legion hit the floor!]

GM:  Tyler Lee and Supernova just cleared the ring without a single
blow!  Look at those cowards run!

BW:  Yeah, Lee and Supernova certainly ARE cowards!

GM:  That's not what I meant and you know it!

BW:  Any man who needs to use a baseball bat inside a wrestling ring,
whether it's Lee or Corax, is a damn coward in my book, Gordo!

[Supernova drops to a knee, checking on the downed Corax as Lee stands
guard, Louisville Slugger at the ready as he shouts down the ramp after
the fleeing Foreign Legion.]

GM:  Somewhere, sometime - this thing is gonna come to a head - and it
just may be at Memorial Day Mayhem!   And speaking of which, let's go
back to Jason who is about to announce the fifteenth man in the Rumble
and... man, it's a doozy.  Jason?

[Cut to the back where Jason Dane stands, seemingly alone, an
uncomfortable and tense look etched across his face. Behind him is the
basic AWA drop cloth and clutched abnormally tightly in his right hand
is a microphone.]

JD: Hello fans, Jason Dane here with ... well, a man who has to be seen
in order to be believed.  He is the latest entrant announced to be
participating in the Memorial Day Rumble.

[Stepping in several beats in advance of his cue comes a hulking mass so
heavily tattooed as to obscure his skin's natural color completely. 
Shaven, seemingly from head to toe, he's bare to the waist.  Viewed from
the back, he's striped with scars stretched over thick muscle.  From the
side his gnarled hands, wrapped in blood-red gauze, become visible for
the first time. As he turns to face the camera, his mangled and
reconstructed face sneers, exposing missing and sharpened teeth as ice
blue eyes fixate on anyone that dares to look at him.]

JD: This is, ah, William Craven.  Welcome Bill.

WC: Heh.  Hrm...

[Turning to leer down at Dane, Craven cocks a shaven and thick brow
while scratching his chin.]

WC: I'm sorry, have we met?

JD: Excuse me?  I don't understand.

WC: So familiar...

[Pursing his cracked lips, Craven's demeanor turns distant as he looks
about himself, absorbing his surroundings.]

JD: You've just signed to fight in the Memorial Day Rumble.  What ...
exactly...?

[Jerking back to Dane, almost touching him nose-to-nose, Craven looks
like an animal on the verge of biting it's handler.]

WC: Let's end this dance, shall we?  You ask me questions that you
already know the answer to and I pretend that you're not some pitiful
lesser creature filling the shoes of a cipher for lack of combat
readiness.

[At once intimidated and obviously offended, Dane holds steady, although
his eyes go shifty as he seems to consider his options.]

JD: What do you suggest?  You have no history with the AWA.

WC: Don't I?  Oh, my dear little friend, I am nothing but history.  In
the year of our Lord 1997 I first stepped foot onto the world stage.  It
was a minor league based out of Atlantic City.  The owner, Jonah Rosch,
was a failed wrestler ... like yourself, I'm guessing.  He'd rejected me
when I tried out for his promotion.  "Too rough" he said.  He meant "too
dangerous", of course. The man I fought for Jonah's amusement spent the
night in intensive care and yet was given a contract.  So ... I took a
more direct approach.
    
In short order our dear Mr. Rosch, too, was hospitalized.  A petty man,
he wanted revenge, as I knew he would.  It was a gauntlet ... and one I
mastered with glee.
    
Are you sure we don't know each other?

[Blink.  Dane is taken off guard and answers earnestly, losing his own
focus; a common problem for those who have to deal with Bill.]

JD: I'm pretty sure I'd remember someone like you.

[Laughing sardonically, Craven takes a step back, giving Dane some
much-needed breathing room.]

WC: Aheh, oh, of course!  You would remember a man so altered as to
emulate a beast of the wild, yes?  Oh, but I have not always looked this
way, Jason.  Imagine ... ten years ago, a man, battle-hardened,
frustrated, asks his employer what he can do to better garner the
spotlight.  A short discussion later and, lo and behold, the decision is
made.  Scales replace scars, the blunt, rodent-like teeth of a man are
replaced with tiny daggers and the "Green Man" is born.  So much
attention, from the media, from the fans and it looked like my reward
was all but set in stone.  That stone, however, that _foundation_ was
cracked.

JD: I remember that.  The WWO.

WC: Yes!  Aheh, see, you do know me.

JD: I know about the WWO.  I was never there.

WC: Splitting hairs.  Oh Jason, so many laps spent circling, preaching
the ways of the violence and striking for the spotlight at the center of
this industry.  So many careers ended...

JD: William, if I may?  My original question.  Why have you come to the
AWA here and now?  Why the Rumble?

[Casting a sidelong glance at Dane, Craven leans back down, assuming a
confidential posture that seems to mock Jason Dane.]

WC: Haven't I been working up to that this entire time?  So little
patience...

As I said, "so many careers ended".  Men, some wearing their fear on
their sleeves, others crying bravery at the top of their lungs,
ultimately broken in body and/or mind.  They crashed against me, Dane;
like ships caught in a storm.  A storm surrounds me always, Dane,
surrounds and follows.

Why here?  Why now?  Why the Rumble, Dane?  Think of a lightning bolt,
Jason.  Think of it's nature.  When you see that flash of light amid the
storm you're only getting half the story.  A call went out that all but
shouted my name, Jason.  A call to battle, to a WAR where no man has
loyalty to any other, that struck with force sufficient to garner my
attention.  Jason ... when lightning calls ... thunder answers...

[Departing abruptly, Craven leaves a very confused Jason Dane in his
wake.  Composing himself, Jason turns full to camera.]

JD: There you have it, fans, the Memorial Day Rumble apparently just too
great a "call to battle" for this "Green Man" to resist. Bucky, Gordon,
back to you.

[We crossfade back down to ringside where Gordon looks aghast.]

GM:  William Craven... one of the most infamous men in our sport... is
the fifteenth man in the Rumble!

BW:  And it seems to me a good time to point out that there are some
dastardly - and dangerous - men in the Rumble already.  Men like Craven,
like Dick Bass, like Sharif, like Layton and Polemos.  This... this may
be the most dangerous Rumble ever, Gordo.

GM:  You may be right about that.  It is quickly become apparent that
the dark cloud that is hanging over the entire AWA is enveloping the
entire Rumble as well!  The Rumble field is halfway to completion but
we'll get closer as the night goes on.  But for now, let's go back up to
the ring for more tag team action!

[Crossfade to Phil Watson.]

PW:  The following tag team contest is scheduled for one fall with a
fifteen minute time limit.  Introducing first, at a combined weight of
five hundred and fifty two pounds, here are Lee Harrigan and Madhouse
McWesson!

[The two big men stand in the center of the ring, arms thrust in the air
as the crowd boos loudly.]

BW: Theres a lotta meat on the bone in there, Gordo!

GM: Well, Harrigan and McWesson are going to need all the power they
have to deal with the duo coming out. Two of the AWAs most exciting
young stars!

BW: Wait a minute, do you mean?

GM: I do.

BW: Ugh! Why didnt you warn me those milk drinkin pukes are out next?

GM: Bucky!

[Tom Sawyer by Rush blares over the loudspeakers, and the cheers begin
immediately, many of them a higher pitch than were used to hearing from
the AWA faithful.]

BW: Them girly screams can only mean one thing. Im gonna have to try
not to throw up in my mouth.

PW: And now, coming to the ring. They weigh in tonight at five hundred
and ten pounds. Here are Jack and Travis.... THE LYNCH BROTHERS.

[Travis, the heartthrob is out first. The youngster is, as always,
dressed in his classic white wrestling trunks with a yellow and black
stripe along the top of them, his two knee pads and wrestling boots are
also white. He comes to the ring in a slight jog.

Behind him comes his older brother Jack, dressed, as always, 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. The brothers stop at ringside,
discard their non wrestling gear, and as a pair, step through the ropes
into the ring, looking more determined than usual.]

GM: Both teams getting checked now, as referee Mickey Meekly gives
instructions before the match.

BW: I hope hes instructing that teeny bopper Travis that punches are
illegal!

GM: Since when do you care about the rules so much, Bucky?

BW: Since those darn Lynches showed up, of course. No one should cheat
as blatantly as they do!

[Instructions given, Mickey Meekly motions for the bell to be rung.]


"DING! DING! DING!"


GM: And Jack Lynch is starting the match, looks like hell be going
against Lee Harrigan.

[Both men lock up in the center of the ring. Harrigan, the power
wrestler, shoves Lynch back, sending Jack into the corner. He motions
for Lynch to come back up and lock up again. Angered at being shoved
away so easily, Lynch obliges and the pair lock up again, this time with
Lynch shoving Harrigan away, to a loud ovation from the crowd.]

GM: Harrigan didnt like that all. And listen to the fans giving him the
business!

BW: Come on Harrigan! Im counting on you to kick that punks teeth down
his throat.

[The two meet in the center of the ring again and this time, Harrigan
lifts his arms in the air, challenging Jack to a test of strength. With
a grin, Jack obliges.  A moment later, after both hands have been
locked, Harrigan is faltering and screaming in pain.]

GM: Harrigan, strong as he is, doesnt seem to be able to match Jack
Lynch. Wait a minute!

BW: Hah! Kick to the stomach by Harrigan! Thats what you get!

GM: What he gets for what?

BW: For being a Lynch!

[With Jack doubled over, Harrigan grabs him by the hair and lifts his
knee, smashing the elder Lynch in the face. Harrigan fires Lynch into
his corner, where the mohawked McWesson grabs him by the arms, holding
him prone as Harrigan fires punches into Jacks gut. Finally, the
referee breaks it up, but not before Harrigan tags out to McWesson.]

GM: The team of Harrigan and McWesson taking an early advantage in this
match.

BW: And theyre going to keep it Gordo! This is the day we finally see
the Lynches go down.

GM: Finally? Theyve only been here a few months!

BW: Feels like thirty years to me. Thirty years of pain.

[McWesson drapes Jacks arms over the top turnbuckle, and backs up,
lowering his head and then charges full steam ahead like some sort of
battering ram. The light comes back on in Lynchs eyes and he dives out
of the way, sending McWesson between the ropes, his shoulder hitting the
ringpost hard. Jack turns  around and sends Harrigan off the apron with
a hard right hand. To the cheers of the crowd, Jack races across the
ring, tagging in his brother. The girls scream at the top of their
lungs.]

GM: Travis Lynch is in! And hes cleaning house!

BW: No! This is awful.

[McWesson comes out of the corner, and walks right into a dropkick that
sends him to the mat. Harrigan runs into the ring, and gets hit with a
clothesline. McWesson stands and takes a swing at Travis, but Travis
ducks, and then grabes McWesson, dropping him with an atomic drop that
sends McWesson crashing into the still dazed Harrgan. Harrigan rolls out
of the ring, and Jack enters, the brothers send McWesson into the
ropes.]

GM: DOUBLE CLOTHESLINE!!

BW: What the heck! Why isnt Meekly disqualifying those two?

GM:  The Lynches are showin' some fire here tonight!  Seeing their
brother get attacked by the Unholy Alliance earlier probably lit a
higher flame under them tonight, Bucky.

[The referee steps in, forcing Jack back to the corner as Travis scoops
McWesson up and slams him to the canvas, his devoted female fans
cheering him on. Travis grips McWesson by the wrist and drags him to the
corner, tagging in his brother, who comes off the top rope to drive an
axehandle into McWessons prone shoulder.]

GM: Jack Lynch looks like hes shaken off the cobwebs off, as he takes
control of the match.

BW: The last time I had a day this bad was... guess what? The last time
the Lynches were in the ring.

[Jack Lynch lifts McWesson up by the waist and drops him to the mat with
a big gutwrench suplex. But then, Jacks attention is caught by
Harrigan, who is jeering him from the apron. With a smirk, Jack sends
McWesson crashing into the corner, and instructs him to tag in his
partner.]

GM: Jack Lynch hasnt forgotten Harrigans dirty tactics from earlier.

BW: I dont know. I think youre giving him too much credit for having a
functioning brain.

[Harrigan is tagged in, and he goes charging at Jack Lynch. The two men
lock up, and again, Harrigan tries to kick Lynch in the gut. But this
time, Jack is expecting it, and twists his body, avoiding the kick.
Using his grip on Harrigan, Lynch sends him in to the ropes, and leaps
into the air.]

