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                           American Wrestling Alliance
                                 Proudly Presents
                         AWA Saturday Night Wrestling

                         Live from the WKIK Studios
                                   Dallas, Texas
                                   May 10, 2008
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[As the closing notes to the "Sanford And Son" theme fade into nothing,
the viewing audience is greeted by the sounds of "One More Saturday
Night" by the Grateful Dead.

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 smiling
faces of two men.

One is clad in a dark navy suit, white dress shirt, and red and white
striped tie.  He sports nicely-styled salt and pepper hair and a
well-groomed moustache.  He grips a wireless mic in his hand, grinning
widely at the camera.  In his late-50's and the epitome of
professionalism, this man is Gordon Myers.

By his side is... well, somewhat a bit more flashy.  With a mic in one
hand and a glitter covered briefcase in the other, this man is paunchy
to say the least.  He's got a decent sized gut pushing at the buttons on
his lime green dress shirt underneath an eye-burning yellow jacket.  His
black hair is tousled in all directions like he hasn't run a comb
through it in his life.  His teeth appeared to have been whitened
recently... perhaps several times even as he flashes a huge smile.  He's
in his late 30's... he's former manager "Big Bucks" Bucky Wilde.

They're standing in front of a bluish gray standard television studio
set where you can see the AWA logo splashed across the wall above a
small television monitor.  Wilde lifts his glittering briefcase with a
flourish, slapping it down onto a wooden "desk" in front of them as
Myers begins to speak.]

GM:  Good evening, fans, and welcome to another edition of AWA Saturday
Night Wrestling featuring all the stars of the American Wrestling
Alliance, _the_ major league of professional wrestling.  By my side is
the colorful Bucky Wilde and Bucky, we are just two weeks away from
the biggest event in AWA history so far, Memorial Day Mayhem, where we
will see the first AWA National Champion crowned!

BW:  That's right, daddy!  Eight men are gonna battle out to see just
who is the king of the mountain in Fort Worth, Texas, and it's gonna
be somethin' to see, I tell ya.

GM:  Eight men... seven of which will be participating here tonight,
Bucky.  We've got lots of action in store for you tonight, fans,
including a first ever TRIPLE Main Event!  Later tonight in our Hour
One Main Event, we're going to see the mighty Tumaffi take on Erik
Reid!

BW:  You mean squash Erik Reid like a bug on the windshield of life!

GM:  That remains to be seen.  And in just a little while, we will
also see Mark Shaw attempt to tune up for the National Title
tournament when he does battle with "Pistol" Paul Driscoll - that
match coming as a result of both men laying down open challenges two
weeks ago.

BW:  I don't much care who wins that one but you know those two are
gonna beat the tar out of one another before it's said and done,
daddy.

GM:  In addition to that-

BW:  Don't forget the tags, daddy!

GM:  Yes, indeed, we've got a huge 12 man tag team Main Event
showcasing all three big tag team matches scheduled for Memorial Day
Mayhem.  On one side of the ring, we've got Kevin Slater, Luke Steele,
Werewolf Gregorson, Despair, City Jack, and Tin Can Rust.  On the
other?  The Masked Menace, Spyder LZ, The Russians, "Ladykiller"
Calisto Dufresne, and "Hotshot" Stevie Scott!

BW:  Tell 'em the best part!

GM:  The AWA has put that match under Tornado Rules!  All men are
legal in the ring and the first pinfall or submission will take home
the victory!

BW:  They's gonna be fightin' out on Martin Luther King Boulevard
tonight, daddy!

GM:  We'll find out later tonight but first, to get things started,
let's go up to the ring for the first match of the night!

[We cut to the ring where Melissa Cannon is standing.]

MC:  Our opening contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit.  Introducing first, already in the ring at this time,
standing 6'0 and weighing 230 pounds from Dallas, Texas... Pat Parker!

[Some cheers for the spunky young man inside the ring.]

MC:  And his opponent...

["Super Bon Bon" by Soul Coughing fires up in the WKIK Studios and the
crowd unleashes a massive wave of heel heat. Marcus is dressed to
wrestle, in gold boots, knee pads and elbow pads, with a shark outline
on the backside in blue. He is also wearing a white wrestling jacket.
Not far behind him is a man in all white, who glides when he walks and
makes nary a sound at all.]

MC:  He hails from San Jose, California... standing 6'3 and weighing
in at 252 pounds... he is the San Jose Shark...

MARCUS BROUSSARD!

[Broussard pauses inside the entryway, looking up at the ring and
instead changing direction, walking towards the announce desk.]

GM:  And it looks like we're about to be joined by Marcus Broussard
and his... well, let's just call him a bodyguard for lack of a better
word, Bucky.

BW:  After seeing him stare down Adam Rogers last time, I think I
won't call him a single word but "sir", daddy!

[Broussard and his escort reach the desk.  Gordon Myers takes a step
away from "the ninja" as Broussard pats Gordon on the back.]

GM: Marcus Broussard, how do you explain your actions? Cowering from
Ron Houston's challenge, only to bring out this, this... person, who
subdued Buddy Lambert and let you tear apart Ron Houston's arm. And
what's your relationship with Adam Rogers?

[At the mention of Rogers, Broussard snaps out of his jovial mood and
deadeyes Myers.]

MB: I respect and admire Adam Rogers. He is a mentor, he is a friend,
and he is someone whose opinion I will always listen to. And that,
Gordon Myers, is all I care to talk about in conjunction with that
issue. But let me tell you, Myers, about my new bodyguard. A man who
you will refer to as Super Ninja, who was every bit as dangerous as I
advertised. He taught me the intricacies of the Fujiwara armbar, and
if anyone wants to get at me, then I implore you to cross this man.
Please, do me a favor, cross the Super Ninja. And then tell me what it
feels like from intensive care.

[The man now known as the Super Ninja grips his hands together,
grinding them back and forth in anticipation.]

MB:  Ron Houston, ha, where _is_ Ron Houston? Crying himself to sleep,
because his shoulder hurts, no doubt. It honestly vexes me how anyone
can root for this man or call him a decent individual, when he has
done nothing but whine and complain since day one. Ron Houston is the
anti-thesis of what professional wrestling is about, and he has
finally landed on my last good nerve. The fact that he's still
chirping at me from afar, even though I've done nothing but outclass
him everytime we're in the ring together... it sickens me, mostly, but
makes me respect him, for a second.

You've got to respect someone who doesn't know when to quit, Myers,
and Ron Houston doesn't know when to quit. He's been beaten at every
turn by yours truly, and he's still coming back for more. Throw in --
look at me, camera six --

[The camera swings around to stare squarely into the face of Broussard.]

MB: Throw in the towel, Ron Houston. If you get into the ring with me
at Memorial Day Mayhem, I will make sure that you'll be a legal
invalid. I'll make sure you will not be able to live a normal life.
For your kids, for your wife, for whatever wretched offspring you have
running around, I am telling you to retire from professional
wrestling. And if you're having second thoughts, if you think that you
might put on those boots on Memorial Day weekend, watch what I do to
this guy right here. Watch the precision, watch the mastery... because
it doesn't get any better than this.

[Broussard gives a curt nod to Gordon Myers before walking away from
the announce desk.  The Super Ninja stays in position, glaring at an
obviously nervous Myers before walking backwards away from him.]

GM:  Well, uh... some strong words there from Marcus Broussard.

BW:  You need some time to go change your britches, Gordo?

GM:  I do not, Bucky Wilde.  But I must admit, it is quite unsettling
to be out here in the presence of that Super Ninja.  He is... well,
quite simply, he makes me nervous.

BW:  No kidding.  You looked like a raccoon who wandered into Mama's
kitchen durin' supper time.

[Broussard steps through the ropes, standing in his corner with his
eyes locked on Pat Parker as referee Mickey Meekly gives a few last
moment instructions before ringing the bell.]

GM:  And this match is a-go!

[The San Jose Shark steps from the corner, immediately circling Pat
Parker, looking for an opening of some sorts...

...and lunges at him, hooking a rear waistlock.]

GM:  Waistlock slapped on by Broussard, going for a little riding time
here and-

[Planting his feet, Broussard hoists Parker up into the air...

...and dumps him chestfirst down on the mat where Broussard
immediately drops down, spinning over the back of Parker to apply a
front facelock.]

GM:  A nice display of mat wrestling on... err... display here.

BW:  You're still rattled by that Super Ninja, aren'tcha?

GM:  Bucky, that man stared into my eyes and I got a chill up my spine
like you wouldn't believe.

[As Broussard wrenches down on the front facelock, the camera cuts to
a shot of the all-white-clad Super Ninja who doesn't even acknowledge
the camera as he stands with his arms crossed in the corner of the San
Jose Shark.]

GM:  Broussard bringing Parker up off the mat, still in the facelock.

[The Shark muscles the Dallas native across the ring, swinging him
around to back him into the corner.]

GM:  The referee calling for a clean break.  I'm not so sure that-

[Stepping back, Broussard slaps Parker across the face causing the
crowd to boo.]

GM:  Boy, this guy really is full of himself, isn't he?

BW:  Why shouldn't he be, Gordo?  You know as well as I do that he's
the odds-on-favorite to be the first National Champion in two weeks
time.

GM:  I certainly do not know that, Bucky!  He's got Ron Houston in the
first round-

BW:  An injured Ron Houston.

GM:  Be that as it may, I'm sure Houston will bring all the fight that
Broussard can handle in fourteen days, Bucky.  And if somehow
Broussard manages to get past Houston, he's gotta take on the winner
of the match between "Showtime" Rick Marley and the Wild Card entry.
Fans, a quick reminder, you can vote for that Wild Card entry right
_now_ to help decide who will be the final entry into the National
Title tournament at Memorial Day Mayhem.

BW:  That big goof City Jack was still winnin' at last check.
Someone's gotta beat him.

GM:  Back to a tieup in the middle of the ring... and Broussard slips
out of that, right behind his opponent with a rear hammerlock
applied... cranking up on the arm now...

BW:  Now we're going to see what the Shark intends to do to Ron
Houston at Memorial Day Mayhem - if Houston even shows up.  There's
been rumors all day that he's not here tonight, Gordo.

GM:  I have heard those rumors as well - and from what I hear, he may
not be the only one.

BW:  Ooooh, you got the scoop?

GM:  From what I understand, we're going to address that situation
here shortly so don't go away, fans.

[Pushing up on the bent arm, Broussard forces Parker chestfirst into
the turnbuckles where the referee calls for a break again.]

GM:  The official looking for a clean break here once again... ohh!

[A hard elbowsmash across the shoulder is Broussard's version of a
"clean break" - just before he grabs the arm, whipping Parker down to
the mat by it, immediately hooking an armbar on the downed Parker.]

GM:  Broussard cranking down on the arm again and you're exactly
right, Bucky.  This is the exact strategy that he'll be looking to
employ against Ron Houston in fourteen days.

[Gripping the wrist of his downed opponent, Broussard executes a full
armtwist before dropping his leg down across the upper arm.]

GM:  Ohh!  That's one way to soften up the arm.  A quick cover... but
Parker's out before even the count of one.

[The San Jose Shark quickly pushes the arm  to the mat, pinning down
the forearm with his knee...

...and repeatedly driving punches into the injured limb.]

GM:  Oh, come on, referee!  Those are clinched fists!

BW:  You've gotta love that, daddy.  So simple but so effective.

GM:  I suppose.

[Broussard breaks the attack on the arm at the referee's orders,
backing off with his hands spread in a "What did I do?" gesture...

...before shoving the official aside as he leaps into the air, driving
the flat of his boot down on the bicep.]

GM:  Give me a break!

BW:  What?  That was the flat of the boot, daddy - that's totally legal!

GM:  Not exactly sporting though, is it?

BW:  This ain't the Olympics, Gordo.  This is the AWA.  The name of
the game is winning.

[Broussard argues with the referee for a bit before leaping in the
air, driving the stomp down on the arm again.]

GM:  Again with a stomp to the arm.  I don't like it but I suppose
there's nothing technically illegal to it as my colleague has pointed
out.

BW:  You're welcome.

[The San Jose Shark steps on the wrist of Parker, pinning it to the
mat, before leaping into the air and bringing all his weight down with
a kneedrop on the bicep!]

GM:  Ohhh!  That could break an arm right there!

[Grabbing the arm, Broussard rolls Parker to his stomach, standing
behind the downed Texan with a straddle armbar.]

GM:  Look at the pressure he's able to get on the arm with this hold,
Parker screaming out in pain, desperately looking for a way to get out
of this one...

[Broussard grins as he tightens the hold, wrenching the shoulder in
the wrong direction.]


"You like that, Houston?  You see what's waiting for you?"


[The fans boo Broussard's trash-talk.]

GM:  The San Jose Shark sending a message to the Athens, Georgia
Madman, Ron Houston... a very clear message.

BW:  It's more like a warning, Gordo.  Broussard wants Houston to be
very clear as to what's going to happen to him if he bothers to show
up at Memorial Day Mayhem.  He wants Houston to know that his career,
his livelihood... it all ends in fourteen days if he shows his face in
the Fort Worth Convention Center!

GM:  I seriously doubt that.

BW:  How could you doubt that?  Did you see what Broussard did to
Houston last Saturday Night Wrestling?  If it wasn't for Adam Rogers,
the Shark would've taken that arm home as a souvenir, daddy!

GM:  He jumped the man from behind and-

BW:  That's what he does, Gordo!  He's a Shark!  He does whatever it
takes to get an edge on his opponent so if Ron Houston shows up in two
weeks' time, he needs to expect that Broussard _will_ attack him from
behind again... he _will_ use the Super Ninja to get an edge in if he
needs to... he will do whatever it takes to walk out of Fort Worth,
Texas as  the AWA National Champion... period.

[Broussard uses his grip on the arm to pull Parker off the mat,
tugging him into an irish whip.]

GM:  Whip by the San Jose Shark... Parker off the- whoooa my!

[As Parker approaches, Broussard hooks a bearhug, swinging his hips as
he hoists Parker into the air and plants him with a belly-to-belly
suplex on the mat.]

GM:  That'll do it.  One.  Two.  Thr- oh, come on!

[The crowd boos some more as Broussard smirks, having pulled Parker up
by the hair at the last moment.]

GM:  There's absolutely no call for this, Bucky.  He's just been
punishing this kid for several minutes and now... well, like I said,
just uncalled for.

BW:  It's a message, Gordo.  You've gotta send it right.

[Broussard climbs to his feet, reaching down to pull Parker up as
well, quickly hoisting him up over his shoulder...

...and then driving the Texan down in a crushing shoulderbreaker!]

GM:  Ohhhh!  Shoulderbreaker!  Just pin him and get it over with.

BW:  I don't think that's what he has in mind, Gordo.

[Quickly flipping Parker to his stomach, Broussard grabs the injured
arm, dropping down in a Fujiwara Armbar!]

GM:  And there it is... that Fujiwara Armbar!  He learned it from Jeff
Matthews, the master of the hold, and earlier tonight, he told us that
the Super Ninja helped him master it!

[Planting his feet on the mat, Broussard bridges up, increasing the
torque on the arm.]

GM:  Look at the pressure!  Look at the torque on the arm and
shoulder!  Look at-

[Leaping off the mat where he was checking on Parker, Meekly signals
for the bell.]


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


MC:  Your winner of the match as a result of a submission in five
minutes and 38 seconds...

MARCUS BROUSSARD!

[The crowd boos the announcement... yet continue to boo louder as
Broussard doesn't break the Fujiwara Armbar, bringing screams of agony
up from Pat Parker.]

GM:  Come on!  Break the hold, Broussard!

BW:  He may break his arm first, daddy!

GM:  The referee is right in there.  DQ him, ref!  Reverse the decision!

[The threat to do exactly that is what finally causes Broussard to
break the armbar, standing up with a cocky grin on his face as he
looks down at the injured Parker on the canvas.]

GM:  Finally.  He finally breaks the hold.

[The San Jose Shark walks to the ropes, pointing at the camera.]

"I hope you were watching, Houston.  I hope you saw your future."

[He smirks at the camera, putting his hands at his waist in the "I
want the belt" gesture.]

GM:  A big win for Marcus Broussard and he definitely has momentum on
his side as we are a mere two weeks away from the National Title
Tournament.

[The shot cuts to Myers and Wilde standing behind the announce desk.]

GM:  And speaking of the National Title Tournament, at this time, we
are being joined right now by a man who will compete in that
tournament.  He is also scheduled to compete right here in just a
short time.  I am speaking, of course, of the Hellion, Mark Shaw. Mr.
Shaw, if you would join us.

[From off stage, Mark Shaw stalks forward. Already in his wrestling
gear, the big man is silent and intense, staring straight ahead at
Myers at first, and then slowly turning forward, facing the camera.]

GM: Later tonight Mr. Shaw, you will be facing Paul Driscoll in one on
one action. I wonder if we might get your thoughts on what's to come?

MS: You mean to tell me you can't guess?

GM: Well, last time on this broadcast, you issued an open challenge,
and it was Paul Driscoll who answered that challenge. I daresay that
tonight is the night when its all on the line for you, Mr. Shaw. It
would be fair to say that tonight is the biggest night of your career
since joining the AWA.

MS: Well then Myers, you'd be wrong.

GM: I bet your pardon Mr. Shaw?

MS: You ain't makin' it big enough. This ain't the biggest night of my
career since joinin' the AWA. This aint' even the biggest night of my
professional career. This here?

This is the biggest night of my life.

Tonight is the night. Tonight is when its all laid out in the line.
Tonight is when it all gets said and done. Tonight, either I win, or I
lose. Tonight, either I prove myself, or I show myself to be nothin'
but talk.

And you oughta know by now, that I'm more than just talk.

GM: And what are your thoughts on the man you will be facing tonight?

MS: Hey, I got a lotta respect for Driscoll. He saw an opportunity,
and he stepped up to take it. He saw a chance to shut me up and make a
name for himself. He put his name on the line when no one else would.
So for that, I got all the respect in the world for Paul Driscoll. But
here's the thing Driscoll...

All that respect is gonna buy ya is a trip to the emergency room.

Mark Shaw only moves at one speed and in one direction. Full throttle
and straight ahead. I'm comin' for ya Driscoll. You see opportunity,
and it took a hell of a lotta guts to stand up and take it.

But ain't no man gonna make his name on mine. That's a guarantee.

So I'll see ya tonight Driscoll. Be ready for your beating.

[His piece said, Mark Shaw starts to walk off...

...yet gets his path blocked by an all-white-clad Super Ninja who
Marcus Broussard is standing behind, a big grin on his face.  Making
sure he keeps the Ninja between them, Broussard rotates to within
grabbing distance of Myers' mic.]

MB:  "Mark Shaw only moves at one speed and in one direction."

[Broussard's mocking tone seems to raise the ire of Shaw.]

MB:  "You oughta know by now that I'm more than just talk."

[The San Jose Shark actually laughs this time.]

MB:  Please.  Next time, you should toss in something about taking
things one day at a time and giving it a hundred and ten percent.

[Another cackle from Broussard as Shaw bristles, staring dead ahead at
the motionless Super Ninja.]

MB:  They say you're under the radar in this tournament.  That no one
has noticed that you're a big, bad man with an attitude who wants that
gold as much as everyone else.

[Broussard holds a finger up... no, not that one.]

MB:  Correction.  You want that gold as much as _almost_ everyone else.

[The fans boo as Broussard grins.]

MB:  But you don't want it as much as me... and that's a good thing
for your sake.  Because if I see you in the finals at Memorial Day
Mayhem, you're going to end up like that nine-to-fiver in the ring
right now with his shoulder separated.

[A chuckle.]

MB:  Or worse.  Like Ron Houston.  So, Shaw... my advice to you?  Take
the holiday off.

[Shaw drops his shoulders, turning away from the Shark and the Ninja...

...and quickly spins on his heels, blasting the Super Ninja with a
right hand that knocks the masked man to the side!  The crowd erupts
for the right hand... and somehow grows louder as Shaw shoves past
him, tackling Broussard down to the concrete floor where he starts
teeing off with right hands to the head.

The announcers flee the scene as the Hellion batters the San Jose
Shark, the crowd roaring in response.

But the battle is short-lived as the Super Ninja quickly recovers and
uncorks a spinning back kick to the chest that knocks Shaw off of
Broussard.  The Ninja leaps into action, raining down stomps and
martial arts thrusts to the upper body and head of the Hellion.

The break gives an irate Broussard time to recover before he crawls
over on top of Shaw, battering him with clenched fists as well.  The
Super Ninja and Marcus Broussard work together to batter Mark Shaw
into the concrete for several moments before the San Jose Shark
finally pulls away, spitting on the downed Shaw as he backs away, his
masked bodyguard by his side...

...and as we hold our shot of a battered Mark Shaw on the concrete
floor, we fade to black.

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

"Have you ever dreamed of fame?"

[Cut a little closer.]

"Of glory?"

