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                           American Wrestling Alliance
                                 Proudly Presents
                         AWA Saturday Night Wrestling

                         Live from the WKIK Studios
                                   Dallas, Texas
                                  June 14, 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.  I am Gordon
Myers, your host for the next two hours of action, and by my side, as
always, the infamous Bucky Wilde.  And Bucky, we're just a few weeks
removed from Memorial Day Mayhem, an event that shook the AWA to the
very core.

BW:  You got that right, daddy.  The AWA crowned its first National
Champion when Marcus Broussard outlasted 7 other men to strap that gold
around his waist.

GM:  He can thank injuries to Ron Houston, Rick Marley, and Mark Shaw
for that, Bucky.

BW:  A win's a win, Gordo.  The San Jose Shark is carrying gold around
the AWA and no one else can say that.

GM:  In addition to that, we saw the battle between The Russians and
Werewolf Gregorson with his partner, Despair, escalate into a very
heated situation.

BW:  The Russians may have lost the match at Mayhem, Gordo, but no one
doubts they won the battle. 

GM:  A battle that we expect to continue raging on over the next few
weeks here in the AWA.  And speaking of tag teams continuing to battle,
what about the Hotshot and the Ladykiller tusslin' with Kentucky's
Pride.

BW:  Again, Kentucky's Pride got the win at Mayhem but one look at the
locker room shows you that City Jack's laid up in Liberty nursing that
injured knee.  I think that gives Stevie and Calisto the edge in that
one.

GM:  You would.  Fans, it was a wild night in Fort Worth, Texas, and it
was just the first night of our tour.  Since then, we've been to
Houston, we've been to San Antonio, we've been to Little Rock, we've
been to New Orleans, and we've been to Oklahoma City - and throughout
the night, we'll be showing you some highlights from the tour.  But at
this time, we're going to be joined here at the desk - come on in here,
Clayton.

[The fans cheer as a stars and stripes carrying Clayton Shaw steps into
view, nodding his head at the cheering fans as he steps up to the
announce desk, shaking the hand of Gordon Myers.]

GM:  Clayton Shaw, fans, was the guest flagbearer for Werewolf Gregorson
and Despair at Memorial Day Mayhem and got to see first hand just how
violent that rivalry with the Russians has gotten in recent weeks. 
Clayton, your thoughts.

[Shaw leans over the mic.]

CS:  Well, Mr. Myers... I have to say I was a little surprised by just
how intense it was.  Werewolf and Despair were in the zone for that one,
wanting to slap the Russians all around Fort Worth - and that's exactly
what they did.

BW:  That's exactly what they did?  What match were you watchin', daddy?

CS:  The one where those Commie scum had to use a metal chain to knock
one of them boys flat... that's what I saw, Wilde.

BW:  You know what I saw?

CS:  I don't give a damn what you saw, Wilde.  I'm telling you the way
it went down.  Werewolf and Despair had that match won when Velikov used
the chain on Despair.  And to top it off, they used the chain again
later to take Rick Marley out of the tournament.  It's just sickening,
Mr. Myers.

GM:  I agree, Clayton.  So, can we expect that you're looking for a
chance to get your hands on the Russians too?

CS:  Absolutely, Gordon.  The first chance I get, I'm comin' for
Velikov... I'm comin' for Sudakov... and I ain't stoppin' until I take
them both down and out, baby.

[Shaw turns away from the announce table, jogging towards the ring and
leaving the announcers behind.]

GM:  Clayton Shaw is a real American on a mission, fans.  Let's go up to
the ring!

[We cut to the ring where Clayton Shaw is stepping through the ropes as
Melissa Cannon raises the mic.]

MC:  Tonight's opening contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten
minute time limit.  Introducing first... in the corner to my right...
hailing from Parts Unknown... standing 5'11 and weighing in at 250
pounds... Dr. X!

[The man clad from head to toe in all white raises an arm over his
masked head.]

MC:  And his opponent... in the corner to my left... he hails from
Charlotte, North Carolina... standing 6'2 and weighing in at 280
pounds...

"STARS AND STRIPES" CLAAAAAAYTON SHAAAAAW!

[Shaw lifts an arm to the cheers of the crowd as the referee signals for
the bell to start the match.]


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  And off we go in our opening match here tonight on AWA Saturday
Night Wrestling!  

[Clayton Shaw immediately sidesteps from the corner, circling out across
the ring, and lunging right into a collar and elbow tieup.]

GM:  Shaw backs him to the ropes, using that power advantage...

[The referee calls for a break which causes Shaw to step back...

...and overhand slap chop the hell out of Dr. X's chest!]

GM:  Ohhhh!  You could hear that one out on Main Street, Bucky!

[Grabbing the masked man by the arm, Shaw fires him across the ring.]

GM:  Big whip by the man from the Carolinas... ohhh!  He mows down Dr. X
with a big running clothesline!

[Shaw immediately leaps into the air, dropping a mammoth leg down across
the throat of a prone Dr. X, rolling into a lateral press.]

GM:  One!  Two!   Dr. X kicks out at two.

[A fired up Shaw slips into a kneeling straddle, pulling Dr. X up by the
mask and driving right hand after right hand into the masked skull of
his opponent.]

BW:  Come on, referee!  That's a DQ!

GM:  You really don't like Clayton Shaw, do you?

BW:  He's the reason that on cold weather days it takes me twenty
minutes to get out of bed in the morning, Gordo.  You tell me why I
should like that no good son of a gun.

[Shaw eventually climbs back to his feet, soaking up the roaring cheers
from the fans as he pumps a clenched fist in the crowd's direction.]

GM:  Clayton Shaw is all pumped up here tonight in the WKIK Studios,
Bucky.  He did not like what he saw at Memorial Day Mayhem from the
Russians and what they did to his allies, Werewolf Gregorson and
Despair.

BW:  Boofrigginhoo!

GM:  You're certainly in a foul mood early on here tonight.

[Dr. X staggers up to his feet, easy prey as Shaw hoists him into the
air...

...and slams him down hard to the canvas.]

GM:  Big bodyslam by Shaw!

[The proud American immediately leaps high into the air, driving his
elbow down into the heart of the masked man.]

GM:  Ellllbow!  Right on target!

[Once back to his feet, Shaw swings his arms at each other, calling for
the cobra clutch.]

GM:  Here it comes, Bucky - your favorite move.

BW:  Why do you enjoy my pain so much, Gordo?

GM:  Dr. X pushes up to a knee...

[And Shaw leans over him, applying the cobra clutch and yanking Dr. X to
his feet.  The crowd roars as Shaw starts to spin with the hold
applied.]

GM:  The swinging cobra clutch is applied!  The referee is right there
to check- 


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  That's it!  It's over!

[Shaw releases the hold, allowing Dr. X to slump down to the canvas with
ease.  He raises his arm in triumph but before Melissa Cannon can make
the announcement...]

BW:  RUSSIANS!

[The crowd roars with dismay as Vladimir Velikov and Kolya Sudakov
charge from the entryway, diving headfirst under the ropes into the
ring.]

GM:  The Russians have hit the ring... and they just swarmed Clayton
Shaw!  They swarmed the former United States Marine!

[Shaw throws right hands like crazy, trying to drive away his
attackers.]

GM:  Shaw's fighting them!  He's fighting them off!

[The wild-eyed American does manage to get some separation...

...but Velikov throws himself into a tackle, taking Shaw down to the mat
as Sudakov starts stomping the upper body of "Stars And Stripes."]

GM:  They got Shaw down.  He's in trouble!  We need to get some help out
here for Clayton Shaw!

[Velikov pushes himself to a mount, battering the struggling Shaw with
right hands as Sudakov continues to stomp and kick at the upper body
relentlessly.]

GM:  Shaw's trying to cover up, trying to absorb some of those blows.

[Shaw rolls to his side, desperately trying to shield himself...

...but makes himself easy pickings for the running soccer kick to the
skull from Sudakov that knocks him onto his back, completely
motionless!]

GM:  OHHH!  Soccer kick to the head of Shaw!

BW:  He's out, daddy!  He's out cold!

[A sneering Velikov climbs off of Shaw, leaving his nephew to further
stomp and kick the motionless Shaw...

...and pick up his fallen Russian chain from the mat.]

GM:  Oh no.  You've got to be kidding me.

[Sudakov smiles at his uncle picking up the chain, reaching down to drag
a dead-weight Clayton Shaw off the mat, holding his arms behind him.]

GM:  Somebody needs to stop this!  Somebody needs to put a stop to this
right now!

BW:  Where are your allies now, Shaw?!  Where's Gregorson and Despair
now?!

[Velikov slowly wraps the chain around his fist, screaming in his
gravelly voice at the fans.]


"Look at your American hero!  Look how weak he is!  Look how pathetic!"


[With Sudakov still holding Shaw, Velikov storms forward...

...and drives a chain-wrapped fist squarely between the eyes of Shaw,
knocking him flat to the mat.]

GM:  Ohhhhhhh!

[The crowd falls to a hush as the Russians stand over the downed Clayton
Shaw, Sudakov spitting on his prone form as Velikov holds the chain high
over his head.]

GM:  The Russians... the Russians and that chain of theirs have struck
again.  First it was Despair... then it was Rick Marley... and now it's
Clayton Shaw...

[A few more hard stomps to the back of the head by Sudakov draw more
boos from the fans...

...boos that erupt into cheers as Werewolf Gregorson and Despair, both
clad completely in street clothes, sprint into view, sliding into the
ring.]

GM:  GREGORSON!  DESPAIR!

[Despair winds up with a metal suitcase, taking a wild swing at the back
of Velikov and connecting across the shoulders, knocking him from the
ring as Sudakov slides out to the floor, gesturing at Gregorson.]

GM:  Gregorson and Despair, dressed in their street clothes... obviously
they just arrived here at the WKIK Studios and heard what was happening.
 Clayton Shaw is hurt and I think he's hurt badly, Bucky.

BW:  Karma's a vengeful so-and-so, daddy!

[The Russians are in retreat as Gregorson drops down to his knees,
checking on the downed Clayton Shaw.  A furious Despair is on the
midbuckle, screaming for the Russians to get back in the ring with
them.]

GM:  Clayton Shaw has been laid out by the Russians.  The head kick by
Sudakov.  The steel chain driven into the head by Velikov.  "Stars And
Stripes" is hurt in a bad, bad way.  Fans, we're going to get some help
out here for Clayton Shaw.  We'll be right back.

[The camera zooms in on an upset Werewolf Gregorson screaming for help
for his fallen ally 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 then fade back up on the announce desk.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans.  Clayton Shaw was helped from the ring during
our commercial break and the ringside doctor immediately became
suspicious of a severe concussion.  Mr. Shaw has been transported to the
nearest medical facility for examination.  As soon as we have more
details for you, we'll let you know.

BW:  The Russians are on a roll, daddy!  They're droppin' people like
flies!

GM:  They've gone too far, Bucky.  Did you see the look in the eyes of
Gregorson and Despair?  I think the Russians have crossed a line that
there's no way to go back across.  

BW:  Maybe they have but no one in the AWA has shown that they're
willing and able to make the Russians pay for it.

GM:  What about Gregorson and Despair?

BW:  What about 'em?  They got laid out at Memorial Day Mayhem and
they'll get laid out the next time they cross paths with the Russians -
guaranteed!

GM:  Shifting gears a bit, tonight's Main Event is going to be one heck
of a fight, Bucky.  The new AWA National Champion, Marcus Broussard, and
a partner of his choice will take on the Hellion, Mark Shaw... and this
man... at this time, please welcome to the WKIK Studios, the East Coast
Terror, Ron Houston!

[The familiar piano of Bethoven's "Moonlight Sonata" creeps over the PA
in it's usual haunting manner as the curtains part and there is a man of
so many names. His head slung low, like a wounded soldier. He's sans his
traditional garb and instead strictly smothered in his ring attire. 
Black tights, black boots, black elbowpads.. cloaked head to toe in
black. The Athens Georgia Madman walks towards Gordon Meyers casually,
ignoring the adulation of the surrounding crowd. A notable change to The
East Coast terror, a black shoulder sleeve that covers his left shoulder
like a tightened vice. Houston walks up to Myers and eyes him head to
toe, a much more somber look than the man who until a few short weeks
ago had steamrolled the entire company.]

GM: Ron, it's a pleasure to see you again. And thanks for taking time
out of your busy Main Event preparations to join me to go over Memorial
Day Mayhem, and what exactly is going through your mind in these days
that have followed.

[Houston leans in towards Myers. A slight.. smirk?]

RH: Ya wanna know how ah'm doin', Gorodon? How ah've been holdin' up
since mah shoulders found the mat fer _three_ tiny li'l seconds? Well
let me tell ya, Gordon.. ol' Ron Houston's seein' things with a level of
clarity he ain't seen things in in a _long_ while.

Out of the blue, beyond any cause ah can trace, ah suddenly realize
things are _not_ how ah've perceived them ta be at all.

GM: Things are not how you perceived them to be? What? What are you
talking about, Ron? 

RH: Ya need me ta paint ya a picture, amigo? No problemo. 

Fer some reason, ya will no longer be the person ya believed ya once
were.  Ya'll detect slow and subtle shifts goin' on all around ya, more
importantly shifts in ya. Worse, ya'll realize it's always been a
shiftin', like a shimmer of sorts, a vast shimmer, only dark like this
room. 

But ya won't understand why... or how. 

Ya'll have forgotten what granted ya this awareness in the first place. 

[Houston eyeballs the arena around him. Taking his eyes off Myers for
the first time.]

RH:  If yer like me, which most of ya are, you'll try to take solace in
the familiar. Whether it's places.. or people. But that's when ya'll
discover ya no longer trust the very walls ya always took fer granted.
Even the hallways ya've walked a hundred times will feel longer, much
longer, and the shadows, any shadows at all, will suddenly seem deeper,
much, much deeper. 

Ya might then try, as ah did, to find a sky so full of stars it will
blind ya again. Only no sky can blind ya now. Even with all that
iridescent magic up there, yer eye will no longer linger in the light,
it will no longer trace constellations. Ya'll care only about the
darkness.. and ya'll watch it fer hours, fer days, maybe even fer years,
trying in vain ta believe yer some kind of indispensable,
universe-appointed sentinel, as if just by looking ya could actually
keep it all at bay. 

It will get so bad you'll be afraid ta look away. 

Ya'll be afraid ta sleep. 

Then.. no matter where ya are, in a crowded restaurant or on some
desolate street or even in the comforts of yer own home, ya'll watch
yourself dismantle every assurance ya ever lived by. Ya'll stand aside
as a great complexity intrudes, tearing apart, piece by piece, all of
yer carefully conceived denials, whether deliberate or unconscious. And
then fer better or worse ya'll turn, unable ta resist, though try ta
resist ya still will, fighting with everything ya've got not ta face the
thing ya most dread..

.. What is now.

.. What will be. 

.. What has always come before.

[Myers is obviously a bit unnerved, he recants slightly, but Houston
grabs him by the arm, pulling the mic closer.]

RH:  The creature ya truly are.

The creature we _all_ are. 

Buried in the nameless black of a name.

[Houston lets go of Myers arm, the fire remains as he stokes the flames,
the crowd speckled with Houston chants.. however for the most part they
remain silent. Listening intently to the man from Athens speech.]

RH:  And then the nightmares'll begin. 

And Broussard... yer nightmare _is_ Ron Houston. And three seconds ain't
changin' a _thing_. Ah ain't goin' nowhere. So bring yer little strap
and yer li'l partnah on down, and me and Mark'll snap both yer li'l
necks in one.

Two birds with one stone, scout.

[Houston storms away, a renewed fire in his eyes as he slaps hands with
the occasional fan on his retreat back to the locker room.]

GM:  A very... well, I've got to admit... I was a little intimidated
right there, Bucky.

BW:  Houston showed a little bit of a dark side right there, Gordo.  I
think Marcus may have broken him mentally with that win at Mayhem.

GM:  Ron Houston seems very focused on the National Champion and
tonight's big tag team Main Event.  If Mark Shaw is half as determined
as the East Coast Terror, Broussard could be in a for a long, long
night.

BW:  We don't even know who Marcus' partner is tonight, Gordo!  That
could change absolutely everything!

GM:  It certainly could - and fans, one thing that we are absolutely
certain that changed everything was the brutal assault on "Showtime"
Rick Marley at Memorial Day Mayhem by Stevie Scott and Vladimir Velikov.
 Let's set the stage for you... 

[We cut to footage marked "MEMORIAL DAY MAYHEM - FIRST ROUND MATCH -
RICK MARLEY VS CITY JACK"

Gordon Myers provides a voiceover.]

GM:  It was the first round of the National Title Tournament with
"Showtime" Rick Marley taking on City Jack.  The match was a good one,
back and forth the whole time...

[The footage shows Calisto Dufresne walking out to the ringside area.]

GM:  But Calisto Dufresne got involved in the match.  A long-time rival
of City Jack, Dufresne set out to ruin the Kentucky native's night - and
to help Rick Marley in the process.

BW:  Tell 'em how you thought Dufresne was actually in on it with
Marley!  Tell 'em!

GM:  Well, I will admit that things looked a little suspicious
considering Rick Marley's background.  The way that Marley went after
the knee right after Dufresne leaned over and said something to him. 
You can't fault me for thinking... well, regardless... 