GM: HIGH KNEE!!

[Jack lifts Harrigan up, but hes stopped by the crowds chant.]

TRAVIS!!! TRAVIS!!! TRAVIS!!!

[Jacks shakes his head and says you want Travis? A question which is
met with an enthusiastic response. Shaking his head and laughing, Jack
leaves Harrigan in the center of the ring and goes over, tagging in his
brother, who vaults himself over the top rope.]

BW: What a dope! As those two were playing to the crowd, Harrigan has
tagged out. McWesson is now the legal man.

GM: And now McWesson has a head of steam, as he comes charging at the
Lynch brothers.

[Jack and Travis exchange a quick look, the two brothers so familiar
with each other that they dont need to speak to understand each other.
They wait for McWesson to come to them and then duck down.]

GM: HIGH DOUBLE BACK BODY DROP!!

[McWesson bounces off the mat when he finally lands.]

GM: And Harrigan is back in the ring.

[Jack charges Harrigan, cutting him off. What Harrigan didnt see though
was that Lynch had his hand poised.]

GM: IRON CLAW!!

BW: But hes not the legal man, and neither is Harrigan! Meekly, get
them out of the ring.

[Jack has Harrigan pinned in the corner, squeezing the claw as hard as
he can, as Harrigans arms flail wildly in the air. Meanwhile, Travis
stands over a prone McWesson, yelling at him to get up.]

GM: McWesson slowly getting to his feet, hes wobbly.

BW: He just needs a second to recover Gordo!

GM: McWesson standing erect now. And Travis is spinning his body around!

[Again, the crowd erupts.]

GM: DISCUS PUNCH!!! AND MCWESSON IS OUT!!!

BW: DISQUALIFY HIM!! DISQUALIFY HIM!!

[But the referee doesnt disqualify Travis. Instead, Travis puts his
foot on McWessons chest, and Meekly lies on the mat, slapping the
canvas.]

GM: ONE TWO THREE!! Its over!

BW: Tell me, how do they keep winning with that illegal punch? It aint
right!

GM: As far as I know, Bucky, the discus punch has been ruled a legal
maneuver.

[Both Lynches stand in the center of the ring, hugging each other, as
the announcer makes it official.]

PW: Here are your winners...

THE LYNCH BROTHERS!!!

[Travis and Jack raise each others' hands, celebrating their victory...

...when suddenly the crowd begins to roar a warning as someone hurdles
the ringside barricade in street clothes, diving headfirst under the
bottom rope.  He rushes across the ring, leaping up to drive a knee into
the shoulderblades of Jack Lynch, sending him sailing through the ropes
and out to the floor!]

GM:  What the-?!

BW:  Wait a second!  I know who that is!

[Spinning around, the attacker is able to block a thrown right hand from
Travis Lynch, burying a knee into his midsection to counter.  He
promptly hooks a double underhook in deep, pausing to swivel his hips
for a moment, and then...

...SPIKES Lynch skullfirst into the canvas with a thunderous impact!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[Shoving Lynch onto his back, the man climbs to his feet.  He's dressed
in a tight black t-shirt that shows off his well-chiseled physique. 
Glaring down at Lynch, he runs a hand through his short brown crew
cut...

...and flings the sweat out of his hair onto the prone Travis Lynch!]

GM:  I know who that is too!  That's... that's Rex Summers!

BW:  "Red Hot" Rex Summers to be precise, Gordo!

GM:  He's the... well, he was the PCW World Heavyweight Champion!

BW:  He still is, Gordo!  He never lost that belt!

GM:  But PCW doesn't exist anymore and- what the heck is he doing here,
Bucky?  As far as I know, Rex Summers' contract was NOT extended to the
AWA!  He doesn't even work here!

BW:  I'm guessing he feels differently about that subject, Gordo, 'cause
he just laid out that punk Travis Lynch!

[With Travis Lynch unconscious in the middle of the ring, Summers bails
out of the ring as AWA security arrives.  Summers hurdles the barricade
again, making his way through the hostile crowd, pushing and shoving
fans aside as he tries to exit the Crockett Coliseum.]

GM:  That DDT was something else, Bucky... he laid out Travis Lynch and
Travis STILL hasn't moved an inch!

BW:  It's called the Heat Check and it's claimed countless victims over
the years.  And it looks like you can add Travis Lynch's name to that
list, daddy!  Haha!

GM:  Jack Lynch is back in now... checking on his brother... it's been a
tough night for the Lynches.

BW:  All those weeks of pomp and circumstance for them - that's all
over.  Welcome to the REAL AWA, punks.

GM:  Let's go back to Mark Stegglet.  Mark?

[We cut backstage to where we find Mark Stegglet standing between the
members of Rough N Ready. Dave Cooper is dressed in a white button-down
shirt and khakis. Eric Matthew Somers is dressed in a black sweater and
blue jeans. Each man has a National Tag Team Title belt slung over his
shoulder. Standing beside Cooper is Joe Petrow, who gives a look of
disdain to Stegglet.]

MS: Fans, Rough N Ready have allowed me to speak to them...

DC: [interrupting] Only because you're less annoying than Jason Dane.

[To which Petrow chuckles and Somers merely smirks.]

MS: But I want to know, Dave and Eric... what were the two of you
thinking when you attacked The Aces two weeks ago and put them out of
commission?

DC: Stegglet, we simply wanted to give a reminder to The Aces that, once
we had granted them the privilege of facing us for the National Tag Team
Titles, they were going to be in for a rough outing and to know what to
expect. It certainly isn't our fault that Stevie Childes has such a
fragile knee that it couldn't stand up to just a little friendly
reminder of what we are all about.

MS: Well, I can imagine the Rockstar Express begs to differ with that
statement.

DC: The Rockstar Express wants to open their mouths and throw a
challenge our way... well, as I recall, they were getting under our skin
some time ago when we had to deal with the Blonde Bombers... and how
those two managed to crawl out of the gutters we left them in is beyond
me... but back to the Rockstars, that's one team we definitely have some
unfinished business with!

MS: So you will accept their challenge for a tag title shot at Memorial
Day Mayhem?

DC: Seeing as how The Aces have chickened out, we will accept the
Rockstars challenge! But remember this, Scotty and Marty... this will be
the only shot you get at these titles we wear, so you better make it
count! If you go down in defeat...

[He then exchanges a look with Eric, who just laughs.]

DC: Hey, Eric, even a blind pig will find a truffle once in a while...
you just don't bet on that happening.

[Dave then turns back to the camera.]

DC: As I was saying... if you go down in defeat, you don't get a second
chance like Violence Unlimted thinks they are entitled to! You'll get to
the back of the line where you belong!

[Petrow slowly steps to the front of the group, approaching Stegglet. 
He turns to the camera...gives a slight chuckle...then turns to look at
Stegglet again.]

MS: Uh...Mr, Petrow?

[Having changed the mood to his liking, Petrow returns his gaze to the
camera, speaking slowly and softly]

JP: Scotty...Marty...if you're really serious about going through with
this, then go back and listen to the words of Danny Morton. Violence
Unlimited just thought that they were in for a fight. They didn't think
that they were in for a war.  They didn't take their ONE shot at the AWA
National Tag Team championships seriously.

[Joe slowly turns back to look at Dave and Eric, then back to the
camera.]

JP: These two men are already champions. They have associated themselves
with Royalty because they are trying to become LEGENDS. They have the
skill.  They have the talent.  And if they keep these championships long
enough, then instead of being remembered as bums like The Bishop Boys,
they will go on to wear the Hall of Fame ring just like Mr. Langseth.

But Rockstars, you boys are trying to take that away from these men. You
boys are threatening their very IDENTITY as members of Royalty.  Did
America take the number one enemy of the state, and, as they say,
compromise him to a permanent end, by simply looking for a fight?

[Joe gettin' agitated now!]

JP: NO! They went to WAR!  They went to war, and they got the job done
by ANY means necessary!  And that is EXACTLY what is in store for you
Rockstars, so we don't want to hear ANY excuses in the aftermath!  If
you're REALLY serious about going through with this, then you better
drop the parties, drop the women, drop the booze, drop WHATEVER else it
is you do to have a "good time", and get yourself prepared for a damned
WAR!

[And Joe dials it back to where he began...]

JP: Because while you're NOT going to win these championships, I'd hate
to think that you didn't come out and give it your best shot.  Because
Violence Unlimited has already used the excuse of ignorance, you're not
going to BE so lucky as them.  You two will instead end up like everyone
else that has threatened Lord Eric and Lord David's identity:

Lobotomized or destroyed.

[Joe Petrow walks out of the shot, Rough 'n Ready following close
behind.]

MS: Well, I won't accuse these guys of being subtle, as they have openly
challenged the Rockstar Express to bring everything they have to
Memorial Day Mayhem!  And speaking of which, let's head to the Memorial
Day Mayhem Control Center to my good friend, Jason Dane.  Jason?

[Crossfade to the familiar bank of monitors and graphic that is the
Control Center.]

JD:  Thanks, Mark.  We are just a few short weeks away from the big
event to be held on Memorial Day in Tulsa, Oklahoma - Memorial Day
Mayhem.  

Now, as everyone knows, a big part of Memorial Day Mayhem has always
been the annual Memorial Day Rumble - a 30 man extravaganza with the
winner getting a future shot at the AWA National Title.  

Half of that field has been announced.

[We cut to a graphic that indeed shows the fifteen men who have entered
so far:  Sultan Azam Sharif, Sweet Daddy Williams, Alex Martinez, all
three Lynch brothers, Eric Preston, Anton Layton, Polemos, Robert
Donovan, Tyler Lee, Engel Ubelmacht, Zyppo D. Clown, "Dirty" Dick Bass,
and William Craven.]

JD:  Fifteen men are in - fifteen men remain to be announced but we're
going to clear up a few of those mysteries right now.

[A shot appears of the madman himself, James Monosso.]

JD:  James Monosso is in!  Batten down the hatches, fans, because the
madman is comin' to the Rumble and he's comin' to win it all!

[Another graphic emerges - this one showing "Playboy" Johnny Casanova
and "Gentleman" Jack Holland.]

JD:  The Playboy has signed on for the Rumble... but he's not comin'
alone.  He's bringing Playboy Enterprises' Head of Security, "Gentleman"
Jack Holland!  

[The graphics cut away to leave Jason alone.]

JD:  Now, the Rumble has always been about seeing faces in there that
you might not expect.  No one will ever forget Joe Petrow arriving
during the Rumble last year or how about men like Jerry Titus and John
Shock in recent years?   Well, this year promises to be no different. 
We already know that Engel Ubelmacht and William Craven are coming to
Tulsa to compete in the Rumble... but how about this man - 

[Camera fades in at a lobby at the Ritz-Carlton in Dallas, Texas. The
man that is sitting by himself, reading a newspaper, wouldn't want it
any other way. The man in question, is a man who hasn't appeared on a
wrestling television show in years. The man, is the Beautiful One
himself, Jonas Olrikke.]

Olrikke: It's been years since I've had the [coughs] pleasure to have
business in Dallas, Texas. I can feel just feel my IQ dropping as the
ignorance in the air starts grabbing hold of me.

[Olrikke looks down in shame and shakes his head.]

Olrikke: So.. if I hate this place so much, why am I here?

[Olrikke pulls out an envelope from his suit pocket.]

Olrikke: Recently, representatives from the AWA contacted me about being
a part of the Memorial Day Rumble. I can honestly say that at first I
was a little bit hesitant, even though the AWA's gotten quite a
following in Sweden. 

But, somehow, while watching my son compete in a wrestling tournament, I
suddenly got the itch to compete once again. It's an odd thing, you
think being retired and having a successful life away from this business
would suppress that itch. 

[Olrikke puts the envelope back in his pocket, then lets out a sigh,
possibly of relief.]

Olrikke: I guess it's time I scratch this itch. I've signed the contract
to appear at the Memorial Day Mayhem, but maybe I'll scratch this itch
much sooner than I thought I would.

[We crossfade back to the Control Center to a beaming Jason Dane.]

JD:  Jonas Olrikke, a former EMWC North American champion, has joined
the Rumble!

That's nineteen men entered - and how 'bout one more for the road?

[The shot changes to one of Supernova!]

JD:  SUPERNOVA!  IS!  IN!