[A little closer.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Two young students are grappling on the canvas.]

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

You want to wrestle!"

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

...and then back up on the announce desk where a concerned Gordon
Myers is looking on with Bucky Wilde who is shaking his head in
disbelief.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans.  Pardon me but we are still a little rattled
over what we just saw out here.  Mark Shaw was conducting an interview
here at the desk with us when Marcus Broussard and that... that Ninja
of his interrupted.  Words were exchanged and soon enough, we had a
brawl on our hands.

BW:  It was wild, Gordo.  I thought Shaw was gonna put him through our
table here.

GM:  When the dust had settled, Broussard and the Super Ninja beat a
retreat but laid out Mark Shaw in the process.  During the commercial
break, Shaw was able to walk out of here on his own but- well, that
match with Paul Driscoll is coming up in mere minutes so who knows if
Shaw will be able to compete.

BW:  And speakin' of not being able to compete... it's official,
daddy!  Ron Houston isn't here!

GM:  That's right, Bucky.  The Athens, Georgia Madman and the man who
will meet Marcus Broussard in the first round of the National Title
Tournament in fourteen days was not medically cleared to compete here
tonight, fans.  That shoulder suffered further damage at the hands of
Broussard and the Fujiwara Armbar two weeks ago.  The doctor expects
to clear Houston for Memorial Day Mayhem but he was not even allowed
in the building tonight.

BW:  Which puts us a match down on the lineup.

GM:  I understand we do have some standby matches though to go to if
needed.  And it very well may be needed because just moments ago, we
were informed that Buddy Lambert is not in the building tonight
either.  And at this time, we would like to welcome the Chairman of
the Championship Committee, Stephen Ross, to address this situation.
Thank you for joining us, Mr. Ross.

[The camera pulls back to reveal an elderly gentleman in a very
traditional black suit.  He shakes hands with Gordon Myers, nodding
his head.]

SR:  It's my pleasure to be here, Gordon... although I wish it was
under better circumstances.

GM:  I agree.  Now, from Day One it seems, everyone has been focused
on crowning the first AWA Champion.  Two weeks ago, the tournament was
set and we were ready to go.  Tonight, I understand we have some
discord that needs to be addressed.

[Ross nods his head.]

SR:  That's correct, Gordon.  Eight men in the tournament... and as of
right now, we don't know if two of them will be able to compete.

GM:  Am I correct that you are referring to Ron Houston and Buddy
Lambert?

SR:  Yes, you are, Gordon.  The Championship Committee was informed of
both men's situations earlier tonight and met via conference call to
make a decision.

GM:  Which is?

SR:  In the case of Ron Houston, we have had an in-depth discussion
with his physician and we are confident that Houston will be cleared
to compete in time for Memorial Day Mayhem.  Mr. Houston was given the
option of withdrawing from the tournament and was, in fact, guaranteed
a future National Title shot if he did.

[Gordon Myers nods his head.]

SR:  But Mr. Houston has refused that offer and will be participating
in the National Title Tournament in fourteen days.  To guarantee that,
we barred him from the building here tonight so that there was no
chance he would collide with Marcus Broussard once again before the
tournament.

GM:  Considering the history between those two men, that sounds like a
good idea.

SR:  We felt it was the only option, Gordon, considering how badly Mr.
Houston wants to get his hands on Marcus Broussard.

[Myers nods again.]

GM:  Now, what about Buddy Lambert?  Just where-

BW:  I'll tell ya where he is, Gordo.  He realized he was in WAY over
his head here in the AWA and went scurryin' away like a thief in the
night with his tail between his legs.

GM:  Well, Mr. Ross?

[Ross sighs deeply.]

SR:  In all honestly, Gordon, Mr. Wilde here appears to be correct...
to an extent.  I'm sure our AWA fans realized that Buddy Lambert did
not speak to the crowd before his match with Ron Houston on the last
Saturday Night Wrestling.  Well, he was certainly scheduled to do so
and asked to be excused from that prior to the match so he could focus
on being in the Main Event.  That request was granted by AWA
officials.

[Ross pauses.]

SR:  Following his loss to Houston, he immediately left the building.
He did not stop to talk to AWA officials to get his promotional
schedule for the past two weeks.  He did not even stop to change out
of his ring gear.  In the days following, he did not attend his
scheduled promotional appearance in Houston a week ago today and has
not returned any phone calls from our offices.

[Myers looks concerned.  Wilde looks amused.  Go figure.]

SR:  And, as you have already stated, he is not here in Dallas tonight
despite being scheduled to compete.  As a result, the Championship
Committee is very concerned about his status here in the AWA or more
importantly for the moment, his status in the tournament.

[Ross draws himself up, looking very official.]

SR:  Therefore, it is the decision of the Championship Committee that
Buddy Lambert has been removed from the AWA National Title Tournament
at Memorial Day Mayhem.

[The crowd boos the decision.  Ross nods his head at the reaction.]

SR:  We apologize to the AWA fans who were hoping to see Mr. Lambert
compete but as of right now, we are forced to believe that Mr. Lambert
has fled the AWA.

BW:  Wait, wait, wait - so if Lambert's spot in the tournament is
vacant, who is gonna fill it?

SR:  Unfortunately, at this time, I am unable to answer that question.

GM:  We're having a fan poil for the Wild Card spot.  Why not just
take the Top Two?

SR:  That is certainly under consideration.

BW:  What about Driscoll or Reid if they win tonight?

SR:  Also a possibility.  We simply are not ready to make that
decision at this time but we expect to do so in the coming days, guys.

[Myers, shaking his head, faces the camera once more.]

GM:  There you have it, fans.  Ron Houston's in the tournament but out
of the building.  Buddy Lambert's not only not in the building... not
only not in the tournament... but it looks like he may be out of the
AWA entirely!

BW:  Good riddance to bad rubbish, daddy.

GM:  Well, I don't know if I'd go that-

[Suddenly, the words of Myers are interrupted as the massive form of
Spyder LZ appears in front of the camera, his mammoth back blocking
out the entire shot as the voice of "High Profile" Darryl Styles is
heard.  On Spyder LZ's left shoulder, we can see a small tattooed
"graveyard."]

DS:  Good riddance to bad rubbish is right, ya dig?  Bucky Wilde
speaks a world of truth, Gordy.

GM:  Now what did you have against Buddy Lambert?

DS:  Who?  I'm not talkin' about Buddy Lambert, Gordy - I'm talkin'
straight out ta Kevin Slater.  The Wild Thing.  The former World
Champion.  The man.  The king.  The top dog so to speak.

Two weeks, Kevin Slater.  I hope you have your calendar marked.  I
hope you're counting down the days.  I know you've been waiting for
this moment for a long, long time.

GM:  He certainly has.  He's been waiting to get his hands on the
Masked Menace and your man, Spyder LZ for quite some-

DS:  No!  That's not what he's waiting for, Gordy.  He says he's been
waitin' to tangle with the Menace and the Spyder but the fact o' the
matter is... he's been countin' the days til something else.

[A dramatic pause.]

DS:  Retirement!

[Styles cackles.]

DS:  Ya see, Kevin Slater's been waitin' a long, long time to have a
legit reason to hang up dem boots.  He's used the excuses... knee
injury... "battlin' the demons"... ya name it, he's tried it.

But every time he thinks he's out... they drag him back in.

[A chuckle.]

DS:  Ya love the glory... the fame... the money.  So, when they ring
ya up and say "we need a former World Champion to fill some seats" ya
come a-runnin' even though you ain't been worth a damn in a decade.

Well, Wild Thing... come Memorial Day... we're givin' you the greatest
gift you could ever ask for.

A reason to retire.

[Spyder LZ seems to chuckle as well, his mammoth back shifting in
front of the c amera.]

DS:  When the Menace and the Spyder get done with ya in fourteen days,
we gonna collect the bounty... we gonna cash the check... and we gonna
put you out to pasture once and for all, ya dig?

Believe that!

[And with that, Spyder LZ and Darryl Styles make their exit from in
front of the camera, heading back towards the locker room entry as
Myers and Wilde step back up behind the desk.]

GM:  Fans, let's go back to the ring!

[Cut to the ring where Melissa Cannon is standing.]

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit.  Introducing first, already in the ring, from Tijuana,
Mexico... Lord Azteca!

[The red-and-gold clad luchador throws an arm in the air.]

MC:  And his opponent...

[The self-written, self-performed sounds of "I'm Gon' Be Your Sweet
Daddy" comes blasting over the sound system.]

BW:  Is it time for my break?

GM:  You don't get a break.  Just sit back and enjoy.

BW:  How fittin' it is to say... fat chance!

[The crowd roars as the rotund man wiggles his way into the WKIK
Studios.]

MC:  Hailing from Hotlanta, Georgia... 5'10 and weighing in at 312
pounds... SWEET!  DADDY!  WILLIAMS!

[Clad in a pair of eye-scorching green trunks... much too small for his
overly large stomach and thighs... the man known as Sweet Daddy Williams
races towards the roaring fans as he trades high-fives and hugs with as
many people as he can reach from the ringside area.]

GM:  Sweet Daddy Williams is in the house and these fans are lovin' it,
Bucky!

BW:  I hate them.

GM:  They pay your salary.

BW:  But they love this yellow-tooth, quadruple-chinned, ear hair afro
wearin', cousin marryin' son of an alcoholic carpenter!

GM:  Would you stop?

[Sweet Daddy Williams climbs up on the apron, grabbing the top rope...

...and shakin' his groove thang to the cheers of the fans.]

GM:  Hahaha!  You gotta love that, Bucky.

BW:  I really, really don't, Gordo.

[The man from Hotlanta steps through the ropes into the ring, pointing
a menacing finger at the luchador as he swings his knees together in a
funky little dance.]

GM:  Sweet Daddy Williams is having fun inside that ring and the bell
hasn't even rang yet.

BW:  This buffoon wouldn't care if he was fightin' for the National
Title, Gordo.  He'd still be dancin', shuckin' and jivin'.

[With the music still going and Sweet Daddy Williams dancing around,
clapping his hands, the bell rings...

...and he dances right into a collar-and-elbow tieup, jabbing a thumb
into the eye of Lord Azteca to the laughs of the crowd.]

GM:  An unorthodox move by Sweet Daddy Williams.

BW:  He thumbed him in the eye, Gordo!  If that was anyone else, you'd
be totally irate.

GM:  Seemed effective.

BW:  Gordo!  Now it's my turn to say it, "Give me a break!"

[Still dancin' a bit, Sweet Daddy Williams grabs Lord Azteca by the
head, throwing him headfirst into the turnbuckles before grabbing a
loos side headlock.]

GM:  Nice scientific move there in the form of a side headlock.

[Sweet Daddy Williams turns to give a thumbs up to the announce desk
shouting, "Gordon, this one's for you, baby!"]

GM:  Okay, sounds good, Sweet Dad- ohh!  Thumb driven up into the
throat of Lord Azteca... and apparently that was for me.

BW:  Isn't that sweet?  The big goof is dedicating his illegal blows
to you, Gordo.  I bet you're real proud.

GM:  The fans sure do love Sweet Daddy though.

[Grabbing the gasping luchador, Williams throws him into the buckles
again before gripping the wrist.]

GM:  Armtwist by the Sweet Daddy...

[Grinning like an idiot, Williams grabs Azteca by the mask and yanks
him down to the mat, holding the wristlock as the fans cheer.]

GM:  Wristlock applied by Williams...

[Holding the wrist, Sweet Daddy Williams turns to the announce desk
again, bellowing.]

"I love you, Gordon Myers!  We's in love, baby!"

[The crowd chuckles as does Myers as Williams lets Lord Azteca off the
mat...

...and then yanks him right back down to the mat by the hair, giggling
like a madman as he shakes his head to the questioning official.]

GM:  Azteca down on the mat... Williams pulls him up into a chinlock...


"Hey Gordy!  You wanna see what this ugly mug looks like?"


[The crowd cheers as Williams hooks his fingers in the mask of Azteca,
pulling upwards on the mouth hole.]

GM:  Sweet Daddy Williams is threatening to unmask the luchador now and-

BW:  The referee stopped him, thank goodness.  Do you know how
important a mask is to a luchador, daddy?

GM:  The Sweet Daddy's got him back in that side headlock.


"I got one more for ya, Gordy!  One more!"


[This time, Sweet Daddy Williams sucks on his thumb briefly before
jabbing it into the throat of his opponent, taking the masked man down
to the mat again.]

GM:  Right below the chin there.

BW:  Are you kiddi- Gordon Myers, I'm shocked and appalled by you!

[Williams quickly grabs the masked man, spinning the mask around to
cover the eyes of Lord Azteca.]

GM:  He's got him blinded!  Lord Azteca is blinded and-

[Using the advantage, Williams hoists Azteca up, slamming him down to
the canvas with a bodyslam...

...and then leaps into the air, driving his skull down into the masked
man's head!]

GM:  Leaping headbutt!

[Williams reaches back, hooking the far leg.]

GM:  One!  Two!  And three!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


MC:  Your winner of the match in a time of two minutes and two
seconds...

SWEET!  DAAAAADDY!  WILLLLLIAMS!

[The crowd roars as the Sweet Daddy rolls out to the apron, shaking
his groove thang once more to cheers before dropping to the floor,
walking towards the announce desk where Gordon Myers and Bucky Wilde
are waiting.]

GM:  Sweet Daddy Williams, another big win here for you here on
Saturday Night Wrestling and you are quickly becoming one of the most
popular competitors here in the AWA!

BW:  Not with me!

[Sweet Daddy goes behind the desk, putting a beefy forearm on the
shoulder of Gordon Myers.]

SDW:  Bucky Bucky Wilde Child... you know I don't give one dadgum
bejiggity what ya think about me.  You just keep it to yo'self unless
ya want some more of the Sweet Daddy's dirty pillow up in yo' bizness.

BW:  What- what are you?

[The Sweet Daddy turns around, slapping his own rear.]

SDW:  You need a reintroduction, baby?

BW:  Ugh!  I'm out of here!

[Bucky Wilde storms off set as Sweet Daddy Williams slips an arm
around Gordon Myers.]

SDW:  We don't needs him anyways, baby.  Gordon Myers, ah need you to
answer one question for me for a change, okay?

GM:  What's that, Sweet Daddy?

SDW:  WHO WAN' SIT ON SWEET DADDY'S LAP TONIGHT, BABY?!

[The crowd cheers wildly for some reason as Gordon Myers chuckles.]

GM:  I can't say I know the answer to that one.  But that was another
victory here for you tonight and-

SDW:  O'course it was, baby!  O'course it was!  Sweet Daddy's been
rockin' and rollin' all over the AWA for weeks now and peoples
everywhere are just startin' to notice.

GM:  You heard the announcement earlier.  Now there are _two_ spots
open in the tournament for the National Title and that's gotta be
exciting news for you.

SDW:  You knows it, Gordy!  The Sweet Daddy has been up allllll night,
baby... the Sweet Daddy was at a party down at the Hilton with some
sugar babies who allll wanted to party with the Sweet Daddy.

And you knows what the sugar babies said?

[Gordon shakes his head.]

SDW:  They all said the same thing.  They wanted to know if it'd hurt
to sit on the Sweet Daddy's lap when he's wearing that big... gold...
belt, baby!

[The crowd cheers as Sweet Daddy Williams bobs his head up and down.]

GM:  Bucky Wilde says-

SDW:  Baby, you know I don't give a rootytoot what that ol' garter
snake has to say 'bout nothin'!  The Sweet Daddy is goin' all over the
South with the AWA.  We's goin' to San Anton... we's goin' to
Houston... we's goin' to N'awlins!  Everywhere the AWA's goin', the
Sweet Daddy's goin' and I tell you what...

[He pauses, looking at Myers expectantly.]

GM:  What?

SDW:  It's... gon'... be... on, baby!  When the Sweet Daddy comes to
town, you put your wifes in the cellar with the kids... you lock the
doors and board the windows so they's can't get out... because
EVERYBODY wants to party with the Sweet Daddy, baby!  And when that
big gold belt is around my purty lil' waist, the party's gonna be
jumpin' like a jackrabbit on the 4th of Juuuuly!  Count on it.

[And with that, the Sweet Daddy wobbles away from the announce desk
leaving a grinning Gordon Myers behind.]

GM:  Don't go away, fans... we'll be right back!

[With Myers smiling, we fade to black...

...and then fade back up on a black screen with the AWA logo splashed
across it.]

"Join your favorite stars of the American Wrestling Alliance throughout
the state of Texas this week for exclusive meet-and-greet sessions."

[A scrolling list of names and locations flash by in white text:

Kevin Slater and Luke Steele
Best Buy - Dallas, Texas
May 11

Paul Driscoll and Rough N Ready
West Dallas Galleria - Dallas, Texas
May 13

Sweet Daddy Williams and Gordon Myers
South Dallas Shopping Center - Dallas, Texas
May 15

Ron Houston
Dallas Fairgrounds - Dallas, Texas
May 19

All The Stars Of The AWA At Memorial Day Mayhem FANFEST
Fort Worth Convention Center
May 22 and 23

The names end, leaving just the AWA logo behind.]

"All the stars of the AWA are comin' your way so don't miss 'em!"

[And with that, we fade back to black...

...and then back up on the AWA Saturday Night Wrestling announce desk
where Gordon Myers and Bucky Wilde are standing.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans.  At the end of the last edition of AWA
Saturday Night Wrestling, we saw Marcus Broussard violently attack Ron
Houston, applying a Fujiwara armbar to the Athens, Georgia madman
while his new bodyguard held off all would-be saviors.  But that was
just the beginning.  Let's take another look at what happened next.

[Cut to the clip with the graphic "April 26, 2008" in white text on
the bottom right of the screen.

The screams of pain from Houston echo throughout the WKIK Studios as
Broussard pulls back even further, arching his back to put as much
pressure on the injured left shoulder as possible.]

GM:  Ron Houston... look at the angle of the arm!  Look at the torque
on the arm, Bucky!  This is a bad situation for- Broussard has
snapped!
Broussard has lost it!

BW:  The San Jose Shark smells blood in the water, daddy!

[Houston's cries of agony fill the air, the crowd roaring for someone,
anyone to do something...

...and then someone very unexpected walks through the entranceway.
And the roof is blown off the WKIK Studios in Dallas, Texas.]

GM:  Is that-?!

BW:  Oh... my... god!

[The crowd rises to their collective feet as the figure calmly walks
out to the ringside area, promptly rolling under the ropes and getting
to his feet...

...and stares dead in the eyes of Marcus Broussard whose face goes
white with shock.]

GM:  IT'S ADAM ROGERS!  ADAM ROGERS IS... MY LORD, ADAM ROGERS IS IN
THE WKIK STUDIOS!  THE NATURAL IS IN THE WKIK STUDIOS!

BW:  Wait a damn second!  Does this mean... _what_ does this mean?!

[The former World Champion and former ally of the San Jose Shark
stands motionless in the middle of the ring, glaring right at
Broussard who continues to hold the Fujiwara Armbar...

...and doesn't even move even as the masked ninja steps in front of
Rogers, striking a martial arts pose.]

GM:  Uh oh!  We've got a showdown!  We've got-

[Suddenly, Rogers screams out.]

"Let him go, Marcus!  This isn't you!"

[Broussard stares right back at the man known as the Natural...

...but continues to hold the Fujiwara Armbar, cranking back on the arm
again to Rogers' annoyance.]

"MARCUS!  LET GO OF THE ARM!  IT ISN'T WORTH IT!"

[The San Jose Shark seems to loosen his grip a notch, still obviously
stunned at his former ally's arrival in the WKIK Studios...

...and his eyes go even wider as Rogers moves towards him only to be
stopped short by his ninja bodyguard wrapping a hand around the
Natural's throat.]

GM:  Oh!  The ninja's got Rogers!  The ninja's got Rogers!

[Rogers brings his own hands up, trying to pry the ninja's grip free
from his arm but the ninja forces him back against the ropes, cocking
back a fist, ready to strike...]

"No!  Wait!"

[Broussard suddenly cries out as his bodyguard, stopping the assault
on Rogers, and then releases the Fujiwara Armbar on Houston, climbing
to his feet with a confused look on his face.]

GM:  What's going to happen here?  We've got a standoff!

[The San Jose Shark stares without emotion at his former ally and
stablemate...

...and with a lone hand on the bodyguard's shoulder, the ninja
releases his grip.]

GM:  He called him off, Bucky!  Did you see that?  He called his man
off of Adam Rogers!

[Cut back to Myers and Wilde.]

GM: And now, we welcome in the man who surprised not only Marcus
Broussard, but everyone in attendance including yours truly with his
appearance on the last edition of Saturday Night Wrestling...the
former World Heavyweight Champion, "The Natural" Adam Rogers.  Adam,
it is my pleasure to welcome you to the American Wrestling Alliance.

[A smiling Rogers shakes hands with Myers and nods.]