[The footage jumps ahead to show Marley being suplexed over the ropes
into the ring.]

GM:  There you can see the end of the match.  City Jack going for the
suplex, Dufresne hooking the ankle to disrupt his balance, and the big
man getting spiked headfirst into the mat with the Rewrite DDT.  

BW:  Dufresne wasn't taking any chances either.

GM:  He certainly wasn't.  You see him there, holding the ankle down to
prevent a kickout... and there's the three count.  Now, if we skip ahead
to later in the night, to the post-match incident after the Kentucky's
Pride/Stevie Scott-Dufresne tag match.

[The footage jumps ahead to show City Jack being doubleteamed by Scott
and Dufresne, the latter slipping brass knuckles onto his fist with the
intent of laying out his enemy.]

GM:  Dufresne and Scott were about to do some major damage - and here
comes Rick Marley right here.  At the time, no one was sure what to
think.  Was he coming to help City Jack or to hurt him?

[The footage jumps again, showing Marley connect with a superkick to the
jaw of Dufresne.]

GM:  Marley attacked Dufresne with the superkick... then knocked Scott
flat with a right hand...

BW:  And that's when things got interesting.

GM:  The Russians stormed from the locker room, looking to help their
ally Stevie Scott.  They barreled over Marley, beating him senseless in
the corner.  Gregorson and Despair joined the fray shortly thereafter
and all heck had broken loose.

BW:  This is my favorite part, Gordo.

GM:  You're a sick, sick man, Bucky Wilde.

[The footage jumps again, showing Velikov and Scott stretching the steel
Russian chain out between them...

...and connecting with a running clothesline that smashes the steel
chain into the windpipe of Rick Marley, causing him to collapse to the
mat, clutching his throat.]

GM:  And there it is.  The hard shot to the throat with the Russian
chain - Marley was gasping for air... he could barely speak... and as a
result, Rick Marley had to forfeit his second round tournament match
against Marcus Broussard, Bucky.

BW:  Hey, those are the breaks, daddy.  If you can't cut it, take up
ballet.  Actually, as nice of a jumper as Marley is, he might be good at
ballet.  It could be a good career move.

[The footage fades to reveal Gordon and Bucky at the announce desk.]

GM:  So, Rick Marley was injured and actually had to be removed from the
tour that followed.  However, always trying to live up to the fans'
belief in him, Marley insisted on being able to appear before the crowd
at the first show of the tour in Houston, Texas, to address the crowd. 
Let's take a look at that!

[We cut from the announce desk to footage marked "May 25th - Arena
Theatre - Houston, Texas - AWA Live Event."  The footage is obviously
shot with a handheld camera and not the usual AWA cameras as it is
grainy and jumpy.

The shot of the ring reveals it is currently occupied by "Showtime" Rick
Marley.  The dark-haired high flier is wearing a plain black t-shirt,
blue jeans and a pair of white sneakers.  Wireless mic in hand, Marley
waits for the crowd noise to die down, absent-mindedly rubbing his
throat.]

RM:  Nice to be here...

[Marley's voice is raw and much quieter than usual as the crowd pops.]

RM:  I just...well wanted...no...NEEDED to apologize to you guys...my
fans.  This is the first time in my life I've no-showed for a match...
it's the first time in my life that I was on my way to the ring and the
medical personnel headed me off.

[Marley pauses, looking out at the crowd, shaking his head.]

RM:  But to be honest, given the choice of letting Dufrense, Scott and
their Russian running buddies take out Tin Can Rust and City Jack...
especially after Dufrense ended up tipping the match in my favor, even
knowing that it cost me a shot at taking down our 'esteemed' champion.

But it cost me...and it made me let you guys down...and I owe the group
of you more than that..."

[Marley is interrupted by the opening notes of "Try Honesty". He rolls
his eyes and turns to the entranceway, where Adrian Freeman is swiftly
making his way down to ringside. He's dressed in wrestling gear,
presumably from a match earlier that night, and a white T-shirt. The
crowd boos and shouts insults at him, but Freeman ignores them, entirely
focused on the man in the ring. Freeman slides into the ring and
snatches the microphone from Rick Marley's hands.]

AF: You're right, Rick... you owe us quite a lot. You owe me, and
everyone else who has a shred of taste, the time we waste every Saturday
Night watching your gymnastics exhibition. 

And more importantly, you owe me that time, that exposure. I have to sit
on the sidelines, waiting for my shot here in the AWA, while you get to
put on Rick Marley's Weekly Sideshow. Well I'm sick and tired of it.

[The crowd starts a "MAR-LEY" chant.]

AF: What's wrong with you people? You want to continue sitting here and
listening to his sob story about how they wouldn't let him compete in
the tournament. Boo-hoo, Rick. You were barely able to beat that tub of
lard City Jack, and even then you needed the help of a far greater
wrestler than yourself in Callisto Dufrense. 

And then, when it came time to face someone that would show you for the
amateur you are and embarass you in that ring... you chickened out.

[The fans boo Freeman wildly, a reaction that seems to amuse him.]

AF:  You took the easy way out, Marley. You ducked Broussard, just like
you've been ducking me. If you had any stones--

[Rick Marley angrily grabs the mic away from Freeman. He goes to retort,
but before he can Freeman explodes at him with a clothesline right to
the injured throat! 

The voiceover of Gordon Myers is heard once more as the sound from the
video seems to dip a bit.]

GM:  Adrian Freeman with a brutal assault on Marley, going immediately
for the injured throat with a clothesline.  You can see right there that
Marley was hurt badly.  His face turned red almost instantly as he
struggled to get air into his body.

[With Marley on the ground, his hands wrapped around his throat, Freeman
moves in.]

BW:  But Adrian Freeman wasn't done, Gordo.  We've known that Freeman's
been gunnin' for Marley for weeks - and when he finally got his chance,
he went for it all, daddy!

[Prying Marley's arms free from his throat, Freeman immediately drops a
knee down into the windpipe, causing Marley to cough violently as he
attempts to roll free from the attack.]

GM:  A vicious kneedrop by Freeman did some more damage but like you
said, he still wasn't done, Bucky.  I think Adrian Freeman saw a chance
to possibly end a man's career and he attempted to take that chance. 
You can see here, he drags Marley off the mat... look at that...

[Pulling Marley off the mat by the hair, Freeman drags him over to the
ropes.  He steps out on the apron, draping Marley's windpipe over the
steel cable...

...and applies a front facelock, choking Marley over the ropes.]

GM:  That's just sickening.  A brutal attack.

[A gleeful Freeman cackles with joy as Marley's arms and legs flail back
and forth, trying to free himself from the Australian's assault but
having no success...]

GM:  I seriously think Freeman would've kept going until Marley's career
was over... or worse... but Rick Marley's actions at Memorial Day Mayhem
made him some friends...

[The crowd on the tape roars as Tin Can Rust appears in the aisle,
slowly making his way down towards the ring... but as quickly as he can
manage.]

GM:  Tin Can Rust of Kentucky's Pride was on the move, trying to get
down to the ring.  And you see right there, Adrian Freeman catching
sight of him.

BW: How can't he? Slow Man Rust looks like a boulder coming to the ring.

[Not the swiftest of wrestlers, TCR eventually reaches the ring,
climbing into it and storming towards Freeman...

...who drops off the apron, releasing his grip on the throat of
"Showtime" Rick Marley.  Rust, fists balled up for a fight, pauses for a
moment to make sure Freeman isn't pulling a fast one, before leaning
over to check on the coughing Marley.  Getting an all-clear sign, Rust
uncharacteristically picks up the mic and points towards the exiting
Freeman.]

TCR: Hey, you! Freeman!

[Freeman stops and turns, a look of amusement on his face at what he's
about to hear.]

TCR: You want to attack him? Then that means you want to attack me too!

[The crowd cheers as Rust lays it down!]

TCR: Rick Marley saved both me and City Jack from certain injury - at
his own expense. This man did something you'd never be able to do,
something noble and upright! This man gave up his shot at the title to
save us... so I'd be damned not to have his back anywhere, anytime. 

[Freeman rolls his eyes from up top the entryway.]

TCR: So Freeman? You have a problem with Rick Marley? Then you have a
problem with City Jack and you have a problem with Tin Can Rust!

[Rust slams the mic down and motions for Freeman to come to the ring as
Marley rises to join TCR by his side, still rubbing his neck as TCR puts
a friendly hand on his arm, raising it to the cheers of the fans...

...and we fade back to the announce team standing behind the desk at the
WKIK Studios.]

GM:  A very timely save by Tin Can Rust - averting what could have been
disaster for Rick Marley.  And I have to say, Rick Marley _is_ here
tonight, Bucky.

BW:  What?!  I thought he was laid up still!

GM:  I was informed that Marley is backstage tonight - he is trying to
get cleared to compete despite the throat still being injured.  From
speaking with the ringside doctor, apparently Marley suffered from a
moderately bruised larynyx at the hands of Velikov and Scott - a
situation only worsened by Adrian Freeman.

BW:  So, he's ready to go?

GM:  Apparently he's close.  And that's bad, bad news for Velikov,
Scott, and Freeman... heck, you can add Sudakov and Dufresne in there as
well.  I have a feeling Marley will be gunning for all of them.  And as
we saw from that clip, he's not alone.  He's got City Jack and Tin Can
Rust backing him up.

BW:  Well, he's got Tin Can Rust.  City Jack's laid up injured too.

GM:  City Jack has a knee injury but we understand he'll be back here in
two weeks' time to return to action.  The Russians, Scott, Dufresne,
Freeman... they're all in serious troub-

[Myers is interrupted by "The Ladykiller" Calisto Dufresne and a rather
irate "Hotshot" Stevie Scott, who barges into the scene with a piece of
paper in hand. As usual, Stevie is wearing a silky, flower-dy shirt and
bermuda shorts with loafers sans socks. Dufresne is clad in a light
blue, hooded Arbitrage Krona dress shirt and a pair of dark blue
Loomstate jeans. His long blonde hair is pulled back into a tight pony
tail. Stevie approaches the desk as Dufresne heads off to mouth off to
some fans and violently slams the paper down on top of it, causing both
Myers and Wilde to jump back a bit out of surprise.]

HSS: Serious trouble?  Serious trouble?!  Gordo, have you seen this
crap?

[Myers glances down at the paper, then nods his head.]

GM: Yes, I have seen it, and if I must say so, it is very well-deserved.

HSS: Well-deserved? Well-deserved?? Do you know what this says? This
says that the AWA is fining Stevie Scott five thousand dollars for his
attack on Rick Marley at Memorial Day Mayhem. Do you know what this is,
Gordo?

GM: Yes, it's-

HSS: That's right, it's discrimination! Discrimination against the
greatness that is Stevie Scott! It seems very clear to me that _some_
people back there are getting jealous, and as such, have taken their
envy to the people in charge, have gotten into their ears, and have
_them_ discriminating against me!

GM: What do you mean, discriminating? After everything you've done, all
the stunts you've pulled to stay out of the ring, you're lucky you even
have a job here!

HSS: That's exactly right, Gordo, the AWA is lucky I decided to stick
around here instead of leaving for greener pastures where Stevie Scott
would be appreciated! I'm going to fight the good fight, brother! 
Because, even though there was a lot of extra-curricular activity going
on at Memorial Day Mayhem...even though everyone and their brothers were
brawlin', scratchin', clawin'...and even though me and my Com-Vlad are
the only ones to get punished...I'm not going away that easily. 

GM: Well, I'm sorry to hear that.

HSS: Yes, Gordo, I know it disappoints you, too, the way that Stevie
Scott is being treated. But rest assured, I will _not_ stand for it. My
good friends from the Soviet Union will _not_ stand for it. Calisto
Dufresne will _not_ stand for it. And if this discriminatory treatment
continues, Gordo...legal action very well might follow, you get my
drift?

GM: Unfortunately, I do.

[Dufresne finally finishes jawing with the fans and comes over to stand
next to Stevie and Myers.]

CD: And let me just say, Gordie, I know some _really_ good lawyers who
just got me a _really_ big payday from the tightwads who run this place.

[Dufresne smiles at his monetary victory.]

CD: But there's no question that there is a pattern of discrimination by
the front office around here. There's no question that those never-weres
down in "the office" are creating a hostile work environment for the
true talent around here like Stevie and I.

And we're not going to stand for it!

[Myers looks almost speechless, his head getting ready to explode from
just talking to these two for an extended period of time.]

GM: Are you kidding me? If anything, the vicious attack you guys
subjected Rick Marley to was a hostile work environment!

[Dufresne shakes his head at Myers, giving him a look like he were an
admonished school child.]

CD: We were defending ourselves, Gordie. That coward, Rick Marley had no
problem taking the advice of the wrestling scholar and guru standing
before you to defeat City Jack for his own selfish reasons, _then_ he
decided to come out and actually had the nerve to place his hands on me!

_ME!_

The cornerstone of this franchise. The future of professional wrestling.

[Dufresne scowls at Myers and waves his hand to the crowd.]

CD: And my fans here in Texas will _not_ stand for it and neither will
I!

[The boos rain down, letting Dufresne know that they'd love nothing more
than for Rick Marley to come kick him all the way back to Avery Island,
Louisiana. Dufresne bows to them and begins to go through his usual
motion of posing and flexing his muscles as Myers turns back to Stevie.]

GM: Stevie, let me ask you when you're going to stop avoiding wrestling
and get into the ring to back up all your big talk?

HSS: See, that's _another_ problem here. Look at the bottom of that
paper.

[Stevie leans over and points to the paper as Myers looks down at it.]

HSS: Under injury report, you see that? _MINOR_ facial bruise? That's
what they called my injury after I was _hammered_ in the face with that
flagstick? A minor facial bruise? Do you know how much I had to pay my
plastic surgeon to get this gorgeous mug put back together?

GM: No, and I don't want-

HSS: More than you made all last year, Gordo, I can tells ya that. And
they want to downplay the extent of my injuries...that's exactly what
I'm talking about, a grand conspiracy by the AWA. Another case of the
man trying to keep me down!

GM: So just exactly who was that young man who replaced you in your
match with Kentucky's Pride?

HSS: That's my new personal assistant.

GM: Your what?

HSS: Personal assistant. With everything going on in Stevie Scott's
life...I have a movie deal in the works, among other things...I need
someone to help me out. So I hired this young whipper-snapper as my
personal assistant.

GM: Where is he right now?

HSS: Hang on.

[Stevie reaches into his pocket and pulls out a cell phone, flipping it
open and putting it against his cheek.]

HSS: Talk to me...yeah...yeah...no! No! I'll only do it if Cameron Diaz
is opposite me! Not Rosie O'Donnell! Hang on a minute.

[Stevie turns to Myers.]

HSS: Listen, Hollywood calls. You guys carry on.

[Stevie goes back to the phone as he walks off the set with Dufresne,
who also has managed to bring a young blonde with significant... assets,
from the crowd along with him, leaving behind a laughing Bucky Wilde and
a head-shaking Gordon Myers as 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:

Rick Marley and Tin Can Rust
Best Buy - Dallas, Texas
June 17

Paul Driscoll and Rough N Ready
West Dallas Galleria - Dallas, Texas
June 19

Sweet Daddy Williams and Bucky Wilde
Houston Nissan - Houston, Texas
June 23

Mark Shaw and Despair
San Antonio Fashion Plaza - San Antonio, Texas
June 25

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 to AWA Saturday Night Wrestling, fans, where the AWA
is still reeling from what we saw at Memorial Day Mayhem and the tour
dates that followed.  We saw the first National Champion crowned in
Marcus Broussard who we will be seeing in tag team action later tonight
against two of his top challengers.  But Ron Houston and Mark Shaw
aren't the only two men looking to challenge Broussard inside the ring.

BW:  Why do I have a feeling you're not talking about someone who
actually stands a chance like Tumaffi?

GM:  I was referring to the former World Champion who debuted here in
the AWA about two months ago - "The Natural" Adam Rogers.  

BW:  Oh, him.

GM:  Rogers showed up unexpectedly on Saturday Night Wrestling and
immediately made it clear - he's here for Marcus Broussard.  

BW:  They've got a history, Gordo.  For those who don't know, Adam
Rogers and Marcus Broussard were members of a faction in the EMWC known
as the Triumvirate along with Jeff Matthews.  Back then, Broussard was
looked at as the "next big thing" in the business and basically was a
lackey for Rogers and Matthews.  He protected them, he did their dirty
work.  And most of all, he protected Rogers' World Title.

GM:  That's a questionable argument to make, Bucky.

BW:  Whatever, Gordo.  It's the truth.  And now that Marcus is on his
own... now that he's carrying the National Title, now Rogers is here to
try to soak up some of Marcus' spotlight.  Well, I can tell you right
now that the Shark's not about to let that happen.

GM:  Rogers claims he's here to try to straighten out the National
Champion - to make sure he's on the right career path and not taking
unneccessary shortcuts to get to where he wants to be.

BW:  A likely story.

GM:  I guess time will tell the truth on that one.  But for now, let's
go up to the ring for what should be quite the treat, the in-ring AWA
debut of former World Champion - "The Natural" Adam Rogers!

[We 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 at this time,
standing six feet tall and weighing in at 250 pounds... from Laredo,
Texas... Miguel Cortez!