And in addition to that, I can also announce that Sultan Azam Sharif has
ACCEPTED the challenge of Supernova and those two men will meet in
one-on-one action that night as well!

Twenty men are in.  Ten more remain.  But I can already tell you it's
going to be one of the wildest Rumbles to date.

I'm Jason Dane and we'll see you next time in the Control Center!

[Crossfade 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.

Cut up to the AWA interview area where Jason Dane stands before the AWA
banner alongside the bulbous figure of a purple-suit-clad Larry Doyle. 
Pushing his thick-rimmed glasses up his greasy, puffy nose, Doyle leers
at Dane in an obviously antagonistic way.]

JD: Fans, Jason Dane here with the "Hollywood Man", Larry Doyle.  Larry,
tonight, your man, Robert Baldwin, will be facing tonight, of all
people, the National Heavyweight Champion, Juan Vasquez.

[Doyle's reply is whip-crack quick and hyperactive in motion.  He has
this wild look about him that seems halfway between panic and triumph.]

LD: That's "Ravishing" Robert to you, mister man!  Oh, don't look so
surprised Daaane, assuredly you haven't forgotten our epic verbal
showdowns of yesteryear.  Sure, you lost every time but that doesn't
mean it didn't happen.

[Beat.  Blink blink.  Dane's taken aback by this bizarre assertion.]

JD: As I recall I was just doing my job and you were hostile for no
reason.

LD: There you go again.  Pathologically denying everything!  I bet you
also deny the holocaust, moon landing and Obama's birth certificate!

JD: I--what!?

LD: There's no point in debating the fantasy realm you live in, Dane and
so, with all due respect to your elves, goblins and the bogeyman living
under your man-crib, I vote we move on.

[Beat.  Dane has a look of utter befuddlement and seems paralyzed.]

LD: Excellent!  No argument ... for once.  Yes, tonight, justice is
carried out and the brass can no longer deny me and my boys their
rightful place in the AWA.  True, they may have shunned my Bombers after
their DOMINANT year in the tag division, buried poor Menace for no
damned reason and IGNORED the award given me as top interviewee of the
year, 2010 but now there is no way they can deny us our spot.

Speaking of my award; I wanted to bring the trophy to show everyone,
Dane, but unfortunately I put it in my trophy room and I'll be damned if
I can find it among all the tiny golden men, cars and fake musical
instruments.  I know you can't relate, Dane, but just imagine trying to
find a specific year among your collection of "I Voted" stickers.  Now
imagine those, or anything else you own, has some kind of worth.  Can't,
can you?  Neither can I.

[Shaking his head a little, Dane returns to reality.]

JD: So how do you like your man's chances tonight?

LD: My man's chances?  How do you like the sun's chances of rising
tomorrow?  Robert Baldwin is the only man alive who can fly like Jackie
Chan and slug it out like Mike Tyson.  Throw into that a bucket of
wrestling ability and the world's greatest mind, quick tip--that's me,
and you have a man who is invincible when focused on his target.

JD: But he is a tag team specialist facing down a man who has dominated
the sport for several years now.

LD: He dominated a division in which this man--

[Sauntering into the scene behind Dane, Robert Baldwin glares, arms
crossed.  Not the biggest man, not the most defined, he is nevertheless
possessed of an intensity that seethes out of his every pore.  Glaring
at the back of Dane's head, he waits patiently to be noticed.]

LD: --has never competed in!  When the fates conspired and he was STUPID
enough to stick his nose into our business, my man Robert chopped it
off.

[Pointing at Baldwin, looking past Dane, Doyle finally tips AWA's
intrepid interviewer off to the wrestler's presence.  Doing a double
take, he turns from Doyle to face the camera, holding the microphone
between them.]

LD: You got that, Dane?  Yesterday it was the nose and tonight, we own
the rest of him.  I told Vasquez, I told the brass, and I told anybody
else who was gonna listen that the only way Vasquez got my man Robert
Baldwin in the ring again was to put that title up for grabs.  Like
always I said what was gonna happen, now it happens and tomorrow, in a
nice little recap, I'll let you know how it went down.

[Holding up a hand and leaning in, Baldwin indicates that he wants to
speak.]

RB: Larry, I agree with everything you said 100% but I'd like to just
have a minute now myself.

LD: Oh!  Oh yeah, yes, you let 'em have it, champ!  'Cause he's gonna be
the champ, Dane.

[Smiling unpleasantly, Baldwin grasps the microphone and, with a quick
jerk, takes it from Jason Dane.]

RB: THANK you.  Now.  You.  Monkey behind the camera.  Right here.

[Pointing two fingers at the fans at home, Baldwin curls his arm up to
indicate that the camera should focus exclusively on him.]

RB: Vasquez.

[Beat.  Let that sink in.]

RB: You seem to have it in your head that I don't have a brain in mine. 
That I do nothing but endlessly bend and scrape before Larry Doyle but
there's nothing further from the truth.

You see, _Juan_, I got a little somethin' taught me by my daddy called
"respect".  When you got respect, you sometimes have to admit that
maybe, just maybe, there's someone out there that can do somethin' a
little better than you can.  For me the what is talkin', and the who is
Larry Doyle.

I'll admit that, last week, you got up under my skin.  Let off a few
salvos with that sick tongue of yours that made me forget who I am for a
minute.  I'm a hot-headed southern boy that likes to fight and that can
get me in trouble if I ain't careful.  Larry likes to tell us what our
mantra should be and it goes a little somethin' like this; "Never fight
angry, never fight on the other guy's terms and never fight for free."

You had me doin' all those things, Juan.  See, crazy thing is, I never
even thought about takin' that strap off you.  Larry had us focused,
from the day we came back, on gearin' up to take on Rough 'N Ready.  If
it wasn't for Larry I wouldn't have even recognized what was right there
in front of me; a paper champion with a resume a mile long who passed
his prime in 2005.  Mm-mm, that right there is a big ol' banquet of
hubris just waitin' to bring you down, Juan.  The time is now, the place
is here and you can damned sure bet that tonight, I'm not just gonna
prove I'm my own man but that I'm _the_ man when I bury the king and
take his crown.

[Thrusting the microphone back into Dane's chest, Baldwin stalks off. 
Doyle nods appreciatively as he pats Dane on the shoulder.]

LD: Still got doubts, Dane?  Coffin's nailed half shut on Juan Vasquez'
reign as champ.  Tonight the other half get hammered _straight_ into his
stupid head.  And why?  Because we are the attraction, Dane!  We are the
talent!  We are ... the AWA...

[Stalking off after Baldwin, Doyle leaves a rumpled Jason Dane in his
dust.  Scowling slightly, Dane nevertheless maintains his composure.] 

JD: Doyle and company; confident as always.  Now, let's go back to the
ring for more action. 

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

PW:  The following tag team contest is set for one fall with a ten
minute time limit.  Introducing first... already in the ring at this
time... from Austin, Texas... the team of David Grey and Kevin Waters!

[The two lanky young men raise their arms to a few "Hey, they're Texan!"
cheers.]

PW:  And their opponents... 

[John the Revelator by Curtis Stigers and the Forest Rangers starts up
to a bunch of jeers from the crowd.]

PW:  From the Garden of Eden... they are accompanied to the ring by
Eve... the team of Adam and Brother Cain...

THE FIRRRRRST FAMMMMILY!

[The masked man is the first one through, his massive form filling the
camera shot as he stands in his executioner's hood just beyond the
curtain.  A hand claps him on the shoulder, setting him into motion as
he heads towards the ring.  Following close behind is the smaller man,
Adam, and his... assistant?... Eve.]

GM:  One of the most disliked groups in the entire AWA - they've been
tangled up with the Rockstar Express since Day One and you can bet
they're none too happy that the Rockstars will be taking on Rough N
Ready for the National Tag Team Titles at Memorial Day Mayhem.

[Upon reaching the ring, Adam grabs the mic out of Phil Watson's hand. 
He quickly exits the ring, standing facing the fans from the ring apron
as Brother Cain holds strong in the middle of the ring, making sure that
no one makes a move for Adam as he speaks.]

A: My brooooooootheeeeeeeeeeerrrrrs aaaaaaaaannnnd
siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiisteeeeeeerrrrrrrrrrs! The Lord has granted you the
favor of watching us do His work again! I hope you enjoy ... I hope you
understand ... I hope you will soak up His message that will be conveyed
by our humble hands!

[The crowd jeers Adam as he tucks the mic into the front of his trunks,
gesturing for the timekeeper to ring the bell.]

GM:  He's going to keep the mic during the match?!

BW:  I like that kind of go-get-'em attitude, Gordo.  Saves me some
effort in calling his match.

[The referee reluctantly calls for the bell as Brother Cain pulls off
the executioner's hood, leaving his standard mask on underneath.  He
tosses the cloth aside as David Grey rushes him...]

GM:  Here we go!

[The powerhouse of the team hoists Grey into the air under his armpits,
hurling him into the closest set of buckles.  Cain rushes forward,
hammering a heavy forearm down across the sternum.  Backing off, Cain
takes a boxing stance and throws a series of hooking blows to the
ribcage before polishing him off with an uppercut that knocks Grey down
to a seated position in the corner.]

GM:  Those are illegal, ref!

BW:  You're not worried about it when Travis Lynch is throwing that
discus punch!

[Moving back in to the corner, Cain plants his boot on the throat of
Grey, choking the air out of him.  Adam pulls the mic out, shouting into
it to the jeers of the crowd.]

A: That is the way, Brother Cain! Make him feel the pain of his sins!
Redeem him! Show him the loooooove of his savior!

[Cain backs off at the referee's four count, tugging his mask into place
before grabbing Grey by the foot, dragging him from the corner...

...and dropping a hard elbowdrop across the sternum!]

GM:  Brother Cain is absolutely dominating young David Grey at this
stage in the matchup...

[Grabbing the legs of Grey, Cain flips him into a Boston Crab, bending
him backwards as the young man wails in pain.]

A: Don't forget the other one! There is no escape from His will tonight!

[Cain nods at Adam's instruction, breaking the submission hold.  He
yanks Grey off the mat by an arm...

...and then bodily hurls him into the corner, pointing a finger at Kevin
Waters who reluctantly tags in.  Cain cuts him off with a clubbing
forearm, knocking Waters down to a knee where a heavy double axehandle
knocks him flat on his chest.]

GM:  This guy is a beast, Bucky.  Can anyone stand in there with him?

BW:  I don't know.  He might be Adam's golden ticket to the National Tag
Team Titles!

[Cain reaches down, grabbing Waters by the back of the trunks and using
them to power him back up to his feet...

...and yanks him into his massive arms, lifting him off the mat, and
squeezing him in a bearhug!]

GM:  Ohh!  Look at that!

BW:  I think I just heard Waters' colon liquify against his ribs!

GM:  That's disgusting.

[The shouts of Adam fill the air again.]

A: That's it! That's the way! Crushing him will open his mind! Everybody
in this arena should envy this poor sinner! Right now, he experiences
spiritual rejuvenation so pure, his screams are not of pain but of joy!

[Brother Cain ragdolls him back and forth a few times before hurling him
down to the canvas.  He stands over Waters for a moment, raising his
fist...

...and drops it down between the eyes of Kevin Waters, causing the
rookie to flail about in pain.  Cain slams both palms down on the chest
as the referee drops down to count.]

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

[But Brother Cain pulls Waters out of the pin by the hair, shaking his
head at the official.]

GM:  Come on!  He coulda got him right there!

BW:  It's not time yet.

GM:  How do you know?  

BW:  Because Adam hasn't told him to do it!

[Adam's shouts over the mic again.]

A: I want all of you to memorize this, brothers and sisters! These
images and the words of Adam the First Man shall accompany to your homes
and hearths! Tell your loved ones that you were in the presence of
sanctity tonight!

[Brother Cain climbs to his feet, dragging a limp Waters up as well.  He
flings him towards the buckles where the rookie staggers out and nearly
has his head taken off with a running big boot under the chin!]

GM:  Good grief!  Brother Cain has taken on - and is beating up - BOTH
of these young men at the same time!  This is pretty much a handicap
match at this point in the match, Bucky.

BW:  The record books'll show a win for the First Family in a-

[The cries of Adam cuts off Bucky.]

A: Enough now, Brother Cain. Let us end the sermon in a way worthy of
this wonderful evening!