AR: Thank you, Gordon.  It is certainly my pleasure to be here.

GM: Now, two weeks ago as we just saw, you showed up here and made
quite an impact on your former ally Marcus Broussard, convincing him
to let go of Ron Houston, yet he spoke no words to you on his way out
of the ring.  Have the two of you spoken since that incident?

AR: No, Gordon, I'm afraid we have not.  Marcus was obviously a little
surprised to see me, and probably more surprised at why I came out.
Right now, honestly, I think the guy is dealing with a lot.

[Adam pauses, with a more somber look.]

AR: And it's my fault.

[A mixed reaction from the crowd.]

GM: Your fault?

AR: That's right, Gordon, my fault.  You see, when Marcus and I joined
forces back in Los Angeles, my vision was clouded.  I had become just
about everything that I vowed not to be when I decided to become a
professional wrestler.  And during that time, I took Marcus under my
wing.  I told him all the things that were wrong with this business,
all the reasons why he should focus on winning at all costs.  After
things shut down in LA and I stepped away from the business, I saw my
mistakes...my failures, my shortcomings.

But never were they so apparent as they have been in the last several
weeks, as I have watched a young man...perhaps the most talented I
have seen in a long, long time...choose the wrong path.  And I wonder,
Gordon, how different things might be right now had I done a better
job of teaching Marcus respect, honor, and pride.  I had a chance to
help mold the next big superstar of professional wrestling, and I blew
it.

[Adam pauses again, pursing his lips, before continuing.  The crowd
has, for the most part, gone quiet as they listen.]

AR: But during these last several weeks, Gordon Myers, I have also
seen an opportunity.  An opportunity to come back and correct the
mistakes I made with Marcus Broussard, to teach him the things I
should have taught him three years ago.

[Adam turns toward the camera.]

AR: You see, Marcus...there's more to being a champion than just
winning a title.  I had a chance to teach you that, to show you that,
and I didn't.  But now I can.

And Gordon, that's exactly what I intend to do.

[And with that, Adam Rogers nods at Gordon Myers and walks away,
striding off the Saturday Night Wrestling set.]

GM:  Well, fans... there you have it.  Adam Rogers has come to the AWA
- but not for money or glory... not even for the National Title
apparently but for the chance to save Marcus Broussard... from Marcus
Broussard!

BW:  Sucker.  Broussard's better than he's ever been... and I might
even argue he's better than _Rogers_ has ever been as well.  If Adam
Rogers doesn't keep his nose out of the Shark's business, he might get
it ripped right off his face, daddy.

GM:  That remains to be seen - and something else that remains to be
seen is just who will win the Wild Card spot in the National Title
Tournament.  That poll is ongoing as I speak and right now, Adam
Rogers, whether he's here for the gold or not, is in second place in
the voting, still within striking distance of City Jack, the current
leader.

BW:  Both of them would be big additions to the tournament... and who
knows, the Committee may yet decide to add them both, Gordo!

GM:  That could very well happen as well.  Fans, we caught up with
City Jack and his partner Tin Can Rust earlier tonight... let's see
what's on their minds just two weeks before their big showdown with
Stevie Scott and Calisto Dufresne at Memorial Day Mayhem!

[We cut to footage labelled "EARLIER TONIGHT"  The shot is from just
beyond the entryway to the makeshift "arena" as Gordon Myers stands
by, microphone in hand, with the two members of Kentucky's Pride -
City Jack and Tin Can Rust. Both in street clothes and looking amped
for the show later on, they stand to the right of Myers with the small
entryway into the main part of the WKIK Studios behind them.]

GM: I'm here with City Jack and Tin Can Rust, collectively they're
known as Kentucky's Pride.

CJ: Oh, you got that one down, sir! The pride of the bluegrass all
right on here before ya, Mr. Myers!

[Tin Can Rust nods.]

TCR: Good to be here, Mr. Myers.

GM: First thing I have to ask for you two, was City Jack's appearance
at the last show planned to be that way?

TCR: Well, Mr. Myers, CJ was in the area - like I said before. He's
been in the area for another -

[Rust looks at Jack, at loss for what to say.]

CJ: Just another there "engagement", you know? Been takin' up some
more motel nights, if ya know what I'm getting at.

[Rust nods.]

TCR: So, seeing the way things were going here in AWA, having someone
around to watch my back and not get blindsided by one of Stevie
Scott's flunkies? Didn't seem too bad of an idea, you hear?

GM: Just everything came together right?

CJ: Hey, coincidences are the spice of life, ain't it? Look, I came
here not to be a dominatin' none on the singles scene. See, I... Well,
I can say that that time's might've done gone on past. My body ain't
twenty some year younger and it seems none of them cats I'd be
fightin' get none older. And the Tin Man over here, why, I done heard
you lost to some rook, ain't that right?

[Jack slaps Rust on the back and laughs and Rust grumbles over that
Cortez countout loss.]

CJ: Now I ain't sayin' none that either of us couldn't go a-rumblin'
and a ragin' all over that ring, but I think at this point in time, it
be a little more wise for our future as EX-wrestlers to still be
walkin' when we're done, ya know?

GM: Certainly, but what about the support the fans have shown for you,
City Jack, to take the final spot in the National Title tournament?

[Jack smiles wide.]

CJ: Hey, the fans want to see what they know, and they know I can
bring it! But seriously? This ol' sob ain't goin' to refuse no offers
now... I'll fight if asked, that's for sure - I can't say greed ain't
none in my vices. But I only wrestled one match now, Mr. Myers - I
know for sure there's some more out there that are deservin' and done
logged the time to prove themselves.

TCR: Not that coward Scott...

[Jack shakes his head.]

GM: Speaking of Mr. Scott, the two of you are set to meet him and
Calisto Dufresne at Memorial Day Mayhem and -

CJ: I apologize, Mr. Myers, but, I got to say... Now I been all over
this here great land, corner to corner, met all sorts... and I can say
on God's great book that I ain't never seen a yellow tailed coward the
likes of you, Stevie Scott.

TCR: Stevie Scott is a disgrace to wrestling, this federation, and to
this country. He's actually going to wave a flag other than the Red,
White, and Blue! What kind of son of a-

[Jack puts a hand on Rust's shoulder to quiet the usually tempered,
but now boiling mad TCR.]

CJ: Now, now, Rust, save it for later. We'll get out hands on Scott,
that lil' backslider Dufresne, and those evil Russians. We've got some
help - some damn good on help on our side, two other great and proven
tag teams I can say. And come Memorial Day, Scott and Dufresne? Come
Memorial Day, when we all give a nod and prayer to remember all those
who've given their lives for this great nation and our freedom?

[Jack looks straight into the camera, pointing as it closes in on the
big man from Liberty.]

CJ: We'll be teachin' both your traitorin' selves a lesson. That you
can take for fact!

[And with that, we fade to black...

...and then back up on a screen with the AWA logo splashed across the
top with a "Live Events Schedule" graphic underneath.  The backdrop is
some generic space photograph showing the moon and some stars.]

"Join all the stars of the American Wrestling Alliance as they come to
your town!"

[The screen changes to show a graphic reading "MEMORIAL DAY MAYHEM -
May 24th, Ft. Worth Convention Center."]

"Celebrate your Memorial Day Weekend with the help of the American
Wrestling Alliance as we will be in Fort Worth on May 24th for a HUGE
live event!  It's Memorial Day Mayhem and you will see the first AWA
National Champion crowned on that night in the Convention Center in
Ft. Worth!"

[The graphic changes to show a list of cities, venues, and dates.]

"On May 25th, the AWA invades the Arena Theatre in Houston, Texas for a
Non-Televised Live Event and then the next afternoon in San Antonio for
a very special daytime show on Memorial Day at the Freeman Coliseum.

Join us on tour in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, Little Rock, Arkansas, and
New Orleans, Louisiana as well with dates to be announced!

[The graphic changes back to the original AWA logo and "Live Events
Schedule" showing a smaller version of the three announced shows.]

"The AWA - the Major League of Professional Wrestling!  Don't miss it
when it comes to your town!"

[And we fade away from the graphic...

...and back up on the announce team as they stand behind their table.
Standing right next to the team is Erik Reid, ribs obviously taped
under his tank top.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans, to the first hour of AWA Saturday Night
Wrestling.  In just a little while now, we're going to see our first
hour Main Event as the mighty Tumaffi takes on this man... Dallas' own
Erik Reid!

[Big cheers for the hometown boy as he gingerly raises an arm to wave
to the crowd.]

GM:  Erik, you have signed the waiver to compete tonight despite
_still_ not being medically cleared to compete.  With that in mind,
you have quite a big task in front of you this week, Erik, when you go
one-on-one against Tumaffi.

ER:  I know that, Gordon.  This isn't a big task.  This is a
monumental task.  Last time, Tumaffi, you injured someone trying to
earn an honest dollar.  I won't tolerate that.

[Erik points at the camera.]

ER:  I want you to understand this, Tumaffi.  Your reign of terror
ends _tonight_.  You've done more harm than management ever should
have allowed.  If they're too scared to do anything about it, then
fine.  I'll be more than happy to put a stop to your random acts of
violence.

[Gordon interrupts.]

GM:  But Erik, you're not at one-hundred percent.  Do you really think-

ER:  One-hundred percent or not, Gordon, no one else has the heart to
step up to the Samoan monster.  No one else has the guts to look him
in the eye.  No one else has the desire to put a stop to his madness.
And body slamming the big man?  That won't do a thing.

[He shakes his head.]

ER:  You want to put a stop to this, Ricky?  You don't challenge the
man to see if you can body slam him.  That's just dumb.  You get into
the ring, you get into his face, and you tell him what's what.
Tumaffi doesn't want to listen to words?  Fine.  I'll speak his
language.

[Erik arches his fingers and thumb on his right hand.  He looks down
at his hand.]

ER:  This is the great equalizer, Tumaffi.  Even you can't stand up to
the Iron Claw.

[Reid starts to leave but Gordon shouts out one more question.]

GM:  What about "Pistol" Paul Driscoll?

[Erik looks at Gordon.]

ER:  What about him?

GM:  He's alluded to there being a bit of history between your family
and his.  What history?

ER:  Something he doesn't need to bring up.  I have no problems with
him, unless he wants to make himself a problem, Gordon.

[Reid pauses a moment, almost daring Gordon to try to get more
details, and then simply walks away to the cheers of the fans.]

GM:  There you have it, fans.  Injured or not, Erik Reid intends to
give Tumaffi all he can handle and then some in just a short time up
there inside the ring.  But for now, let's go up to Melissa for our
next match!

[Cut up to the ring where Melissa Cannon is standing.]

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit.  Introducing first... already in the ring at this time, at
six feet tall and 250 pounds... from Laredo, Texas... Miguel Cortez!

[Cortez does a full spin to show off his t-shirt that reads "I BEAT
TIN CAN RUST" on both sides.  Classy.]

MC:  And his opponent...

#This ain't a song for the broken hearted...

[As "It's My Life" by Bon Jovi begins to play over the PA system, the
curtain parts and the crowd sees "Showtime" Rick Marley.]

MC:  From Miami, Florida... 5'10 and weighing in at 215 pounds...

"SHOOOOOWTIME"
RIIIIICK MARRRRLEY!

[Marley slaps hands with the fans at ringside until he slides under
the bottom rope, striding across the squared circle to climb to the
second rope, where he raises both
hands to the crowd...

...and promptly gets nailed from behind by Miguel Cortez, a blow that
knocks Marley off the ropes and onto the canvas where Cortez stomps him
repeatedly.]

GM:  A cheap shot out of the gate for Miguel Cortez - who is coming off
a disputed countout victory over Tin Can Rust about a month ago.  Marley
is down... and there's the bell to start the match.

[Cortez continues to stomp in the corner, ignoring the protests of the
referee as he reaches down to yank Marley to his feet by the hair.]

GM:  Irish whip by Cortez... here he comes!

[A big running back elbow in the corner catches Marley squarely under
the jaw.]

GM:  Ohh!  Hard shot there by Cortez!

BW:  And this jumping bean Marley may be about to get kicked out of the
tournament too, daddy!  If he loses to Cortez, how could you keep him
in?  Or even better, if Cortez has wins over Tin Can Rust and Rick
Marley, how can you keep him _out_?

[Pulling Marley out of the corner, Cortez executes a full armtwist,
locking in a wristlock.]

GM:  And the man from Laredo is going to work on the arm of Rick Marley
it appears.  Tight wristlock applied after the arm wringer and Marley is
looking for a way out of this one...

BW: Keep it locked in, Miguel!  Crank on it, daddy!

GM:  What do you have against Rick Marley?

BW:  I don't like his style, Gordo.  I don't like the flippy flying.  I
don't like his attitude, sucking up to these nine-to-fivers in the
crowd.

GM:  You don't like him because he appreciates his fans?

BW:  Does he?  Ask his fans he turned his back on before.

[Marley backs to the ropes, still trying to find an escape from the
wristlock...

...and steps up to the second rope where he leaps in the air, dropping
down on the top rope in a seated position and using the momentum to spin
out of the armtwist, grabbing Cortez' arm and snapping him down to the
mat with a deep armdrag!  The crowd cheers!]

GM:  Nice counter by "Showtime!"

[Cortez pops right back up, charging in as Marley regains his feet...

...and yanks Cortez down to the mat again with another deep armdrag that
earns cheers from the fans as Marley holds on to the arm, pulling Cortez
into an armbar.]

GM:  Niiiice armdrag by Rick Marley.  You gotta give him some credit,
Bucky.

BW:  I will.  He's very athletic inside the ring and he's had success in
the AWA... so far.

GM:  What does that mean?

BW:  It means we've yet to see him one-on-one with any true competition
and until that happens, I'm not convinced.  

GM:  Well, the Championship Committee seemed to be convinced as they put
him in the National Title Tournament in just two weeks' time.

BW:  I can't wait to see who he has to face in the first round.

GM:  The big fan poll to determine the Wild Card entry is still going,
fans, and with the announcement that Buddy Lambert is out of the
tournament, that poll is more important than ever.

[Cortez battles his way to his feet, still trapped in the armbar from
Marley.]

GM:  Cortez backs Marley to the ropes, using his weight to his
advantange... ohh!  He buries a knee in the gut of Marley... that's one
way to break an armbar.  Both men back in the corner now... big chop by
Cortez!

BW:  Work him over in there, daddy.  Don't let him out.

[A big right hand from Marley backs Cortez off a step, bringing a loud
cheer from the fans, but Cortez lunges immediately back in, wrapping a
hand around Marley's windpipe.]

GM:  Come on, referee!  That's blatant!

[The ref counts two... three... four... and Cortez breaks the choke,
sneering at the referee as he grabs Marley by the wrist.]

GM:  Irish whip... 

[But as Marley approaches the corner, he grabs the top rope, kicking his
legs up in the air and twisting as Cortez charges in, ultimately pulling
the man from Laredo down into a sunset flip type rollup.]

GM:  Whoa!  What a move by Marley!  One!  Two!  Thr- no!

BW:  That was too close.

GM:  Marley almost snuck out the back door with a victory right there. 
He's right back to his feet... so is Cortez... 

[The two men meet in the middle of the ring, Cortez striking first with
a hard right hand...

...that Marley is more than happy to return in kind!  The crowd roars!]

GM:  They're trading punches in the middle of the ring!  A right by
Cortez... ohh!  Marley fires right back though!  He's giving up some
weight to Cortez but he's still throwin' hard!

BW:  Come on, Miguel!

[This time as Cortez throws a right hand, Marley manages to block it
before throwing one of his own... a shot that seems to stun Cortez,
knocking him a couple steps back.]

GM:  Big right hand by Marley!  He's got him reeling, Bucky!

BW:  No he doesn't, Gordo!  Take it back!

[Marley fires a trio of right hands to the skull, further dazing
Cortez...

...and then springs off the ropes, smashing Cortez in the head with a
leaping forearm shot that knocks Cortez off his feet!]

GM:  FLYING FOREARM ON TARGET!

[Marley pops to his feet, pumping both fists in the air and drawing a
big cheer from the fans as he hits the closest ropes, racing across the
ring to hit the far ropes, rebounding back again...

...and as a slightly-dazed Miguel Cortez regains his feet, Marley leaps
into the air, snaring Cortez' head between his legs, spinning round and
round and round in a satellite headscissors...

...and _snaps_ Cortez down to the mat to a huge roar from the WKIK
Studios crowd!]

GM:  Ohhh my!  What a move by Marley!  "Showtime" is in the building and
these fans are loving it!

[Marley yanks Cortez off the mat, feeling the roar of the fans as he
blasts Cortez upside the head with a couple hard forearms, knocking him
back against the ropes.]

GM:  On the ropes... whip by Marley... 

[And as Cortez rebounds, Marley sidesteps him and _hurls_ him through
the ropes to the floor to a roar from the crowd!]

GM:  He sends Cortez out to the floor!  Through the ropes, mind you, not
trying to cripple the man like Tumaffi!

BW:  Get over it.

GM:  I will not!  That massive Samoan intentionally tried to cripple
Erik Reid and you know it.

BW:  I do not!  All I know is that he tried to win the match.

[With Cortez on the floor, Marley sprints to the far ropes, racing back
across the ring...

...and _hurls_ himself over the ropes, crashing onto a stunned but
recovering Cortez to big cheers from the fans!]

GM:  WHOOOOOA NELLY!  What a dive that was!

[Marley springs to his feet, pumping his fists in celebration again as
he yanks Cortez off the mat, hurling him under the ropes back into the
ring.]

GM:  Cortez back in... Marley steps up on the apron... and he's going up
top, Bucky!

BW:  Come on, Cortez, you worthless Texan!  Get off your lazy-

GM:  Marley's up top!  He's poised!

[And with a mighty leap, Marley hurls himself high in the air tucking
his arms and legs in to his torso...

...and slams backfirst down on the chest of Cortez, knocking all the
wind out of the opposition.]

GM:  OHHHHHH!  He calls that The Highlight Reel!

[Marley rolls over into a lateral press, reaching back to grab a leg.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREE!!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


MC:  Your winner of the match in a time of four minutes and seventeen
seconds...

"SHOWTIME"  RICK MARRRRLEY!

[Marley pops up to his feet, leaping to the midbuckle to soak up the
cheers of the fans as he beats on his chest with both fists before
lowering his hands to his waist, making the "I want the belt" gesture.]

GM:  A big victory for Rick Marley, building momentum as he gets ready
for the National Title Tournament just fourteen days away, Bucky.

BW:  There's no way this guy wins the gold... just no way, daddy!

GM:  We shall see about that.  And he's on his way over here to join us
right now.

[The camera cuts back to the announce position as a slightly winded
"Showtime" Rick Marley.  The dark haired high flier flashes a smile to
Gordon Myers, and squinting momentarily at Bucky Wilde's newest fashion
transgression.]

GM:  Rick Marley, congratulations on the win.  And right now, I want to
get your thoughts on the National Title Tournament that you will
participate in... just two weeks away.

BW:  He's there for a cup o' coffee and that's it, daddy... guaranteed!

[Marley looks annoyed at Bucky as he replies.]

RM:  Yeah, but I went and got one of those Super Big Gulp cups, so that
cup o' coffee might last for...well...five or six years, Bucky...but I'm
pretty sure that's gonna be well over the time limit that they'll allow
for the match.

[Bucky Wilde rolls his eyes at Rick Marley, waving off Gordon Myers who
was about to ask a question.]

BW:  Y'know what, Gordo, I'll handle this one.  Ricky boy, you're not
gonna be able to take your flippy act on the road and trick people into
thinking that you actually matter in this tournament.  Not with a
monster like Tumafffi waiting in the wings.  Not with Marcus Broussard
on top of his game.  Come to think of it, I don't think that there's one
guy that you can actually claim to be better than.

RM: Bucky, you've been taking your talking points from our Aussie
friend, haven't you?  Listen...I've come out here night after night and
all I've done is knock down every guy that's been put in front of me.  I
lasted in the Rumble for longer than anyone not named Kevin Slater...and
if it weren't for Adrian Freeman...well...who knows how far I could have
made it?

We'll never know.

But it's not a completely lost opportunity...the committee signed me up
for a shot at the title.  Me.  You're not completely off base,
Bucky...I've been a lot of places during my career.  I've wrestled a lot
of matches...and I've never once held a top belt anywhere.  Hell, I've
never had a shot.  The Championship Committee has given me an
opportunity that I've never had before...and opportunity that I've
dreamed about for years.

It's an opportunity that I may never get again...and it's one that I
can't let go without shredding every fiber of my being if that's what it
takes...so yeah, I'm looking for more than a cup of coffee, Bucky...I'm
looking to see if I can't take this whole thing...and I'm looking to see
if I can't give Freeman a little bit of payback along the way.

[Nodding to the two announcers, Marley heads towards the back once
again.]

GM: A focused and serious "Showtime" Rick Marley with another
win...we'll be right back, fans.  Don't go away!