[The Mexican grappler draws jeers from the crowd.]

MC:  And his opponent... he hails from Naples, Florida... standing 6'3
and weighing in at 243 pounds...

He is THE NATURAL...

AAAAADAM ROOOOGERS!

[The heavy opening guitar chords of "Smoke on the Water" by Deep Purple
rip out over the PA system, signaling the entrance of former World
Champion "The Natural" Adam Rogers. The blond-haired Floridian with an
impressive physique steps into the arena, all business as he walks to
the ring.]

GM:  And you can hear the adoration in the air for these fans for the
former World Champion, Adam Rogers.  One of only two former World
Champions currently in the AWA, Rogers is looking to add to his legacy
starting right here tonight, Bucky.

BW:  I don't know what happened to this guy, Gordo.  Back in the old
days, he was mean, he was nasty, he'd do whatever it took to win.  He
won the World Title with a roll of quarters, daddy!  Now he's the
squeaky-clean Boy Scout trying to save his former ally?  Makes me sick.

GM:  But before he was the man you describe, he was a hero of the people
for years.

BW:  Yeah, and all it got him was a spot in the middle of the card time
and time again.

GM:  Give me a break, Bucky.

[The referee calls for the bell, which brings Rogers immediately out of
the corner with an outstretched hand.]

GM:  Rogers looking for a handshake here.  Ever the sportsman.

[Cortez sneers at Rogers, slapping his hand away to the jeers of the
fans.]

GM:  No handshake here tonight.

[Rogers shrugs his shoulders, clapping his hands together...

...and then dropping down into a lightning-quick double leg cradle,
hoisting Cortez off the mat and dumping him down in a big falling slam.]

GM:  Ohhh!  Rogers showing off that amateur background.  He was a
three-time Florida state champion in wrestling and a one-time National
champion when wrestling at Florida State University.

["The Natural" spins across the upper body of Cortez after the slam,
rolling to catch a scrambling Cortez in a front facelock.]

GM:  Right to the headlock, trying to wear Cortez down.  But the spunky
veteran from Laredo fights right up to his feet, still trapped in the
front facelock.

[Rogers laces an arm under one of Cortez' free arms, snapping him down
to the mat with a single underhook suplex and promptly rolling through
it into a mount where he spins to the side, tightly hooking Cortez' head
and leg in a lateral press.]

GM:  One!  Two!  Th-

[Cortez slips away just before the three count falls, rolling under the
ropes to the floor to regroup.]

GM:  Cortez out on the concrete.  I think Rogers caught him a little
offguard.  Maybe he expected Rogers to be a little more rusty than that.

BW:  You've gotta watch those cradles from Rogers.  Adam Rogers has the
best pinning cradles in the business - except for Marcus Broussard.

GM:  And that's a _very_ arguable point, Bucky.  I think many throughout
the sport would disagree with that assessment.  

BW:  Oh yeah?  Marcus Broussard just won his way through an entire
tournament to become the first AWA National Champion - and every match
was won with a cradle.  What's Adam Rogers done lately?

[Cortez steps on the apron, ignoring the referee ordering him back into
the ring...]

GM:  Miguel Cortez steps back into the ring, looking a little more wary
there this time as the Natural calls him out to the middle of the ring,
looking to tie up.

BW:  He just needs to pop Rogers in the jaw with a right hand.  That'll
cut out all this amateur wrestling junk. 

GM:  Cortez edging out from the ropes...

[And Rogers dashes right in, wrapping his arms around the waist of
Cortez in a rear waistlock...

...before planting his feet, hoisting Cortez high into the air and
dumping him chestfirst on the mat.]

GM:  Ohhh!  Big time waistlock takedown!

[Rogers steps away, striking a ready position as Cortez pushes up off
the mat, spinning around to strike, and throws a wild right hand that
Rogers blocks, grabbing the striking hand.]

GM:  Armtwist by the Natural... right into a rear hammerlock...

[And immediately releases the hammerlock, hooking a side waistlock
before hoisting Cortez off the mat...

...and dropping him down in a belly-to-back suplex!]

GM:  Nice suplex by the Natural... and another cover... one!  Two!  Th-

[Cortez fires a shoulder off the mat again.  The Natural responds by
rolling clear, shadowing behind Cortez to end up behind him as he gets
to his feet...

...and applies a rear waistlock, racing towards the ropes, bouncing
Cortez' chest into the ropes, and rolling back with him.]

GM:  Rolling reverse cradle... into THE NATURAL BRIDGE!

[With Cortez jacknifed backwards and Rogers bridging to pin him to the
mat, the referee drops down to count.]

GM:  One!  Two!  Three!  That's it!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


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

The Natural... AAAAADAM ROOOOOGERS!

[The crowd cheers for the Natural as he waves a hand in tribute to them
before quickly making his exit from the ring.]

GM:  A nice win in his debut for the Natural, getting the victory with
the same move Marcus Broussard used to pin Mark Shaw for the National
Title at Memorial Day Mayhem.

BW:  And don't think for a second that's a coincidence, Gordo.  Rogers
was sending the champ a message right there.

GM:  Without a doubt, Bucky.  The Natural's about to join us here at the
desk for some words and-

[Gordon Myers looks a bit confused as he looks off-camera, craning his
neck.]

GM:  Adam?  Just a few quick-

[Myers shakes his head, looking back at the camera.]

GM:  Okay, fans... I apologize but apparently Adam Rogers will not be
joining us for comments right now.  

BW:  Oh, Mr. Big Shot is too important to talk to lowly us.

GM:  I'm sure it's not like that at all, Bucky.  In fact, we know better
than most people that sometimes on live television, things just don't
work out as expected.  For example, at Memorial Day Mayhem, there were a
couple of items we were scheduled to present that we were unable to due
to time constraints.  

BW:  The Big Bucks Bikini Babe Blastoff?

GM:  I'm talking about the medical report regarding Erik Reid's
condition.

BW:  Oh.  Mine would have been more entertaining.

GM:  I'm sure.  But the AWA offices as well as WKIK have been swamped
for weeks with mail, phone calls, faxes, e-mail... everyone wanting to
know the status of Erik Reid.  So, I'm happy to say that before we go
off the air here tonight, we will be bringing you that information.

BW:  Oh joy.

GM:  There was one other thing we were unable to present to you all at
Memorial Day Mayhem - and that's the debut of a new competitor here in
the AWA, Britain's own Wilton Stone!

BW:  Now you're talkin', Gordo.

GM:  Mr. Stone had come to Memorial Day Mayhem with the express purpose
of being introduced to the crowd and we were unable to accomodate that -
however, we are prepared to do so tonight.  So, at this time, please
join me in welcoming Wilton Stone to the AWA!


##Walk in silence,##
##Dont walk away, in silence.##

[Atmosphere by Joy Division plays over the public address system and the
crowd turns their attention to the entranceway. The song, unfamiliar to
the fans of AWA, continues to play loudly.]

##See the danger,##
##Always danger,##
##Endless talking,##
##Life rebuilding,##
##Dont walk away.##

[The songis slow and strange to the audience. The curtain swings open
and emerging from behind it is Wilton Stone. Wearing a pin-striped suit,
Stone is all business in his attire, stride and apparent demeanor. He
slowly makes his way towards the announce desk, taking a good, hard look
at the crowd. Unsure of how to respond, most remain silent. Some,
recognizing him from other wrestling promotions, boo him.]

GM:  Wilton Stone, welcome to the American Wrestling Alliance!

[Stone looks irritated at the outstretched hand of Gordon Myers.  He
reaches out towards it...

...and then goes right past it, snatching the mic away from Myers and
turning away from him.]

WS: So this is Texas, eh?

[The crowd erupts!]

WS: I cant remember a time when Ive seen a collection of more
hillbillies than I am looking at right this very minute.

[The fans' cheer for their home state quickly turns to boos for the AWA
newcomer.]

WS: I feel overdressed. Anyone have a ketchup-stained, beer-soaked,
Texas Rangers t-shirt made before 1995 that I could borrow?

[The crowd cheers as if to say, Yes, we are drinking beer.]

WS: Some of you know me. For those of you in the dark, and I mean in
regards to this show, as most of you are living in a dark world I want
no view of..

[He laughs to himself and receives a reward of boos for the stab.]

WS: We should have met at Mayhem, but apparently there was too much
mayhem for the brass of AWA to handle on that memorable, Memorial Day.
So what do they do? What do I get in return for 16 hours in airports and
airplanes?

A promise to appear tonight. Another promise. A promise kept.

[Stone slowly nods his head, lifting a hand with one finger held up.]

WS:  AWA, that makes you one for two. Well, Ive got a promise for you.
To the people in charge and the wrestlers who think they are, to the
fans and anyone else within earshot of this broadcast. Im Wilton Stone
and Im here to clean this place up by ridding it of fools and fakers.

[He nods his head in his own agreement.]

WS: I realize it may take awhile...

..but Im here to bring a little class to this dusted outfit.
Unfortunately, for most of you, I keep my word at a much better rate
than fifty percent. And youll never see a speck of dust on me.

[Wilton pretends to brush dust off his jacket. He then takes his jacket
off and tosses it over the announce desk.]

WS: Im too good to simply come out here and challenge champions. In
time, they will come to me. I will, however, accept the challenge of any
 and welcome them. I will welcome them all to this very ring and guide
them through the shortest wrestling lesson of their lives.

So come one, come all. Big dogs and little dogs. Believers and the
unbelievable. Give me the chance to teach you all a lesson in not just
wrestling, but pride, dignity and passion. I have a desire to be the
best in this business and that desire has brought me here to the AWA.

And I'm here to stay.

[Stone grabs his jacket off the desk.]

WS: Im thrilled at the opportunity and cant wait to get started.

Ill see you all soon.

[With that, Stone drops the microphone on the announce desk and
Atmosphere by Joy Division strikes back up over the PA. He looks around
one more minute at his surroundings before he exits the announce desk
area, making his way back towards the locker room as we fade 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:  Welcome back, fans.  It's been a wild night here in the WKIK
Studios so far and we're not done yet.  We've still got that big Main
Event at the end of the Power Hour with Marcus Broussard and a partner
of his choice taking on Mark Shaw and Ron Houston - what a match that'll
be.  Plus, we've got Tumaffi in action.  The team of Werewolf Gregorson
and Despair in action.  And much, much more.  But coming up next, we're
going to take a look back at some more action from our recent tour of
Texas, Louisiana, Arkansas, and Oklahoma.  

BW:  A tour that we didn't get to go on, by the way!  Don't they know
how much I love New Orleans?

GM:  I think that's why we didn't get to go actually.  Fans, if you saw
Memorial Day Mayhem, you saw that the rivalry between Ricky Royal and
the mighty Tumaffi is nowhere near over.  Tumaffi defeated Royal in the
first round of the tournament in a very hard fought matchup - but Royal
wasn't done.  

BW:  That's right.  That big Ragin' goof stuck his nose in Tumaffi's
semifinal match with Mark Shaw and ended up getting the big Samoan
counted out!

GM:  He did not directly interfere - but you would find it hard to argue
that his presence did not distract Tumaffi and probably lead directly to
the loss.  Tumaffi, of course, was outraged and in fact, was caught on
our Post Game Show destroying the rental car of Ricky Royal.

BW:  And I hope the sumgun didn't buy the insurance, daddy!

GM:  But that wasn't all for these two heated rivals over the past
couple weeks.  As you're about to see, for the past few weeks, Ricky
Royal and Tumaffi have not been able to stay away from each other.

BW:  Oooooh, daddy, this was intense!

GM:  Indeed. 

BW:  You've got two tough hombres gunning for one another like they's no
tomorrow. 'Course, one of them's a good-for-nothin', goody-two-shoes,
worthless, borin' piece of garbage.

GM:  That may be exaggerating.

BW:  And the other's a... well, a...

GM:  A beast?

BW:  Yup.

GM:  A monster?

BW:  Yup. Ain't no other words to describe Tumaffi.

GM:  Unfortunately, we did not have our video cameras at all of the
recent events but we did get some still photos.  Let's take a look!

[Cut from ringside to a series of still shots with voiceover from the
commentators. First, a wide shot of an arena; from afar, we see Tumaffi
in the center of the ring, beating his chest. The next still is from
ringside, showing a white-faced young man standing in one corner,
staring at the Samoan. In the lower right-hand corner, the follow text
fades in: 

"TUMAFFI VS. HOWIE LAMOREAUX - HOUSTON, TX - May 25, 2008".]

BW:  This was just the day after Memorial Day Mayhem and this one didn't
look like it was going to last long, Gordo.

GM:  No, sir.

[A series of stills: Tumaffi clotheslining Lamoreaux, Tumaffi
bodyslamming him, Tumaffi in mid-air dropping an elbow on the poor kid.]

BW:  Gawd, the power! He just demolished this kid for a solid minute,
minute-and-a-half. Howie didnt get a single jab in. Tumaffi just mowed
him down.

GM:  And what a killer elbow drop that was by the big Samoan!  Lamoreaux
was basically done after that.

BW:  But Tumaffi wasn't!

[We see a still of Tumaffi yanking Lamoreaux up by his hair followed by
one of him PLANTING him with a falling slam, bringing all 405 pounds
down on top of him... 

GM:  But after this, rather than stay on him for the pin, he stood up,
gave one of his big roars, and gave every indication that he was about
to put this kid in the hospital.

BW:  What can we say? The man has a calling!

GM:  We've seen this type of thing from him before... and we've also
seen Ricky Royal promise it wouldn't happen again.

[Next, a still shot of the arena entranceway, showing Ricky Royal
charging down the aisle in street clothes.]

BW:  And then this ol' waste of space ran down and got involved!

[A still of Royal standing on the apron, engaged in a staredown with
Tumaffi, while Lamoreaux is across the ring, pulling himself to his feet
using the ropes. One last still, this one a close-up, with Tumaffi right
in Royal's face and Royal pointing an index finger directly at the big
Samoan.]

GM:  Royal's presence allowed Lamoreaux to very briefly take the upper
hand, getting in a couple of--

BW:  Couple of cheap shots!  Couple of cheap right hands! 

GM:  Tumaffi should have been concentrating on beating his opponent and
nothing else.

BW:  Didn't matter, a fallaway slam later and Lamoreaxu was put out of
his misery with a proper Polynesian Burial.

[As they talked, we see a still of the aforementioned right hands from
Lamoreaux to Tumaffi and then one of Tumaffi in mid-air about to come
crashing down with all of his weight on Lamoreaux while Royal looks on
from outside the ring.]

GM:  But Royal's presence served to ensure that Tumaffi had no way of
sending Lamoureaux out of that arena in an ambulance. And afterwards, he
stuck around to make sure the kid wouldn't feel Tumaffi's wrath... which
was a good idea.

[Another still of Tumaffi leaping, about to come crashing down on
Lamoreaux with a second Polynesian Burial... followed by a still of
Royal yanking Lamoreaux out of the ring by his foot, while Tumaffi's
smacks into the mat face-first.]

GM:  But this was just the beginning...

[One last shot of Tumaffi, in the ring, and Royal, on the floor, glaring
at one another... before we cut to a new arena and a new match:

"TUMAFFI VS. PAUL SAGER - SAN ANTONIO, TX - MAY 26th, 2008"]

GM:  This time, Royal made his entrance early.

[A still of Ricky walking down the aisle, shot from behind so we can see
Tumaffi and Sager circling one another at the beginning of the match.]

BW:  Keeps stickin' in his nose where it don't belong.

[Still of Sager getting leveled by right hand, then Tumaffi landing a
big legdrop.]

GM:  As usual, Paul Sager was no match for Tumaffi.

BW:  Kid got his butt handed to him all match long.

GM:  But after Tumaffi had the surefire pin, he pulled Sager up off the
mat...

[A still of Tumaffi powerslamming Sager, the young man looking
absolutely unconscious, followed by a still of Tumaffi having pulled him
to his feet and propping him up in the corner against the ropes.]   

GM:  Which had Royal incensed.

[A shot of Royal standing on the ring apron, his eyes wild and his mouth
wide open in a shout as he watches Tumaffi sizing Sager up for a
devastating avalanche.]

GM:  Royal's actions distracted Tumaffi, who charged over and shoved
Royal off the apron...

[A shot of Royal falling to the floor, Tumaffi towering above him from
inside the ring. The next still is of Royal, his eyes still wild,
standing on the floor and looking at the referee and pointing at the big
Samoan, followed by a still of Royal jawing up at Tumaffi.]

BW:  Royal had the referee and Tumaffi tied up for a good 30, 45
seconds, which was a cheap tactic to let Sager get back to his senses.

GM:  And get back to them he did! At least for a moment. Using every
ounce of strength he had left...

[And now a still of Tumaffi being upended and rolled up into an inside
cradle from behind, the referee dropping to his knees to count.]

GM:  To roll Tumaffi up for VERY nearly a three count!

BW:  Luckily, Tumaffi kicked out at the last second...

GM:  And Sager was just out of steam at this point.

[Stills of Tumaffi clotheslining him and falling on him with a
Polynesian Burial.]

GM:  And that was a wrap... 

[Still of Royal pulling Sager out of the ring by his foot again as
Tumaffi rolls to his feet, the referee raising his arm in the air.]