[Adam hands off the mic to Eve who cradles it in her arms.  The "first
man" extends his arm as Brother Cain casts one final glare down at the
body of Kevin Waters.  Moving to the corner, Brother Cain slaps the hand
of Adam who steps in as Eve shouts "REJOIC-" before the mic is cut off.]

GM:  Thank the stars someone finally cut that mic off.

[Cain moves back to Waters, bodily pulling him up by the arm, and
yanking him into a full nelson as Adam drops down to his knees, folding
his arms in prayer.]

GM:  What in the world?

[With a powerful lift, Cain launches Waters high into the air...

...and DRIVES him down with a thunderous slam!]

GM:  FULL!  NELSON!  SLAM!

[And Adam simply slumps over into a lateral press as the referee makes a
quick three count before any more damage can be done.]

GM:  That's it.

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

[Adam slowly rises, soaking up the jeers of the crowd with his arms
spread wide.  He exits the ring, leading Eve and Brother Cain back up
the ramp as the fans continue to boo.]

GM:  A victory for - well, it was really Brother Cain who scored the win
but I suppose you're right, Bucky... it'll go down in the record books
as a victory for the First Family as a unit.

BW:  A dominating victory at that!  That could be enough to put them in
the Top 5 contenders.  I know I'd rank 'em above those stupid Lynch
brothers!

GM:  Fans, we've got at-

[Suddenly, the crowd breaks into jeers again as James Monosso comes
tearing down the ramp, shoving past Adam who has to restrain Brother
Cain from going after the madman.  Monosso hits the ring fast and hard,
drilling an incoming David Grey with a running clothesline!]

GM:  OHHH!  MONOSSO'S OUT HERE AGAIN!!  WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH
HIM?!

BW:  How much time do we have?

[Monosso spins around, throwing an official aside as he drags the prone
Kevin Waters back to his feet, pulling him into a side waistlock...

...and POWERING him up, over, and down onto the back of his head and
neck with the Descent Into Madness!]

GM:  Good grief!  He just SPIKED this young man on his head and-

[The crowd ERUPTS in cheers!]

GM:  VASQUEZ!  VASQUEZ!!

[The National Champion looks furious as he storms down the aisle, title
belt in hand.  He breaks through the ropes, winding up as he does so...

...and DRILLS Monosso between the eyes with the title belt!]

GM:  VASQUEZ NAILS MONOSSO!!

[Monosso crumples from the title belt shot to the skull, knocking him
backwards and through the ropes to the floor.  A fired-up Vasquez steps
up on the middle rope, shouting for Monosso to get back into the ring...

...but a sea of AWA officials seems determined for that NOT to happen as
they flood the ringside area to restrain an angry James Monosso who is
shoving people left and right, trying to get back into the ring as we
fade back to the locker room area.

It's Jason Dane at the interview area with a dressed to wrestle Eric
Preston.]

JD: With me at this time is Eric Preston, a man who evened the score
with Johnny Sone last week _and_ threw his hat into the ring for the
Memorial Day Rumble. On this edition of Saturday Night Wrestling, it's
another return match, this time with Johhny Casanova.

[Preston nods, his brow alreayd furrowed.]

EP: Last time out, Jason Dane, I faced a man in Johnny Sone who I had
respect for, I faced a cat in Johnny Sone that I knew would fight fair
and square, and would let the best man win.

Tonight, daddy, live here in the Crockett Coliseum, we're playing with a
different set of rules. Johnny Casanova, everybody can see the game
you're playing. The whole world can see what you're pulling, partner,
and it makes me sick. Blackmailin' a man who needs money for his family,
paying off a man to watch your back because you can't do it yourself--

[Preston shakes his head.]

EP: --I don't know what's more pathetic. The fact that you're taking
advantage of a man who needs to take care of his Mother, or the fact
that you need to _pay_ someone to make sure you can win a match,

[Preston spits at the ground and stomps it with his foot.]

EP: That's what I think of you, jack, bottom of the barrel. You've got
no honor, no pride, no dignity and it sickens me to think that I slipped
up in a match against you. You don't have an honest, hard workin' bone
in your body, and it's gonna be a pleasure rappin' these five knuckles
against your head until it welts. I got no joy in kickin' Johnny Sone in
the face last time out, but you can bet dollars to donuts that every
time I introduce that face of yours to the mat, I'll be smilin' like
it's Christmas morning, and these people will be too.

The bottom line, Jason Dane, is that I made a promise with the people
that I need to make good on. There's a receipt I need to deliver, and
it's got Johnny Casanova's name on it. And if that means I gotta go
through him, his henchman and his "main squeeze"...
 
[Air quotes, my friends. They're coming back.]
 
EP: ...then that's the way it's got to be. And while the last match with
Johnny Sone was just business, this is all kinds of personal.
 
I was there when my Mom succumbed to cancer, Jack Holland, I know where
you're comin' from. I know all about the helplessness, I know all about
wanting to do something to make it better and not being able to. I still
don't know what I could have done... but I know damn well that selling
out to a snake like Casanova for some fast cash sure ain't the answer.
 
You lie with the dogs, you wake up with fleas, my friend. And if your
sugar daddy gives you the order to get involved, and you get some bloody
chicklets for your trouble...
 
[Preston holds up a fist, as the world digests the dated Brody Thunder
reference.]
 
EP: ...don't say I didn't warn ya, brother. You get involved with that
camp, you get the same treatment. Johnny Casanova, Mr. Moneybags, you
might wipe your nose with hundred dollar bills, you might have bought
yourself an insurance policy, but all that fat cash can't buy you a bit
of decency.
 
You got no class, Johnny Cass, you got no honor and no dignity, and in a
few minutes you're gonna have no chance.
 
[Preston points his finger at the camera on his last two syllables to
accentuate his point, and then nods at Dane to signify he's finished.]

JD:  Eric Preston is looking for some much needed momentum as he heads
for the Memorial Day Rumble!  Fans, we'll be right back with more
Saturday Night Wrestling!

[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.

Back up to live action inside the ring where Phil Watson is standing.]

PW:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit.  Introducing first... already in the ring at this time...
Hugh Jenner!

[Jenner raises his arms to some cheers.]

PW:  And his opponent...

["Save a Prayer" by Duran Duran starts playing over the speakers as the
crowd starts booing, with a few cheers mixed in.]

PW:  From Nynashamn, Sweden... weighing in at 254 pounds... 

JOOOOOONAAAAAS OLLLLRIKKE!!

[The curtain pulls back as the Beautiful One, the Pride of Sweden
himself, Jonas Olrikke, steps out into the aisle way. Olrikke stops as
soon as he steps out of the curtain and glances out over the crowd, with
his arms outstretched. Olrikke shakes his head slowly as the crowd
continues it's mixed reaction, and makes his way down to the ringside,
no longer acknowledging the crowd. Olrikke is wearing blue pant length
tights, with convenient yellow stripes so the design on his tights looks
like the Swedish Flag. Olrikke is also wearing yellow knee length
boots.]

GM:  Jonas Olrikke looks like he's going to be scratching that itch to
wrestle a lot sooner than ANY of us expected.  Did you have any idea
that Olrikke would be competing here tonight?

BW:  Of course!  I know everything that's going to happen around here. 
My little birds are everywhere, Gordo.

[Olrikke tugs at the ropes for a moment, keeping loose as the referee
calls for the bell.]

GM:  This is the first time, to the best of my knowledge, that Jonas
Olrikke has competed in a pro wrestling match in several years, Bucky.

BW:  I think you're right.  But look at him, Gordo.  The man looks to be
in tremendous shape.

GM:  There's a reason they call him the Beautiful One.

[The two men quickly tie-up in a collar and elbow, Jenner securing a
side headlock right away, wrenching down on the head and neck of
Olrikke.  Olrikke looks for a way out, throwing a pair of forearms to
the ribs before opting to throw Jenner off the ropes...]

GM:  Jenner off the far side...

[But he ducks under a sloppily-thrown clothesline from Olrikke, hitting
the far ropes...

...and knocking Olrikke down to the mat with a shoulder tackle!]

GM:  Whoa!  Down goes Olrikke!  

BW:  He's trying to kick some ring rust in a hurry.  And the AWA's a
tough place to shake ring rust, Gordo.

GM:  Olrikke right back up though and-

[The crowd reacts as Jenner throws a haymaker to the face of Olrikke who
crumples backwards, grabbing his cheek...

...and then angrily spins around, grabbing Jenner around the head and
neck, popping his hips, and HURLING him up and over to the mat!]

GM:  Whoa my!  What a suplex by Olrikke!

[The Swedish warrior quickly pulls Jenner off the mat, hooking a front
facelock, slinging an arm over the neck, and powers him into the air,
going into a bit of a spin before laying him out with a vertical
suplex!]

GM:  Ohhh!  Nice show of power by Olrikke!

BW:  He's not done either.  He hates getting hit in the face and Jenner
just sent him over the edge!

[Pulling Jenner off the mat by the trunks again, Olrikke secures a rear
waistlock.  He pauses for a moment before picking him off the mat and
DUMPING him on the back of the head!]

GM:  My stars!  What a waistlock suplex!

BW:  No bridge, all impact on the back of the head!  Jenner might be
out!

[An angry Olrikke quickly gets up, dragging Jenner up again...

...but Jenner slumps back down to his knees, unable to stand.]

GM:  You're right, Bucky!  He is out on his feet!

[Olrikke pulls him back up, scooping him up to hold him across his
chest...]

GM:  He's going for the Catwalk!  He's gonna finish Jenner for good!

[After a moment, Olrikke pauses and just dumps Jenner down to the mat. 
The Beautiful One plants a boot in the chest, standing and rubbing his
struck cheek as the referee counts to three.]

GM:  Wow!  What a comeback win for Jonas Olrikke!

[Olrikke rolls out of the ring, and looks back at Hugh Jenner, who is
barely moving as the referee checks on him. Olrikke makes his way up the
aisle, pausing to take a brief look at Jenner's wife and daughters who
were in attendance tonight, hoping to see Jenner pick up a rare win.
Olrikke raises his eyebrow and grins at the eldest daughter as she and
the rest of her family stare stone-faced at him. Olrikke then turns and
stops as Jason Dane approaches him, mic in hand.]

JD: I must say, Mr. Olrikke, that it's been a long time since you
stepped inside
this ring, and it's like you never left.

[Olrikke turns his head back towards the ring, then shakes his head, and
turns 
back towards Dane.]

Olrikke: Well, I returned to the ring because I had an itch to compete,
and I was hoping to scratch it before I step into the ring at the
Memorial Day Rumble event. I don't think I'm satisfied. What a pathetic
performance by a pathetic little man. Is this the best the AWA can offer
me?

JD: Well, to be quite honest, no. You'll see what the AWA is all about
at the Rumble, that's for sure. I have a question. You could have easily
hit the Catwalk, a move that has given you so many victories in your
career, but you didn't. You just dropped him to the mat and pinned him.
How come?

[A smirk crossees Olrikke's face as the camera pans back to the ring,
where Jenner is still barely moving after that crushing suplex that led
to the pinfall.]

Olrikke: I see this man in the ring, and I see his family at ringside,
and I can only sympathize with this old man.

[The crowd boos as they don't feel Olrikke's very sincere. The camera
pans back to Olrikke]

Olrikke: It's well known that I am not a fan of this country, Mr.
Stegglet, but I can sympathize with the people here, who are doing
things that they do not want to do in order to keep their unappreciative
family fed.

[He nods towards the Jenner family, who look on in disgust after
realizing Olrikke might have been accusing them of not appreciating
Jenner.]  

Olrikke:  Does this old man that I faced tonight really need to step
into the ring, unappreciated by everyone? No. 

[Olrikke starts to point to no one in particular in the crowd.]

Olrikke: This Hugh Jenner fellow, none of you people care about him, yet
he's just like each and every one of you. Dragging themselves every day
to soul crushing jobs that provide nothing but misery and heartache, day
in and day out, just to try to pay their bills and save their homes.

[The crowd continues to boo, as Olrikke lowers his head.]

Olrikke: That's what 'hope' gets you, I guess.

[A portion of the crowd starts cheering slightly as they take Olrikke's
word as a knock against the President.]

Olrikke: In the darkness and Hell that is every day life in America,
many people look to an escape, and I am here, not just to compete at the
Memorial Day Rumble, but to provide an escape. To provide 'hope'.
America loves to worship people that are better than them in every way.
You people see them every day in your shopping markets, on your People
magazines and your Globe magazines. 