[And with that, we fade away from our announcers to black...

...and then back up to a shot showing the logos of Pro Wrestling
Revolution, Sin City Wrestling, and Southern Championship Wrestling.]

"From Day One, the American Wrestling Alliance was determined to give
its fans the very best action available.  And on Day One, our video
library is officially open for business!"

[Cut to a closeup of the Sin City Wrestling logo.]

"Check out "High Profile" Darryl Styles on commentary.  See the Upper
Crust in action before they were the Upper Crust!"

[Now to the Southern Championship Wrestling logo.]

"Ricky Royal lit up the rings in SCW before he came to the AWA!  "Stars
and Stripes" Clayton Shaw was a SCW staple as well!"

[And then the PWR logo.]

"See Calisto Dufresne in action!  And don't forget the ever-dangerous
Kolya Sudakov!"

[Cut back to the wide shot of all three logos.]

"Events from all three promotions are available NOW exclusively through
the AWA website via DVD or download!  So, be the first on the block to
be an AWA expert and check out all of this great action today!"

[Fade to black...

...and then back up on the announce team.]

GM:  Fans, it's been an exciting night so far here on AWA Saturday Night
Wrestling and it's about to get even more exciting.  It's time for our
Hour One Main Event as the mighty Tumaffi takes on Erik Reid.

BW:  And while I don't expect Reid to last two minutes in there with
that massive Samoan considerin' his injuries, I do have to point out
that this match is even more important for Reid now.  If he can somehow
manage to pull off a win... heck, even if he manages to survive... he
could very well find himself in the tournament, Gordo.

GM:  He certainly could and you can bet the thought has crossed his mind
more than once here tonight since that announcement was made.  He has
made it very clear that he has lost faith in anyone but himself to stop
Tumaffi's path of destruction... so he has put himself squarely on that
path... injured or not.  This is a dangerous situation for Erik Reid.

BW:  Thankfully, he signed a waiver to absolve the AWA of any
responsibility when he ends up eating all his meals through a tube for
the rest of his days.

GM:  Fans, it is a match that, I personally, do not want to witness.  

[Gordon looks a bit solemn.]

GM:  Let's go up to the ring to Melissa Cannon for the introductions.

[We cut to the ring where Melissa Cannon is standing.]

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

[Kansas' "Carry on my Wayward Son" comes over the PA.]
 
MC:  Hailing from Dallas, Texas.  He weighs 221 pounds, here is... 

ERIK REID!
 
[Erik Reid makes his way down the aisle as the crowd cheers.  He slaps
hands with a few of the fans.  Reid is wearing standard black trunks
with green stripes down either side, green kneepads with black trim, and
he is barefoot.  And you would have to be blind to not notice the heavy
taping around his ribcage and chest.]

GM:  Here comes the hometown favorite... and of course, the taping
around the upper torso draws immediate concern from everyone in the WKIK
Studios here tonight.

BW:  Not from me, daddy.  He knew exactly what he was gettin' into.

GM:  Correction then.  Anyone with a heart.

[Reid makes his way to the ring and climbs in.  He raises his right hand
in the air to acknowledge the cheers of the fans.]

GM:  Fans, remember... Erik Reid was not medically cleared.  His return
visit to the doctor this week said he was not healed enough to compete
in this match but Reid signed the waiver anyways.  He has taken his
health, his career, his very life in his own hands here tonight in
Dallas, Texas.

[Reid is resting in the corner, waiting for his opponent as Melissa
Cannon continues.]

MC:  And his opponent...

[A single deep bass drum beats... BOOM.  Then again, a little louder.
And again.  With the sound of rain in the background, the drum beats
resound throughout the arena, like the approaching footsteps of some
terrible monster.  Upon their climax, the crackling BOOM of a
thunderbolt is heard over the PA!

Hollow-sounding drumbeats and reedy-toned woodwinds form an ominous tune
(amongst the backdrop of the thunderstorm) over the PA, as the behemoth
form of Tumaffi steps forth from the curtain to an enormous outpouring
of boos.  The monstrous Samoan pays the fans little mind as he marches
towards the ring, but when he gets halfway, he turns and waves towards
the back.]

GM: Here comes Tumaffi, but what on Earth is he doing?  Who is he
calling for?

BW: Who else, Gordo?  The cleanup crew!

[A pair of paramedics head out, wheeling a stretcher.  They seem more
than a little nervous as they swing the stretcher alongside the ring and
take seats at ringside while Tumaffi smirks at the waiting Reid.]

MC:  From the Island of Samoa, weighing in at-

"TUMAFFI REQUIRES NO INTRODUCTION!"

[Melissa Cannon is cut off as Tumaffi has produced a wireless mic in his
hand, glaring at Erik Reid.  With Reid starting to pace with
anticipation, Tumaffi chuckles and strides over to the announce desk. 
As ever, any description of Tumaffi must include the adjectives 'hairy',
'swarthy', and 'wide-shouldered'.  He is presently wearing a very dark
green silken robe with a purplish-red floral design.

At the peal of his booming voice, Gordon just holds the mic up and lets
him say his piece.]

T:  Therefore, let mighty Tumaffi declare to you a message of
munificence!  For Tumaffi has indeed heard all that Erik Reid has said,
and under ordinary circumstances, Tumaffi may even have respected his
opinion even as I most severely thrashed him for daring to express it! 
But when all truths are accounted for, it becomes clear to any thinking
man, whether from the islands or the mainland... that Erik Reid is
possibly even more insane than Ricky Royal, who should be locked away in
a padded shoebox - and indeed will be after this Memorial Day!

[Myers looks nervous as he interjects.]

GM: Insane?  What do you mean?

[Tumaffi looks down on Gordon Myers with annoyance.]

T:  Tumaffi had presumed you to be a thinking man, mainlander, but it
seems I have so misjudged.  Is it not obvious that only the desperately
suicidal would undertake Tumaffi's "Survive-A-Match-With-Tumaffi"
Challenge INJURED?!  That is akin to attempting to play Russian Roulette
with six bullets!  Even a lesser man could inflict permanent harm on
this fool in his pathetic condition.  It would be better for Erik Reid
if he threw himself in front of an oncoming Amtrak train, for that would
have more mercy than shall the great Tumaffi!  Tumaffi does not suffer
the madness and delusions of others!

[Myers speaks up, evidently unable to contain himself.]

GM: Some would say, Tumaffi, that your insistance on making innocent
people suffer for Royal's attack on you, and intentionally trying to end
their careers... that is madness!

[Tumaffi chuckles at Myers' words.]

T:  Some would say the Earth is flat, but it has not yet so displeased
Tumaffi!  The opinions of malinformed mainlanders is as sand beneath my
heels.  Yet I come to proclaim a message of munificence, as I have said.
 Tumaffi is here to do you and your lot a kindness, Gordon Myers.

[Myers looks confused.]

GM:  A kindness?

[Tumaffi nods his massive skull.]

T: Surely you have seen the degradation of whatever societal standards
of intellect that you may have once had.  The youth of this land rot
their minds with senseless media, rot their bodies with a sedentary
lifestyle, and rot their souls with a prevalent attitude of sardonic,
apathetic ignorance.  These youth idolize the vapid ignorance that your
media idolizes, and therefore such things should be cleansed from your
gene pool!  

Tonight, Tumaffi will indeed cleanse a rot from your gene pool when he
exterminates the madman Reid, and on Memorial Day, Ricky Royal can
expect the same.  

[Myers looks stunned by Tumaffi's words.]

T:  Future generations of mainlanders, should they be fortunate enough
to rise from the moribund societal and cultural rut that you are digging
for them, will surely hail Tumaffi for his foresight and vision in such
things, even as they remember me as the mightest champion of all time! 
TUMAFFI HAS DECLARED THESE THINGS TO BE ABSOLUTELY TRUE!

And just as Tumaffi has declared it, so tonight you shall see it come to
pass.

[Myers pulls the mic away from Tumaffi - who evidently was done with it
anyways as he starts to approach the ring, removing his large robe as he
walks.]

GM:  That's just sick!  

BW:  What a man!

GM:  GENETIC CLEANSING?!  I remember a guy talking about that many years
ago, and he met a bad end, Bucky.

BW: Yeah?  If that was Tumaffi, we'd all be goosesteppin' and wearin'
florals, daddy!

GM: That is despicable!  Erik Reid has to face the monster injured right
now, and after what I just heard, I hope he cleans Tumaffi's clock once
and for all! 

[With the robe removed, Tumaffi tosses it aside as he climbs the steps
up onto the apron, stepping through the ropes...

...where Erik Reid leaps into action, charging across the ring as
Michael Meekly rings the bell to officially start the match.]

GM:  Reid's not waiting for a second, Bucky!

[As Tumaffi gets both feet into the ring, Reid leaves his, lashing out
with his bare feet into the chest of Tumaffi.  With the Samoan still
off-balance from climbing through the ropes, he stumbles back to fall
into the turnbuckles.]

GM:  Ohh yeah!  Reid rocked him!

BW:  He was already off balance.  Don't get cocky for your boy yet,
Gordo.

GM:  Tumaffi's backed in the corner, barely on his feet...

[Full of fire, Erik Reid stays in the corner with Tumaffi, wildly
throwing rights and lefts with reckless abandon at the head and upper
torso of a surprised Tumaffi.]

GM:  He's all over him in there!  Listen to these fans!

BW:  They're as overeager as you are.

GM:  Reid's tearing into him like there's no tomorrow!  Come on, Erik! 
Show this big bully what Texas pride is all about!

[With the fans roaring to cheer him on, Reid leaps up to the midbuckle
where he continues the assault with the fans counting off for the blows
to the head!]

"ONE!"
"TWO!"
"THREE!"
"FOUR!"
"FIVE!"
"SIX!"
"SEVEN!"
"EIGHT!"
"NINE!"
"TEN!"
"ELEVEN!"
"TWELVE!"
"THIRTEEN!"
"FOURTEEN!"
"FIFTEEN!"
"SIXTEEN!"
"SEVENTEEN!"
"EIGHTEEN!"
"NINETEEN!"
"TWENTY!"

[Reid pumps a fist in the air at the cheering fans...

...which gives the dazed Tumaffi a moment to reach up with his powerful
right arm and simply shove Erik Reid off the second rope, tossing him
down to the mat on his back!]

GM:  Ohh!  Tumaffi just throws him aside!  What power by the big Samo-

[But the crowd's roar cuts off Gordon Myers' as Reid pops right back to
his feet, charging back across the ring...

...and driving his bare feet into the sternum of Tumaffi again, keeping
him backfirst in the turnbuckles!]

GM:  Another running dropkick!  Erik Reid knew he couldn't give Tumaffi
a chance to get going so he's all over him.  And the best way to protect
that injured sternum and ribs?  Don't get hit!  

BW:  We'll see how long that lasts, daddy!  

GM:  Well, right now... Reid's up on the second rope again!

[And again, the crowd counts along...]


"ONE!"
"TWO!"
"THREE!"
"FOUR!"
"FIVE!"
"SIX!"
"SEVEN!"
"EIGHT!"
"NINE!"
"TEN!"
"ELEVEN!"
"TWELVE!"
"THIR- OHHHHHHH!"

[The crowd groans as Tumaffi reaches up with both arms this time,
hurling Reid more than halfway across the ring with a mighty shove off
the buckles.]

GM:  He throws Erik Reid off the buckles again... but look at him,
Bucky.  He looks dazed!

BW:  You let me hit you in the head thirty times and see how you feel,
daddy!

GM:  No thank you!  And look at Erik Reid!  He's on his feet again,
charging back in on Tumaffi!

[Reid sprints at top speed across the ring, trying to keep Tumaffi
cornerned and on the ropes...

...but the big Samoan simply takes one step out of the corner and
_blasts_ Reid across the heavily taped sternum with a knife edge chop!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[The crowd goes silent from the powerful chop that leaves Erik Reid on
the canvas, clutching his injured chest and writhing in pain.]

GM:  My heavens... that might do it right there, fans.  The exact thing
that we were all hoping would _not_ happen.

BW:  Speak for yourself, Gordo.  This is a dream come true for me.

GM:  You're a cold, heartless son of a- oh no... no, not this.

[The crowd buzzes as Tumaffi steps forward out of the corner, looking
down at the hurting Reid.  He slowly lifts his right arm as high as he
can... windmilling it around and around...]

GM:  Come on, Erik!  Come on, kid!

[And leaps into the air as high as he can... which while not very
high... is still impressive for a four hundred pound monster determined
to put his victim through the canvas with an elbow drop...

...an elbow drop that comes up empty as Reid just barely avoids it with
a last-second roll!  The crowd roars in response as Tumaffi's four
hundred pound frame smashes into the mat!]

GM:  Yeah!  Thatta boy, Erik!  Way to go, kid!

BW:  I thought we were supposed to be unbiased out here.

GM:  When you start doing it, maybe I'll join you.

[As Erik Reid pulls himself off the mat using the middle rope, Tumaffi
pushes himself off the mat, taking a single knee...

...which gives Reid a brief advantage as he charges back in, grabbing
Tumaffi in a side headlock and driving clenched fists into his head over
and over again.]

GM:  Erik Reid back to work on Tumaffi!  Battering him with right hands
and-

[Tumaffi bellows loudly as he shoves Reid across the ring, easily
breaking the side headlock attempt.]

GM:  Good heavens.  Look at that power.

BW:  The strongest man in the AWA by far, Gordo.  No doubt.

GM:  Tumaffi back up to his feet and he does not look the slightest bit
happy about what we've seen in this one so far.

BW:  Can you blame him?

[Just as Tumaffi reaches his feet, Reid charges across the ring once
more, leaping into the air...

...and _popping_ Tumaffi right between the eyes with a flying forearm
smash!]

GM:  Ohhh!  What a shot by Reid!  Erik Reid caught him right between the
eyes and the big man looks wobbly!

[The crowd roars as the massive Samoan stumbles back a couple steps,
trying to stay on his feet despite the repeated blows to the head
fuzzying his mind.]

GM:  Reid's sizing him up... trying to decide what might take the big
man off his feet...

[The Dallas native moves in again, feeling the cheers of his hometown
fans inspiring him...

...and lashes out with a double arm clap on the hard head of the
Samoan!]

GM:  Bellringer!  That might do it!

[The cheers grow louder as Tumaffi's eyes glaze, his feet moving just a
little bit, trying to stay underneath his huge frame...

...which causes Reid to move in again, smashing his right hand against
the skull of Tumaffi.]

GM:  Big right hand!  The big man is rocked!

[Reid, nodding his head as the fans cheer, winds up again...

...and drives another big right hand into the head of his vicious
opponent, causing him to take another step back.]

GM:  He caught him good with that one!  Tumaffi's in trouble!

[Grabbing Tumaffi by his long black hair, Reid cradles his head and
drives in a few more clenched fists before releasing it, allowing
Tumaffi to totter back a few more steps...

...and then the crowd loses their collective minds as Reid lifts his
right hand in the air, fingers arched to signal for the Iron Claw!]

GM:  He's calling for the Claw!  Reid's calling for the Claw!

BW:  Tumaffi's head is too hard!  It's not going to work!

GM:  We're about to find out!  Here he comes!

[Reid charges back in from a few steps away...

...and gets caught squarely in the sternum with a brutal side thrust
kick from the big Samoan!]

GM:  Ohhhh!  Tumaffi caught him!  The Claw was coming but Tumaffi caught
him!

BW:  Right in the chest too!  I love it.  Hahaha!  I love it!

GM:  You're sick, Bucky Wilde!  Just sick!

[Tumaffi stands over the downed Reid again, looking out over the jeering
fans as he slowly reaches down to grab Reid.]

GM:  Oh, look at this.  He's grabbing him by the tape on the ribs...
what a- ohh!  He pulled him up by the tape!  Like the ribs weren't hurt
enough!  Like the sternum wasn't badly bruised already!

BW:  You use whatever you can to win the match, daddy!  If Reid didn't
want the tape used against him, he shouldn't have worn it into the ring.

[With Reid back to his feet and his hand hooked under the tape, Tumaffi
ragdolls Reid around by the tape, further loosening it before throwing
Reid violently into the turnbuckles by the tape.]

GM:  Absolutely despicable, Bucky.  He threw him by the tape into the
corner and you know that had to do further damage to the ribs... you
just know it did!

BW:  Uh oh.  Speaking of damage to the ribs... look at this, Gordo! 
Look at this!

[The crowd buzzes as Tumaffi leans over, grabbing the middle rope as
Reid leans against the corner...]

GM:  Oh, come on!  Get the man out of the corner, referee!

[Tumaffi lunges forward, driving his shoulder squarely into the ribcage
of Reid!]

GM:  Ohhhh!  That's enough!  Get in there, referee!

BW:  Gordo, that ref may want to think about stopping this match.

GM:  I think you're right.  I think he should- no!

[The crowd groans as Tumaffi drives his shoulder into the torso again,
bringing a wail of pain from Erik Reid.]

GM:  Get in there, referee!  Stop him!

[Tumaffi bellows at the crowd...

...and drives yet another shoulder into the ribcage, actually taking
Reid up into the air from the impact this time.]

GM:  Good heavens, fans.  This is getting difficult to watch.

BW:  Look at this, Gordo.  Reid's trying to slump down to the mat but
Tumaffi's holding him up by the hair, screaming at him, right in his
face.  This is great.

GM:  I can call this situation a lot of things but "great" would not be
one of them.

BW:  Oh, you were loving it when Reid cheated to start the match!

GM:  Cheated?!

BW:  He jumped him before the bell!  Even if you're going to be biased,
at least admit that!

[Tumaffi sneers at the referee who is ordering him to let Reid out of
the corner... then grabs his opponent by the wrist, firing him across
the ring with an Irish whip.]

GM:  Ohh!  Hard whip to the corner by Tumaffi and- oh no, what's he
doing here!

BW:  He's finishing this... just like you asked for.

GM:  Somebody needs to stop this, Bucky.  This isn't- no!

[With the fans practically pleading for the match to end, Tumaffi
attempts to grant their wish by rampaging across the ring...

...but at the last moment, Reid dives to the side, causing Tumaffi to
crash chestfirst into the buckles!]

GM:  HE MISSED!  HE MISSED THE AVALANCHE!

[Tumaffi staggers backwards out of the corner, clutching his sternum.]

GM:  And now it's Tumaffi's sternum in pain!  How's it feel, big man?!

[With his opponent in some trouble, Reid backs into the corner he was
just in, pushing himself up to the second rope with an anguished look on
his face from the effort.]

BW:  What an idiot.  High risk offense when your ribs are all busted up?
 No wonder Tumaffi's wants to clean the gene pool of this moron.

GM:  Reid's going for the home run here!

[Tumaffi staggers back towards him and Reid leaps for the second rope,
hooking his legs around the head of Tumaffi in what appears to be a rana
attempt...

...but Tumaffi blocks it, staying on his feet.]

GM:  Oh no!

BW:  Spike him down, big man!  Finish him!

[With Reid battling  for the takedown and Tumaffi battling  for the
powerbomb counter, the Texan starts firing right hands into the hard
skull of the Samoan.]

GM:  He's fighting him!  He's battling!  Right hand after right hand
after right hand...

[And he apparently weakens Tumaffi enough to escape his grip, popping
out of the headscissors onto his feet on the mat right in front of his
opponent...

...and springing to his feet, hand set for the Iron Claw.]

GM:  CLA- blocked by Tumaffi!

[With his left hand blocking the Claw, Tumaffi grabs Reid's hair with
his right hand...

...and _drives_ his rock-hard skull into the head of Erik Reid, knocking
him through the ropes and down to the concrete floor!]

GM:  And down goes Reid to the floor!  What a headbutt!  What a powerful
blow by Tumaffi!

BW:  Reid might be out cold.  This match might end in a countout right
here.

[But Tumaffi will have none of that, shaking the cobwebs to step through
the ropes before dropping down to the concrete floor.]

GM:  So much for that idea.

BW:  He doesn't want a countout.  He wants to pin this guy... he wants
to put him on that stretcher and wheel him out of the building, Gordo. 
Tumaffi is a man on a mission tonight!

GM:  And you just have to wonder if he has this much focus in two weeks'
time... can anyone stop him?

[With both men out on the floor now, Tumaffi pulls Reid up by the hair
and winds up...

...driving the edge of his fingers into the chest with a martial arts
style thrust, knocking Reid right back down to the padded floor.]

GM:  Good heavens.  Erik Reid might want to think about taking the
countout loss here.  He might be able to save his career if he does.  If
he doesn't, I just don't know what Tumaffi intends to do in this one.

[Tumaffi turns to the announce desk, bellowing to anyone who will
listen.]

"NO ONE WILL STOP TUMAFFI!  NO ONE!"

[And drives a hard boot into the ribs of Reid, rolling him onto his back
as he glares at the jeering fans.]

GM:  I guess that was a message for us, Bucky.