GM:  With Royal again likely saving someone from the post-match wrath of
Tumaffi.

[With the next still comes another title:

"RICKY ROYAL VS. BRAD DILLON - OKLAHOMA CITY, OK - MAY 30th, 2008"]

GM:  And when it was the Ragin' Rebel's turn to get into the ring, we
ended up with a pretty similar situation. 

[A still on Royal, in his full ring attire this time, lined up opposite
a young man who looks intimidated to be under the bright lights.]

GM:  Turned out not to be a particular competative contest...

[A still of Royal raining rights and lefts down on Dillon in the
corner... another one him driving Dillon to the mat with a bulldog...]

BW:  Amazing how easy it is to win a match when no one runs down to
ringside to distract you.

GM:  Yeah. Also amazing how easy it is to win a match without putting
anyone in the hospital.

[Still of Royal hurling Brad Dillon to the mat on his back with the
Missisippi River Plunge and the one of him covering the young man.]

GM:  Anyway, it was what happened after the match that is notable.

[A still of Ricky climbing into the crowd, with Dillon left lying in the
ring in the background.]

BW:  Royal, always the fan favorite, getting cocky, basking in the
adulation of his fans... and turnin' his back.

[Now a still of Tumaffi charging down to the ring, followed by a still
of him pulling a half-conscious Dillon to his feet inside the ring and
destroying him with a belly to belly suplex!]

GM:  Looking for a measure of revenge, Tumaffi showed up and started
taking his aggression out on another innocent victim.

BW:  No such thing as innocent in this business. I'm sure Brad Dillon
did somethin' to tick somebody off at some point.

GM:  Maybe, but we know for a FACT that Tumaffi and Ricky Royal have
ticked each other off!

[Still of Royal back in the ring, charging at Tumaffi, then one of Royal
raining blows down on the big Samoan, and one of Tumaffi shoving Royal
halfway acropss the ring.]

GM:  Tumaffi's got a ton of power in that body... but Royal's got a lot
of heart.

[Still of Royal back on his feet, again raining lefts and rights to the
face of Tumaffi, before one final still of him clotheslining the big
Samoan over the top rope and dumping him to the floor. One final shot of
Royal with both arms raised in the center of the ring, Tumaffi glaring
at him from the floor, on one knee.

Cut back to the WKIK studios where we again see Gordon and Bucky.]

GM:  So that brings you up to date on this particular rivalry. But with
Tumaffi scheduled to wrestle here in just a few moments, I can't help
but think Ricky Royal will be watching very closely. If history's any
indication, we may even find himself out here at ringside again.  Fans,
let's go up to Melissa to check out the mighty Tumaffi in action!

[We 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 at this time...
standing 5'11 and weighing in at 205 pounds... from Austin, Texas... Cal
Casey!

[A spunky young man, Casey pumps a fist in the air at the announcement.]

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.]

BW:  I get chills down my spine every single time, daddy.  It never
fails.

GM:  It certainly is one of the most intimidating entrances in the AWA.

[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 a huge shower
of boos.]

GM:  And there he is, Bucky.  The man that many people feel was robbed
out of a place in the National Title Tournament finals by Ricky Royal.

BW:  There's no doubt, Gordo.  I wouldn't want to pick a winner in a
match between Tumaffi and Marcus Broussard but you can bet that Royal at
LEAST cost Tumaffi a shot at the gold.  He had Shaw beaten like a
three-legged mutt in a dogsled race, daddy!

[The monstrous Samoan pays the fans little mind as he marches down the
aisle.  A mountain of muscle and fat, the dark-toned Tumaffi has massive
shoulders, thick limbs, and a big round gut.  His hair is nearly as
mountainous as his physique, as he sports a wild black mane that would
make a lion envious!  His long, cascading hair and beard seem connected
in a way that leaves little visible determining point as to where one
ends and the other begins.  So hairy is the man that it is difficult to
make out his brown-eyed, big-nosed face.]

MC:  From the Island of Samoa, weighing in at four hundred and five
pounds...

TUUUUUUMAAAAAAFFI!

[Clad in a loose flowing black silk robe with a dark-colored floral
design, Tumaffi strides up the ring steps and onto the apron.  He wrings
his taped hands expectantly, before stepping through the ropes. 
Shedding his robe to reveal full-length black trunks with metallic
copper outlined patterns on it (depicting a beachfront storm), and taped
bare feet, Tumaffi sneers at the fans before extending his arms out to
his sides in a proud, defiant "what do you think of this?" gesture. 
Bellowing at the top of his lungs, Tumaffi decrees his defiance of any
that would dare oppose him...

...which includes young Cal Casey who decides a quick start may give him
some chance to get some offense in.]

GM:  Here we go!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


[Casey storms the corner, leaping into the air with a tackle that knocks
Tumaffi back a half step into the buckles.  Casey immediately pulls
Tumaffi into a side headlock, firing clenched fists at the massive skull
of the Samoan...

...who promptly hoists Casey off the mat, stepping a couple feet away
from the corner.]

GM:  Uh oh.

BW:  Look at the power, Gordo!  That's a two hundred pound man he's just
holding up like a trophy that a fisherman pulled in!

[With a mighty toss, Tumaffi sends Casey crashing down to the canvas in
a heap.]

GM:  Goodness.  A lot of power on display by the big man.  And by the
look on his face, I would not want to be Cal Casey right now.

BW:  What a goof!  He offended the big man by attacking him before the
bell.  It's not bad enough you're going to get pummeled by Tumaffi but
you want to make him mad too?  Unbelievable!

GM:  Casey up to a knee, trying to get up before Tumaffi comes to him.

[The Samoan slowly walks over to his prey, taking the time to stare out
at the jeering crowd...

...and getting a pair of right hands driven into his ample midsection
for his efforts.]

GM:  Casey's fighting back!  He's not going down without a fight and-

[Tumaffi simply brings one of his massive arms down from over his head,
smashing Casey across the skull with a chop that puts the Texan back
down on the mat.]

GM:  No effect.  He was getting pummeled in the gut and it had
absolutely no effect on Tumaffi.  

BW:  That chop sure had an effect though - and that's the great thing
about Tumaffi in the ring.  The simplest move will have just so much
impact.  Most guys can't drop someone with a single chop, Gordo, but
Tumaffi definitely can.

GM:  He certainly can - and he certainly did.

[Tumaffi uses his bare foot to roll Casey to his back, staring up at the
lights...

...and then leaps into the air, bringing all 405 pounds down across the
torso with a crushing elbowdrop.]

GM:  Ohhh!

BW:  That'll knock the wind out of you.

GM:  That might knock your lungs out of you.

[Tumaffi lies still, his arm draped over the chest as he gestures for
the referee.]

GM:  This could be it right here.  One!  Two!  Thr-

[The crowd boos as Tumaffi sits up, breaking his own pin attempt.  He
sneers at the protesting official as he slowly regains his feet, pulling
Casey's dead weight off the mat by the hair.]

GM:  See, now this... this is exactly what Ricky Royal has a problem
with, Bucky.  There's no need for this.  He had the man beat right there
with the elbowdrop!

BW:  You don't want to see what other weapons he has in his aresenal?

GM:  No!

[Tumaffi wraps his big hand around the throat of his opponent, turning
him around to face all four sides of the ring...

...when suddenly the crowd bursts into cheers.]

GM:  Uh oh - and here comes the Ragin' Rebel!

BW:  He's got no business being out here and you know it, daddy!

GM:  He's put Tumaffi on warning - no more opponents are going to the
hospital on his watch!  Ricky Royal has pledged to prevent another Erik
Reid incident from happening!

[The massive Samoan pauses when he spots Royal, lifting his free hand to
point at him.  The referee moves to the ropes, trying to get Royal to
leave the ringside area.]

GM:  Tumaffi is distracted again!  He can't keep his focus whenever
Ricky Royal is-

[The crowd cheers as Casey slaps the arm holding his throat away...

...and lashes out with a hard superkick that catches Tumaffi squarely on
the chin!]

GM:  Ohhh!  Tumaffi looks stunned!  He looks dazed!

[A cheering Ricky Royal slaps the canvas a few times, trying to rally
the fans behind young Cal Casey.]

GM:  Cal Casey needs to seize the moment here!

[Casey charges to the ropes, rebounding back...

...and connecting with a flying forearm that bounces off the skull of
the Samoan!]

GM:  Big flying forearm connects!

BW:  It did nothing!  No effect!

GM:  He didn't take the big man down but Tumaffi still looks wobbly,
Bucky!  Tumaffi still looks like- Casey to the ropes again.

[The spunky Texas rebounds back, hurling himself into the air with a
cross bodyblock...

...that results in him getting snatched out of the sky.]

GM:  CAUGHT!

[Tumaffi steps away from the ropes to the middle of the ring, carrying
Casey across his body as he glares at Ricky Royal who looks on from the
floor.]

BW:  He's gonna send Royal a message right now, Gordo!

GM:  What is he going to do with Cal Casey?  He's got him held in the
air - totally helpless for... no!

[The 405 pounder effortlessly tosses Casey up into the air, stepping
forward to catch him on his broad shoulders...

...and plummets backwards, smashing Casey into the canvas with a Samoan
Drop!]

GM:  OHHHHHH!

[The air lets out of the crowd as Tumaffi leans back, applying an
arrogant cover.]

GM:  One.  Two.  Thr- oh, come on!

[The crowd boos and Ricky Royal bristles as Tumaffi sits up off his
opponent, shaking his head as he does so.]

BW:  Haha!  I love it, Gordo!  Tumaffi is telling Ricky Royal that he
controls his own destiny.  He decides when he's going to finish off an
opponent - not Ricky friggin' Royal!

GM:  Tumaffi climbs back to his feet...

[Where Ricky Royal immediately leaps up on the ring apron, protesting to
the official.]

BW:  Get him down from there!

GM:  I suppose I have to agree with that.  Royal has no business being
up on the ring apron.  He needs to stay out on the floor if he's going
to be out here for this match.

[Sneering at Royal, Tumaffi leans over to pull a motionless Casey off
the canvas once more.]

GM:  Just finish the poor soul, would you?

BW:  He will.

GM:  When?

BW:  When he's good and ready to, daddy!

[Holding Casey by the hair, Tumaffi glares at Royal once again...

...and then changes his grip into a two-handed choke.]

GM:  Choke!  That's a blatant choke right in front of the referee!

[Tumaffi hoists Casey off the mat, holding him in the air by the throat
as the referee counts.]

GM:  Two... three... four... fi-

[Just before the DQ would come, Tumaffi hurls his helpless opponent into
the turnbuckles near Royal, pointing at him with a beefy arm.]

GM:  Oh no.  Not this.

BW:  Somebody get a sponge to clean up the ring!

GM:  TUUUUUMAAAAAAFFIIIIIIIII!

[The massive Samoan rumbles across the ring at top speed, charging in
for a corner splash.]

GM:  AVALANCH-

[The crowd erupts as a desperate Ricky Royal grabs Casey by the wrist,
yanking him clear from the corner at the last moment, a move that sends
Tumaffi crashing chestfirst to the buckles.]

GM:  OHHH!  HE MISSED!  HE MISSED THE AVALANCHE!

BW:  Thanks to Ricky Royal!  Royal yanked Casey out of the-


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  The referee called for the bell.  Tumaffi's going to win this one
by disqualification but-

[The crowd roars again as Royal steps through the ropes, peppering
Tumaffi with clenched fists to the head.]

GM:  Right hand!  Right hand!  Right hand!  Right hand!

[Grabbing the massive wrist, Royal fires Tumaffi across the ring to the
turnbuckles, and then leaps up to the middle turnbuckle himself.]

GM:  Here we go!

[Royal starts raining down clenched fists from his elevated position,
driving his knuckles into the temple of the big man from Samoa.]


"ONE!"
"TWO!"
"THREE!"
"FOUR!"
"FIVE!"
"SIX!"
"SEVEN!"
"EIGHT!"
"NINE!"
"TEN!"
"ELEVEN!"
"TWELVE!"
"THIRTEEN!"
"FOURTEEN!"
"FIFT- OHHHHHHHH!"

[The crowd groans as Tumaffi reaches up and hurls Royal off the middle
rope...

...but the Ragin' Rebel quickly recovers, charging back in.]

GM:  Royal will not be deni- ohhhh!  

[At the last moment, Tumaffi sidesteps, throwing Royal chestfirst into
the corner.]

BW:  You were saying?

[As Royal stumbles out of the buckles, Tumaffi grabs him by the head,
driving his knee up into the upper body of the Ragin' Rebel.]

GM:  Kneelift by Tumaffi, trying to- ohh!  Another knee up into the
chest.  

[Grabbing Royal by the throat, Tumaffi physically hurls Royal back into
the turnbuckles.]

GM:  Uh oh.

BW:  Oh yeah, daddy!  Tumaffi's gonna finish this goof once and for all!

[The big Samoan slowly backs across the ring towards the opposite
corner, ignoring the referee's pleas to stop.]

GM:  He's sizing up Royal for the avalanche in the corner.  Ricky Royal
looks helpless.  He looks like he- TUMAFFI!

[Tumaffi stampedes across the ring, ready to smash his rival into bits
in the turnbuckles...

...but at the last moment, Cal Casey leaps in front of Royal, shielding
the Ragin' Rebel's body with his own!]

GM:  OHHHHHHHHH!

[Tumaffi backs away, a bit shocked at Casey's act of bravery, especially
when Casey melts away to the mat, flat on his face as a surprised Ricky
Royal drops to his knees, checking on the young man from Austin, Texas.]

GM:  Cal Casey just... he just threw his body in front of a rampaging
Tumaffi to save Ricky Royal!  Did you see that, Bucky?

BW:  I saw it but I don't believe it.  That kid is nuts!

GM:  Casey is hurt - Royal is checking on him.  How grateful must Ricky
Royal be right now?

BW:  Very!  Cal Casey just risked his career - heck, his life - to save
Royal from the avalanche.  

GM:  We're going to need some help out here for Cal Casey, I believe. 
Fans, do not go away - up next, we've got more highlights from the tour!

[Our camera cuts to a shot of Tumaffi retreating, leaving Royal behind
to care of Cal Casey as AWA medical staff charges the ring.  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 "JUNE 29th - LIVE TV
TAPING."]

"Come on out on to the WKIK Studios in Dallas, Texas on June 29th for a
Live Television Taping."

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

"On July 5th, we'll be right back in the WKIK Studios for a very special
television taping.

On July 11th, we'll be back in Houston, Texas for another AWA live
event.  On July 12th, we're heading to San Antonio.  And on July 13th,
the AWA makes its Austin, Texas debut.

July 19th finds the AWA back in the WKIK Studios for another live
television taping.

We wrap up the month of July on the 25th, 26th, and 27th on the road
with cities 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:  The American Wrestling Alliance is taking the wrestling world by
storm one event at a time and you do not want to miss us when we come to
your hometown.  

BW:  That's right, daddy.  Who would want to miss Tumaffi puttin' some
blue collar cow milker through the canvas?

GM:  During our break, the AWA medical staff helped Cal Casey out of the
ring and we're happy to report that they believe he only suffered some
bruising of the ribs.  Good news.

BW:  Maybe that coward Ricky Royal won't feel so bad about hiding behind
him now.

GM:  Hiding behin- give me a break, Bucky!  Fans, we just talked about
how you don't want to miss the AWA on tour when it comes your way and
we're about to show you another reason why.  During the week before
Memorial Day Mayhem, a bit of news might have slipped under the radar
when the tag team of Rough N Ready, upset at not being able to compete
in Ft. Worth, made a challenge to The Upper Crust for a tag team match.

BW:  That's right.  And we all assumed it was a pointless challenged
because the Upper Crust's agent, Ben Waterson, was out of the country on
a talent finding trip.  There was no way the match could be made.

GM:  But Bling Bling Beaumont and "Supersonic" Shannon Stokes thought
otherwise.  They went over their agent's head - ending their holdout
that Waterson had declared - and they signed for the match with Rough N
Ready.  That match took place during the AWA's live event tour on May
31st in the Lakefront Arena in New Orleans, Louisiana.  Our cameras were
present for that night so right now, let's get some words from Rough N
Ready right before the match and then we'll be showing you exclusive
live event highlights of the showdown between Rough N Ready and The
Upper Crust!

[We cut away from the announce team to footage marked "May 31st - New
Orleans, Louisiana - AWA Live Event."

Fade up on the members of Rough N Ready, David Cooper on the left, Eric
Matthew Somers on the right, and Sarah Sharpe in between them, along
with Gordon Myers, standing alongside a makeshift version of the AWA
commentators position.]

Gordon: Fans, I'm here with Rough N Ready as they prepare for tonight's
match against The Upper Crust... now, gentlemen, your manager put this
open contract out for the Upper Crust to sign, despite the fact their
agent, Ben Waterson, did not appear interested in getting matches for
his charges... the two men signed the contract, so what is the gameplan
going into tonight's match?

Eric: You keep using that term "gentlemen" like it means something to
us, Gordon... but the truth is, Dave and I aren't about to be acting
like gentlemen. It's not because we got an axe to grind with the Upper
Crust... it's just because what Dave and I do best is go into the ring,
beat up the opposition, then head back to the dressing room smiling
about what we just did. And really, that's all that matters, isn't that
right, Dave?