People, like me. Strong, smart, sophisticated, and much better looking
than the average person.

[Olrikke grins a wide grin, but a loud shriek from a girl at ringside
breaks his concentration for a moment. The girl starts shrieking 'TRAVIS
LYNCH IS BETTER LOOKING THAN YOU! I LOVE YOU TRAAAAVIIISSSS'.]

Olrikke: Yes, Travis Lynch. The young man is surely Texas handsome.

[The girl shrieks in agreement.]

Olrikke: I didn't mean that as a compliment. 

[The girl stops shrieking once she realizes what he may have meant, and
yells  'YOU SUCK'! The crowd around her chants along.]

Olrikke: Now, before I was rudely interrupted [more boos].. I'm going
into the Rumble, not just to scratch my itch to compete, but to become
the #1 contender to Juan Vasquez' National Title, and once I beat Mr.
Vasquez to become the champion, I can start providing the 'hope' and
'change' that each and every one of you people need.

[Olrikke walks away, soaking in the boos from the crowd.]

JD: Hope and change by winning the National Title? That's laying it on
thick a bit, don't you guys think?

[Dane is shaking his head as we cut to a panning shot of the Crockett
Coliseum.

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 joining me this week is a man I have known for several years
now.  He is a man who is proud, who is strong, and who is one of the
most skilled competitors in this business.

But two weeks ago, he also showed himself to be a man that I think I
barely know.  Let's take a look...

[We fade to footage marked "TWO WEEKS AGO!"  It is the aftermath of the
Corax/Sharif match from two weeks earlier just as Vladimir Velikov hits
his own nephew, Kolya Sudakov, with a Russian Sickle to the back of the
neck, 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" and we fade...

...back to the Money Pit where Michaelson is shaking his head.]

TM:  That, fans, is NOT the Kolya Sudakov that I know and respect as a
competitor.  He is not the man who will stand there and take a beating -
a humiliating WHIPPING - at the hands of ANYONE!  

But yet, that was the man we saw.  

At this time, please welcome to the Money Pit... KOLYA SUDAKOV!

[With no music or fanfare, Kolya Sudakov strides out onto the set of The
Money Pit wearing his singlet with a Russian red windbreaker over it. 
He shakes the hand of Todd Michaelson, turning towards the camera to
reveal a big white bandage on his forehead.]

TM:  Kolya, thank you for joining us here tonight.

[Sudakov nods slightly.]

TM:  You know the question that I have to ask, Kolya.  The one question
that ALL of these people want the answer to.  

Why, Kolya?  Why are you letting Kostovich do this to you?

[Sudakov looks up at Todd with something close to a smile.]

KS:  Of all people, I thought you would understand.

[Michaelson looks puzzled.]

TM:  Of all people?  What do you mean?

KS:  You... you had your career in the ring stolen from you, no?  Stolen
by injury.

[Michaelson nods.]

KS:  Over and over, you come back... you try to wrestle... you get hurt.
 But yet you try.

Tell me, Comrade.  

Is there anything you WOULDN'T do to get your career back?

[Michaelson's head bows, looking down at the floor.]

KS:  That what Kolya thought.  

You see Uncle Vladimir hit me.  You see Kostovich whip me with chain. 
You - and all of you...

[Sudakov points to the fans.]

KS:  Think me coward?

[Sudakov shakes his head.]

KS:  Fine.  You right.  Kolya afraid.  Kolya afraid of losing career! 
Kolya afraid of being sent back to Siberia for "competitive
reconstruction!"  Kolya afraid to not be in AWA anymore.

I let Kostovich and Uncle do to Kolya what they do because Kolya have no
choice!

[Sudakov is angry as he shouts the last part, glaring at Michaelson who
finally speaks again.]

TM:  I get that, kid... I truly do.  But when does it become not worth
it?  When do you decide that having your career in the AWA isn't worth
it if you're not living YOUR life?

[Sudakov shakes his head.]

KS:  You no understand.  No one understand.

[Sudakov seems about to leave when "Big" Jim Watkins walks onto the set
of the Money Pit.  He's in a pair of blue jeans and a black sportscoat
over an AWA polo.  He shakes hands with Todd Michaelson on arrival.]

TM:  Mr. Watkins, I wasn't expecting-

JW:  I know, Todd... but there's something this young man needs to hear.

[Watkins' words draws Sudakov's attention.]

JW:  You may be right, kid.  There might not be a single one of us who
understands what you're going through.  There ain't a single one of us
who has someone who claims to OWN us telling us what to do.  There ain't
a single one of us who has someone whippin' us with a damned steel
chain.

But you know what I understand, kid?  I understand how to be a man!

[The crowd cheers.]

JW:  And somewhere... somewhere deep inside you, you understand that
too.  You used to be a man, Kolya.  You were a Mixed Martial Artist -
one of the best in the world.  You were a former National Champion - one
of the best in the world.  

But now?  Now you're a puppet with a washed-up old man pullin' your
strings.

[BIG CHEER!]

JW:  Kolya, it ain't worth it, son.  None of it.  The money, the fame,
the stardom.  Nothing you got right now is worth what they're puttin'
you through.  I can guarantee you that!

I know you want to be here... I know you want to compete... but you
ain't competin', son.  You're just a shell of what you were, goin'
through the motions to make the puppetmaster smile.

That ain't you.  It ain't the you that these people - and myself - want
to see.  And it ain't the you that you want to be.

[Watkins points a finger, jabbing it into Sudakov's chest.]

JW:  You got a heart in there, kid... and it's tellin' ya that I'm
right.  It's tellin' ya that you gotta stand up to Kostovich.  Ya gotta
show 'em what you're capable of.  

Ya gotta be a man, kid.

[Watkins shakes his head as Sudakov lowers his gaze.  The big man
reaches out, grabbing Sudakov's jacket and tearing it off him, revealing
his upper body.]

JW:  LOOK!

[Watkins spins Sudakov by the arm, pointing at the ugly red welts on his
back.]

JW:  Look at 'em, kid.  This is what it's come to.  This is what you're
putting yourself through.  You're lettin' a man whip you like some kind
of an animal... like some kind of a slave... 

Be a man, son.  Stand up for yourself... stand up for yourself...

Don't do it for me... don't do it for Todd or these fans...

Do it for yourself, damn it!

[And with that, Watkins storms off the set of The Money Pit, leaving
Sudakov behind.  The camera trails across his back, showing the bright
red welts left by the links of the heavy Russian steel chain...

...and we fade to the Control Center once more.]

JD:  Fans, welcome back to the Control Center!  We are just a few weeks
away from Memorial Day Mayhem and that big Memorial Day Rumble.  But
it's not just the Rumble we want to talk about.  Memorial Day Mayhem is
more than the Rumble.   We already know that the National Tag Team
Titles will be on the line when Rough N Ready meets The Rockstar
Express.  We know that Supernova will collide with Sultan Azam Sharif.  

And now we know that there is a possibility that Mark Langseth, Dragon
or not, will meet Alex Martinez on that night.  Either that, or Martinez
will have to kiss the feet of Mark Langseth in the middle of the ring -
that's what he agreed to!

Plus, we know that right here two weeks ago on The Money Pit, City Jack
made a challenge for the National Title.  He wants to face Juan Vasquez
at Memorial Day Mayhem in a match that may be Jack's final wrestling
match.  Juan Vasquez has not answered that challenge yet but we hope to
find out before we go off the air tonight.

But what about the Longhorn Heritage Title?

[Dane grins.]

JD:  Perhaps this man can answer that question.  Appearing via videotape
from his hometown of Atlanta, Georgia, he is the Number One contender to
that title - Sweet Daddy Williams!  Let's take a look!

[The shot crossfades to footage marked "EARLIER THIS WEEK!" where Sweet
Daddy Williams is sitting in front of the camera, dark sunglasses
covering his eyes.]

SDW:  First, I want to tell all the fans in Dallas how much I miss 'em
and how badly I wanted to be there tonight.  I know you wanted to see me
take it to Nenshou and the rest of the Unholy Allliance but my docs,
well, they knew "take it easy" ain't in ol' Sweet Daddy's vocabulary. 
So, I'm sittin' home this week and waitin' and watchin' to see what
happens.

But what I ain't waitin' for is my shot at the Longhorn Heritage Title. 

The way I...

[Williams grins, pointing to the glasses.]

SDW:  ...see it, I pinned the champ in the six man tag a few weeks ago. 
I'm the number one contender... 

And at Memorial Day Mayhem, I want my shot!

Nenshou, Childes... you think you got the best of ol' Sweet Daddy?

[He pulls off the glasses, revealing a very red set of eyes.]

SDW:  This?

[He points to his eyes.]

SDW:  This is just a flesh wound.  When MDM rolls around, we're bringin'
out the big guns and we're playin' for keeps!  

I told the world I'd wear gold in 2011... and for this ol' son of a gun,
it's better now than later, baby.

I'm comin' to Dallas next week, Percy... and I want my answer.

[A cold stare into the camera.]

SDW:  I want it right out of your mouth.  And if I don't like the answer
I get?

[Williams holds up his clenched fist.]

SDW:  I'm gonna put THIS... in yo' mouth!

[The video cuts out, going back to Jason Dane who is all grins.]

JD:  Sweet Daddy Williams has made a challenge for Memorial Day Mayhem -
and he's comin' to the Crockett Coliseum in two weeks to have that
challenge answered!

Now, let's talk about the Rumble.  We've got twenty men entered as of
the Control Center earlier tonight.  But I've got more names for you -
first, how about a name who will NOT be competing in the Rumble but will
be helping to ANNOUNCE it!

The former National Champion, "Hotshot" Stevie Scott, will join Gordon
Myers and Bucky Wilde at the broadcast table to call all the action! 
And it'll be a real treat to have the insight of a man who used to be
the top dog in this business.

But what about some more men who WILL be in the Rumble?

How about the man we just saw, the former National Champion, Kolya
Sudakov?  He's been added to the Rumble by Jim Watkins who says he hopes
to see the REAL Sudakov that night in Tulsa.  

Not to be outdone, Ivan Kostovich has entered Vladimir Velikov in the
match.  Will Velikov and Sudakov be on the same side?  That remains to
be seen.

Completing the Unholy Alliance's entry into the Rumble, Nenshou has
decided to enter the fray - perhaps looking to trade that Longhorn
Heritage Title up for the AWA National Title!

[Pause.]

JD:  Now, remember, I said the Rumble is a match where sometimes you
find unexpected individuals entering the fray.  How about this man who
will make his return to wrestling on that night...

[Crossfade to Mark Stegglet who is standing alongside someone we haven't
seen in wrestling in a few years.  Ryan Faith is decked out in his
signature black "Got Faith?" t-shirt and cut off blue jean shorts. His
shaggy hair, covering most of his face... but still you can see his
piercing blue eyes staring right at and through you.

MS:  Ryan Faith, it's been quite some time since anyone has seen you in
the wrestling business - just where have you been and why have you been
gone so long?

RF: You know Mark... a couple of years back my old man passed away. I
took some time off from the business, and came back with such anger and
such reckless abandon. I was using every ounce of my being, going full
speed and really pushing my body to the limit. But as much as I thought
I was unstoppable, that sort of living.. that sort of wrestling... it
took a toll on my body.

[Ryan pats his left shoulder.]

RF: I damn near had this become useless to me. Wrestling is my life and
I've been working to get back to where I was before the injury. And that
is on top of the world and with everything within reach.

MS:  Why choose now for the return?  And why the AWA?

RF: I think the better question to ask, is why not now? Why _NOT_ the
AWA? My entire life all I ever did was take advice from people who never
had their hearts broken, their pride stolen, their bodies bruised, their
egos shattered. I've done my due diligence. The doctor told me to not
wrestle again.. my fiancee told me to stay home. When you ask me why
now... because I have to. When you ask me why the AWA.... because if I'm
going to come back and lay down the trail for the rest of my career...
this is where I need to do it.

MS:  The Memorial Day Rumble is one of the biggest nights of the year
for the AWA.  Do you really expect to come back after so long off and
succeed there?

RF: Absolutely. If I didn't, I wouldn't be entered. If I didn't know
that success was an option, I would not be standing in front of you
right now.

[Ryan smiles..]