BW:  I'm guessing it was for you.

GM:  He's pulling him off the floor again... now what's he doing?

[The crowd buzzes as the Samoan shoves his opponent back against the
ringpost, holding him up by the hair for a moment.]

GM:  Uh oh.  Another chop?

BW:  Looks like it, daddy!

[Tumaffi lashes out with a big knife edge chop...

...but Reid dives to the side, causing the Samoan to chop the steel
ringpost!]

GM:  Ohhhh! 

BW:  He chopped the post!  Tumaffi chopped the post!

GM:  He might have broken his hand!

BW:  Or the ringpost.

GM:  Whatever the case... this is Erik Reid's chance!  The fans are
roaring and-

[Reid lunges into action, peppering his big opponent with right hands
that knock him further and further back from the ringpost, still
cradling his injured hand.]

GM:  Tumaffi's in trouble again...

BW:  And that idiot Reid is going for high risk again!  What a goof!

[The Texan quickly climbs up on the middle rope, looking down at
Tumaffi...

...and _hurls_ himself high into the air, bringing both hands smashing
down across the head of the Samoan!]

GM:  DOUBLE AXEHANDLE OFF THE APRON!!  OHHH MY!

[Tumaffi wobbles away from the impact of the blow, stumbling away from
the ring...

...and perilously close to the announce desk.]

GM:  Uhhh, Bucky?

BW:  I'm getting out of here!

GM:  Wait for me!

[The massive Samoan stumbles to a stop near the announce desk, swinging
wildly at the air but staying on his feet...

...that is, until...

Seizing the moment, the Texan sprints across the area between the ring
and the announce desk, leaving his feet...

...and scoring with a huuuuuuge running dropkick under the jaw that
causes Tumaffi to stumble backwards...

...right into the announce desk, an act that brings both the announce
desk and the mighty Tumaffi crashing down to the concrete floor in a
heap.

The crowd _erupts_ for the scene, going into a frenzy as an anguished
Erik Reid climbs to his feet, clutching his ribs with his left arm and
holding his right arm high above to salute the cheering fans.]

GM:  Bucky?  Bucky, can you hear me?

BW:  Unfortunately.

GM:  Fans, we got out of Dodge City in a hurry there and it's a good
thing because our announce table just got levelled by a four hundred
pound Samoan!

BW:  A four hundred pound Samoan who is on the verge of getting counted
out!  Get up, Tumaffi!  Get up!

[Reid sees the same scenario as he stumbles across the floor, gingerly
moving as quickly as possible before rolling back into the ring where he
quickly grabs the referee by the shirt, shaking his head.]

BW:  Are you kidding me?  

GM:  Is he refusing the countout win?

BW:  This moron has a chance to beat Tumaffi by countout... and I bet
he'd even get a spot in the tournament out of it... and he's refusing
it?!

GM:  He wants to win this in the ring and ordinarily I'd applaud that
but in this situation, I think he should take the win and go home!

[While Reid argues with the referee, a dazed Tumaffi emerges from the
wreckage of the announce desk, staggering towards the ring.]

GM:  Well, it's too late now.  Erik Reid refused the countout victory...
refused to win in that fashion...

BW:  And now he's got one angry Samoan rolling under the ropes back into
the ring.

[Reid pulls Tumaffi off the mat by the hair as he gets to a knee,
pushing him back against the ropes and reaching for a free arm.]

GM:  Irish whi- reversed by Tumaffi!

[The Texan rebounds off the far ropes, sprinting back towards a waiting
Tumaffi, leaping into the air for a cross body block...

...and getting snatched out of the sky by a motionless Samoan!]

GM:  Caught!  He caught him!  Reid went for the high cross- OHHHH!

[The crowd groans along with Myers as Tumaffi drops down to a knee,
slamming Reid's ribs into a bent knee in a brutal backbreaker.]

GM:  Good heavens!  A big time backbreaker by Tumaffi and-

BW:  And he's not done with him, daddy!  It's not over yet!

[Tumaffi shows no effort at all in standing back up, still holding Reid
in his arms...

...and dropping down to a knee again, smashing Reid's ribcage into bony
knee.]

GM:  Come on!  That's enough!

BW:  Oh, I have a feeling it's far from enough, daddy!

GM:  Come on, referee!  Stop this match right now!  This is over!  Reid
is-

[The mighty Samoan climbs to his feet again, turning a full 360 so the
entire WKIK Studios can see Reid helpless in his arms.  The camera
catches a closeup of Reid's face, a small trickle of blood forming in
the corner of one side of his mouth...

...and brings him down across the knee again!]

GM:  Three mammoth backbreakers by Tumaffi!  This is... this is bad,
fans.  We need to get some help out here for Erik Reid!  We need to-

[The referee is screaming at Tumaffi to end the match...

...causing Tumaffi to take one arm away from Reid, continuing to hold
Reid up with the other arm.]

GM:  He's holding him up with one arm!  Look at the- OHHHH!

[The crowd explodes in jeers as Tumaffi shoves the referee down to the
mat.]

GM:  That's it!  Right there, that's it!  Ring the bell!

[Still holding Reid in the air, Tumaffi lets loose a horrific bellow...

...and _drops_ down to the mat in a powerslam, driving all of his weight
down on the upper torso of Erik Reid!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[He stays on top of Reid for a moment, reaching his mighty arm up in the
air...

...and bringing it down on the mat.  Once.  Twice.  Three times.]

BW:  Tumaffi wins!  Tumaffi scores the victory!

GM:  This match is over... and not because of that pinfall.  Tumaffi has
_got_ to be disqualified for his attack on the official!  He's got to
be- wait a second... wait a second now...

[Rolling off of Reid, Tumaffi pushes himself up to his feet, looking
down on Reid, slamming his fist into his chest and letting loose a
bellow...

...before leaping straight up in the air and bringing all four hundred
pounds down across the body of Erik Reid in a mammoth splash!]

GM:  OHHHHHHHHHH!  Good lord!  Somebody... anybody stop this!  Give me a
break, this needs to stop!

[Tumaffi pushes up to his knees, looking down coldly at the motionless
Erik Reid who has more than a trickle of blood coming from the corner of
his mouth now.]

GM:  That man is an animal, Bucky.  A beast.  A heartless monster!

BW:  I know.  Ain't it great?

GM:  You... I don't know what to do with you.  This is a horrible
situation and- wait a second... now what's he doing?

[Tumaffi slowly gets back to his feet, grabbing Reid by the bare foot
and dragging him towards the corner.]

GM:  No.  

BW:  Oh yeah, baby!  Get the mop!  We're going to need to clean the ring
here in a second!

GM:  This isn't right, fans... this isn't right at all.  Where is
Tumaffi going?

[With a cold glare at the motionless Reid, Tumaffi pushes himself up
onto the second rope, looking down at Reid.]

GM:  No!  Somebody stop this!  Somebody get out here and-

[The quiet buzz of the crowd turns into a wild cheer suddenly as someone
emerges from the entryway in full wrestling gear...

...except for one boot that he is clutching in his right hand.]

GM:  RICKY ROYAL!  RICKY ROYAL!

[Royal dives under the ropes into the ring, rearing way back with the
boot...

...and _blasting_ Tumaffi over the head with it, knocking him off the
second rope and down to the mat where he quickly rolls under the ropes,
barely able to avoid a second shot across the head with the boot!]

GM:  Yeah!  Ricky Royal makes the save!  Thank god for Ricky Royal!

[Royal leans over the ropes, screaming for Tumaffi to get back into the
ring...

...but the big Samoan is beating a retreat, looking to fight another day
instead.]

GM:  Tumaffi is out of here.  Ricky Royal is out here and he saved Erik
Reid from further injury but...

BW:  But is it too late!

GM:  Exactly.

[An irate Royal spikes his boot on the canvas, dropping down to his
knees to cradle Reid's head in his hands.

Royal tries to get a response from Reid but soon, he's heard screaming
for medicial assistance.  

The anguished cries of Royal calling for help fill the air...

...as we fade to black.

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

"Have you ever dreamed of fame?"

[Cut a little closer.]

"Of glory?"

[A little closer.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Two young students are grappling on the canvas.]

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

You want to wrestle!"

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

...and fade back up on a disturbing scene.

The crowd is mostly silent, an occasional cry of encouragement being
shouted out.  The announcers say absolutely nothing.

On the screen, we see Erik Reid on a backboard, being pulled under the
ropes and placed on the rolling gurney at ringside.  "Ragin' Rebel"
Ricky Royal is right by his side, helping however he can every step of
the way with a pained look on his face.  

The EMTs are hard at work, strapping the stretcher down on the rolling
gurney, clearing a path to get out of the building through some
emergency doors that have been opened up where we can see a waiting
ambulance, lights flashing, in the parking lot area.

After a moment, a "Let's move!" is spat out by one of the EMTs and they
start wheeling Reid's stretcher towards the exit with Ricky Royal racing
right beside it...

...and as they exit the building, we fade right back to black...

...and then fade back up on a black screen with the AWA logo splashed
across it.]

"Join your favorite stars of the American Wrestling Alliance throughout
the state of Texas this week for exclusive meet-and-greet sessions."

[A scrolling list of names and locations flash by in white text:

Kevin Slater and Luke Steele
Best Buy - Dallas, Texas
May 11

Paul Driscoll and Rough N Ready
West Dallas Galleria - Dallas, Texas
May 13

Sweet Daddy Williams and Gordon Myers
South Dallas Shopping Center - Dallas, Texas
May 15

Ron Houston
Dallas Fairgrounds - Dallas, Texas
May 19

All The Stars Of The AWA At Memorial Day Mayhem FANFEST
Fort Worth Convention Center
May 22 and 23

The names end, leaving just the AWA logo behind.]

"All the stars of the AWA are comin' your way so don't miss 'em!"

[And with that, we fade back to black...

...and then back up on the parking lot of the WKIK Studios.  The voices
of the EMTs are still being heard with Ricky Royal's voice heard
occasionally with a "I'm sorry, Erik."  From inside the studio, the
voice of Gordon Myers speaks softly over the scene.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans.  We are currently witnessing a very shocking
scene here on AWA Saturday Night Wrestling.  We usually like to start
the Power Hour with some excitement but... well, right now, we are
seeing Erik Reid, a Dallas, Texas native, being loaded into an ambulance
in the parking lot here of the WKIK Studios.

[The doors to the ambulance swing open as a pair of EMTs scamper up
inside the vehicle, looking to get the gurney up in through the back
doors.]

GM:  What you are seeing, if you are just joining us, is all thanks to
that monster Tumaffi.  He brutally assaulted Erik Reid... a man who was
already injured by his hands weeks ago during the Rumble.

BW:  Come on, Gordon.  You know as well as I do that Erik Reid knew what
he was getting into tonight.

[Even the wild voice of Bucky Wilde is toned down for this moment.]

GM:  No one deserved what happened to Erik Reid.  No one, Bucky.  He
might have signed the waiver but Tumaffi... Tumaffi took advantage of
the injuries and tried to end the man's career.  Tried to take away his
very livelihood, Bucky.

[The stretcher is pushed up into the ambulance, Ricky Royal reaching in
to give Reid's arm a squeeze as the gurney is locked down for travel.]

GM:  You can see that Reid is up in the ambulance... he's being prepared
for transport to a local medical facility.  Ricky Royal is right there
by his side, making sure he gets out of here without anything further.

[As the camera pulls back, we can see several of the other fan favorites
have joined Royal in the parking lot area  - immediately visible are
Kevin Slater, City Jack, Tin Can Rust, and Rick Marley.  In the
background, we can see a vehicle pulling into the parking lot.  After a
moment, Werewolf Gregorson and his wife Trinity get out of the car to
join the silent vigil.]

GM:  As you can see, several of Erik Reid's colleagues have come out to
check on him as well.  A lot of concern both inside the studio and in
the locker room for this young man right now... that's for sure.

BW:  This is a rare occasion of our show being brought to a total stop.

GM:  We did not want to proceed until we knew that Erik Reid was safely
away and right now... yes, it looks like they're shutting the doors to
the ambulance now...

[The doors slam shut and with a quick chirp of the siren, a full siren
wail breaks out and the ambulance slowly starts pulling out of the
parking lot area as the wrestlers begin to disperse.]

GM:  Okay, well, it looks like Reid is en route now and we wish the very
best for him.  If he get an update before we go off the air, we will
definitely bring it to you.  You can see Ricky Royal, City Jack, Tin Can
Rust - on their way back inside the building.  Werewolf Gregorson is
going back to his car to get his gear with his wife, Trinity.

[The parking lot quickly empties and we cut back to the announce table
where our announce duo looks solemn.]

GM:  It's an emotional night here in Dallas.  We all saw the blood
coming from the mouth of Erik Reid - something that tends to imply some
kind of internal bleeding.  And at this stage, we just don't know what
injuries he has suffered.

BW:  Definitely not.  It could be almost anything with the beating to
the ribs and sternum that he took.

GM:  Our minds and hearts may be with Erik Reid for the rest of this
evening but we still have a show to do.  The show must go on as they say
so with that in mind- what?

[Myers has a hand on his ear, listening through his earpiece.  Bucky
Wilde is doing the same, some shock on his face.]

GM:  Wait a secon- fans, we're being told that- go back to that camera!

[After a moment, we cut back to the parking lot area.  The camera is
pointing down but after some running and jostling, we get a quick blurry
view of Werewolf Gregorson's face being slammed into the hood of his own
car.]

GM:  Werewolf Gregorson has been assaulted in the parking lot!

[As Gregorson slumps down to the concrete, two men start stomping him
repeatedly.  The cries of "HELP!" from his tearful wife, Trinity, are
easily heard and as the camera focuses, we get our first clear shot of
the attackers.]

GM:  The Russians!  The Russians have attacked Werewolf Gregorson in the
parking lot and-

[A few more hard kicks from Kolya Sudakov find the ribcage of Gregorson
as Vladimir Velikov starts rifling through Gregorson's rolling suitcase
still on the ground near him.]

GM:  I don't understand this.  What are they trying to-

[The answer quickly comes as Velikov lifts his arm in the air, the
Russians' heavy metal chain danging from his hand as he gives a
triumphant shout to his nephew.]

GM:  The chain?!  This is about that chain?!

BW:  They're retrieving their property.  Makes sense.

GM:  To who?!  Sudakov and Velikov have brutally attacked Werewolf
Gregorson in the parking lot over that metal chain they carry to the
ring with them!  This is terrible!

[Sudakov delivers one more hard kick to the ribcage before the Russians
take their leave, exiting our camera shot just as Trinity dives onto her
husband, still screaming for help.]

GM:  They beat the man down in front of his wife... HIS WIFE, BUCKY! 
What kind of dogs do that?  Rabid, filthy mongrels!

BW:  You better hope they don't hear you say that.

[After a moment, Gregorson's partner, Despair, races into view, dropping
to his knees next to Trinity as he checks on his partner's physical
well-being and screams at the cameraman to "Get away!"  The feed to the
parking lot abruptly cuts out, returning to a shot of Myers and Wilde.]

GM:  I don't know what to say, fans.  Werewolf Gregorson has been
assaulted by the Russians... who knows what kind of condition he's in
now.  

BW:  That's right!  He may not even make the Main Event tonight!  

GM:  That's an excellent point, Bucky - and that's something that could
greatly affect the man about to join us here at ringside.  "Wild Thing"
Kevin Slater, your thoughts on what we just saw?

[Kevin Slater walks up to the desk in his full ring gear, including his
bandanna, sunglasses, and ring coat, flanked by Megan Flaherity, wearing
her usual black skirt and green blouse.  Slater stands next to Myers and
begins talking.]

KS:  It's a tough thing, Gordon.  The AWA is filled with a bunch of
backjumping cowards looking to make a name for themselves by taking
people out.  Tumaffi tried to cripple Erik Reid earlier tonight.  The
Russians just tried to take out Gregorson.  Who knows if he'll even make
the Main Event tonight?

[Myers nods.]

GM:  And then there's the Masked Menace and Spyder LZ who have been
chasing you for weeks now.  You may get your hands on them tonight...
but in fourteen days at Memorial Day Mayhem, you and Luke Steele have
them in tag team action!  

[Slater grins, clapping his hands together.]

KS:  Soon Gordon, soon.  In just two weeks, myself and Luke Steele will
have Spyder LZ and the Masked Menace in the ring.  I'm fully looking
foward to it.  And tonight, well, tonight we have a big twelve man tag. 
That we do.  Tornado style, all the men in the ring.  I could talk about
my partners, but I'm sure they all have their sights set on those that
are tormenting them.  Myself and Luke, well, we have our sights set on
my tormentors.  I have one focus tonight, and that's on Spyder and
Menace.  Tonight, its just a chance for me to get my hands on them a
couple weeks early.

GM:  Now Kevin, we know you called out the man with the money for
Memorial Day Mayhem, do you think he's going to show?

KS:  I'm glad you mentioned that Gordon.  I think he'll show.  I hope he
shows.  In fact, I'm making sure he can show.

[Slater motions to Flaherity, who produces two strips of paper from her
pocket and hands them to Slater.]

KS:  Right here in my hands Gordon, I have two ringside seats to the
Fort Worth Convention Center, Memorial Day Mayhem.  Two seats, they'll
be at the Will Call window.  Instructions are that whoever shows up to
claim them, they be given these tickets.

[Myers looks at the tickets while Bucky Wilde intercedes.]

BW:  Just... anyone who shows up can get the tickets?  Do you have ANY
idea who it is, Slater?

[Slater glares at Wilde.]

KS: I've got it narrowed down to a select few.  Their names are on the
claim list.  The tickets are waiting.  After the Real Deal and I take
out Menace and Spyder LZ, I get to confront whoever.  I beg you, show
up, come over the barrier to the ring, and we'll settle this.  

People are right, Gordon, I won't be rid of this bounty by taking out
the first two thugs.  I need to get to the source.  And this is as good
a place as any to start.  May twenty-fourth, Man with the Money, show
up.  I invite you.  Meet me face to face, and let's settle this.

[Slater nods, and the two walk away, leaving the announce duo behind.]

GM:  The Man With The Money is on the guest list for Memorial Day
Mayhem!  Will he show up?  You'll have to tune in to find out!  Fans,
don't go away, we'll be right back!

[And with that, we fade to black...

...and then back up on a screen with the AWA logo splashed across the
top with a "Live Events Schedule" graphic underneath.  The backdrop is
some generic space photograph showing the moon and some stars.]

"Join all the stars of the American Wrestling Alliance as they come to
your town!"

[The screen changes to show a graphic reading "MEMORIAL DAY MAYHEM -
May 24th, Ft. Worth Convention Center."]

"Celebrate your Memorial Day Weekend with the help of the American
Wrestling Alliance as we will be in Fort Worth on May 24th for a HUGE
live event!  It's Memorial Day Mayhem and you will see the first AWA
National Champion crowned on that night in the Convention Center in
Ft. Worth!"

[The graphic changes to show a list of cities, venues, and dates.]

"On May 25th, the AWA invades the Arena Theatre in Houston, Texas for a
Non-Televised Live Event and then the next afternoon in San Antonio for
a very special daytime show on Memorial Day at the Freeman Coliseum.

Join us on tour in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, Little Rock, Arkansas, and
New Orleans, Louisiana as well with dates to be announced!

[The graphic changes back to the original AWA logo and "Live Events
Schedule" showing a smaller version of the three announced shows.]

"The AWA - the Major League of Professional Wrestling!  Don't miss it
when it comes to your town!"

[And we fade away from the graphic...

...and back up to the announce team.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans.  We have had a wild night here in Dallas,
Bucky.

BW:  Tumaffi and Reid.  The Russians and Gregorson.  What else is gonna
happen?

GM:  And it seems like so long ago now but it was earlier tonight at the
start of our program when Marcus Broussard, fresh off another victory,
got in a physical altercation with Mark Shaw.

BW:  The Shark and the Super Ninja beat him down, they did, daddy!

GM:  Regardless, this match was scheduled to go on earlier tonight but
after that incident, AWA officials opted to give Shaw a little more time
to recover.  I'm happy to say that he has recovered enough to compete in
this match which we will be going to in just a few moments.  But before
we go to the ring, let's take a look at some footage we got just
yesterday with "Pistol" Paul Driscoll!  Roll it!

[SCENE: The WKIK Studios in Dallas, the day before AWA Saturday Night
Wrestling. The studios are empty and dark, except for two men standing
at the interview center. On the left is Jason Dane, clad in a spiffy AWA
sport coat and slacks. Standing to his left, the camera's right, is
"Pistol" Paul Driscoll. Driscoll wears a pair of faded blue jeans and a
leather vest. And shoes, no doubt.]