Dave: [a slight smile on his face] See, Gordon, my partner has been
pretty anxious to get another chance to show what he can do in that
ring... and to tell you the truth, I've been a little impatient myself.
Sure, we got that Rumble match to start, but that was more about
everyone being out for themselves than it was than showing everyone just
how good of a unit that Eric and myself are. So, after one tag team
match, here we are, touring and showing everyone what makes AWA the best
thing going... but also showing The Upper Crust that we mean business,
and we are going to prove that, regardless of age, that we are destined
to be the premier tag team in the AWA.

Gordon: Yet this tag match has been a result of Shannon Stokes and Bling
Bling Beaumont signing the contract on their own, without their agent
having a chance to look over it. What do you think Ben Waterson's
response is going to be regarding this challenge you made and his team's
decision to take you up on it?

Sarah: Gordon, I recall a couple weeks ago that Ben Waterson was making
a big deal about how he was going to show everyone just what made him
such a great managerial talent... but the problem is, he's been leaving
his clients high and dry. Now, if you're going to prove that you are a
dependable manager, you better make sure you aren't just talking a good
game, but demonstrating to the men you represent that you are truly
interested in what is best for their career. And if Waterson thinks that
what is best for the career of his men is to leave them hanging... well,
I'd seriously question how good of a manager he is.

Gordon: That some fairly strong words, Sarah.

Sarah: Strong words, Gordon... I'd call it the truth. When I agreed to
represent these two individuals [motioning back to Eric and Dave] I knew
that meant I had a job to do and to do it well. Now, I may not have
gotten a match for these men at Memorial Day Mayhem, but I kept pushing
to get them booked to a match at some point. So here we are... The Upper
Crust has accepted the challenge, and after tonight, I'm going to
continue showing I am committed to Rough N Ready and ensuring that I do
what is best for their careers... and that's finding them competition.
If Waterson isn't willing to do that for his men, then perhaps Waterson
should be getting out of this place.

Eric: [grinning] Gordon, do you see why Sarah is handling our business
affairs? It ain't just because she's Dave's wife...

[To which Dave and Sarah both smile at.]

Eric: It's because she knows how to do her job well. Maybe if Waterson
weren't spending so much time schmozzing with the folks in the AWA front
offices, he might actually do his job well too.

Dave: Personally, Eric, the way I see it is this... tonight, Waterson
isn't our concern. Our concern is The Upper Crust, and while Eric and I
certainly respect what the two of you bring to the ring, the two of you
are going to learn not just to respect what we bring to the ring, but to
learn that Rough N Ready is settling for nothing less than being the
best.

Gordon: Thank you, Rough N Ready, for your time.

[We fade from a shot of the trio...

...to a shot of inside the ring.  We are obviously a few minutes into
the match between the Upper Crust and Rough N Ready as the crowd is
heated up.  Shannon Stokes has Dave Cooper in the corner at this point,
lighting up his chests with chops as Bling Bling Beaumont cheers him on
from the apron.  By the way, there is no sign of Ben Waterson at
ringside.  Our announcers provide voiceover.]

GM:  So, now you can see-

BW:  Wait a cotton-pickin' second, Gordo!  I thought you didn't go on
the tour either!

GM:  Errr, well, I-

BW:  I see how it works!  They leave the man who the fans pay to see at
home and take ol' Stiff And Stoic with 'em?  

GM:  Bucky, I-

BW:  Just call the match, Gordo.  I'm goin' on strike for this segment.

[An irish whip by Stokes sends Dave Cooper crashing into the opposite
corner.  A loud scream from Stokes draws a few cheers from the crowd as
he puts his "Supersonic" nickname on display by sprinting across the
ring at top speed before leaving his feet and driving both feet squarely
into the chest of Cooper!]

GM:  Ohhh!  Big running dropkick into the corner.  And Shannon Stokes is
showing why "Supersonic" is not just a clever nickname for him.  He
simply is one of the fastest men in our business, Bucky.

BW:  ...

GM:  Alrighty then.  Stokes snapmares Cooper out of the corner...

[And rattles his spine with a hard kick to the lower back that sends
another mixed reaction through the crowd.]

GM:  The fans are having a hard time booing The Upper Crust despite
their poor tastes in managerial representation.  Everywhere they've
gone, Stokes and Beaumont, have been very popular fan favorites.  

[Pulling Cooper to his feet, Stokes drags him back to the corner of The
Upper Crust, making the exchange with the lanky Bling Bling Beaumont who
slingshots over the ropes before hitting a big European Uppercut that
knocks Cooper back against the ropes.]

GM:  Beaumont has him trapped against the ropes, a long, long way from
his partner who is looking for the tag.  Beaumont and Stokes need to use
their speed and quickness if they want to stand a chance against Rough N
Ready.

[An irish whip by Beaumont sends Cooper across the ring to the ropes.]

GM:  Irish whip... leapfrog by Beaumont... did you see the height on
that?

[As Cooper rebounds off the blind side, Beaumont leaps right back up,
kicking his legs out in a blind leapfrog that brings cheers from the
fans for the athleticism.]

GM:  Wow!  Cooper off the ropes again.

[And Beaumont leaps again, this time snaring his opponent's heads
between his legs, whipping him over to the mat with a rana that brings
the fans to their feet!]

GM:  A big headscissors takedown by Beaumont had Rough N Ready in
trouble in the early minutes of the match...

[The footage jumps forwards another couple minutes to around the five
minute point in the mat.  Bling Bling Beaumont is up top, leaping off
with a cross body...

...that Dave Cooper ducks, causing Beaumont to crash into the mat as
Cooper dives at his corner, slapping the outstretched hand of the big
man, Eric Matthew Somers.]

GM:  TAG!

[The big 6'9 monster lumbers into the ring, drilling a rising Beaumont
with a big running clothesline that causes Beaumont to completely flip
in the air before crashing back down to the mat.]

GM:  Ohhhh!  What a clothesline by Cooper!

[Trying to aid his partner, Shannon Stokes leaps into the air, springing
off the ropes to attack Cooper...

...and gets snatched out of the air in a bearhug that Cooper holds for a
moment before sitting out in a spinebuster slam!]

GM:  SPINEBUSTER!  Eric Matthew Somers plants Stokes to the canvas...
and listen to these fans in New Orleans!

[Somers climbs up off the mat, dragging Beaumont back to his feet.]

GM:  Big forearm shiver knocks Beaumont back into the corner.  A 350
pounder threw that forearm at Beaumont... that'll loosen your filling,
eh Bucky?

BW:  ...

GM:  Just thought I'd check.

[A big whip by Somers sends Beaumont to the opposite corner...

...and a big stampeding clothesline in the corner knocks Beaumont off
his feet and down to the mat.]

GM:  The clotheslines were flying from Eric Matthew Somers... but it
wouldn't be enough.  Take a look.

[The footage cuts ahead another few minutes to show all four men in the
ring, battling like wildcats.]

GM:  With the time running low, chaos broke loose inside the ring. 
Stokes was trading right hands with Cooper.  Beaumont was using those
lanky legs to light Somers with kicks.  

[A dropkick from both Upper Crust members send their opponents back to
the ropes.]

GM:  Stokes and Beaumont went for a double whip here... but Cooper and
Somers managed to reverse it.

[As Stokes approaches Cooper, Cooper dips his head down, pulling both of
Stokes' legs into the air... 

...and slamming him hard in a modified standing spinebuster.  He quickly
folds up the legs, turning Stokes over into a Texas Cloverleaf.  

At the same time, the rebounding Beaumont gets backdropped to the mat
near the ropes.]

GM:  CLOVERLEAF!  Cooper traps Stokes in the Texas Cloverleaf, looking
for the submission victory.  Seeing his partner in trouble, Beaumont got
quickly up to try and make the save...

[But a running big boot from the 6'9 Somers sending Beaumont sailing
over the ropes to the floor, leaving Stokes all alone with no choice but
to...]

GM:  Stokes taps out!  You see right there, Shannon Stokes tapping out
to the Texas Cloverleaf - and that's a big win for the team of Rough N
Ready out on the road for the AWA!

[The camera catches a shot of Cooper and Somers celebrating with their
manager Sarah...

...and then fades back out to our announce team live in the WKIK
Studios.]

GM:  So, as you can see as we close in on the end of Hour One, it was an
exciting first tour for the AWA - and AWA live events are something you
just can't understand unless you're there.  

BW:  We have one more arena show recap to show, don't we?

GM:  Oh, you're talking again?

BW:  Well, I couldn't leave you to do this alone.  The network suits are
already panicked that we're losing viewers.

GM:  Give me a break, Bucky.  I think you came out of your cone of
silence because of who is coming up next on Saturday Night Wrestling.

BW:  I don't know what you're talking about.

GM:  I'm sure.  Fans, at this time, may I present to you the _first_
ever AWA National Champion! The San Jose Shark, Marcus Broussard!

["Super Bon Bon" by Soul Coughing plays throughout the WKIK Studios and
the fans erupt in boos, and go to an even higher level when Broussard
walks out. Attired in a black pin striped suit, left open at the collar,
with a pair of sweet shades firmly in place, Broussard makes a show of
dusting off the National Title and placing it reverently on his
shoulder. Behind him strides the Super Ninja, faceless, emotionless
white from head to toe. The music dies down but the boos do not, and
Marcus settles in close to Myers, the pride etched in every movement.]

GM: You seem to be a few pounds heavier, Mr. Broussard.

MB: You could say that, Gordon Myers, and youd be right. However, you
could also say that Im a few pounds lighter. For many, many years I
carried around with me the added weight of having never won the top
title. I have watched as men who couldnt carry my tassled boots to the
ring parade around with belts of gold and silver, and proclaim
themselves as _the_ man in professional wrestling.

I had to bite my lip, Gordon Myers, and bide my time. And by God, when
the AWA offered me the opportunity to wrestle, I knew my time was at
hand. I knew it was my time to be just as dominant and just as great as
I possibly could be. I called myself the pillar of the AWA and then I
went out and won the National Title.

[Broussard holds the belt up to Myers and then to the camera.]

MB: And that means I am everything I said I was. Every nickname, every
accolade ha ha, this belt makes them all true. Ohhh, Gordon Myers, aint
it great to be on top of the world?

[Marcus grins like a Cheshire cat as Myers eyes up the title, and then
Super Ninja.]

GM: I suppose it is, Mr. Broussard. You certainly had a pair of grueling
matches at Memorial Day Mayhem, but the man you beat had a trio of them.
Lady luck was certainly on your side, wouldnt you agree?

MB: They dont call her lady luck for nothin, Gordon, she knows how to
pick a winner! Its a crying shame that Rick Marley got jumped like he
did, and it makes my heart bleed to know that Mark Shaw was at a
disadvantage. But let me tell you something Myers, and mark my words
people, because this is the champ talking life is not fair. Its not
always rainbows and butterflies, Gordon, sometimes youve got to fight
through adversity. Its a real bummer that you got your clock cleaned,
Marley, and its an injustice that you had to wrestle three matches,
Shaw, but I would have walked through the fiery rings of hell to get my
hands on this.

If this is what you wanted, then you should have found a way to get it.
I would have wrestled seven times against a Russian tank to get this
gold, and believe me when I tell you that I would have found a way to
get through it. This belt isnt any less precious because Rick Marley got
jumped, the win isnt any less sweet because Mark Shaw got the short end
of the stick. Weve all been there, boys, but the great ones regroup and
get better. If you want to get a shot at this gold, send your petition
to the Championship Committee just like everyone else. And make the most
of it when you get your shot at it, because I intend to keep a
stranglehold on this belt for a long, long, time.

GM: Well, there is certainly a long list of contenders who would like to
argue that point with you-

[Myers' attention diverts from Broussard to off-camera.]

GM: And this man might be one of them.

["This man" happens to be Adam Rogers, who walks into the interview area
and the view of the camera. Super Ninja immediately positions himself
between the champ and the Natural, prompting Rogers to immediately hold
his hands up as Myers repositions himself between them all so the
microphone can catch every word.]

AR: Hang on...hang on now. I'm not out here to cause any problems. I
simply came out here to congratulate the new National Heavyweight
Champion. I had to do it now, Gordon, because for some reason...and I
can't seem to understand this...for some reason, Marcus won't return any
phone calls.

[Rogers pauses, throwing a casual glance at the Ninja before turning his
focus to Broussard.]

AR: Now look...I understand, Marcus, that you came here to make a name
for yourself, by yourself. I understand that you aren't interested in
playing second fiddle, or being anything but the high man on the
proverbial totem pole. That's cool. I don't know if you see me as a
threat, or if you're worried about having to sit in the back seat again
with me wrestling in an AWA ring, or if you're simply wanting to leave
the past where it was.

But Marcus...we walked a few miles down a long and winding road
together. We've been in the trenches. We've battled the best, and we
came out with hands raised in victory. Your past, Marcus, has helped you
get to where you are today.

Don't forget that.

[The final EMWC World Champion holds the AWA Champion's stare for a
brief but tense moment.]

AR: Again, let me say congratulations. You deserve that title. I knew
going into the night that no one was going to beat you. Not Houston, not
Shaw, not Tumaffi, no one. That night was yours.

But before you get too far ahead of yourself and start thinking about a
long title reign...remember that you've got two choices. You can either
learn from the past...

[Dramatic pause!]

AR: Or allow it to be your downfall.

[With those final words, Rogers promptly turns and walks out of the
camera view and into the back.]

GM:  Mr. Broussard?  What did he mean by that?

[The San Jose Shark ignores the question, still staring off in the
distance where Rogers made his exit.  He shakes his head, and with a
quick gesture he and the Super Ninja make their exit.]

GM:  We'll be right back for the Power Hour!

[And with that, 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 fade back up on the announce desk where Gordon Myers and
Bucky Wilde have been joined by two fearsome individuals.]

GM:  Welcome back to AWA Saturday Night Wrestling, fans, and to kick off
the Power Hour, we have very obviously been joined by Vladimir Velikov
and his nephew, the Russian War Machine, Kolya Sudakov.  Gentlemen, I
understand that AWA security is preventing Werewolf Gregorson and
Despair from coming out here right now so... well, the floor is yours.

[Velikov grabs Myers' by the sleeve of his jacket, yanking his arm and
the mic towards him.]

VV:  Let your pathetic Americans go!  Security, let them go!  Bring me
the Werewolf!  Bring Kolya the Despair!  We do not fear your Americans,
Comrade Myers.  Did you see not your Mayhem show?

[Myers nods his head.]

GM:  Yes, Mr. Velikov.  I was right there at ringside when-

[Velikov's gravelly voice interrupts.]

VV:  Then you see true Russian warriors destroy everyone AWA puts in our
way?

GM:  Well, I saw you-

VV:  You saw myself and Kolya dominate your Werewolf and your Despair?

GM:  Well, not exac-

VV:  Comrade Myers, you disappoint me.

[Bucky Wilde is chuckling like crazy now.]

VV:  Comrade Wilde?

BW:  Yes, sir!

VV:  Who was standing at the end of Mayhem match?

BW:  The Russians!

VV:  That is correct.  And who was laid out with their head swelling...
how you say... like a melon?

BW:  Heheh... Despair!

VV:  Also correct.  Comrade Myers, why are you lacking in intelligence
that Comrade Wilde seems to have?

[Bucky cackles at this as Myers looks exasperated.]

VV:  Comrade Myers, tell me you saw your "Showtime" man after he stuck
his American nose in Russian business.

GM:  I saw you take that big metal chain and-

VV:  No, no, no... what you saw was your "Showtime" man acting as a true
American.

GM:  Now what on earth does that mean?

VV:  Your "Showtime" man invades our ring like you Americans do -
sticking your nose in business that does not belong to you.  And your
"Showtime" man finds out what his ancestors knew and forgot to tell him.

GM:  I'm afraid to ask.

VV:  He found out that your weak, cowardly Americans ran from the Soviet
Empire... your pathetic, snivelling Americans hid from Mother Russia...
and your useless, hopeless Americans... when you stood and fought Mother
Russia?

You were broken... just like his neck.

[And with that, Velikov and his nephew storm off the set, leaving Gordon
Myers to shake his head in disbelief.]

GM:  Fans, let's go up to the ring.  Unbelievable.

[We 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 at this time, from
Reno, Nevada... standing 5'11 and weighing in at 247 pounds... he is Ace
Cole!

[A mild shower of boos for the long bearded man wearing black tights
with a playing card on the rear... and yes, it is an Ace.]

MC:  And his opponent...

[The crowd starts cheering as the opening chords of Dropkick Murphys'
"I'm Shipping Up to Boston" starts up.]

BW:  This guy?  He's been so paranoid lately, I thought he was boarded
up in his house.

[The music continues as Melissa Cannon speaks.]

MC:  From Boston, Massachusetts... weighing in at 255 pounds... he is
the WILD THING...

KEEEEEVIN SLAAAAAATER!

[The WKIK Studio audience goes nuts as Slater steps through the curtain.
 We immediately notice he's not in his ring gear, opting instead to stay
in his street clothes apparently.  He's wearing a pair of jeans with a
Boston Celtics Larry Bird jersey as he charges the ring, diving
headfirst under the ropes.]

GM:  Whoa!  Look out!