RF: Easy answer, perhaps. But that's what I feel.

MS:  You realize that the winner of the Rumble will earn a future shot
at the National Title, right?  Are you ready for that?
 
RF: I think a better question is to ask the AWA if they are ready to
have Ryan Faith be the face of the company. Is it ready to have me strap
it on my back... and carry it.... unlike anyone here could ever do.
That's the question you should be asking.

MS: Well, I guess that's something we all should ask ourse-

[Ryan grabs the mic before Stegglet can finish his statement...]

RF: Better question? Is the AWA ready to test its Faith?

[Crossfade back to the Control Center.]

JD:  Ryan Faith is the twenty-fourth entry into the Memorial Day Rumble!

Now, the final five men will be announced over the next two weeks and
right here in two weeks' time on the final Saturday Night Wrestling
before the big Rumble.

But I've got one more parting gift before we head back to ringside!

[A completely black screen replaces a shot of Jason Dane.  A
slow-building bass starts up - soon the theme to "For A Few Dollars
More" begins to become apparent.

Upon the black screen, white lettering comes across for just an instant
before slowly fading away.

"LEGEND"

"FORMER WORLD CHAMPION"

"THE BEST THERE EVER WAS"

[The black screen fades out to a black and white photo from a newspaper
with a simple headline.]

"GRAHAM WINS GOLD!"

[A gravel-throated voice is heard over the music.]

"New Year's Day - 1979... I walked into the great state of Texas as a
young kid and walked out the World Heavyweight Champion.

In the thirty years since then, I've fought the best in the world - here
in the States, over in Europe and Japan.

I made St. Louis the world's capitol of professional wrestling before
anyone had ever heard of names like Kinsey, Vasquez, and Case.

And for two years solid, I've been tryin' to get my foot in the front
door here in the AWA so I can show the world that Hamilton Graham is
EXACTLY who he says he is."

[The newspaper fades to reveal the grizzled face of "Handsome" Hamilton
Graham - his permed dark brown hair sticking up a few inches from his
skull.  His out-of-control sideburns meet a wild handlebar moustache to
create quite the memorable look.  Graham points a menacing finger at the
camera, revealing what appears to be a powerful arm but not with the
kind of muscular definition we're used to seeing.]

"The best... there ever... was."

[The shot of Graham fades out to reveal one final title graphic.]

"HAMILTON GRAHAM.  RUMBLE.  MEMORIAL DAY MAYHEM."

[As it fades out, we come back up to ringside to a shocked Gordon
Myers.]

GM:  I can't believe it!  "Handsome" Hamilton Graham, arguably the
greatest competitor in the history of this magnificent sport, has
entered the Memorial Day Rumble!

BW:  Are you kidding me?  The man's gotta be pushin' sixty years old,
Gordo!  He's one of the best of all time for sure but... seriously?

GM:  Hamilton Graham is one of the toughest men I've ever met and he
wouldn't be climbing into that ring at Memorial Day Mayhem if he didn't
think he stood a chance at winning that Rumble!

BW:  He might think he stands a chance but senile old men think a lot of
funny stuff.  My uncle Jethro once thought he owned six unicorns, Gordo!

GM:  Stop.  What an incredible piece of news from the Control Center! 
Hamilton Graham is the twenty-fifth entry into the 2011 Memorial Day
Rumble!  What a shocking announcement!  And Memorial Day Mayhem just
took on whole new interest to me, Bucky!  But we've gotta keep this
thing goin' so let's head down to the ring for another big match!

[Cut down to Phil Watson.]

PW:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit.  Introducing first... already in the corner to my right...
from Every School Girl's Dreams... he is accompanied to the ring by Big
Mama and "Gentleman" Jack Holland...

"PLAAAAYBOY" JOHNNY CASSSSAAAAANOOOVAAA!

[Casanova stands in the middle of the ring, doing a full spin in his
glittering new robe with "PLAYBOY ENTERPRISES" written in script across
the back.  Big Mama rushes forward, removing Casanova's robe before he
moves back to the corner, waiting for his opponent.]

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 turn towards the
entrance as the song kicks into high gear, and erupt again as Eric
Preston trots out into the entrance way.]

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 royal blue 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:  Eric Preston, as we all know, was on a lengthy losing streak where
it just seemed like nothing could go right.  But that changed back
several weeks ago when Preston scored the win in a tag match and
momentum has swung to his corner from there.  

BW:  It's just a fluke.  He'll go back to his loser ways at any point
now.

GM:  I don't know about that.  Preston is one of the twenty-five men
already announced for the Memorial Day Rumble and he's been looking to
build momentum towards that matchup.  Tonight, he tries to get back a
win against a man he lost to during that losing streak - Johnny
Casanova.

[The bell rings as Preston moves quickly from the corner, ready to throw
down...

...but Casanova lifts a hand, stopping Preston in his tracks.  He nods
his head, squaring his shoulders, and strikes an exaggerated double
bicep pose, his flabby arms hanging like slabs of meat off his body.]

GM:  What's he trying to show off there, Bucky?

BW:  The guns, daddy!  Check out the guns!

GM:  Love to.  Where are they?

BW:  You're just jealous.

[Stepping back, Casanova invites Preston to do the same.  Eric Preston
smirks at Casanova, hands on his hips, then nods.  He steps towards the
center, lifting his arms in a double bicep pose to the cheers from the
crowd.  Grinning, he throws his arms down, ready to start the match.]

GM:  Now THOSE were guns, Bucky.

BW:  Pea shooters is more like it.  Preston ain't packin' much in the
arms... or the brain for that matter.

[Casanova looks a little annoyed now as he steps out of the corner,
hands on his hips.  He stands there for a moment, then points to his
head, shouting "Watch this, baby!"]

GM:  Now what?

[Casanova drops down into a push-up position, lowering himself all the
way down and pushing himself all the way back up a few times.  He shoves
himself to his feet, throwing his arms apart to the jeers of the crowd
as Big Mama applauds loudly.]

BW:  Come on, Gordo.  You gotta be impressed by that.

GM:  Impressed he can push-up his own body weight?  Yeah.  He's a pretty
big guy.

BW:  He's 217 pounds of twisted steel and sex appeal, daddy!

GM:  If he's 217 pounds, Big Mama is a 22 year old goddess.

BW:  Yes she is!  I told you he was 217 pounds!

[Casanova points to the mat, demanding that Preston take his turn with
the pushups.]

GM:  Does Casanova plan on... you know... actually WRESTLING tonight?

BW:  He's just getting warmed up, Gordo.  Let him be.

[An irritated Preston drops down into push-up position, lowering himself
down and pushing up...

...just in time to get a heavy elbow dropped on the back of his neck!]

GM:  Ohhh!

[Casanova climbs to his feet, smirking at the jeering crowd as he points
to his brain.  The crowd is rabid in their reaction to him as he buries
a couple of stomps into the ribs of Preston before dragging him off the
mat by the hair...]

GM:  Look out here...

[Using the hair, Casanova HURLS Preston over the ropes, turning away to
gloat...

...and not noticing Preston grabbing onto the top rope with both hands,
preventing himself from hitting the floor.]

GM:  Haha!  Preston may be warming up for the Rumble with that!

[With Big Mama shouting at Casanova to turn around, Preston powers
himself back up over the ropes into the ring...

...and drills a unaware Casanova with a standing dropkick, sending him
sailing through the ropes and out to the barely-padded floor!]

GM:  Ohh!  Casanova's out to the floor and-

[The Playboy instantly shouts for Holland, screaming for him to help him
off the mat.  An annoyed Jack Holland approaches, helping his employer
up to his feet...

...where they both promptly get wiped out with a Preston slingshot dive
onto both men on the floor!  BIG CHEER!]

GM:  PRESTON TAKES 'EM BOTH DOWN!!

[Preston pulls Casanova off the mat by his bleached blonde hair, hurling
him under the ropes into the ring.  The Combat Corner graduate slides
under the ropes as well, climbing to his feet.  Casanova attempts to
crawl away from him, getting to the other side of the ring...

...but Preston grabs him by the foot, preventing his escape!]

GM:  Preston's got him!  He's got him by the foot!

[A squealing Big Mama grabs Casanova by the hands, trying to prevent him
from being dragged back into Preston's grasp but the much-stronger
Preston keeps pulling...

...and soon both Casanova AND Big Mama are being pulled into the ring!]

GM:  Whoa!  

[Big Mama scrambles to her feet, trying to keep her massive cleavage
inside her dress as Preston pulls Casanova to his feet...

...and Big Mama jumps on Preston's back, wrapping an arm around his
throat!]

GM:  Oh, come on, referee!  That's outside interference!

BW:  Preston brought her into the ring!

GM:  She jumped on his back though!

[Preston breaks away from Casanova, struggling to remove the woman
hanging off his back...

...and shrugs her off, dumping her down on her rear on the canvas!  Big
cheer!]

GM:  Haha!  

BW:  Oh, you're just loving this!  Preston's assaulting a woman and you
think it's-

GM:  Hold on!  Preston hasn't assaulted anyone!  He's actually checking
on her to see if she's okay, Buck-

[Seizing the moment, Casanova rushes the exposed back of Preston,
clubbing him with a big forearm to the back of the head, a blow that
sends Preston falling forwards, nearly knocking him into Big Mama who
just narrowly got out of the way.  Casanova shouts in Holland's
direction, telling him to protect Big Mama, before delivering a pair of
kicks to the ribs of Preston.]

GM:  Casanova's working over Preston here... ohh!  Hard elbowdrop to the
kidneys!

[Casanova rolls Preston to his back, quickly applying a press that only
earns a two count before Preston fires a shoulder up.  Grabbing Preston
by the back of the head, Casanova creams him with a trio of hard right
hands to the skull before shoving him back down to the mat.  With his
hands on the top rope, Casanova delivers a leaping knee to the ribs...
and then plants his boot on the throat of Preston, choking him openly as
the referee protests!]

GM:  He's choking him!  He's choking Eric Preston!

[Casanova breaks at four, strutting away from the ropes as Preston rolls
around the mat, gasping for air.  He kneels down near the ropes,
checking on Big Mama who is clutching her chest.  A shout at Jack
Holland earns a cold glare from the "Gentleman" as Casanova pulls
Preston to his feet by the arm, flinging him into the ropes...

...and drilling him in the midsection with a knee, flipping Preston back
down to the mat.  Casanova walks away, lifting his right arm for a bicep
pose to the jeers of the crowd again.  He shakes his head as he walks
over to the middle rope, hopping up onto it.]

GM:  Wait a second here... Casanova's up on the second rope...

[The Playboy puts his hands on the back of his head, swiveling his hips
around and round...

...and leaps off, crashing on the canvas hard as Preston rolls aside at
the last moment!]

GM:  HE MISSED THE ELBOW!!  Casanova went for a middle-rope elbow but he
came up empty!

[Preston pushes up to his feet, soaking up the cheers of the crowd as he
pulls himself up with the ropes.  He leans against the ropes for a
moment, waiting for Casanova to get up...

...and floors the chubby rulebreaker with a running clothesline!]

GM:  Ohh!  He knocks Casanova flat!

[Preston spins around, slamming his arm into the top turnbuckle and
shouting "come on!" at Casanova again, surging forward as the "217
pounder" gets to his feet...]

GM:  Casanova ducks the clothesline!

[And as Preston hits the far ropes, Jack Holland reaches under the
ropes, hooking the ankle of Preston, tripping him down to a knee.  The
crowd jeers as Preston springs to his feet, pointing a finger at
Holland.]

GM:  Did you see that, Bucky?

BW:  See what?

GM:  He tripped him!  Jack Holland just tripped Eric Preston!

[Holland walks away, shaking his head as the referee asks him if he
interfered.  Preston is still angrily shouting at Holland...

...when a rushing Casanova connects with a double axehandle to the back
of the neck, knocking Preston down to a knee!]

BW:  Hahah!  I love it!  

GM:  Absolutely ridiculous, fans.  This is a sham.  A total sham.  Eric
Preston is fighting a three-on-one situation out there!

BW:  Oh, stop being a drama queen.  

[Casanova delivers some hard stomps to the back then switches to kicks
to the ribs, knocking Preston under the ropes to the apron.  Casanova
grabs the top rope, stomping Preston repeatedly as the referee steps in,
forcing him back...