JD: Fans, we are here where it is all going to happen. In a little more
than twenty four hours, AWA Saturday Night Wrestling will be on the air,
and what a show we've got for you. And one of the big matches on the
card is going to be a titanic clash between two of the toughest men in
the AWA. On one side of the ring, "Hellion" Mark Shaw. And on the other,
a proud son of Texas, "Pistol" Paul Driscoll. Pistol, we're only a day
away. How does it feel to be in a big match in Texas again?

PD: Ha ha. Well, ya might could say 'at it feels jus' like puttin' on an
ol' set o' boots. There ain't a whole lotta people who been in more big
matches in the Lonestar'n I have, so it feels real good.

JD: The same show that you throw an open challenge, Mark Shaw throws one
out too. Was this premeditated?

PD: Not even a little bit, Jason Dane. I look at Mark Shaw, an' I see
someone who's jus' like me. I see someone who ain't in it fer the glory,
an' he ain't in it fer the money. Oh sure, my kids like it a whole lot
when the lights go on fer a-nother day, an' they like it even more when
they be gettin' them hot dinners my wife be cookin'.

But deep down in places they don't be talkin' 'bout at parties, any
wrestler worth 'is salt is in it fer one thing. Nah, three things, come
to think of it.

The mud. The blood, an' the beer.

[The left side of Driscoll's mouth curls into a grin.]

PD: Johnny Cash hisself couldn't sang it no better. Long 'fore people
was gettin' paid gobs o' money to do this, people like my ol' man was
throwin' down every night in places that wasn't no better than a rodeo
ground. Scrappin' fer beers'n sandwiches, bleedin' they heads off fer
not much more than gamblin' money.

Grown men with beards'n whiskey breath who had to pound the pavement
that next mornin' to make a livin'. Hard workin' men who threw down
every night fer pride, an' fer honor. Who didn't care none about some
yonder belt. Who did it cause they was fighters, an' by God that's what
they did. Busted heads by night'n paid for it in the mornin'.

Lookit up, junior, this business was built on men throwin' down at state
fairs an' in beer halls, where there's dirt on the floor 'stead o' tile,
an' where the lights is dimmed by smoke. An' Lord knows, that's the
kinda thing 'at I was raised on. That's the kinda thing 'at Texas
wrestlin' made famous. An' that's the kinda thing 'at we got here, Jason
Dane. An ol' fashioned knock down, drag 'em out.. an' I couldn't be more
ready.

JD: What is your opinion of Mark Shaw?

PD: My 'pinion is 'at he's lookin' fer a fight, jus' like me. Got no
problem with 'im, never bothered me a day in m'life. He jus' lookin' fer
some action... an' soon enough, he'll be lookin' at them lights.

[Driscoll holds up a fist at the camera as we fade out...

...and back up on the ring where Melissa Cannon is standing.]

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

[The instantly recognizable beginning to "Black" by Sevendust blasts out
WKIK Studios as the fans let loose a loud mixed reaction. The curtains
are quickly swept aside and out from the back strides "Pistol" Paul
Driscoll, paying no attention to the fans. Driscoll is clad in dark blue
wrestling trunks, with matching boots and kneepads. His hands are
heavily wrapped up in white athletic tape, much like a boxer. Driscoll
also wears a sleeveless denim vest to the ring. His short brown hair
glistens with water and sweat as he stalks to the ringside area, and
then clangs up the steps.]

MC:  Hailing from Odessa, Texas and weighing in tonight at 263 pounds...

"PISTOL" PAAAUUULLL DRIIISSCCCOOOOOOOLLLLL!!!

[Driscoll raises his right hand as Melissa calls his name, and then
ditches the denim vest to a ringside attendant.]

MC:  And his opponent...

["Go" by Powder blares over the loudspeakers.]

MC: And now, hailing from Los Angeles, California.  He weighs in at two
hundred and seventy pounds, and stands six feet two inches.  He is the
Hellion... here is...

		MARK SHAW!!!!!!!!

[The tall and well built Hellion pushes the curtain aside, stepping
forward.  He's dressed simply, wearing only a pair of long black
wrestling pants, which vanish into a pair of black boots.  The only
colors that are not black are the gold stenciled words "Shaw" on his
boots, and the white tape that covers his right arm from knuckles to
elbow.  Written across the white tape is the word "HELLION" in thick
black ink.  Making his way through the crowd, ignoring everything that's
around him, Shaw steps into the ring and immediately walks to his
corner, standing with his arms crossed as he glares across at Driscoll.]

GM:  Look at those eyes, Bucky.  I would not want to be on the opposite
side of that stare.  Mark Shaw is an intense man on a normal day.  On a
day where Marcus Broussard and the Super Ninja have riled him up, I
might be a little afraid for the physical well-being of Paul Driscoll
right now.

[Referee Mickey Meekly steps between the two men for one moment before
calling for the bell to start the match.]

GM:  This one is unde- Driscoll wastes no time, marching right out of
the corner and into a collar and elbow tieup... both men jockeying for
position in the early moments of this one...

BW:  Shaw should have an easy advantage.  He's got a lot of power in
that barrel-chested frame of his, daddy.

[The Hellion starts to shove Driscoll back when suddenly he grabs a
handful of Driscoll's hair with his left hand and simply clobbers him in
the face with a right fist that knocks "Pistol" down to the mat!]

BW:  And I believe the feeling out process is over, Gordo.

GM:  Good analysis.

[An irritated Paul Driscoll rolls away from Shaw, pushing right back up
to his feet.  He rubs his sore chin, pointing an accusing finger at Shaw
before nodding his head, clapping his hands together, and moving back in
at him for another tieup.]

GM:  Back to the tieup... I'm not sure how good of an idea this is after
what we just-

[And this time, it's Driscoll who breaks the tieup, popping Shaw with a
right hand that knocks him on his rear end.]

GM:  Turnabout is fair play, I suppose.

BW:  I have a feeling this one is about to get real interesting.

[Shaw pops right up as well, lunging at Driscoll as their arms tangle
but the Hellion quickly pulls out, firing two hard right hands to the
side of Driscoll's head that backs him up a couple steps.]

GM:  The referee is warning Shaw for the closed fists.  That is illegal,
Bucky.

BW:  Seriously?  Who knew?

[Grabbing Driscoll by the hair, Shaw uncorks a nasty headbutt to the
bridge of the nose that knocks the Texan back against the ropes.]

GM:  Oof!  That one'll get your eyes watering in a hurry.

BW:  Driscoll's crying in there?

GM:  That's not what I-

"SLAAAAAAAAP!"

GM:  Ohh!  Big time forearm shot across the chest by Shaw and-

[But Driscoll's having none of it, firing back with a couple rights of
his own before blasting Shaw across the pectorals with a knife edge
chop.]

GM:  And Paul Driscoll's givin' it right back to Shaw!

[Winding up with an open hand, Driscoll slaps it down across the chest
of Shaw in an overhand chop.]

GM:  Goodness!  I think you could hear that one out on Atlantic Avenue,
Bucky.

BW:  I wonder if it scared the hookers away.

GM:  Concerned what you'll do after the show?

[Another big chop finds the mark before Shaw lunges forward with a right
cross that slams his forearm into the ear of Driscoll, knocking him a
couple steps back...

...and then the two lunge at one another again, getting all wrapped up
in a sloppy collar and elbow.]

GM:  These two are just ripping, clawing, and tearing at one another.

BW:  The funny thing is I don't think it's the slightest bit personal. 
They're both just trying to prove something tonight... well, that and
Shaw's in a bad mood.

GM:  What kind of mood would you be in if you got backjumped by
Broussard and his Ninja?

BW:  A very poor one.  Which is why I'm friends with Marcus and his
friend from the Far East, Gordo.

[Driscoll somehow manages to muscle Shaw back against the turnbuckles,
pushing on his face with the palm of his hand...

...and eats a hard right fist squarely to the face for his efforts that
knocks him back a step.]

GM:  Good heavens!  What a shot!

[Driscoll's hand shoots up to his jaw as Shaw lashes out with two more
right hands, one to the same spot on the jaw and a second right below
the eye that sends Driscoll spinning away to the ropes, clutching his
face.]

GM:  This is a pier sixer, Bucky!  Nothing fancy at all in this one so
far.

[Shaw stomps across the ring towards Driscoll, spinning him around
against the ropes...

...and getting lashed across the face with a hard open-hand slap that
actually knocks Shaw down to a knee.]

GM:  Ohh!  Was that a slap?!

[A bit fired up, Driscoll slaps on a side headlock on the kneeling Shaw
and tees off with clenched fists over and over and over to the face of
his opponent.  The referee forces a break after several shots, leaving a
sneering Driscoll staring at the kneeling Shaw.]

GM:  Driscoll to the ropes and-

[And Shaw _erupts_ from the kneeing position with a lunging clothesline
that looks damn close to separating Driscoll's head from the rest of his
body.  He collapses in a heap on the canvas, rolling over to his stomach
as Shaw rains down stomps on his head and neck.]

GM:  Shaw nearly ripped his head off and he's _still_ attacking him!  No
rest for the weary in this one.  I think Paul Driscoll might be swearing
up a storm at Marcus Broussard right about now, Bucky.

BW:  As long as he doesn't do it loud enough for the Super Ninja to
hear, I think he'll be safe.

GM:  Not safe from Mark Shaw.

[The referee finally manages to push Shaw away, leaving Driscoll still
covering up on the canvas.]

GM:  Shaw backed away for the moment... but he's on his way right back
in...

[Shoving the official aside, Shaw leans down to pull Driscoll off the
canvas... right into a side waistlock!]

GM:  Here it comes!  He's going for that suplex... that very dangerous
suplex!

[It's called a Backdrop Driver, Gordon.  And if he hits it, the match is
probably over...

...which means it's a good thing that Paul Driscoll chose this moment to
rain down elbows on the back of Shaw's head, breaking the side
waistlock.]

GM:  Driscoll escapes the hold and- ohhh!

BW:  Did he just chop Shaw in the face?!

[The Hellion falls back against the ropes, his hands immediately up to
cover his face from the knife edge chop that just blasted across his
upper lip.  He spits on the canvas immediately, checking for blood as
Driscoll moves in and uncorks a hard right hand to the side of the
head.]

GM:  Have either of these guys even used a wrestling hold yet?

BW:  Driscoll had that side headlock on for a few seconds.

["Pistol" Paul Driscoll grabs Shaw by the arm, lacing in a kick to the
ribs before connecting with a big uppercut that straightens up the
Hellion.]

GM:  Driscoll's got him by the hair and- whoooa!  Through the ropes and
out to the floor goes Shaw!

[Driscoll drops down on the mat, rolling under the ropes where he
immediately goes to pull Shaw off the floor...

...and catches a hard right hand to the ribcage.  He somehow manages to
keep a grin on Shaw's head though.]

GM:  Mark Shaw is fighting back out on the floor but-

[A second right to the ribs causes Driscoll to exclaim in pain.  A third
loosens his grip.  A fourth breaks the grip completely and allows Shaw
to climb to his feet, grabbing Driscoll by the hair...

...and _hurling_ him into the steel ringsteps, upending them and
knocking them to the floor!]

GM:  OHHHHH!  RIGHT INTO THE STEPS!

BW:  The referee is warning Shaw... telling him to get the action back
in the ring...

[But the Hellion is completely oblivious, pulling Driscoll's head back
by the hair while standing behind him in a straddle...

...and drives his forearm into Driscoll's face with a bone-rattling
crossface strike.]

GM:  Ohh!  Did you see that, Bucky?!

BW:  See it?  I heard it!

[Still holding the head in place by the hair, Shaw drives a few more
crossfaces home before allowing Driscoll to slump back down to the floor
in a heap.]

GM:  Driscoll's taking a pounding out on the floor, Bucky.  A
world-class beating.

BW:  Shaw's beating him like he owes him money.

GM:  Or like he's a certain San Jose Shark.

BW:  Or that.

[The Hellion wisely rolls under the ropes to break the count...

...and then rolls right back out, driving a few boots into the ribs of
Driscoll before leaning over to pull him up off the slightly-padded
concrete floor.]

GM:  Shaw, pulling Driscoll back to his fee- ohhh!  Big right hand to
the jaw!  And another!  And a third!

[Grabbing Shaw by the hair, Driscoll promptly slams him facefirst into
the ring apron to a mixed reaction from the crowd!]

GM:  Facefirst to the apron!  And these fans don't know who they want to
cheer for in this one. 

BW:  You would think they'd be behind the Texan but Mark Shaw's gained a
lot of support in the past couple months in the WKIK Studios.

GM:  Driscoll... _drives_ him into the apron again!

[With Shaw wobbly, Driscoll grabs his wrist, executing an Irish whip
towards the toppled steps...

...which causes Shaw's knees to slam into the steel, completely flipping
over them to crash down to the concrete!]

GM:  OHHHH!  The knees hit solid steel there and then the spine hit
solid concrete!  

BW:  Bah!  It's padded!

GM:  Have you seen how thick the padding is?  It's barely enough to be a
decorative cover - it hardly breaks the fall at all, Bucky.

BW:  Don't try to make Shaw sound like some big tough guy.

GM:  The man is double tough, Bucky Wilde - and if he gets his hands on
Marcus Broussard in fourteen days, he's going to prove exactly that!

[Driscoll stomps across the floor towards Shaw, grabbing the steps and
tossing them aside, sending a few front row fans scrambling.]

GM:  Look out!

BW:  Somebody could get killed out here, Gordo!

GM:  Driscoll on the attack again.

[Dropping to a knee, Driscoll pulls Shaw up by the hair, measures him,
and drives a clinched fist into the side of the face.  A couple more
shots follow, the referee counting the entire time.]

GM:  The count is up to seven... now to eight...

[Driscoll peels off, grabbing Shaw by the hair and firing him under the
ropes to the break the count just before rolling back in himself.]

GM:  And the fans are a little relieved to see that, I think.  Driscoll
and Shaw were getting a little too close for comfort out there. 
"Pistol" Paul pulling him up... GUTWRENCH!

[The majority of the fans cheer at the impressive display of power as
Driscoll gutwrenches the big man off his feet and dumps him to the mat
with a big suplex.]

GM:  Lateral press applied.  One!  Two!  

[The crowd roars in response as Mark Shaw slips his hands under Driscoll
and powerfully presses him off, actually sending Driscoll into the air
with the kickout.]

GM:  Wow!

BW:  He's got that much left in him after all that tusslin'?  This guy
might be tougher than I thought, Gordo!

[Driscoll slaps the mat in a mix of frustration and embarassment as he
climbs back to his feet, pulling Shaw into another gutwrench...

...and dropping him down to the mat with another suplex!]

GM:  Another big gutwrench suplex... and another cover!  One!  Two!  Th-

[Shaw again flings Driscoll off of him with a powerful press.]

GM:  Unreal!  This guy is a beast! 

[The Texas native is furious this time as he springs to his feet,
driving a few boots into the chest of the rising Shaw before tugging him
into another gutwrench.]

GM:  Another one?

[But this time, Driscoll gutwrenches him all the way up into powerbomb
position before dropping down in a sitout powerbomb!]

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

BW:  So much for the big powerful kickout, daddy!

GM:  But it's a kickout nonetheless!  Mark Shaw is still alive in this
one!

[Driscoll immediately questions the official, holding up three fingers
and getting two in response.  He spits on the canvas, looking frustrated
as he grabs Shaw by the tights, pulling him off the mat.]

GM:  Driscoll's staying on the attack, trying to figure out a way to
finish off the big powerhouse from Los Angeles... right hand!  

[The Hellion absorbs the blow though, shaking his head, waving for
more.]

GM:  Another right hand!

[Shaw slams his fists into his chest, calling for more.]

GM:  A third!

[The Los Angeles native screams as he shakes off the blow, waving for
another shot...

...to which Driscoll responds by spinning in a complete 360 and
connecting with a right hand that drills Shaw squarely in the jaw,
knocking him over the ropes and down to the floor!]

GM:  DISCUS PUNCH!  DISCUS PUNCH!

BW:  Mark Shaw went over the ropes like he was hit with a cannon, daddy!

GM:  Shaw went over the top to the floor... Mark Shaw took three hard
right hands from Paul Driscoll and absorbed them all but he couldn't
absorb the discus punch!

[Driscoll leans on the ropes, feeling some exhaustion from all the
effort he's put out to keep Shaw down.]

GM:  Both men have had a lot of wind taken out of their sails here
tonight already and-

[Suddenly, the Texan drops down to the mat, rolling under the ropes.]

GM:  It looks like Paul Driscoll, much like Erik Reid, has no desire to
win by countout either, Bucky.

BW:  They're all a bunch of suckers, Gordo!  If there's no gold on the
line, a win's a win.

GM:  You truly believe that?

BW:  The amount on your paycheck is the same if you win by countout as
it is if you win by pinfall.  And that's all that really matters, isn't
it?

GM:  Money is the end-all, be-all for you.

BW:  Ain't it great?

[Out on the floor, Driscoll quickly pulls Shaw up, connecting with
another big right hand that knocks Shaw to a knee.]

GM:  Shaw's looking pretty dazed.  He's been through a lot tonight with
this match and with the attack earlier in the evening.

BW:  Where is Driscoll going?

["Pistol" Paul Driscoll backs away, clearing a path that leads straight
back to the Hellion...

...and he charges back down that path, raising his foot at the last
second as it aims directly for the side of the face of the kneeling
Shaw.]

GM:  BIG BOOOO-

[But at the last moment, Shaw bursts up from his kneeling position,
hooking Driscoll around the waist as he does and raising up to a
standing position with Driscoll over his shoulder.]

GM:  He caught him!  He caught him coming in!

BW:  That big bull moose is carrying a 260 pounder like a sack of flour,
daddy-o!

[Shaw waves frantically at the fans in the first few rows near where
Driscoll ran from, trying to clear them out...

...and then charges towards them at top speed, sprinting with Driscoll
helplessly mounted over his shoulder.]

GM:  LOOOOOOK OUUUUUUUUUT!!!

[The fans scatter as Shaw takes a slight leap into the air, turning his
body into a human torpedo as he _drives_ the body of Paul Driscoll into
the now-vacated bleacher seating inside the WKIK Studios... well, the
first few rows anyways.]

GM:  OHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

[With fans standing all over the place, the cameraman has to work his
way back in through the crowd.  Once he does, we find both Shaw and
Driscoll laid out on the wooden bleachers, bodies wrecked with pain and
agony...

...and neither man moving.]

GM:  What was that, Bucky Wilde?!  What in the world was that?!

BW:  I don't get it!  Shaw just took himself out of the match along with
Driscoll!  There's no way that either of them are getting up from that! 
Absolutely no way!

GM:  Mark Shaw just tried to put Paul Driscoll _through_ those
bleachers... and for no other reason than to prove that he could, I
think!  You've got to be kidding me!

BW:  At a time like this, you've got to be thankful that the AWA doesn't
have guardrails in this building.  Imagine the impact of that on steel,
Gordo!

GM:  Well, I'm guessing the fans would beg to differ.  They almost got
stampeded by the big man from Los Angeles.  The referee's count is up to
five... now to six...

[The crowd is counting along with the referee as the count goes to
seven... to eight... to nine...]


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


[A shower of boos pour down at the referee's signal for the bell and
only grows louder as Melissa Cannon makes the announcement.]

MC:  Ladies and gentlemen, both men have been counted out of the ring. 
At a time of ten minutes and three seconds, this match is a double
countout!

[The boos are deafening inside the WKIK Studios as cries of "LET 'EM
FIGHT!" or "I WANT A REMATCH!" and the like are heard over and over. 
The camera gets one more shot of both men, now just starting to move...

...and then fades to black.

...and then back up on a screen with the AWA logo splashed across the
top with a "Live Events Schedule" graphic underneath.  The backdrop is
some generic space photograph showing the moon and some stars.]

"Join all the stars of the American Wrestling Alliance as they come to
your town!"

[The screen changes to show a graphic reading "MEMORIAL DAY MAYHEM -
May 24th, Ft. Worth Convention Center."]

"Celebrate your Memorial Day Weekend with the help of the American
Wrestling Alliance as we will be in Fort Worth on May 24th for a HUGE
live event!  It's Memorial Day Mayhem and you will see the first AWA
National Champion crowned on that night in the Convention Center in
Ft. Worth!"

[The graphic changes to show a list of cities, venues, and dates.]

"On May 25th, the AWA invades the Arena Theatre in Houston, Texas for a
Non-Televised Live Event and then the next afternoon in San Antonio for
a very special daytime show on Memorial Day at the Freeman Coliseum.

Join us on tour in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, Little Rock, Arkansas, and
New Orleans, Louisiana as well with dates to be announced!

[The graphic changes back to the original AWA logo and "Live Events
Schedule" showing a smaller version of the three announced shows.]

"The AWA - the Major League of Professional Wrestling!  Don't miss it
when it comes to your town!"

[And we fade away from the graphic...

...and back up to the WKIK Studios where order seems to be have been
restored.  The crowd is once again seated.  The ringsteps are back where
they belong.

All is right with the world.

Until...]

GM:  Oh good heavens.