[Slater pops up to his feet in fighting position but doesn't storm the
opponent.  Instead, he peels off to the corner facing the entryway,
stepping up to the midbuckle.]


"COME AND GET ME!  I'M RIGHT HERE!"


[Slater spreads his arms wide in invitation.]

GM:  Kevin Slater apparently still searching for The Man With The Money.
 He and Luke Steele dispatched of both Spyder LZ and The Masked Menace
at Memorial Day Mayhem, chasing them both out of the AWA... but there
was no sign of the man who paid those two big brawlers to go after
Slater in the first place, Bucky.

BW:  There wasn't and it's slowly driving Slater crazy.  He's chased
away his fiancee.  He's got his friends freaked out to be around him. 
He spends every waking moment making lists of just who The Man With The
Money could be.

GM:  From what I understand, he's been pouring over his video library of
all his old matches, trying to find any suspect at all that he can add
to the list.  We know he pretty much considers anyone and everyone he's
ever wrestled a suspect.

BW:  And you have to wonder if this is what The Man With The Money
wanted all along, Gordo.  Maybe he didn't care about taking Slater out
physically... he wants to break him mentally.

GM:  You could be right.

[The Wild Thing finally jumps back down off the second rope...

...and this time, he charges his opponent, barreling into him with a
hard forearm shot that sends Cole stumbling back into the turnbuckles.]

GM:  Backed to the buckles already...


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  There's the official start of the match... not that Slater cares at
this junction.

[Slater puts a hand on Cole's chest, keeping him in the buckles...

...and then blasts him with an overhand slap chop across the chest with
the same hand.]

GM:  Good grief!  What a shot, Bucky!

[The referee steps towards the corner, ordering Slater to back away but
the Wild Thing refuses...

...and then drills Cole with a reverse knife edge chop.]

GM:  Another hard chop... this one a knife edge...

[Slater leans on his opponent, screaming at no one in particular.]


"COME ON!  COME GET ME NOW!  MY BACK IS TURNED!"


[Another hard chop across the chest drops Cole to a seated position in
the corner as Slater is forced away from the corner by the referee.]

GM:  Slater backed off by the official.  Ace Cole may have picked the
wrong night to sign on to face the Wild Thing, Bucky.

BW:  With this paranoid fruitcake, when is there a good time to face
him?

[Slater abruptly shoves the referee aside, sprinting towards the corner
and driving his knee squarely into the face of the seated Cole, knocking
Cole's entire upper body between the bottom and middle ropes.]

GM:  Ohhhhh!  

BW:  Cole might need some dental work done after that one.

[The Wild Thing ignores the referee, dropping down to his back and
rolling under the ropes.]

GM:  Uh oh.  Slater's out on the floor now.  Cole's in trouble.

[Slater grabs Cole's scraggly hair with both hands, yanking his head up
and leaning in to scream at him.]


"DID HE BUY YOU TOO, YOU SONUVABITCH?!  WHO IS HE?!"


[Using the hair, Slater swings Cole's head down violently, slamming his
face into the ring apron.]

GM:  Fans, I apologize for the language being used by Kevin Slater.  We
obviously do not condone that kind of speech on our telecasts.

[Grabbing the hair again, Slater yanks Cole out to the floor, pulling
him to his feet, leaning in again.]


"WHERE IS HE, HUH?!  BRING HIM OUT HERE!"


[A hard slap across the face knocks Cole back down to the floor, an
irate Slater stalking around the ringside area, glaring at the
entryway.]

GM:  This is totally unlike the Kevin Slater we're used to seeing, fans.
 

BW:  The guy's playing with one card short of a royal flush, daddy-o!

GM:  I don't even know what that means.

[Slater charges the rising Cole, drilling him with a running boot to the
side of the face that sends him spiraling away, falling down near the
front row of fans.]

GM:  Uh oh.

BW:  Maybe we should've invested in that barricade after the
Shaw/Driscoll match.

GM:  Slater's got him out in the front row - the referee is warning him,
starting his ten count now.

BW:  Why did he wait til now?  This guy's a menace!

[The Wild Thing grabs Cole by the hair, pulling him off the wooden
bleachers...

...and then slamming his face into the seat!]

GM:  Ohhhh!  

BW:  Now, why isn't that a DQ, Gordo?

GM:  I don't know.  It certainly could be, I'd think.

[Slater yanks Cole off the wooden benches, dragging him back towards the
ring, hurling him under the ropes.]

GM:  Slater tosses him back in, climbing up on the apron...

[The Wild Thing spreads his arms wide again, turning his back on the
emergency exit.]


"I'M WAITING!  COME ON!"


[Slater steps through the ropes, driving a hard right hand into a
kneeling Ace Cole, knocking him flat on his back on the floor.]

GM:  Down goes Cole again.  Slater's just dominating this man from Reno,
Nevada.  

[The Wild Thing leans over the ropes, staring at the entryway.]

GM:  And still he just can't keep his focus, Bucky.  After almost every
move on offense, he calls for The Man With The Money or he comes to
stare at the entrance to the ringside area.  He really expects to be
attacked at any time.

BW:  I guess you can't blame him, Gordo.  For months, he WAS attacked
almost every time he showed his face out here.  First it was the
Menace... then Spyder LZ... who knows who will show up next to go after
that bounty?

[Shaking his head, Slater turns away from the entryway, dragging Cole
off the mat again.]

GM:  Front facelock by Slater... maybe a suplex...

[With a scream of "COME GET THIS!", Slater hoists Cole into the air in a
vertical suplex, holding... holding... holding...

...and then dropping straight down, slamming Cole's skull into the
canvas!]

GM:  BRAINBUSTER!  OHHHHH MY!

[Slater looks annoyed as he rolls Cole over to his back, applying a
sloppy lateral press.]

GM:  That oughta do it.  One.  Two.  Three.


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


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

The Wild Thing, KEEEEEVIN SLAAAATER!

[Slater immediately shoves up to his feet, striking a defensive
position.]

BW:  Look at this loony sumgun, Gordo!  He's fightin' shadows and
ghosts!

GM:  Well, he does seem to be a bit paranoid.

BW:  A bit?  The guy's jumping at his own voice when he sings in the
shower, daddy!

[Seeing no enemies, Slater seems agitated as he rolls from the ring,
stalking right past the announce desk as he makes his way out the
exitway.]

GM:  Well, I guess we won't be speaking with the Wild Thing tonight.

BW:   You're not having much luck flagging down former World Champions
for interviews tonight, are you?

GM:  Apparently not.  A nice victory for Kevin Slater right there though
as he- well, I was going to say as he works his way up the ladder
towards the National Champion.  But right now, I think Slater would
prefer a shot at The Man With The Money.

BW:  Unfortunately for him, he has no idea when that shot is coming.

GM:  You got that right.  From that match, we could see just how
different Kevin Slater is acting.  We spoke earlier about him alienating
his fiancee, Megan.  And we know he had some issues with his good
friend, Luke Steele, prior to Memorial Day Mayhem.  Some wondered if
those issues would send Steele right back to wherever he came from after
the show was over.  Well, let's find out together, shall we?  Luke
Steele, everyone!

["I Am The Man" hits up on the studio speakers, and the crowd cheers
modestly for the sight of Luke Steele dressed in bluejeans and an AWA
t-shirt.  Steele heads for the announce desk, slapping hands with people
in the crowd on his way.]

GM:  The Real Deal taking a moment to greet some of our loyal fans here
in the WKIK Studios that embraced him with open arms after five years
away from the sport.

[Steele reaches the desk and shakes Gordon's hand before standing next
to the announcer.]

GM:  Thanks for joining us, Mr. Steele.

LS:  Thanks, pleasure to be out here.

GM:  Luke, you were invited to be on hand tonight so you can clear up a
few rumors about your current status here in the AWA.  Everyone knows
you showed up simply to provide some backup for Kevin Slater in his
ongoing crusade against The Man With The Money, but the real question
everybody wants to know is this.  Will you be sticking around?

LS: [rubs his chin] Well Gordon, you're right.  I got a phone call from
Megan a few weeks back, to come out and give my old pal Kevin a hand
with a few chumps giving him some trouble.  I figured alright, I'll pop
in for a couple of weeks and see how the old creaky body would handle
being back in the ring.  Much to my surprise, I felt pretty good out
there at Mayhem.  Hell, even got to come off the top rope like the old
days.  Surprised myself with it. [grins] Surprised Spyder too.

[Myers returns the smile as he inquires further.]

GM: So after the years of layoff, you still think you can hang with the
young bucks?

LS: Only one way to find out, baby doll.  I'm stating my intent right
here and now, that I'm signing with the AWA full time.  I don't know how
long I might last, but this here seems to be the place where things are
happening.  We just crowned a National Champion you know, Marcus
Broussard's the dude to beat.  Maybe I'll throw my name into the hat of
challengers.  Who knows?

GM: What about the Cult of Personality?  Kevin Slater has become
increasingly paranoid over the situation with the bounty being placed
over his head, to the point that he stopped training with you before
Memorial Day Mayhem.  Are you still interested in watching his back, or
does your own career now take priority?

[Steele shakes his head in a bit of dismay.]

LS: Kev's a real emotional guy, always has been.  And that's a lot of
stress to deal with, always looking over your shoulder because you're a
walking target that means cash to all these stragglers around the AWA. 
I'm still with the Wild Thing whenever he needs a second set of eyes,
but right now I think he'll be be the first to tell you he needs to do
the damn thing on his own.

GM: Then the Cult of Personality?

LS: It lives, when it's needed. [winks at the camera]  Kinda like me.

GM: Thanks for clearing things up Luke, and welcome to the AWA,
officially.

["I Am The Man" fires up and Steele shakes hands with Myers again before
making his exit as 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:

Rick Marley and Tin Can Rust
Best Buy - Dallas, Texas
June 17

Paul Driscoll and Rough N Ready
West Dallas Galleria - Dallas, Texas
June 19

Sweet Daddy Williams and Bucky Wilde
Houston Nissan - Houston, Texas
June 23

Mark Shaw and Despair
San Antonio Fashion Plaza - San Antonio, Texas
June 25

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.  Oh yeah, they've been
joined by "Agent To The Stars" Ben Waterson.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans, to AWA Saturday Night Wrestling and as you can
see-

ATTSBW:  As you can see, Gordon Myers is having a brush with greatness,
baby!

GM:  Right.  Well, I suppose a welcome back is in order.

ATTSBW:  You got that right, Gordon Myers.  It's good to be back here in
the AWA...

[Waterson looks around disdainfully.]

ATTSBW:  I wish I could say the same thing about this place.  Aren't we
big time yet?  Can't we run in major cities?

GM:  We're running in Dallas.

ATTSBW:  My point exactly, Gordon Myers!

GM:  I see.  Well, Mr. Waterson, I suppose I should ask the question
that the entire AWA wants an answer to.

ATTSBW:  No, Gordon Myers.  I will not represent you!  Ahhahahha!

[Myers looks annoyed.]

GM:  Yes, well... what I was referring to was The Upper Crust going
behind your back and signing that contract to face Rough N Ready during
the tour.  

[Waterson cackles... loudly.]

ATTSBW:  You really thought they did that on their own?

GM:  What are you saying?

ATTSBW:  I don't let any of my clients act without my knowledge.  It
just doesn't happen, Gordon Myers.  My eyes are everywhere.  I even know
what you had for your pre-game dinner... steak and eggs at the local
greasy diner, right?

GM:  Err... well...

ATTSBW:  That's right, baby!  Ben Waterson is global, baby... Ben
Waterson is worldwide... I'm in the local diner, I'm in the fleabag
motel, I'm in the Four Seasons, I'm in the hottest club in Las Vegas. 
You name it and the Agent To The Stars is on the scene.

GM:  Thank you for your time, Mr. Waterso-

ATTSBW:  Not so fast, Gordon Myers.  You're out here wasting everyone's
time talking about the Upper Crust - no one cares about the Upper Crust,
baby!

[Myers looks stunned.]

GM:  Those are your clients!

ATTSBW:  My clients who attempted to go over my head and lost their
match for their efforts.  Until further notice, The Upper Crust is on
double secret probation from my services.  

[Waterson slaps a hand down on the announce desk.]

ATTSBW:  BUT!  BUT!  The Upper Crust did me a favor and didn't even
realize it.  You see, I was in talks with AWA management the entire time
I was on my scouting trip, Gordon Myers.  I knew what the Crust was up
to.  And I approved it.  I told AWA management that I could end the
Crust's holdout - for a price.

GM:  Money?  

ATTSBW:  Not this time.  This time, I had special needs that only AWA
management could resolve.  You see, Gordon Myers, you didn't ask the
REAL question you should have asked.

GM:  Which is?

ATTSBW:  If Memorial Day Mayhem was the biggest show in the life of the
AWA so far, how could the biggest mover and shaker, the major player,
the impact maker NOT be in the building?

GM:  I suppose you have an answer.

[Waterson claps his hands together, putting a heavy arm on the shoulder
of Gordon Myers.]

ATTSBW:  Indeed I do, Mr. Announcer Man.  Everyone knows I went on a
talent scouting trip to Europe.  And everyone knows that I had my hook
baited and my speargun cocked...

[He thrusts his hips a bit at that word... don't ask.]

ATTSBW:  I had one very big fish in my sights, Gordon Myers.  And you
know what?

[Waterson leans closer, whispering.]

ATTSBW:  I got him!  AHAHAHAHAHA!

[Myers recoils from the laughing fit.]

ATTSBW:  I got my hooks in him.  I got the AWA officials to sponsor his
work visa in exchange for letting the Crust get back in the ring.  All
the dominoes fell in a row, baby!

GM:  So, who is this big fish?

[Waterson smirks.]

ATTSBW:  Always fishing for the big scoop, aren'tya baby?

[Waterson points a finger at the camera.]

ATTSBW:  Are you ready to witness professional wrestling history?  Cause
I've done it, baby!  I've made history!  I've made the world stop on its
axis like Superman!  But there's no turning back time, baby... it's only
going forwards to the future.  And the future's so bright?

[Waterson slips a pair of stylish sunglasses on his face.]

ATTSBW:  You know the rest.  Roll the tape.

[The camera shot of Waterson smugly looking on fades out to black for
just a moment before...

Cut to black and white footage of bombed-out brick houses, with women
in rags combing through the ruins. An elderly voice provides the
voice-over as slow piano music plays in the background:]

"From the ruins of yesterday ..."

[Cut to a close-up shot of a huge, pale hand gliding into a fingerless,
crimson glove.]

"... rose a nation of virility ..."

[Back to black and white footage of molten steel being formed and two
men pushing a mining cart through a tunnel.]

"... and strength."

[Another close-up of the gloved hands lacing up a big, black boot with
intense, rigid movements.]

"A nation proud to face the world once more ...."

[Black and white footage of a flag being raised.]

" ... on new battlefields."

[Rapid black and white still frames of a soccer field, a tennis court
and a Formula 1 car.]

"Championships were won and lost but the will to win never wavered."

[Cut back to a full-colour shot of the gloved hands, raining numerous
hard blows down on a punching bag.]

"One arena has been devoid of a true champion for years."

[A still black and white shot of a wrestling ring.]

"But in 2008 a legacy is reborn!"

[The piano music swells in intensity. As the gloved hands (and the
heavily muscled arms attached to them) bench press a massive weight.]

"Bearing the standard of his home and his family, a new contender is
ready to take on all-comers in his quest for glory and honor!"

[Extreme close-up shot of two narrow, blue eyes.]

"Coming to AWA ... the Son of Verhoeven."

[We cut back to the black and white shot of the flag and slowly, the
colours are filled in ... black, red and gold ... the German flag. The
piano music has turned into a single note being played again and again
frantically and a new voice, deep and booming speaks just one sentence.]

"Welcome back ... to the Slaughterhouse."

[Fade back to the announce desk, Gordon Myers and Bucky Wilde looking
absolutely stunned as Ben Waterson grins like an idiot.]

ATTSBW:  I told ya, baby!  I told ya!

GM:  I don't- there's been rumors.   There's always been rumors of- I
can't believe it.  Are you kidding me?

ATTSBW:  Not one bit, baby.  This is real.  This is reality!  This is
happening!

GM:  The Son of Verhoeven is coming to the AWA?

ATTSBW:  Oh, it's more than that, baby.  He's the Son of The Butcher. 
He's the Son of the German Juggernaut!  He's the Son of The Teutonic
Terror!

[Waterson smirks again.]

ATTSBW:  And he's coming to the AWA... very... very... soon.

[One final grin as Waterson flicks the sunglasses off his face.]

ATTSBW:  Consider... yourself... warned.

[Waterson grins widely at the camera as he walks off the set leaving the
bewildered announcers behind.]

GM:  The Son Of Verhoeven... in the AWA?  I still can't believe it. 
Fans, let's... wow... let's go up to the ring.

BW:  Amazing!

[Cut to the ring where Melissa Cannon is standing.  She also looks a bit
surprised by Waterson's announcement.]

MC:  The following contest is a tag team match set for one fall with a
fifteen minute time limit.  Introducing first... already in the ring at
this time... at a total combined weight of 550 pounds... the team of The
Hangman and The Demon!

[Two bulky masked men throw up their arms to the jeers of the crowd.]

MC:  And their opponents...