...which allows Big Mama to wrap her hands around Preston's throat,
pulling down to strangle him to the jeers of the crowd.]

GM:  A drama queen, huh?  Look at Big Mama!

BW:  Hey, Preston got her involved in this thing first, Gordo!  He gets
what he deserves if you ask me.

GM:  Casanova steps past the official now...

[The Playboy does a few step run, dropping into a baseball slide that
knocks Preston off the apron and down to the thinly-padded floor!  The
referee is immediately on him again, warning him repeatedly...

...and at Big Mama's shout, a reluctant Jack Holland pulls Preston to
his feet, grabbing him by the arm...]


"CLAAAAAAAAAAAAAANG!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  PRESTON GETS SENT TO THE STEEL!!!

[Eric Preston lies against the steel railing, arms draped back over the
barricade as Holland walks away, muttering to himself as Big Mama beams.
 Casanova steps out to the apron, walking down the ringsteps to the
floor as Preston tries to get to a vertical base...]


"WHAAAAAAAAAAAP!"


GM:  Big chop out on the floor!

[Grabbing Preston by the hair, Casanova drags him away from the railing
towards the ring, pulling him towards the ring apron, and attempts to
slam Preston's head into the mat...

...but Preston blocks it, grabbing the apron with both hands!]

GM:  He blocks it!  Preston blocks it!

[The Combat Corner graduate throws an elbow back into the ample
midsection, doubling up Casanova.  Preston grabs Casanova by the hair...

...and SMASHES his skull into the ring apron!  Big cheer!]

GM:  Preston sends him into the apron!  Headfirst into the hardest part
of the ring!

[Preston uses the hair to fire Casanova under the ropes into the ring. 
The South Carolina native pulls himself up on the apron...

...and Big Mama jumps up on the far apron, drawing the referee's
attention as Jack Holland grabs Preston by the leg, preventing him from
going into the ring.]

GM:  Look at this, Bucky!  Look at Holland's blatant interference!

[Preston twists his body...

...and DRIVES his boot into the face of Holland!]

GM:  Ohh!  He kicks Holland off!

[And quickly moves to the corner, scaling the ropes as a dazed Casanova
starts to recover...

...and Holland rushes forward, seeing the referee still distracted, and
SHOVES Preston off the top rope, sending him crashing down to the
canvas!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[A staggered Casanova climbs to his feet, grinning as he spots the
downed Preston.  He grabs Preston by the hair, pulling him to his feet,
and right into a double underhook...]

GM:  He's going for the Playboy Plunge!  He's-

[But Preston wriggles free, grabbing the legs of Casanova to yank them
out from under him...

...and flips forward, tangling Casanova up in a double leg cradle!]

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

[Preston promptly rolls from the ring, celebrating his victory as
Casanova throws a big ol' tantrum in the middle of the ring.  Big Mama
joins him, trying to comfort the Playboy as Jack Holland stands in the
corner, a hint of a smile on his face.]

GM:  Preston just got a win... he gets another big win here and-

[The camera closes on Preston who holds up two fingers and says, "That's
two!" to the camera to the cheers of the crowd.]

GM:  That's right, Eric!  You've got two!  Johnny Sone and Johnny
Casanova are in the books and that leaves- uh oh.

BW:  Yeah!  That leaves Kolya Sudakov!  A former National Champion!  And
there's no chance in heck that Preston can knock off Sudakov - I can
promise you that!

GM:  Well, I guess we'll all find out soon enough!  Fans, we're going to
take one more quick break and we'll be right back with the Main Event of
the night!

[The camera holds on Eric Preston, slapping hands on his way back up the
aisle, 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 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 your MAIN EVENT of the evening!

[Big cheer!] 

PW:  It is set for one fall with a sixty minute time limit and it is for
the AWA National Title!

Introducing first...

#REACH OUT AND TOUCH FAITH#

[The crowd EXPLODES into jeers at the sounds of Depeche Mode's "Personal
Jesus."]

PW:  He hails from the Edge of Night, weighing in at 234 pounds... being
accompanied to the ring by his manager, "Hollywood" Larry Doyle and the
Masked Menace.... he is the challenger...

"RAAAAAVISHING" ROOOOOOBERRRRT BALLLLLLLDWIN!

[Moving out of the entrance portal, Robert Baldwin stands in the view of
the crowd.  He wears long tights with the word "Bombers" running down
one leg and "Baldwin" running down the other.  Larry Doyle and the
Masked Menace step out behind Baldwin, the former patting his charge on
the back before the trio starts the long walk down the ramp.]

GM:  Robert Baldwin is heading down the aisle for the opportunity of a
lifetime, Bucky Wilde.

BW:  That's "Ravishing" Robert to you, Gordo.  And he certainly is.  If
you're in this business and you don't dream of getting a shot at the AWA
National Title, then you shouldn't be in this business!  This is
"Ravishing" Robert's dream come true - guaranteed - and knowing Larry
Doyle like I do, you can bet Baldwin's ready for this.

GM:  No sign of his tag team partner - some good news for the champ.

[Baldwin steps up on the apron, slingshotting over the ropes into the
ring as Doyle and the Menace move to the corner, the manager giving
constant instructions as Baldwin backs to the buckles, nodding his head
the whole while.]

PW:  And his opponent...

[The opening to "They Reminisce over You" by Pete Rock and CL Smooth
begins to play, driving the Crockett Coliseum crowd into a frenzy. The
cheers only continue to grow, finally reaching a crescendo as they see
Juan Vasquez emerging from behind the curtain!]

PW:  From Los Angeles, California... weighing in at 238 pounds... he is
the current reigning and defending AWA National Champion...

JUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN VAAAAAASQUEZ!

[The National Champion looks to be all business tonight, his eyes locked
on Baldwin standing in the ring. He removes his track jacket, revealing
a bandage-free torso and the AWA National title strapped around his
waist.]

GM: Look at that, Vasquez has been nursing bruised ribs for several
weeks now, but it looks like he's perfectly fine now!

BW: Don't be fooled, Gordo! This is probably just for show! He's still
as weak and vulnerable as ever!

[Vasquez points a finger towards the ring, before suddenly breaking out
into a full-on sprint, moving quickly through the ropes, and sending
Baldwin and company retreating out of the ring!]

GM:  And the champion has cleared the ring!

[He holds the title belt high into the air to a roar from the crowd, all
the while keeping his gaze fixed on Baldwin who huddles up on the floor
with Doyle who is gesturing wildly towards the ring...

...or was until Vasquez tosses the belt down on the mat, stepping out to
the apron, and dropping down to the floor to pursue Robert Baldwin!]

GM:  The champion is fired up in this one!  We've seen the mood he's
been in all night and now he's tryin' to take that attitude into
"Ravishing" Robert Baldwin, the challenger in this one.

[Vasquez pursues Baldwin, rushing around the corner as Doyle runs for
it...

...and runs right into the Masked Menace, arms crossed who is ready to
throw down as needed.]

GM:  Uh oh.

BW:  And this match hasn't started yet, Gordo!  The Menace could waffle
'im right here and now if he wants to!

[But the Menace doesn't budge an inch, just glaring at Vasquez as he
stands before him, fists at the ready...

...which gives a momentary distraction, allowing Baldwin to land a
baseball slide dropkick that sends Vasquez sprawling backwards, crashing
into the ringside barricade!]

GM:  Ohh!  Into the steel goes the champion!

[Baldwin rolls under the ropes to the floor, the referee calling for the
bell.]

GM:  The AWA's Senior Official, Michael Meekly, just called for the
bell.  This match is underway and-

[Spinning Vasquez' back against the steel, Baldwin throws a hooking blow
to the ribcage.  A second and third blow land on the formerly-taped
ribs...

...but Vasquez shows no ill effects, throwing haymakers to the skull of
Baldwin to the roar of the crowd!  He spins him around by a handful of
hair, flinging him under the ropes into the ring.]

GM:  Both men back inside the squared circle now and you can bet the
champion wants to take the fight right to Baldwin.  Remember, Baldwin IS
a tag team specialist - this world of singles competition may be a
little out of sorts for him.

[Vasquez gets to his feet, pulling Baldwin up by the back of the trunks.
 He grabs an arm, swinging Baldwin around and throwing him chestfirst
into the corner...]

GM:  Ohh!  Hard to the buckles!

[Baldwin stumbles backwards...

...and gets FLOORED with a standing clothesline to the back of the head,
knocking Baldwin flat!  Outside the ring, Larry Doyle is screaming to
his man, trying to get him back on track as Vasquez stands over him,
fuming with anger.]

GM:  The National Champion is- what's he doing here?

[Sitting down on the back of Baldwin, Vasquez sinks his fingers into the
corner of the Bomber's mouth, ripping and tearing the skin as he pulls
hard backwards!]

GM:  He's fish hooking him, Bucky!

BW:  A blatantly illegal move!

GM:  Do you want him disqualified?

BW:  No!  The title won't change hands on a disqualification - so that
might be exactly what Vasquez has in mind here tonight.  He may be
trying to get himself DQd so he keeps the title!

GM:  I highly doubt that.

BW:  Doubt it all you want but I know Juan Vasquez - I know the kind of
dirty tactics he's capable of.  Just because we haven't seen him use
them here in the AWA doesn't mean he can't - or won't - do it!

[The referee starts a count, forcing Vasquez to break at four.  The
National Champion climbs to his feet, glaring at the official as he
grabs a handful of blond hair, dragging Baldwin up...

...who throws a desperation right hand to the jaw, popping Vasquez under
the chin and sending him stumbling backwards!]

GM:  Ohh!  What a shot!

[Grabbing Vasquez around the head and neck, Baldwin drags him over to
the ropes, pushing the National Champion's throat down on the top rope,
choking the life out of him as the referee starts a count.  As it
reaches four, Baldwin breaks the choke.]

GM:  Vasquez stumbles away, gasping for air...

[Falling into the corner, Vasquez is breathing heavily as Baldwin
approaches...

...and throws a big, looping right hand, coming up empty as Baldwin
throws a knee up into the midsection!]

GM:  Ohh!  Another shot to the torso!  Robert Baldwin doesn't believe
those ribs are as healthy as Juan Vasquez is trying to make us think
they are.  

BW:  Neither do I, Gordo.  Rib injuries are nagging.  They're
persistent.  They last a long time.  Juan Vasquez wants us to think the
ribs are okay because he knows they're a target when they're taped up. 
But I don't believe he's one hundred percent, Gordo.

[With Vasquez in the corner, Baldwin grabs the top rope, throwing knees
into the ribs over and over.  He grabs the arm of the National Champion,
whipping him from corner to corner, the champ wincing as he hits the
buckles...]

GM:  Here he comes!

[Baldwin sprints across the ring, turning to throw a back elbow at the
last moment...

...and Vasquez sidesteps, causing Baldwin to slam backfirst into the
corner]

GM:  OHH!  HE MISSED!  HE MISSED!!

[With Baldwin stunned, Vasquez hoists him up over his shoulder, reaching
back with his arm to cradle the head.  He turns away from the corner,
facing the middle of the ring...]

GM:  He's going for the City Of Angels!

[The champion charges out of the corner...

...but Baldwin wriggles out of his grasp, going over the top and taking
Vasquez down in a sunset flip!]

GM:  SUNSET FLIP!!  ONE!!  TWO!!  

[But the champion fires a shoulder off the mat, breaking the count at
two.  Both men scramble, trying to get to their feet first.]

GM:  Vasquez to a knee and-


"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[Baldwin, having gotten to his feet first, throws a hooking left hand to
the temple of the kneeling Vasquez, knocking him flat on his chest,
hands up around his face.]

GM:  Good grief!  What a shot that was!  Robert Baldwin absolutely
creamed him with that left hand!

[Larry Doyle lets loose a "THAT'S IT, BABY!" from the floor as Baldwin
rolls Vasquez to his back and applies a lateral press.]

GM:  The challenger covers for one!  For two!  

[But Vasquez is still not finished, firing a shoulder up at two.  The
champion rolls to his stomach again as Baldwin pushes up to his feet,
slamming a few boots down into the back of the head.  Backing into the
ropes, Baldwin surges forward, dropping a knee down into the back of the
skull before rolling through it.]

GM:  Nicely executed kneedrop by Baldwin!

[The Blonde Bomber rolls Vasquez over...