[The fans crowding the WKIK studios cringe as the opening riffs of ZZ
Top's "Sharp Dressed Man" come blaring through the loudspeakers, as they
know this means only one thing - a pounding headache.  The curtain flies
open and from it steps one of AWA's most endearing figures, "Ladykiller"
Calisto Dufresne.  Dufresne is clad in a tight white t-shirt that
outlines his muscular figure and a pair of blue jeans.  His blonde hair
cascades down past his shoulders as he runs a hand through it. 

Dufresne's sharp, hawkish features are scrunched together in a scowl as
he approaches Gordon and Bucky.  The crowd lets him know how they feel
about him, but for once Dufresne doesn't even acknowledge them.  He
stomps with a purpose over to our announcing duo as Myers meets him.]

GM:  Hello, Calisto.  Welcome to AWA Saturday Night Wrestling, live from
the WKIK Studios!

[This only serves to deepen the scowl on Dufresne's face.]

CD:  Don't "hello, Calisto" me, Myers.  I'm out here to discuss the
travesty that occurred last time out in this very building.

[A mild cheer for the beating Dufresne received last time at the hands
of City Jack.]

GM:  Are you referring to your re-introduction to the AWA's newest star,
City Jack?

CD:  "Star"?  Are you kidding me?  City Jack followed me around for a
year back in Los Angeles in a desperate attempt to relieve me of the PWR
Pacific Championship.  And trust me when I tell you, Myers; it was to
_no_ avail.  Some star that guy is.

[A nod, affirming his statement.]

CD:  And what happened two weeks ago was a clear effort by the powers
that be in the AWA to hold down Calisto Dufresne.  They tell me I'm
going to be facing Tin Can Rust, only to have him duck out with his tail
between his legs and have City Jack run in and take his place.  

I didn't prepare for City Jack, Gordie, I prepared for Tin Can Rust. 
And Calisto Dufresne is all about hard work and preparation.

[If you call cheating at every opportunity 'hard work and preparation'.]

CD:  What the AWA did to me last week was unethical!  And what kind of
world are we living in when it doesn't include ethics?

[Boos rain down at Dufresne's hypocrisy.]

GM:  Maybe it was a taste of your own medicine, Calisto.

[Dufresne looks down at Myers, a bit taken aback by his frankness.]

CD:  If you're insulting my integrity, Gordon, I will send you and that
toupee three rows back into the sea of pigs that have amassed here
tonight.

[Dufresne looks out to the fans, disgusted.]

CD:  Just know this, Gordie.  Next time I get a chance to get my hands
on City Jack-

GM:  You mean in the tornado tag team match you're in in just a little
while?

[Dufresne looks confused and a bit panicked.]

CD:  The _WHAT!?_

GM:  Nobody told you about your match tonight?

CD:  Uhh... I've been indisposed this week.

[Maybe hiding in a safe house from City Jack and Tin Can Rust might be a
more appropriate phrase.]

GM:  Well I would suggest that you get back to reality before you get
_disposed of_, because you're going to be facing Tin Can Rust, City
Jack, Werewolf Gregorson, Despair, Kevin Slater and Luke Steele in a
tornado tag team match TONIGHT!

[The crowd roars as the color drains from Dufresne's face and his jaw
falls open.]

CD: Oh shi-

[Myers snatches the microphone away from Dufresne before he can finish
that thought.  Dufresne snaps his head around as if he expects City Jack
to come barreling out of the dressing rooms at any moment. 

But, it is not City Jack who arrives to confront Dufresne.

Instead, he is joined by two big and burly Russians who look very
pleased.  Kolya Sudakov and Vladimir Velikov take up flanking positions,
one on each side of Gordon Myers.]

GM:  What are you two doing out here?  This isn't your interview time!

[Velikov looks annoyed at Myers' presence.]

VV:  Comrade Myers, do you enjoy having your head attached to your body?

[Myers looks stunned... and nods... slowly.]

VV:  Good.  Then I suggest you do not presume to tell my nephew and
myself when or where we go... or what we do when we get there, da?

[Myers nods again.]

VV:  I am glad we... how you say... understand one another.  

Now, Comrade Calisto...

[Dufresne looks a little surprised to be addressed by Velikov... and
quite frankly, looks like he's wondering the quickest route out of the
building at the moment.]

VV:  There is no need for concern over the match tonight.

[What's this?  Relief on the face of the "Ladykiller?"]

CD:  There's... not?

[Velikov shakes his head confidently.]

VV:  No need at all.  You see, Kolya and I... we seem to have... how you
say... eliminated the competition.

[The big Russian chuckles with his gravely voice.  Sudakov smiles
slightly, nodding his head in agreement.]

GM:  What about that, Mr. Velikov?  What on earth provoked that assault
on Werewolf-

[Velikov puts a firm hand around Myers' mic hand.]

VV:  Comrade Myers, why do all you Americans live in little dream world?
 Did you not see that unwashed trash Gregorson and his little friend
_steal_ Russian property?

[Myers' eyes are locked on the steely grip on his fingers.]

VV:  That chain has been in our family for centuries... and this piece
of American military trash presumes to lay his filthy hands on it.  He
takes it from us... raises it over his head like a prize... like a
trophy.

And then America wonders why the world calls them arrogant and
imperialistic.  

[The boos from the Southern crowd are mighty now.]

VV:  Comrade Myers, Kolya and I were simply reclaiming our family
heirloom.

[A grin.]

VV:  I can not help it if your...

[He smirks as he puffs out his chest and mock salutes the crowd.]

VV:  ...proud American fighting man would not return our property
without dispute.  

So, you see, Comrade Calisto... the numbers are... how you say... to our
advantage.  

[Dufresne nods, smiling at the idea of that.]

VV:  Your enemies stand little chance against our combined might.  With
the Menace, the Spyder, and Comrade Hotshot-

[Myers speaks up... a bit meekly.]

GM:  Mr. Velikov?

VV:  You try my patience, Myers.

GM:  I apologize for interrupting but we've been told that Stevie Scott
has an announcement about the match... a big announcement.

[Velikov looks quizically at Gordon Myers for a moment...

...but before he can say anything else, "Hotshot" Stevie Scott emerges
from the entranceway to a shower of boos.

Surprisingly, so does Cuban Assassin #6.  Both men join the growing mass
of humanity by the announce table.

His hand suddenly free from the grip of Vladimir Velikov, Gordon Myers
finds the nerve to speak freely again.]

GM: So, Stevie Scott, what is this "big announcement" you have?

HSS: Gordo, I'm telling ya...whoo!  This is big, baby!  Bigger than that
hairy mole on your Aunt Bertha's cheek.  You see...Stevie Scott is not
just the finest athlete in the AWA, nay, in professional wrestling. 
Stevie Scott is not just a wonderfully gifted announcer, as I have
demonstrated on this program before.  And Stevie Scott is not just the
world's greatest talk show host, as I have also demonstrated on this
program.  Stevie Scott is also a businessman.

[Steviesmirk~!  Stevie pauses and pats the Cuban on the shoulder.]
 
HSS: That's right, Gordo.  Stevie Scott is a bizz-niss-man.  And when
this fine gentleman here approached me in the locker rooms before the
show, and he said to me...well, I'm not really sure what he said to
me...I don't speak Cubana or whatever...but I was told that this man was
willing to offer me cash money for my spot...my coveted spot...in the
big tag team match tonight.

Now, I know that everyone -- and especially you, Gordo, don't lie -- was
looking forward to seeing "Hotshot" Stevie Scott compete in an AWA ring
for the very first time.  And it was gonna happen tonight, until this
man made me an offer I couldn't refuse, and because I felt that he was
the right man for the job.
 
[Stevie nods while Myers looks thoroughly disgusted.]
 
HSS: Because this spot..._my_ spot...it's not just for anyone.  I mean,
someone like say Country Jim -- that's City Jack's cousin, by the way --
could have offered me money for my spot, and I would have said, "No,
son, you're just not good enough."  But _this_ man...this is Cuban
Assassin #6, for cryin' out loud!  Better than the Cuban Assassins 1
thru 5!  He ain't playin' around!  So when the price was right,
Gordo...like any intelligent businessman, I had to make the deal.  Tell
'em, Six!
 
[Stevie grins and somewhat pushes the Cuban Assassin toward Myers and
the microphone.  After an awkward moment of silence, he speaks!]
 
CA6: I no pay you.  You pay me.
 
[And as quickly as it started, Stevie pulls him away from the microphone
slightly panicked.]

HSS: Hehehe...no no, my friend...he no habla English, Gordo.  What he
_meant_ to say was that he paid me lots and lots of money, plus a box of
Cuban cigars, for my spot and he intends to carry on the tradition that
Stevie Scott would have started tonight.  Let's go, baby!

[Before things get worse, Stevie quickly leaves the set with a confused
Cuban Assassin following behind.  Shrugging his shoulders, Dufresne
follows in kind.  The Russians are right behind them all.]

GM:  I don't know if this night can get any more bizarre.  

BW:  How's your hand, buddy?

GM:  Great.  Just great.  Thanks for helping out there too.

BW:  Hey, I don't want the KGB pullin' me out of my bed in the middle of
the night and walkin' me down to the middle of Red Square in my pajamas,
daddy!

GM:  Let's go up to the ring for Ricky Royal's Bodyslam Challenge!

[CLANK! CLANK! CLANK! CLANK! CLANK! CLANK! CLANK!
 
That familiar grinding guitar riff kicks in after the cowbell to
introduce "Mississippi Queen" by Mountain. The crowd cheers and "Ragin'
Rebel" Ricky Royal, Jr. blasts through the curtain. Ricky is in no mood
to messing around tonight--he wears his red wrestling boots and kneepads
and red trunks with the "Stars and Bars" adorning them, along with a
black AWA t-shirt.]
 
GM: Well, whoever this week's challenger is, Royal's got a lot more than
this Bodyslam Challenge on his mind after what happened earlier.

BW:  Thing is, daddy, you can't deny it and neither can Ricky. He's got
Reid's blood on his hands. He's been sittin' back and makin' that
monster Tumaffi mad and lettin' him take his aggression out on AWA
youngsters first and now on Reid himself!
 
[Ricky absent-mindedly slaps hands with a few fans, but largely stays
focused as he strides down the aisle. Breaking with his usual custom, he
doesn't stop to shake hands with Bucky and Gordon and instead walks
right past them and rolls under the bottom rope and into the ring.
 
He takes a mic from the ring attendant and motions for his music to be
cut prematurely.]
 
RR:  Cut that music! 
 
[It dies down quickly, with Ricky pacing in the ring.]
 
RR:  Listen up, folks! This is the end a' the line. No more Bodyslam
Challenges.
 
[Some scattered boos here, amongst a generally confused crowd
response...]
 
RR:  I'll be god-danged if Erik Reid didn't come out here two weeks ago
and speak some truth and I'll be god-danged again if he didn't come out
here this week and damn near put his LIFE on the line in this very ring
here against a MONSTER!
 
[Big ovation for Reid!]
 
RR:  And where'd it get him? In the hospital.
 
[Ricky shakes his head, pausing for a moment.]
 
RR:  And I been doin' what, exactly? Standin' up for what's right?
Provin' to ever'body in AWA what the Royal family name means?
 
[A mixed reaction.]
 
RR:  NO! I've been showin' off, galavantin' around Texas playin' games
and makin' empty promises. Bodyslam this, bodyslam that. Well, that's
enough! That's enough!
 
[Big cheer!]
 
RR:  This is the last empty promises I'm gon' make and it's only gon' be
empty 'til I go ahead and fulfill it by kickin' some big fat Samoan ass
in two weeks!
 
[The crowd explodes in cheers! Ricky turns toward the entranceway and
points his finger.]
 
RR:  TUMAFFI! Bring it to me, big man, bring it to me. In fourteen days,
at Memorial Day Mayhem, I'm puttin' a stop to your li'l reign a' terror.
 
[Another crowd roar!]
 
RR:  And I ain't doin' it for me and I ain't doin' it for the Royal
Family and I ain't doin' it for these fans. That ain't right. I'm doin'
it for Erik Reid. I'm doin' it for every innocent, star-struck kid--past
and future--who's too dumb to realize that steppin' into a rasslin' ring
with a nasty son of a gun like you is like walkin' into a buzzsaw. 
 
[Another cheer! Ricky continues, talking over the crowd...]
 
RR:  You know you ain't hadda do none a' them like you did. You ain't
hadda do Reid like you did. This ain't 'bout revenge for me; this is
'bout puttin' you down for the count and makin' sure you know that
there's rules in this place and god-dangit that there's REAL MEN here
who are willin' to stick their necks out and enforce 'em rules!
 
[More cheers!]
 
RR: So, in two weeks... you ain't got a bodyslam comin' your way no
more... no, no... what you got pointed at you, locked and loaded, and
ready to roll... is one hell of a pissed off RAGIN' REBEL!
 
[Spitting mad, Royal throws down the mic as "Mississippi Queen" kicks up
again. One last huge ovation as Royal leaves the ring and starts making
his way up the aisle again.] 

GM:  Wow!  You heard it, fans!  We apologize for some of the language
used by Ricky Royal right there but... well, considering the
circumstances and what happened to Erik Reid earlier, we expected Royal
to be pretty emotional.

BW:  But he's gotta control that emotion, Gordo.  

GM:  What do you mean?

BW:  In just fourteen days, he's climbin' into the ring with that very
same monster he's rattlin' on about it.  He's climbin' into the ring
with that very same beast that laid out young kid after young kid and
put Erik Reid in the hospital tonight.  He's climbin' into the ring with
Tumaffi.  And in the ring with Tumaffi, emotion only gets you so far
until you just... get... squashed.

[Bucky makes a horrifically juicy squishing sound.]

BW:  Just like grape... daddy-san.

GM:  On that note, let's go to Jason Dane who is in the Memorial Day
Mayhem Control Center!

[We fade away from Gordon Myers and Bucky Wilde to a very patriotic
looking Memorial Day Mayhem graphic with "CONTROL CENTER" written across
the bottom and John Williams' theme to JFK playing in the background.

The music fades as we switch to a shot of Mark Stegglet sitting behind a
desk in a black sportscoat over a red polo shirt with the AWA logo in
white on the top.]

MS:  Welcome, fans, to the Memorial Day Mayhem Control Center.  I am
Mark Stegglet and with just fourteen days to go until the big event in
Fort Worth, Texas, you can tell that tensions are running high within
the American Wrestling Alliance.  It seems like almost every man in the
promotion has a target on their backs and in just two weeks' time, the
pistols will be loaded and aimed at those targets.

[The shot changes as Stegglet turns to face another camera, a small
image pulling up in the corner of Kevin Slater, Luke Steele, the Masked
Menace, and Spyder LZ.]

MS:  Perhaps there is no target bigger in the AWA than the one on the
back of the "Wild Thing" Kevin Slater.  Since Day One here in the AWA,
Slater has been assaulted, attacked, brutalized... all in an attempt to
cash in a bounty that has been placed on his head.  The Masked Menace
was the first to go after the bounty on our very first broadcast and
then a month later, Spyder LZ joined the hunt.

In fourteen days, they will work together, trying to end Kevin Slater
and cash in on that bounty.

[Stegglet turns again, this time changing to a shot of City Jack, Tin
Can Rust, Stevie Scott, and Calisto Dufresne.]

MS:  As much as the last match was about money, this one has a sense of
honor attached to it... it's a battle between two men who do things the
right way and two men who... well, quite frankly, don't.

For the past two months, Stevie Scott has used every excuse in the book
to avoid getting inside the ring to compete.  In fourteen days, the
excuses will run out.

And for the man who claims not to even want to be in the AWA, Calisto
Dufresne faces a ghost from his past in the form of City Jack.  These
two men battled relentlessly in Pro Wrestling Revolution several years
ago but the promotion shuttered its doors before their issue could be
resolved.  In two weeks' time, we get a chance to change that.

[TURN!  This time, the image is of The Russians, Werewolf Gregorson, and
Despair.]

MS:  This one is about national pride to an extent.  The Russians
believe without a doubt that they are the best team in the American
Wrestling Alliance and would like nothing more than to eliminate
Gregorson and Despair from the running for that.  They have taken every
opportunity they've been given to do exactly that.

But Gregorson and Despair refuse to lose... refuse to give in... refuse
to give up.  We do not know the condition of Werewolf Gregorson at this
time but if I was a betting man, I'd bet we will see Gregorson in action
at Memorial Day Mayhem and we just might see Old Glory flying high
before its all said and done.

[TURN!  This time, a shot of the bracketing for the National Title
Tournament pops up.]

MS:  Eight men... all battling for the right to be called the first ever
AWA National Champion.  The last time I came to you from this Control
Center, all the spots were filled except one... one that was going to a
Wild Card entry voted in by the AWA fans.

But now?

[The graphic changes to a picture of Buddy Lambert with a big red "X"
across him.]

MS:  Lambert's out.  And suddenly, we have _two_ spots open in this
tournament.  At this time, we have no way of knowing how the final spot
will be filled.  In fact, I understand the Championship Committee is
scheduled to meet immediately following the conclusion of this show in
an attempt to solve this issue.  But for now, only six men are
officially in the tournament... but of the six men in, it truly is
anyone's ballgame.

[We cut to one more final shot, this time with the details on Memorial
Day Mayhem in the background.]

MS:  Memorial Day Mayhem comes to you live on WKIK in just fourteen days
time.  The Ft. Worth Convention Center still has some seats available so
if you want to be with us live, go to Ticketmaster Online for more
details.  It promises to be an action-packed night filled with some of
the most exciting moments of the year so AWA fans, buy your tickets now
or make your plans to be right in front of your television in just two
weeks because believe me, you do NOT want to miss what happens at
Memorial Day Mayhem on Saturday, May 24th.

[We hold on the grinning face of Mark Stegglet for a moment...

...and then fade back to ringside where we notice that the ring is about
to buckle.  It appears that nearly all the members of the Main Event are
already inside the squared circle with a nervous Melissa Cannon looking
on.]

MC:  The following contest is our Power Hour MAIN EVENT of the evening!

[The crowd roars with anticipation.]

MC:  It is a twelve man tag team match being conducted under TORNADO
RULES!  What that means is that all twelve men are legal inside the ring
at any given time and the winning team will be the one to score the
first pinfall or submission.

[Cannon pauses for a moment, letting the rules sink in.]

MC:  Introducing first, in the corner to my left... they are the team of
Calisto Dufresne, Kolya Sudakov, Vladimir Velikov, Spyder LZ, The Masked
Menace and...

[Cannon shakes her head.]

MC:  The Cuban Assassin #6!

[The big bearded man climbs to the midbuckle, soaking up the jeers of
the crowd.  He looks especially proud tonight... after all, he's a Main
Eventer, yo.]

MC:  And their opponents... in the corner to my right... they are the
team of Kevin Slater, Luke Steele, City Jack, Tin Can Rust, Despair, and
Werewolf Gregorson!

[The crowd roars at the announcement but a quick look will tell you that
that team is missing two members.]

GM:  You heard Melissa's introduction but Gregorson and Despair have not
come out to the ring yet.  We know that Gregorson was receiving some
medical attention backstage over the past hour but we have not received
word as to whether or not he'd actually be competing.

BW:  I'll tell ya what.  If he's not competin' and if his runnin' buddy
sits out with him, Slater, Steele, and those two country bumpkins are in
major trouble.  A six-on-four is a dangerous situation... even if the
Cuban Assassin #6 is one of the six.

GM:  Referee Michael Meekly is talking with Slater and City Jack,
explaining the situation.  I don't know that he has any choice.  Unless
they want to forfeit, he has to ring the bell to start the match.

BW:  They should forfeit, Gordo.  All kiddin' aside.  If they have any
hopes of fightin' in fourteen days, they should cut their losses and
call it Miller Time.

GM:  Slater is shaking his head, pointing at the Menace.  He wants to
get his hands on the Menace and Spyder LZ in the absolute worst way. 
He's telling Meekly to ring the bell to star-

[Suddenly the howl of a werewolf echoes throughout the WKIK Studios and
the crowd comes to its feet in a huge ovation as Werewolf Gregorson and
Despair, both still in their street clothes and Gregorson with a bandage
wrapped around his head like the piper in the famous Spirit of  76
painting, come storming down the aisle to stand next to Gordon and
Bucky.)
 
WG (glaring at Bucky Wilde): Before you say one word, Bucky Wilde, let
me make it perfectly clear that I am in no mood for you or your moronic
babbling tonight.
 
[The crowd cheers!]

WG: And, now, to address the incident which took place backstage tonight
at the start of the hour, I hope, for your sake, Comrades Velikov and
Sudakov, that your partners care enough to watch your backs because,
after you had the audacity to attack me two-on-one in front of MY WIFE
and put her in danger, there is nothing 
 
And I mean NOTHING 
 
That will keep me from tearing you both apart, limb from bloody limb, if
I get my hands on either one of you in that ring tonight.
 