[With no warning... with no music... with no introduction, Werewolf
Gregorson and Despair sprint through the entrance curtain, still clad in
the street clothes we saw them in earlier in the night...

...and they don't stop running until they hit the ring, diving headfirst
under the bottom rope and going straight after their opponent as a
frantic referee calls for the bell.]

BW:  What the heck is with people wrestling in their street clothes
tonight, Gordo?

[The two quickly pair off - Despair with The Hangman and Gregorson with
The Demon, battering their opponents back to opposing corners.]

GM:  Gregorson and Despair are on a mission here tonight!  They had to
witness Clayton Shaw, the man who served as their flagbearer at Mayhem,
be taken out by the Russians to start the show and they couldn't do a
single thing about it.  Of course they're fired up!

[In one corner, Despair is lashing out with elbowstrikes to the side of
the head, chopping the Hangman down to a seated position on the canvas. 
He quickly steps up to the midbuckle, grabbing the top rope.]

GM:  What is Despair doing?

[He kicks his legs out backwards, swinging his body down using the
rope...

...and _drives_ both feet squarely into the masked face of the Hangman!]

GM:  Ohhhhh!

[Across the ring, Gregorson yanks a battered Demon out of the corner
into a side waistlock...

...and then muscles the big man into the air for a belly-to-back suplex
that he spins in mid-flight, planting The Demon with a sitout
powerbomb!]

GM:  OHHHHHH!

[Gregorson gives a hard kick to the side of the head of the Demon,
forcing him to roll to the floor.  Despair races towards his partner as
The Hangman grabs the ropes, trying to pull himself off the mat.]

GM:  Already?!  Are you kidding me?!

[Despair reaches his partner who grabs him by the arm coming in,
swinging him around...

...and _hurling_ the human missile known as Despair at the just-barely
off the mat Hangman!]

GM:  OHHHHH!  FASTBALL SPECIAL!

[Despair cradles the legs tightly as the referee drops down to count.]

GM:  ONE!  TWO!  THREE!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


MC:  Your winners of the match in a time of... 70 seconds... WEREWOLF
GREGORSON AND DESPAIR!

[Despair pumps a fist in triumph as a pissed-off Gregorson surveys the
ringside area, almost daring either of their opponents to get back to
their feet.]

GM:  Good lord in heaven, Bucky.  What a dominating win for Gregorson
and Despair.

BW:  Oh yeah... great win.

GM:  I sense sarcasm.

BW:  It's a joke, Gordo.  These two goofs come out here every week and
slap around some blue collar nickel and dimers who probably should be in
the crowd watching the show instead of being part of it and we're
supposed to be impressed?  

[Bucky Wilde fails to notice Gregorson and Despair exit the ring as he
continues his rant.]

BW:  They couldn't do it against the Russians at Memorial Day Mayhem. 
They couldn't do it when Stevie and Calisto got involved.  And they sure
couldn't do it tonight when their little friend Shaw needed them the
most - now he's laid up in the hospit-

[Before Bucky realizes it, Gregorson and Despair are standing right
behind him.  The former Marine snatches the mic away from the color
man.]

GREGORSON: Did you see that, Bucky Wilde? Did you? Those two young men
wanted so desperately to be professional wrestlers but, thanks to your
good friends, The Russians, and what they did to *our* good friend,
"Stars and Stripes" Clayton Shaw, I doubt they feel the same way now
that they did a few minutes ago.

(Bucky starts to protest but Gregorson grabs him by the front of his
shirt and he instantly shuts his mouth.)

GREGORSON: Mr. Wilde, I strongly advise you to think twice before you
speak to me tonight or you may just find yourself in the hospital bed
right next to Clayton Shaw...and I'm sure that he'd be *more* than happy
to finish whatever I start, regardless of his own condition!!

[The crowd cheers!]

GREGORSON: Now, as you gentlemen know, at Memorial Day Mayhem, despite
all their talk about honor, The Russians chose to disqualify themselves
rather than face the inevitability of a loss to us.

And, by doing so, they have, once and for all, shown their true colors
to be, not Russian redbut chicken yellow.

DESPAIR: That's right, Werewolf, and, by putting *our* friend, Clayton
Shaw, the man who carried the American flag to the ring for *us* at
Memorial Day Mayhem, in the hospital tonight, they've given us every
reason to fight fire with fire if that's what it takes to get the job
done once and for all.

So, Comrade Velikov, Comrade Sudakov, pseudo-Comrade Stevie Scott, and
you, too, Bucky-boy, if you open your mouth and stray across that line,
from this moment forward, I hope you're ready for an all-out war

'Cause the big bad Werewolf and the Last Sane Man on Earth, we're not
takin' prisoners anymore!!

[And, as Gregorson cups his hands around his mouth and HOWLS~!, the duo
makes their exit from the announce desk.]

GM:  Like we said, those two are on a mission and that mission became a
bit more personal here tonight.  You've gotta believe it's only a matter
of time before they're able to get their hands on The Russians, Bucky.

BW:  And I, for one, want to be front and center at ringside when it
finally goes down.  The nerve of those freaks putting their hands on my
suit!  This suit costs more than they make in a year!  My mama would
have their hides if they damaged it, Gordo!

GM:  I'm sure she would.  Fans, let's go right back up to the ring where
I understand we have another new competitor set to go one on one in
their AWA debut!

[We 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,
weighing 260lbs and hailing from the Isle of Cuba... he is the Cuban
Assassin Number 6!

[The Cuban Assassin lifts a hand to the jeers of the crowd, dressed as
all Cuban Assassins do in camouflage pants, olive drab vest and olive
drab castro hat over a woolly afro and beard.]

MC: And his opponent, he hails from Chicago, Illinois  weighing
238lbs... he is The Savior 

Christopherrrrrrrrr JAAAAAAAAACKSSOOOONNNNNNNNNNN!

[Save Me" by Remy Zero begins its tune asChristopher Jackson emerges
from behind the curtains. The Adonis blonde struts to the ring drinking
in the crowds cheers. He surveys the crowd, raising one fist in the air
before he steps in the ring.]

GM: Were looking at the debut of another promising wrestler here as he
takes on the grizzled veteran in the Cuban Assassin #6. I cant wait to
see what these two bring to the ring in this one.

BW:  The Cuban Assassin has been lookin' good lately, daddy.  Ever since
he did a little dirty work for the Hotshot, he's been on the brink of a
major winning streak - I bet it starts tonight, Gordo!

GM:  The referee checking the Cuban Assassin #6 for weapons and the
Assassin protesting. Hes pushing past the referee right into the center
of the ring. And here comes the Savior!

[The Cuban Assassin swings a clubbing right hand that hits nothing but
air as Chris Jackson ducks under the arm and hits the ropes. He rebounds
off, leapfrogging over the Assassin.]

GM:  Nice leapfrog by the 238 pounder from Chicago...

[He hits the ropes again and the Assassin drops low. Jackson nimbly
steps over him and comes off the ropes with a picture perfect dropkick
to the rising Assassins jaw!  The crowd cheers for the show of
athleticism.]

GM:  Excellent execution on the dropkick.

BW:  There wassome good height on that drop kick, yessiree. Let's see
how my man, Castro's cousin, responds to getting tagged in the jaw.

GM:  Is he really Castro's- Chris Jackson leaps... ELBOW!

[But Jackson slams down to an empty canvas as the wily veteran rolls
aside to avoid the elbowdrop.]

BW:  Haha!  Can't put a good Cuban down. Not a cigar, not a wrestler,
not a Cuba Libre and certainly not a mamasita! Oh yeah, daddy!

[Chris Jackson rolls to his feet shaking his elbow as the Assassin ties
him up in a side headlock.]

GM:  Tight side headlock applied on the Savior, wrenching down on his
head and neck.

[Desperate to escape, Jackson shoves off The Assassin, sending him into
the far ropes.]

GM:  Big shoulder block and down goes Jackson!

BW:  The Cuban with a- Wait a minute, daddy... what the-?

VOICE: (a strangled raspy) GETTHE CAMERA ON ME! GET THE CAMERA ON ME!

GM:  YOU?!  What are YOU doing here?

[The cameras swing away from the ring to the announcer's table where
Gordon and Bucky are being accosted by a man dressed in a pink
sleeveless T-shirt. He's got Gordon by the shirt collar, half-dragging
him from the announce desk as he gesticulates wildly.]

MAN: Oh yeah, that's right, AWA, your worst nightmare has begun! SHADOE
RAGE islooking for you! WELCOME TO RAGE COUNTRY! WELCOME TO RAGE
COUNTRY!

BW: What in the- Security!  We've got a man loose out here. We need some
help getting him out of here!

GM:  Unhand me!

[Myers struggles against the grip of Shadoe Rage.]

SR:  Get out of that spot, man. Let me speak. Is that camera on me?

[He looks around to makesure the cameras are pointing in the right
direction.]

SR:  Good, listen to me. Sign me up. Sign me to a contract. I'll be the
best you've got. There's nobody in the AWA that can stop me. I'm tired
of the politics, man. I'm tired of dealing with agents, man. I'm tired
of critics. I'm tired of the conventional. You're looking at your next
National Champion. And I'm going to win that belt right here in Rage
Country. Do you understand? Do you understand? Sign on the dotted line,
AWA! SIGN ME!

[Myers manages to get away from Rage, shaking his head in anger.]

GM:  Ladies and gentlemen, Shadoe Rage is not under contract with the
American Wrestling Alliance. I don'tknow why he's here but here comes
security to escort him out.

[Rage strikes a defensive pose at the approaching security guards.]

SR:  Get back! Get back!

[Security slowly surrounds him at the announcer's table.]

SR:  Yeah, you had to come with the double team? You'll pay for this,
Gordon. Yeah you will.

[With that Shadoe Rage hauls off and slaps the closest security guard
right across the mouth. The other member of security lunges at him, but
Rage is too fast. He dips past them and takes off into the stands,
pausing for a moment to yell into a camera.]

SR: I'm coming for everybody! Do you understand me! The AWA can't keep
me out any longer! No it can't!

[And with that Rage is gone with security in pursuit.]


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


BW:  That was just bizarre.  These wrestlers just think they're the
center of the universe, daddy, bargin' in on us like that.  Who the heck
was that guy anyways?

GM:  You serious?  That was Shadoe Rage.  He's wrestled all over the
world by himself and with his brother, Derek, in the Prophets of Rage.

BW:  Yeah?  I thought he'd be crazier.

GM:  Let's hope not.

BW:  You alright, Gordo?  You seem flustered.

GM:  That psychopath just physically accosted me and then threatened me.
 I'm a little shaken up, yes.  Fans, we apologize for all the chaos but
inside the ring, the Cuban Assassin #6 somehow managed to win the match.
 Does anyone know- okay... alright... got it.

BW:  I think he hit him with something because Jackson is laid out,
daddy.

GM:  Apparently he got him with a DDT of some kind according to our
technical director.  Fans, again, I apologize for missing the result of
the match but as you could see, we had a situation developing there.

BW:  Did security catch up to that nutball yet?

GM:  I hope so.  Fans, while we try to get all this under control, let's
go to pre-taped footage with the doctor for AWA superstar Erik Reid.  We
all remember Reid's injuries at the hands of Tumaffi just about a month
ago - we've asked his doctor to go into further detail.  Our own Jason
Dane did this interview a couple weeks ago... let's take a look!

[We fade from the announce desk to a shot of what appears to be a
doctor's office.  Jason Dane is standing in front of one of those
dealies doctors use to look at X-Rays.  And yes, there are some X-Rays
of someone's upper body on display.]

JD:  Good evening, fans.  This is Jason Dane reporting from on-site at a
local Dallas doctor's office - the doctor who is treating Erik Reid for
his injuries suffered a couple of weeks ago at the hands of Tumaffi. 
I'd like to go ahead and bring in the doctor now...

[Dane turns to his side as the camera slightly pans to reveal... well, a
doctor.]

JD:  Dr. Marsden, I'd like to thank you for taking the time to address
the fans of the AWA.  As you are aware, the AWA offices have been
overwhelmed with requests for an update on the condition of Erik Reid
and we're very pleased you agreed to help us with that today.

[The doctor nods his head.]

DM:  My pleasure, Jason.  I know how much your fans care about Erik Reid
and likewise, I know how much Mr. Reid cares about his fans so I'm happy
to do what I can.

JD:  Now, doctor, what can you tell us of that first night when Erik
Reid was brought to the hospital?  What was his condition right after
the incident?

[The doctor again... nods his head.]

DM:  Jason, I won't lie to you or the fans of the AWA.  Erik Reid was in
bad, bad shape when he arrived that night at the hospital.  While his
life was never in danger, he was in very serious condition.  He was
suffering from internal bleeding, as you know, which is always a sign of
worry for a physician.

JD:  I see.  And what was the cause of that bleeding?

DM:  The primary injuries suffered by Erik Reid in this incident can be
seen on this series of X-Rays here.

[The doctor steps to the side, gesturing to the first film.]

DM:  You can see two broken ribs here.  In addition, he had severely
bruised ribs as well.

[He steps to the next film, gesturing again.]

DM:  But here is the real source of concern - a broken sternum.

JD:  That sounds serious.

DM:  It can be, Jason.  As you know, the sternum - or breastbone -
serves to protect the heart and lungs from outside forces.  Any damage
to that bone causes concern for us.

JD:  Were there any complications?

DM:  Luckily for Mr. Reid, there were not.  We performed surgery to
stabilize the sternum.  He has been in a body cast since the incident as
well.

[Dane cringes.]

JD:  Of course, the question on the minds of the AWA fans is when can we
expect Erik Reid back in an AWA ring?

[The doctor cringes this time.]

DM:  Obviously, Jason, getting smashed around by four hundred pounders
isn't my idea of good odds for continued physical health by my patients.

[Jason Dane grins.]

JD:  Obviously, but...?

DM:  But if that's the course of action that Mr. Reid wishes to take, I
would say that the earliest he could possibly return to action would be
sometime in September or October.  BUT... I must also warn that his body
will be in very sensitive condition at that point.  Every move, every
breath will cause a great deal of pain and the odds of reinjury would be
high.

JD:  What are you saying, doctor?

DM:  I'm saying... in all honesty... Erik Reid should probably never
wrestle again.

JD:  Wow.  Well, thank you for your honesty, Dr. Marsden.  AWA fans,
there you have it.  Have we seen Erik Reid in the ring for the very last
time?  Time will tell.

[The camera zooms in on the solemn face of Jason Dane as 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 "JUNE 29th - LIVE TV
TAPING."]

"Come on out on to the WKIK Studios in Dallas, Texas on June 29th for a
Live Television Taping."

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

"On July 5th, we'll be right back in the WKIK Studios for a very special
television taping.

On July 11th, we'll be back in Houston, Texas for another AWA live
event.  On July 12th, we're heading to San Antonio.  And on July 13th,
the AWA makes its Austin, Texas debut.

July 19th finds the AWA back in the WKIK Studios for another live
television taping.

We wrap up the month of July on the 25th, 26th, and 27th on the road
with cities 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 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,
standing 5'10 and weighing in at 217 pounds... from Oklahoma City,
Oklahoma... John Tate!

[A non-descript white guy throws a scrawny arm up to no reaction.]

MC:  And his opponent...

["Stranglehold" by Ted Nugent starts up to no reaction from the AWA
faithful - having never heard the song in the WKIK Studios before.]

MC:  Hailing from Morgantown, West Virginia... standing 6'8 and weighing
in at 325 pounds...

FRANK... DYLAN... JAAAAAAAMES!

[On cue, the emergency exit doors sail open with a loud crash that
startles many in the crowd.  After a second, a big, burly, hairy, and
somewhat disgusting individual bursts into view, pausing with his head
cocked at an odd angle... kinda like a dog.]

BW:  What in the world is that?

[Frank's hair is bushy and knotted around the sides of his head with a
developing bald spot at the the hairline... and his beard?  Well, his
beard is worse than his head.  Gnarled and wild, the beard flows like a
waterfall.  He's clad in dirty, stained overalls over a wifebeater
t-shirt.]

BW:  This nutcase isn't even wearing shoes, Gordo!

GM:  You don't say that when Tumaffi comes out to the ring.

BW:  Tumaffi's a finely-tuned athlete, daddy.  This guy looks like they
dragged him out of the hills of Hickville, West Virginia, gave him a
wrestling license and told him to get goin'!

[Nodding his head for no apparent reason, Frank Dylan James flashes a
gappy and yellowed grin before turning towards the bleachers, stepping
up into the crowd.]

BW:  Now where's he going?

[James steps up onto one of the benches, moving a few fans aside as he
does so and lets loose a crazed series of barks.]

GM:  He certainly is an unusual character.  You have to wonder how that
will translate to inside the ring.

BW:  At 6'8, 325, I don't know that I want to find out what this nutball
does inside the ring, Gordo!

[Pushing fans aside like Moses parting the Red Sea, James moves through
the bleaches, finally rolling under the ropes into the ring.  He pops
immediately to his feet, stomping around the ring with his eyes wide and
his head cocked to the side.]

GM:  Look out, referee!

[Mickey Meekly sidesteps quickly, trying to avoid the wandering
hillbilly...

...who just marches across the ring, locking up with a backpedaling John
Tate, shoving him back into the buckles as the referee calls for the
bell.]