...and is pleasantly surprised by a stream of blood coming from the
forehead.  A grinning Baldwin pulls Vasquez up by the hair, peppering
the cut skull with hard right hands, deepening the wound to the jeers of
the crowd.  The referee quickly counts to four, forcing Baldwin to back
off, the champion's blood on his clenched fist.  Doyle is cackling
maniacally at ringside, repeatedly slamming his arms into the mat as
Baldwin moves over towards him, nodding his head.]

GM:  Larry Doyle has got to like this turn of events, Bucky.

BW:  The National Champion's skull was split wide open - maybe by the
left hand, maybe by the kneedrop... but this is good.  Good stuff for
the challenger.  If he can wear Vasquez out a little bit more, drain a
bit more blood, he might be able to tire him out enough to win this
thing.

GM:  And you know Doyle's looking at taking home the gold for his group
here tonight.

[Baldwin shoves the official aside, laying in a barrage of stomps to the
forehead, forcing Vasquez under the ropes and down to the barely-padded
floor.  The referee steps in, forcing Baldwin backwards...

...and the Masked Menace steps in, pulling Vasquez up to his feet.]

GM:  No, no, no!

[The Menace scoops Vasquez up, pressing him over his head...]

GM:  Look out!

[And DROPS him facefirst down onto the wooden announce table, sending
Gordon Myers and Bucky Wilde scattering!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[The Masked Menace walks away, leaving the bleeding National Champion
lying on the barely-padded floor.  Larry Doyle is shouting instructions
to his man who leaps off the apron, reaching down to haul Vasquez up by
the hair.  He grabs Vasquez by the arm...

...and attempts an Irish whip but gets countered!]


"CLAAAAAAAAAAAAANG!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[As the announcers try to regroup at their jostled table, Juan Vasquez
falls to a knee, having sent his challenger crashing into the steel
barricade!  Larry Doyle shouts in frustration, screaming at "Ravishing"
Robert Baldwin...

...who doesn't get a chance to reply as Juan Vasquez rushes forward,
connecting with a clothesline that knocks Baldwin over the railing and
into the front row!  The champion falls into the railing, blood pouring
down his skull.  The referee starts a double count as Larry Doyle
continues to shout at the challenger, trying to get him back up.]

GM:  We've got both men being counted out here... this is not the way
these fans want to see this match end.

BW:  Who cares what the fans want?  This isn't how _I_ want to see this
match end!  I want a new National Champion!  I want that one-two-three,
damn it!  The era of Vasquez ends tonight!

GM:  That remains to be seen.

[A bloody and weary Vasquez moves to the apron, dragging himself under
the ropes into the ring to the cheers of the crowd.]

GM:  The champion's back in... but the challenger is still on the other
side of the railing.  The count is up to five...

[A screaming Larry Doyle can be heard by probably everyone in the
building as he shouts for his man to get up...

...and then takes matters into his own hands, leaning over the railing
to physically drag Robert Baldwin over the barricade!]

GM:  Hold on here!  He can't do that!

BW:  Who's gonna stop him?

GM:  Ring the bell, ref!  That's illegal!

[The Masked Menace moves to help Doyle, dragging Baldwin towards the
ring where they shove him back under to break the count.]

GM:  Unbelievable.  How can Michael Meekly not stop this match?  How can
he not call for the bell after seeing that?

[The bloodied National Champion drags his challenger off the mat,
shoving him back to the corner.  A hard kick to the gut doubles up
Baldwin where a series of hard forearms across the back of the neck
knocks him down to a knee.]

GM:  Hard shots by- OHHH!

[The crowd echoes the reaction as Vasquez grabs the top rope, yanking
himself forward with a knee to the face!  Sucking air into his body,
Vasquez pulls himself in again... and again... and again, repeatedly
driving his knee into the face of the downed challenger!  The final blow
knocks Baldwin to a seated position in the corner as Vasquez backs out
to the middle of the ring...

...and stampedes back in, SMASHING his knee into the face of Baldwin!]

GM:  OHHHHHH!  

[Grabbing Baldwin by the foot, Vasquez yanks him a few feet out of the
corner, throwing himself into a lateral press.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR-  

[The crowd roars with disappointment as Baldwin fires a shoulder up just
before the three count.  Vasquez pushes himself up, running a hand over
his blood-covered forehead.  He yanks Baldwin up by the hair, delivering
a pair of hard right hands before shoving him back down to the mat and
climbing back to his feet.]

GM:  Vasquez is back up - the champion's trying to find something to
polish this thing off.  He needs something to put the challenger down
for a three count so he can-

[But as Vasquez leans down to pull Baldwin up, he gets rocked with a
right handed uppercut to the jaw!]

GM:  Ohh!  Another hard shot by Baldwin!  This guy's pulling heavy shots
out of everywhere here tonight!

[Baldwin pushes up to his feet, shaking the cobwebs as he approaches
Vasquez from behind.  He grabs the bloody hair, pulling the champion
into a standing front facelock, slowly turning it over...

...and SNAPPING Vasquez down in a reverse neckbreaker!]

GM:  Ohhhh!  Hangman's neckbreaker!

[And Baldwin dives across the downed champion.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR-

[The crowd roars as Vasquez fires a shoulder off the mat just in time!]

GM:  So close!  So very close!

[Outside the ring, Larry Doyle is SCREAMING his head off at the official
with a barrage of "THAT WAS THREE!  THAT WAS THREE!" and other assorted
insults.  The Masked Menace stands nearby, rubbing his hands together as
Robert Baldwin climbs to his feet, dragging Vasquez up off the mat.]

GM:  Scoop... big slam!

[And with Vasquez down on the mat, Baldwin heads to the corner, pointing
to the top rope.]

GM:  "Ravishing" Robert is gonna fly!  He's out on the apron, heading to
the top rope...

[Baldwin steps to the second rope, now to the top as Doyle shouts
instructions.  Standing on the top rope, Baldwin poses...

...and then leaps off the top, legdrop aimed for the chest of the
champion!]

GM:  BOMB DROOOOOO-

[BIG CHEER!]

GM:  HE MISSED!  HE MISSED THE BOMB DROP!!  VASQUEZ MOVED!!

[A dazed Vasquez gets back to his feet, letting loose a loud bellow as
he dashes across the ring, throwing himself into the air with his legs
tucked...

...and SMASHES backfirst across the prone Baldwin!]

GM:  SHADES OF TOMMY STEPHENS!

BW:  NO!  NO!  NO!

[Vasquez rolls over into the lateral press, shouting for the referee to
count.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE-

[But Baldwin FIRES a shoulder off the mat just before the three count!]

GM:  NO!  SHOULDER UP!!

BW:  That was TOO close, Gordo.

GM:  We were a half count away from Juan Vasquez retaining the title
here tonight in Dallas, Texas.

[A frustrated Vasquez slams an open hand into the canvas, shouting
loudly before climbing to his feet... 

...and holding the right hand high into the air!  Big cheer!]

GM:  He's calling for the right cross!  We've seen him lay people out
with this before!

[Suddenly, The Masked Menace climbs up on the ring apron...]

GM:  Get him down from there!

[With Vasquez distracted by the Menace, Larry Doyle takes the
opportunity to yank off his cowboy boot, hurling it into the ring to a
Robert Baldwin who is on all fours.  Baldwin grabs the boot, clutching
it unseen to his chest as Vasquez turns around.  The official remains
tied up with the Menace as the champion approaches Baldwin...

...and then turns to glare at Larry Doyle.]

GM:  Wait a second!  Vasquez knows!

BW:  He does not!

GM:  He does!  He does!  He knows Doyle tossed in the boot!

BW:  HOW?!

[Vasquez gets a grin on his bloodied face as he points to his own
head...]

GM:  He knows!

[Baldwin, sensing something is wrong, springs to his feet and blindly
swings the boot at the champion...

...who ducks underneath it, wrapping his left arm around the neck and
JAMMING his right thumb into the throat!]

GM:  ASSASSIN'S SPIKE!!  HE'S GOT THE SPIKE!!

[Baldwin, who lost his grip on the boot on the wild swing, immediately
begins flailing his arms, desperate to break out of the hold that
rendered a National Champion and a giant unconscious.]

GM:  THE SPIKE IS ON AND IT'S DEEP!!  BALDWIN'S TRAPPED!!

[And no screams and shouts from Larry Doyle will help as Baldwin slumps
down to his knees...

...and then falls flat on his face, Vasquez still clinging to the back
with his thumb driven into the throat!]

GM:  The referee's right in there... he's checking...


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


[The bloodied Vasquez rolls off the downed Baldwin as the crowd explodes
in cheers...

...and then immediately boos as the Masked Menace DROPS all his weight
down in a big splash!]

GM:  OHHHH!

[Vasquez immediately rolls up, clutching his ribs as the Menace climbs
back to his feet.  An irate Larry Doyle moves in to join him, driving
kick after kick with his dress shoe into the ribs...

...and then gestures towards the back, bringing Johann Avalon sprinting
down the ramp.]

GM:  Here comes Avalon!  Doyle's ordering a hit on the National
Champion!

[Avalon picks up Doyle's boot on his way in, winding up with it...

...and DRIVING it into the ribs of Juan Vasquez as the Menace holds his
arms back behind him.  Avalon winds up, smashing the ribs with the boot
again to the jeers of the crowd.]

GM:  The Bombers, Doyle, Menace - they're laying into the National
Champion and-

[BIG CHEER!]

GM:  CITY JACK!!

[City Jack lumbers down the aisle, stepping through the ropes into the
ring...

...and promptly DRILLING Johann Avalon with a Metropill forearm,
knocking him flat!]

GM:  Metropill on Avalon!

[Jack spins around, rushing into the Masked Menace and connecting with a
big clothesline on the masked man!]

GM:  Ohh!  Big shot on the Menace!

BW:  But it doesn't take him down!

[With Avalon down and the Menace stunned, Jack spins...

...and grabs Larry Doyle by the jacket lapel, winding up a right hand to
the roar of the crowd!]

GM:  City Jack's gonna crown Larry Doyle!  Do it!  Get him, Jack!

[But the sudden arrival of a new force cuts off the moment.]

GM:  UNHOLY ALLIANCE!!

[Anton Layton, Nenshou, James Monosso, and Polemos arrive in force,
assaulting City Jack as well as Juan Vasquez.  Monosso promptly leaps
up, dropping a King Kong kneedrop on the National Champion while Layton
and Nenshou storm City Jack back into the corner, working him over...]

GM:  We've got a fight out here!  We've got people fighting all over
the-

[HUUUUUGE CHEER!]

GM:  MARTINEZ!!  THE LYNCHES!  ROBERT DONOVAN!!

[The sudden show of force from the fan favorite side of the locker room
manages to clear the ring in a hurry, leaving the rulebreakers heading
back up the aisle.]

GM:  Whoa!  What an end to this show!  We've got- wait a second here...

[Alex Martinez helps Juan Vasquez back to his feet.  The bloodied
National Champion is moving a little gingerly, grabbing his ribs as he
snatches a mic from ringside.]

JV:  I told you all... earlier... tonight...

[Vasquez breathes heavily, leaning on Martinez for a moment.]

JV:  I WILL stop you!

[Big cheer!]

JV:  I did it... tonight... all night...

[A hard exhale, Vasquez wincing.]

JV:  And... in two weeks... 

[He nods.]

JV:  We do it again!  I don't care who I'm against!  I don't... 

[He grits his teeth, shaking his head.]

JV:  I don't care who I team with!  Hell, let's let the people decide!

[HUGE CHEER!]

JV:  But in two weeks... we do it again!

[The crowd is roaring now as Vasquez points a finger across the ring at
City Jack.]

JV:  And you?  You want a shot at the belt?  You want... 

[Another hard exhale.]

JV:  You want one more shot... in your last match?

[Vasquez nods.]

JV:  It'd be an honor!

[ANOTHER HUGE CHEER!  The crowd roars as Vasquez and Jack exchange a
handshake and then an embrace as the other fan favorites around them
applaud heartily.]

GM:  IT'S ON!  CITY JACK GETS ONE MORE SHOT IN THREE WEEKS' TIME!!

BW:  And what the heck is Vasquez talking about?  What's gonna happen in
two weeks?

GM:  I don't know!  Fans, we gotta go!  We're outta time!  We'll see you
in two weeks!

[With the solid show of force from the fan favorites in the ring, we
fade to black.]