[The crowd roars again.]
 
WG:  And before you start thinking that a little cut on the head will
keep me down, let me just reassure you, one and all, that there is no
amount of blood I will not shed when it comes to defending my wife, my
friends, or my country 
 
And you two GENTLEMEN, over the course of the last few weeks, have
attacked all three.
 
[Despair takes the mic.]

D: One of my closest and dearest friends has been attacked tonight. His
wife, who I also consider a dear friend has had her life put in danger.
 
Obviously someone hasn't done their homework on who they are screwing
around with. I don't stand side by side with many people under any
circumstance. I don't trust that easy and I open up to even less people
than I trust. And to those few and far between people that I hold near
and dear to my heart I will without a second hesitation lay down and die
for.
 
Tonight two of those few people had something horrible happen to them
and right now the only thing on my mind is make someone pay for what
they've done.
 
And if you want to stop that from happening boys, you'd best be prepared
to put me away for good.
 
[As Despair wraps up his thoughts on the match, Bucky tries to interrupt
but has his microphone unceremoniously ripped out of his hand by the
snarling Werewolf.]
 
WG: I thought I told you, Mr. Wilde, that I was in no mood for you
tonight.
 
So, unless you have something relevant you d like to contribute to this
conversation, we ve got a match to wrestle and two Russians to put in
their place.
 
[Despair stares at Bucky grinding his teeth.]
 
D:  I've got a long memory Bucky and on the little checklist of people
to hunt down rest assured you are on it. So if I were you, I'd make
myself real scarce real soon.
 
But for right now, we got more important people to put into the
hospital.
 
[The crowd roars as Gregorson and Despair charge towards the ring, the
referee calling for the bell and diving out of the way as the action
inside the ring erupts.]

GM:  It's breaking down already in there!

BW:  Twelve guys in a Tornado Tag?  What did you expect, Gordo?

GM:  You seem to have found your tongue pretty easily after the Werewolf
and Despair left the desk.

BW:  I can't believe that little twit had the audacity to threaten me. 
Does he know who I am?

GM:  I believe he does... and he really just doesn't care.

[Gregorson and Despair dive headfirst under the ropes, popping to their
feet just in time to find two Russians bearing down on them.  Sudakov
wastes no time in lashing out with a right cross that knocks Despair
back into the buckles while Gregorson and Velikov send the crowd into a
frenzy by trading punches in the center of the ring.]

GM:  Well, they got their hands on the Russians!  And in just fourteen
days, they're going to get the opportunity to do so again... this time
in a straight up tag team match!

[The crowd explodes as Gregorson drops down and double leg tackles
Velikov down to the mat, raining rights and lefts down on him.  Several
feet away, Kolya Sudakov is rocking the ribcage of Despair with body
kicks in the corner.]

BW:  And look at that, daddy.  The Russian War Machine is rippin' the
body of Despair to itty bitty pieces right there.  The man is a former
Mixed Martial Artist, so you know those kicks are doing some damage to
the ribs!

GM:  OHHH!  Did you see that?!

[With the Masked Menace and Spyder LZ on the floor battling with Kevin
Slater, Luke Steele slingshotted over the ropes, crashing down onto all
three men.]

GM:  This one is going to be very difficult to call, fans, but we will
do our very best.  Outside the ring, Slater and Steele are taking it to
the two big bounty hunters.  The Russians and going at it with Dufresne
and- haha!  Look at City Jack!

[The cowardly Dufresne bails from the ring at the sight of City Jack
barreling towards him...

...which allows City Jack to turn his attention to Cuban Assassin #6,
popping him with an elbowsmash that sends the big Cuban reeling before
CJ breaks out into a jig that brings the crowd to their feet.]

GM:  The Assassin is dazed from that elbow and- ohh!  Big right hand by
Tin Can Rust sends the Assassin rockin' back in the other direction...

[Which allows City Jack to uncork a Metropill forearm smash that knocks
the Assassin off his feet to the mat.  A big grin on his face, City Jack
drops back to the ropes...

...where the "Ladykiller" reaches into the ring, pulling CJ's ankle and
taking him down with a trip.]

GM:  Oh, come on!

BW:  It's Tornado Rules, daddy!  You really gonna whine and complain
about a trip up?

GM:  Maybe not but I'm not too happy about this!

[Dufresne pulls the leg so that City Jack's bad knee is above the ring
apron...

...and then slams the leg down, driving the knee into the edge of the
apron to the jeers of the crowd.]

GM:  Ohhh!  He sends City Jack's knee into the apron!

BW:  And there's an intelligent man, Gordo.  Instead of wasting time
with slingshot dives and throwin' punches, Dufresne is goin' for the
knee and tryin' to do some damage that he can actually use to his
advantage at Memorial Day Mayhem.

[Dufresne grabs the knee, ready to slam it down again...

...but Tin Can Rust has rolled out to the floor and steamrolls Dufresne
with a big running clothesline, taking him off his feet to save his
partner just in time!]

GM:  Haha!  Tin Can Rust keeps Dufresne from attacking the knee again.

BW:  But is it too late?  Look at City Jack grabbing his knee.  The
damage is done and it's done big time, daddy!  City Jack may be joining
Ron Houston on the injured list before this night is over.

[Pulling the Ladykiller off the floor, Tin Can Rust promptly slams him
headfirst into the ring apron...

...before getting clobbered from behind by a nearby Spyder LZ!]

GM:  Ohhh!  And for the first time in this battle, someone broke off
from their opponents at Memorial Day Mayhem to assault someone else.

BW:  You knew it would happen, Gordo, it was just a matter of time.  And
now that one guy has done it, you can bet the floodgates will- OHHHHHHH!

[Having slipped away from Kolya Sudakov, Despair gets the crowd on their
feet by sprinting across the ring and turning himself into a human
missile, diving between the top and middle ropes with a tope dive that
knocks Spyder LZ off his feet.]

GM:  What a dive by Despair!

BW:  How did a little guy like him manage to take a monster like Spyder
LZ off his feet, Gordo?

GM:  The speed, the quickness, the momentum... it's all about physics,
Bucky.

BW:  Oh, I didn't take physics.  It was the same period as cooking
class.

GM:  You took cooking?

BW:  Don't laugh until you've have the Wilde Waffle Sandwich, daddy!

[Despair takes the mount position on Spyder LZ for a moment, drilling
him repeatedly with rights and lefts as Tin Can Rust shakes the cobwebs,
stepping up on the ring apron...

...and getting caught with a blistering side thrust kick from Kolya
Sudakov that sends TCR sailing right back off the apron, crashing down
to the floor near Calisto Dufresne!]

GM:  What a shot!  What a kick to the side of the face that was!

BW:  I told ya, daddy!  Kolya Sudakov is a machine!  He's the Russian
War Machine!  And he just may be the most dangerous man in this match!

[The camera quickly cuts again, this time showing Kevin Slater and the
Masked Menace trading big right hands near the front row of fans.  The
fans start to scatter once more as the Menace's bulky frame looks
perilously close to tumbling onto them.]

GM:  Look out out there.  It's a war all over the WKIK Studios right
now.  Slater and the Menace are beating the tar out of one another,
trying to soften each other up for Memorial Day Mayh-


"CLAAAAAAAAAAANK!"


GM:  Whooooa nelly!  Luke Steele slipped up behind the Menace and just
_hurled_ him into the ringpost!  That'll soften up the big masked man
for sure... 

[And the crowd erupts as Slater leaps onto the dazed Menace with a Thesz
Press before battering away with right hands onto his masked skull.]

GM:  The Menace is getting pummeled by Slater and-

[From inside the ring, Vladimir Velikov reaches over the ropes, yanking
Luke Steele up onto the ring apron by the hair...

...and then yanks him over the ropes into the ring by the hair as well.]

GM:  Velikov drags Steele into the ring.  Where did Werewolf Gregorson
go?

[A camera cut later and we see Gregorson lying on the floor, clutching
the bandaged head where a small red spot is visible on the white gauze.]

GM:  Uh oh.  

BW:  It looks like the Russians took him out of this match again, Gordo.

GM:  I don't know about that but he definitely looks to be in some bad
shape right about now.

[Back inside the ring, Velikov pulls Luke Steele up by the hair,
blasting him with a pair of hard forearms across the chest that knocks
the Real Deal back against the ropes.]

GM:  Steele on the ropes... Velikov grabs the wrist... Irish whip across
the ring...

[A rebounding Steele ducks under a clothesline attempt, bouncing off the
far ropes...

...and knocking the big Russian flat with a leaping high cross body
block!]

GM:  STEELE HOOKS A LEG!  ONE!!  TWO!!  

[But the powerful Russian kicks out easily, breaking the pin attempt.]

GM:  Our first cover of the match gets a two count only.  But now it's
Luke Steele teeing off on the Russian, rocking him with right hands back
into the corner.  He's putting Velikov up top!

[The crowd begins to buzz as Steele sets the big Russian up on the top
turnbuckle.  He drives a pair of right hands into the head, trying to
keep Velikov there as he steps up to the middle rope himself.]

GM:  Luke Steele is looking for the superplex on the 300 plus pound
Russian!

BW:  No way, daddy!  No way!

GM:  Velikov's got a firm grip on the ropes though, preventing any kind
of- oh!  Hard right by Steele trying to break that grip.  Another hard
right to the side of the chin connects.

[The crowd roars as Steele goes for the top rope suplex again, this time
getting a little bit of air between Velikov and the turnbuckles before
he has to set him back down.]

GM:  The Real Deal can't get him up.  He fires another right hand in,
showing some frustration now...

[Somehow, the crowd grows louder as Kevin Slater rolls back into the
ring, walking over to aid his partner by stepping up to the second rope
and grabbing the other arm of Vladimir Velikov!]

GM:  Here we go, Bucky!  Together, they can get him up!  Together, they
will be able to-

[But before the double superplex can be executed, Spyder LZ and The
Masked Menace slide into the ring, quickly ducking underneath the former
Cult of Personality stablemates.]

GM:  No.  No!  NOOOOOOOO!

[This time, the Menace and the Spyder execute dueling powerbombs on
Slater and Steele...

...which also causes Velikov to finally be double superplexed off the
top rope and crash down to the canvas!  The crowd roars for the huge
move with five men laid out in the middle of the ring.]

GM:  I CAN BARELY HEAR MYSELF THINK IN HERE!

BW:  WHAT?

[As our announcers struggle to hear one another, the Menace and the
Spyder apply a double cover.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR-

[The crowd roars with relief as both Slater and Steele fire a shoulder
off the canvas at the last moment.  An irate Menace and Spyder LZ get to
their feet, seething at the referee as they reach down to grab Slater
and Steele...

...completely failing to notice City Jack and Tin Can Rust on their feet
behind them.  A double grab of the shoulder swings the two bounty
hunters around...

...right into a snapping right jab by both men!]

GM:  Kentucky's Pride is on the attack!

[Jab!  Jab!  Jab!  Jab!

City Jack does a little jig while Tin Can Rust looks on in amusement...

...and then they simultaneously flatten the two bounty hunters, City
Jack with a Metropill on the Masked Menace and Tin Can Rust with a
double arm bellringer on Spyder LZ!  The fans roar!]

GM:  These people are goin- DUFRESNE!

[The Ladykiller charges at City Jack from behind, intent on drilling him
with a double axehandle...

...but at the last moment, CJ spins on his heels, hooking Dufresne in a
bearhug.  The crowd roars, knowing exactly what is coming next as the
big man pops his hips, pivoting, and _planting_ Dufresne with a massive
belly-to-belly suplex!]

GM:  METROBOOM!  METROBOOM!  THAT'LL DO IT!  ONE!!!  TWO!!!  THRE-

[The crowd gasps with exasperation as just before the three count falls,
"Hotshot" Stevie Scott appears out of nowhere, grabbing the referee's
ankle and yanking him clear out of the ring to break the pin attempt.]

GM:  DQ!  DQ HIM, REF!

BW:  He's not even in the match, Gordo!

GM:  I don't care!  DQ Dufresne's team them!

[But it's not a disqualification that Stevie Scott has to worry about as
City Jack and Tin Can Rust both step out of the ring, dropping down to
the floor and approaching a backpedaling Hotshot.]

GM:  Yeah!  Get him!  Stevie Scott is in trouble now, fans!

[On the other side of the ring, the Cuban Assassin #6, largely
overlooked in the match, yanks a flattened Calisto Dufresne out of the
ring and starts walking towards the entryway.]

GM:  Dufresne and the Assassin are leaving!  They're sneaking away like
thieves in the night.

[Unfortunately for the escaping duo, they run right into their ally
Stevie Scott...

...just as City Jack and Tin Can Rust reach him as well!  Cue brawl!]

GM:  It's broken loose by the entryway!  City Jack and Tin Can Rust are
trading blows with the Assassin... and with Stevie Scott!  Stevie's
actually fighting with them!

BW:  Because that idiot Cuban blocked his path out of the building! 
Stevie didn't have a choice!

[With Dufresne slumped on the floor, the Assassin and Stevie Scott seem
to have no chance and are quickly outmatched by City Jack and Tin Can
Rust, all four men vanishing through the curtain after a barrage of
fists by Kentucky's Pride!]

GM:  They're out of here!  They're brawling back into the locker room!

BW:  And I hate to say it, Gordo, but what an edge that just gave the
other team!  Now you've got Slater, Steele, Despair, and a banged-up
Gregorson taking on The Russians, the Masked Menace, and Spyder LZ! 
That's a big break for Team Moscow!

GM:  Team Moscow?!

BW:  I couldn't think of anything else to call them.

[Back inside the ring, Despair has pushed Kolya Sudakov back into a
corner, rocking him with palm strikes to the body that have Sudakov
desperately trying to cover up.

Nearby, Luke Steele has shoved Spyder LZ under the ropes with his foot.]

GM:  LZ is out on the floor.  There's just too much  action for us to
call in this one, Bucky.

BW:  There certain- MENACE!

[The Masked Menace stampedes across the ring where Steele is preparing
to dive out onto Spyder LZ...

...but at the last moment, Kevin Slater dives into his path, taking the
running back elbow but shoving Steele clear just in time.]

GM:  Kevin Slater just saved his partn- ohhh!  Steele pops the Menace in
the jaw with a right hand...

[Grabbing the Menace by the mask, Steele hurls him through the ropes out
onto the floor...

...and then scales the nearby ropes.]

GM:  Oh my heavens.

BW:  He's calling for a Real Steele Press!  A Real Steele Press from the
top to the floor!  This guy is nuts, Gordo!  Flat out nuts!

GM:  Steele to the second rope... now to the top... he's poised... he's
set...

[But before he can execute, a lunging Vladimir Velikov hits the ropes
where Steele is standing...

...causing Steele to lose his balance, plummeting all the way off the
top rope and down to the barely padded concrete floor below!]

GM:  Oh my... fans, oh my stars... can we get some help out here for
Luke Steele?  Luke Steele just took a horrific fall from the top rope to
the concrete floor and he may be very seriously injured.

[With the ring cleared of everyone but a cocky Vladimir Velikov, the big
Russian starts to taunt the WKIK Studio fans.]

"Where are your American heroes now, eh?"

[Velikov leans over the ropes, spitting on a downed Luke Steele as Kevin
Slater rolls to the floor, trying to help his friend and tag team
partner...

...which allows the Masked Menace and Spyder LZ to assault Slater from
behind, pummeling him repeatedly with rights and lefts and ultimately
forcing him out of view behind the entryway.]

GM:  There goes Slater!  The Menace and Spyder LZ are gone as well!

BW:  And Steele might as well be.

[And the fans erupt as they realize that we're down to the Russians
taking on Despair and Gregorson.]

GM:  Despair and Sudakov are still trading blows out on the floor...
ohhh!  Sudakov caught him with a kick to the ribs... and he shoves him
under the ropes, right to a waiting Velikov...

[Sudakov rolls back in as well, quickly getting to his feet in time to
help Velikov stomp the living hell out of the much-smaller Despair.]

GM:  Look at this savage double team by the Russians, Bucky!

BW:  Ain't it great?

GM:  You're sick!  Absolutely sick!

[Velikov pulls Despair up by the head, pulling his arms back behind
him...

...which allows Sudakov to connects with a brutal roundhouse kick to the
sternum of Despair, causing him to slump down to his knees.]

GM:  These two are just having their way with Despair right now, totally
outgunning the much-smaller man.  And Velikov... where on earth is he
going?

[The big Russian barks out directions to his nephew as he backs over to
the corner, stepping out to the apron.]

GM:  You can be serious.  Is Vladimir Velikov climbing to the top rope?

BW:  It certainly looks that way, daddy!  They're going to really finish
this kid off now!  That's what you get for threatening me, ya punk!

GM:  Would you stop?!

[Velikov slowly gets to the second rope as Sudakov pulls Despair into
what appears to be a gutwrench-type setup.]

GM:  Velikov to the second rope... now with one foot on the top.

[He nods his head arrogantly at the jeering crowd, gesturing with a
thumbs up at his nephew.]

GM:  The fans are trying to rally Despair... trying to get him out of
this position...

[And sure enough, the fans start the one chant sure to drive the
Russians crazy.]

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

GM:  You can hear it, fans!  Chant along with them at home so loud that
all of the former Soviet Union can hear it too!

[An agitated Velikov barks at the crowd in Russian, covering his ears
for a moment before directing traffic inside the ring...

...which causes Kolya Sudakov to hoist Despair in the air, placing him
across his shoulder in a Canadian Backbreaker.]

GM:  He's got Despair up... I don't have any idea on what they're trying
to do though.  I don't believe I've-

[The crowd ERUPTS into a roar!]

GM:  GREGORSON!  GREGORSON'S IN THE RING!  SUDAKOV DOESN'T 
SEE HIM!

[But Velikov does, eyes wide as he screams for his nephew to turn
around, to stop the former Marine...

...but the former Marine sprints across the ring and just as Sudakov
turns to face him, he gets _creamed_ with the Silver Bullet spear tackle
that knocks Sudakov to the canvas!]

GM:  YES!  YES!

[The crowd roars louder as a weary Gregorson gets to his feet and lets
loose that howl.  Dropping down off the ropes, Vladimir Velikov quickly
grabs the Russian chain draped over the ringpost, wrapping it around his
arm...]

GM:  Velikov's got the chain!

BW:  This isn't over, Gregorson!  He's got you in his sights.

[The crowd tries to warn Gregorson as the Alaskan native leans over,
helping his tag team partner off the mat...

...and subtly grabbing a handful of Despair's MMA style shorts.]

GM:  VELIKOV!  VELIKOV IS RIGHT BEHIN-

[And just before the Russian gets within striking range, Gregorson spins
on his heels...

...and _hurls_ Despair at top velocity squarely into the ample
midsection of the Russian, knocking him off his feet from the impact.]

GM:  FASTBALL SPECIAL!  DESPAIR'S ON TOP!

[Gregorson takes up a defensive position, making sure no one comes back
to break the count as the referee counts one... two... three!]


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  THEY DID IT!  THEY DID IT!  GREGORSON AND DESPAIR HAVE PINNED
THE RUSSIANS!  THEY'VE PINNED THE RUSSIANS!  THEY'VE PINNED THE
RUSSIANS!

[Gregorson yanks his partner off the mat, embracing in celebration for
just a moment...

...a moment that allows an angry Russian War Machine to get off the
canvas.]

GM:  What the- Sudakov is up!  Sudakov is-

[And just as the former Marine turns around...

...the former MMA star lashes out with a deadly high kick that connects
squarely on the side of Gregorson's face, a blow that turns out his
lights in a heartbeat.]

BW:  HEAD KICK!  HEAD KICK!  OH YEAH, DADDY!

[Gregorson drops like a gunshot victim, Despair immediately chasing
Sudakov from the ring before returning to check on his partner.]

GM:  That... I can't believe it.  The match was over, Bucky.  The match
was over and Werewolf Gregorson and Despair had won it for their team.

BW:  You know what, the Russians were right, Gordo.

GM:  What?!

BW:  Gregorson and Despair don't get it.  They're playing by regular
rules.  The Russians have their _own_ set of rules that they play by. 
And to them, the war isn't over until they say it's over.

GM:  What are you trying to say, Bucky?

BW:  I'm sayin' it very, very clearly.  Tonight, Gregorson and Despair
won a battle... but in fourteen days, they're in for an entirely
different kind of war... and they just better hope that they're ready
for it.

GM:  Fans, we're out of time!  We've gotta go!  We are fourteen days
away from Memorial Day Mayhem and after all that went down here tonight,
who _knows_ what will happen in Fort Worth?  For Bucky Wilde, I'm Gordon
Myers and we'll see _you_... at the matches!  

[The camera zooms in on Despair, living up to his name as he looks
around in shock, trying to revive his tag team partner who is still
staring at the lights.

Victorious in the match...

But the war?

Ask us again in fourteen days.

Fade to black.]