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  The match is und- ohhh! 

[The crowd grimaces at the big sloppy backhand chop across the chest of
Tate, leaving a red welt across the upper body.  Grabbing Tate by the
hair, James drags him out of the corner.]

GM:  This guy is a wildman, Bucky!

[A big clubbing forearm to the back of the neck knocks Tate down to a
knee.]

GM:  No polish on this guy.  No sharp execution.  Just all brute force.

[Another big forearm smacks Tate down to both knees... and a final
clubbing blow knocks him down to all fours.]

BW:  John Tate's getting clobbered every which way but loose, daddy!

GM:  James yanks him off the mat by the hair again... ohhh!  Big right
hand sends Tate falling back into the ropes.

[The wild-eyed hillbilly approaches, grabbing Tate by the wrist and
firing him across the ring.]

GM:  Big whip by Frank Dylan James and-

[As Tate rebounds, James drives his big bare foot squarely into the jaw
of Tate, knocking him flat.]

GM:  Ohhhh!

BW:  You know, you always see Mixed Martial Artists throwing big kicks
with their bare feet - not too often you see some backwoods hick
throwing his stanky foot into someone's grill, daddy.

GM:  I... suppose.  

[Pushing past a protesting Meekly, James yanks Tate off the mat by the
hair again, spinning in a full circle while howling at the crowd...

...and then _hurling_ Tate through the ropes and out to the floor!]

GM:  Ohhh!  Tate goes hard to the concrete floor - and it looks like
Frank Dylan James is going right out after him!  Batten down the
hatches, fans!

BW:  Keep him away from me!

[James drops out to the floor, grabbing Tate by the hair...

...and promptly hurling him into the front row of the bleachers, sending
fans scattering as Tate's body smashes into the solid wood seating.]

GM:  Look out over there!  

BW:  That's gotta be a DQ, doesn't it?

GM:  The referee appears to be letting it go.

[James steps up into the bleaches again, barking at the nearby fans as
he waves them aside.]

GM:  What's he doing now?

[The big man from West Virginia grabs Tate by the hair, dragging him
through the bleachers towards the edge...

...where he _hurls_ Tate off of them, sending him sprawling out on the
concrete floor again!]

GM:  Good grief!

[James stands tall on the bleachers, arms held high to the cheers of the
fans...

...and then throws himself off the bleachers in a splash on the floor!]

GM:  SPLASH!  Three hundred plus pound splash off the bleachers on the
concrete!  

BW:  It's just a few feet off the ground.

GM:  Well, yes... but it was still effective.

[A manaical-looking James stays covering Tate, slapping the concrete
floor three times before leaping back to his feet, throwing his arms
triumphantly to the air.]

GM:  Uhhhh.

GM:  This guy's cabbage has been overboiled, daddy.

GM:  For once, we may agree.

[The referee shakes his head from inside the ring, telling James to
bring his opponent back inside the squared circle.]

GM:  The referee is trying to explain that the match isn't over.

[A confused James drags Tate off the floor, throwing him under the ropes
by the hair.]

GM:  Tate's back in... and Frank Dylan James is now back in as well.

[James quickly steps up to the middle rope, pumping his fist repeatedly
as the fans cheer him on...

...and then throws himself into the air, driving his bare knee down on
the skull of John Tate!]

GM:  Kneedrop off the second rope!  What impact!

[The referee drops down to count.]

GM:  One!  Two!  Three!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


[James quickly pushes himself off the mat, rolling right under the ropes
without a moment of celebration.]

BW:  Wait a second - this nutcase isn't coming over here, is he?

GM:  It certainly looks like it.  Fans, we're about to be joined by-

[It doesn't take long for our intrepid commentators to be interrupted by
the overbearing form of Frank Dylan James. He's big, bigger than he
looks on television, but not big in the traditional wrestler sense, more
like in the oversized mountain-man sense.]

FDJ: HOO-AHH!

[Gordon Myers stands up, extending the mic towards the West Virginia
Whack Job that absolutely dwarves him.]

GM:  Frank Dylan James, welcome to the AWA...

FDJ: Shaddap, little man!

[Frank's eyes are wild, his hair looks like it hasn't seen a comb or a
brush at any point since the turn of the millennium. His beard is full,
wiry, and partially matted. It's really quite off-putting.  Bucky Wilde
decides to give it a shot.]

BW:  Um, Mr. James?  It's obvious that you-

FDJ: You shaddap too boy!

[Frank not only takes the microphone that Gordon Myers had tried to put
in front of him, but his hand engulfs Myers' hand with the microphone in
it. He yanks the play-by-play man's arm nearly out of socket to bring
the mic to his lips.]

FDJ:  Ah'm here fer a fight!

[A brownish spit escapes his lips with every word.]

FDJ: Ah don' care if it's fer that ten pounds'a gold'n leather that
Marcus Broo-ha-ha fella done won hisself on Memorial Day, ah don' care
if'n it's that big fat Samoan Tu-fammy what thinks he's some kinda
fightin' machine, an' ah don' care if it ever makes it to that rang!

[Myers tries to maintain a sense of professionalism.]

GM:  Mr. James, I have to admit that we're a little offput by those
brutal brawling tactics you put to use in there.  AWA is one of the
premier _wrestling_ promotions in the country.  Crazy fistfights and
pier-six brawls aren't really-

[James interrupts again.]

FDJ:  Lissen here, I don' give a dog'gone 'bout none o' them rules that
them little pansy-boys rassle by, ol' Frank's here to FIGHT! Now you
show me somebody you thank ah can't whip, an' ah'll show ya one more
wannabe when ah hit 'em in the face with ever'thang I c'n git mah hands
on!

GM: But-

[Frank cuts him off with another spit-laden tirade.]

FDJ: Besides, there ain't a referee in the whole Aye Dubya Aye what has
the guts to disqualify me! An if'n they don't, they will!

[Frank finally lets go of Gordon's hand. He storms off, hooing and
haaing at the fans nearest the walkway as he heads off backstage,
presumably to terrorize the English language some more.] 

GM:  Whew.  Fans, it's been a bizarre night here in the WKIK Studios. 
Strange behavior, insane announcements, wild action, and some very odd
debuts.

BW:  And we still have our Main Event!

GM:  That's exactly right - a Main Event where we have no idea who will
be the National Champion's partner.

BW:  Well, we're about to find out.

GM:  You already know, don't you?

BW:  I have no comment on that, daddy!

[Myers sighs, shaking his head.]

GM:  Fans, let's go up to Melissa for our Main Event!

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

MC:  The following contest is a tag team match scheduled for one fall
with TV Time Remaining and is your Main Event of the evening!  

[The crowd cheers the announcement that it's Main Event time.]

MC:  Introducing first... 

[The haunting piano of Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata" begins to play.]

MC:  From Athens, Georgia... standing 6'7 and weighing in at 286
pounds...

He is the Athens, Georgia Madman...

RONNNNNN HOUUUUUUUSTON!

[The imposing figure of Ron Houston steps through the curtains to a huge
ovation from the AWA crowd. Clad in a full length tan trench coat with
the Confederate Flag seamed into the back, his black wrestling tights,
elbow pads, knee pads, and boots underneath.]

GM:  This is the first time that Ron Houston has stepped into a
wrestling ring Memorial Day Mayhem where he lost that first round match
to Marcus Broussard.

BW:  He got pinned one-two-three, daddy!  Get it right!

GM:  Broussard took advantage of the injured shoulder and countered the
Fade To Black with a crucifix cradle to win it.  Houston was very upset
in the locker room after the match from what I understand, Bucky.

BW:  Of course he was, Gordo.  He lost a chance to become the first
National Champion in the AWA.  You only get that one time, daddy.

[Houston raises his large fists in the air as he begins to march down
towards the ring. He reaches ringside and and leers at the audience
around him... slightly embracing their warmth. His eyes measure the
ring. He reaches up with one big paw, followed by the other, and begins
to climb onto the apron, entering over the top roughly."The Athens
Georgia Madman" raises his arms above his head and begins to pace around
the ring, slowly removing his jacket which he tosses nonchalantly to the
outside, revealing the new sleeve over his shoulder.  He paces around
the ring awaiting his tag team partner.]

MC:  And his tag team partner...

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

MC:  Fighting out of Los Angeles, California... he weighs in at two
hundred and seventy pounds, and stands six feet two inches.  He is the
Hellion... here is:

MAAAAAARK SHAAAAAAW!

[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.]

GM:  Big, tough Mark Shaw on his way to the ring.  Unlike Houston, Shaw
did compete on the tour, fighting through that knee injury he suffered
at the hands of Tumaffi during their second round match.

BW:  Right before he stole the match from Tumaffi.

GM:  Arguably, I suppose.  Shaw, of course, was in the Finals of that
tournament against Marcus Broussard and came so close to winning it but
his knee just wouldn't hold up for him.  You know he's dying for another
shot at the title with the knee at a hundred percent.

[Making his way through the crowd, ignoring everything that's around
him, Shaw steps into the ring.  He eyes his partner for a moment before
a quick handshake, both men settling back and waiting for the
opposition.]

MC:  And their opponents...

["Super Bon Bon"  by Soul Coughing starts up to a huge shower of boos
from the AWA faithful.]

MC:  Introducing first... fighting out of San Jose, California... he
stands 6'3 and weighs in at 252 pounds... being accompanied to the ring
by the Super Ninja... he is the American Wrestling Alliance National
Champion...

The San Jose Shark...

MAAAAARRRRCUS BROUUUUSSARRRRD!

[The jeers somehow increase as the curtain parts.  The all-white clad
Super Ninja steps into view first, pausing for a moment to survey the
area before stepping to the side.]

GM:  And all eyes turn to the entryway for the first ring entrance for
Marcus Broussard as the National Champion.  Of course, always by his
side is that Super Ninja.

BW:  You say that with such disdain, Gordo.

GM:  Well, the Super Ninja is a pretty disdainful guy.

[The curtain parts again, revealing the San Jose Shark in all his
splendor.  He's in a dark blue and gold windbreaker type jacket over
dark trunks.  His boots are dark blue and reach mid-calf with gold
tassles.  He smirks at the jeering crowd, lightly patting the sparkling
golden belt draped over his shoulder.]

GM:  A very... well, let's be polite and say "confident" expression on
the face of the champion.

BW:  His belt's not on the line.  His partner is a complete mystery to
his opponents.  Why shouldn't he be confident?

GM:  Is he- fans, it looks like the National Champion is on his way over
here.  I'm not sure why though.

BW:  Maybe we're going to find out who the partner is!

GM:  You could be right.

[An annoyed Ron Houston leans over the ropes, waving for Broussard to
get into the ring.  The champion simply grins, shaking his head at the
East Coast Terror as he reaches the announce table.]

GM:  Mr. Broussard, this is unexpected.

[The San Jose Shark smirks at the irate shouts from Houston before
leaning over the mic held by Gordon Myers.]

MB:  Ease back, big man.  I'll be in there in just a bit.

[Houston protests to the referee as Broussard chuckles.]

MB:  Looks like I'm a wanted man, Gordon Myers.

GM:  You certainly are.  They want you in that ring right now.

MB:  All in due time, my friend.  First, I think I have a little
business to attend to.  Correct me if I'm wrong, Gordon, but isn't this
a tag team match?

GM:  I believe you know it is.

[Broussard glares at Myers for a second before continuing.]

MB:  It is, it is.  And the way I see it, there's a tag team in the ring
to face me... but only me coming out here.

GM:  Your point, Mr. Broussard?

MB:  My point is I think I need a partner.

GM:  You don't have one?  I just assumed-

MB:  When I signed on for this match, the AWA front office told me to
pick anyone on the roster that I wanted.  They said they would compel
said person into competing as my tag team partner, Gordon.

[The National Champion rubs his chin.]

MB:  You know, Gordon... I'm a man who believes in opportunity.

GM:  You are?

MB:  Absolutely.  I believe in giving opportunities to those who deserve
them.  And I was walking around the locker room earlier tonight, trying
to decide who deserved this opportunity to be by my side in the Main
Event.

BW:  Whadja come up with, champ?

MB:  Well, Buckthorn... I just happened to be walking past an open door
when I heard something that helped make my decision.  

[Dramatic pause!]

BW:  What did you hear?

MB:  I heard the AWA ringside doctor tell "Showtime" Rick Marley that he
suggested not to wrestle - but that he had given him medical clearance
to compete!  Oh, joyous day, I thought!  My prayers had been answered.

GM:  Wait a second.  Are you saying-

MB:  That's right, Gordon Myers.  At this time, allow me to introduce my
tag team partner... the man who was so heinously robbed of his chance to
compete against me at Memorial Day Mayhem has been generously given the
chance to compete WITH me here tonight... "SHOWTIME" RICK MARLEY!

[Broussard walks away from the announce desk, handing his belt to the
Super Ninja as he mockingly claps for Marley.]

GM:  Are you kidding me?  The doctor says not to compete - so he picks
Marley as his partner?  What a jerk this guy is!

BW:  That's your National Champion!

GM:  Unfortunately.

[The crowd buzzes with confusion as Broussard climbs up on the apron,
turning to face the locker room entryway...

...where Rick Marley emerges in street clothes, a pair of basketball
warmup pants and a t-shirt.  Marley looks confused as he looks at the
ring, rubbing a hand over his throat.]

GM:  I can't believe- is this really going to happen?  Fans, don't go
away, we'll be right back with the Main Event!

[The camera zooms in on a concerned Rick Marley as he yanks off the 
t-shirt, throwing it aside as he approaches the ring and 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 fade back up on the ring where Marcus Broussard is trapped
in the corner, beating battered with chops by the Hellion, Mark Shaw.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans!  As you can see, things are not working out at
all like the National Champion expected.

BW:  That big goof Shaw yanked him into the ring!  Rick Marley was
supposed to start the match, Gordo!

[The camera cuts to a shot of Marley, still in his street clothes,
standing in the corner looking uneasy about being there.  Inside the
ring, Shaw lights up the chest of Broussard with another big chop, one
that sends the champion staggering out of the corner before dropping to
a knee.]

GM:  I'm sure that was your buddy's plan, yes.  But Mark Shaw had other
ideas.  The Hellion's looking for a bit of payback for what happened at
Memorial Day Mayhem.  He wants to pin Broussard in the center of the
ring and earn another chance to become the National Champion, Bucky.

BW:  It's not gonna happen, daddy!  It's not gonna happen!

[Broussard crawls across the ring, hand extended towards his corner.]

GM:  He's trying to make the exchange with Marley!  He's trying to get
across the ring to-

[But Mark Shaw cuts him off, grabbing the foot of Broussard to keep him
just out of arm's reach of his unwilling tag team partner.]

GM:  Couldn't get there.  Shaw cuts him off.

BW:  Oh, come on, Marley!  Stick your dadgum arm out there!

GM:  Why should he, Bucky?  He knows this is a set up just as much as we
do.

BW:  What are you talking about now?

GM:  Give me a break, Bucky.  Broussard brought Marley out here in hopes
of getting him re-injured - in hopes of eliminating another one of his
top contenders.  We've got three of the top four contenders to the
National Title out there in the ring right now and you can not tell me
that the San Jose Shark is hoping they all take each other out!

[Broussard gets to a vertical base, bouncing on one foot as Shaw holds
the other foot up in the air.]

GM:  Shaw's got him right where he wants him!  The Hellion can-

[Shaw drops down, yanking Broussard down to the mat with a legwhip,
causing the National Champion to cry out in pain, grabbing his knee.]

GM:  Ohhh!  Shaw goes after the knee!  Shaw goes after the knee!

[The San Jose Shark rolls out of the ring, clutching his leg.]

GM:  Shaw's going after the leg of Broussard just like the National
Champion went after his leg at Memorial Day Mayhem, Bucky!

BW:  But... but... that's not right!

[With Broussard hobbling around the ringside area and the referee
starting a count, the champion fails to notice when Ron Houston drops
down off the apron...

...and throws the champion under the ropes into the ring by the trunks!]

GM:  Yeah!  The East Coast Terror tosses Broussard back in to Shaw!

[The San Jose Shark immediately scoots to a corner, begging off as the
Hellion approaches.]

GM:  Mark Shaw's moving in... Broussard is begging for mercy...

[But Shaw doesn't appear willing to give him any as he pulls the San
Jose Shark off the mat by the hair...

...receiving a thumb in the eye for his efforts.]

GM:  Ohh!  Cheap shot by Broussard!

[Moving quickly, the champion grabs Shaw by the head, slamming his face
into the top turnbuckle!]

GM:  Shaw goes hard to the buckles and- rollup!

[Dropping to the mat, Broussard pulls Shaw down in a schoolboy.]

GM:  ONE!  TWO!  THR-

[The crowd breathes a sigh of relief as Shaw powers a shoulder off the
mat just in time.]

GM:  So close!  Broussard has incredible cradles - we all know that. 
And that was a lot closer than you would expect this early in the match.
 Another tight cradle by the champion.

BW:  Broussard can end a match just like _that_, Gordo.  Those cradles
can end a match at any time.

[The champion is quicker to his feet than Shaw is, hobbling towards his
corner...

...but getting hooked by the back of the trunks by a kneeling Mark
Shaw.]

GM:  Shaw's got him by the trunks!  He hooked him!

[The Hellion stands up, tugging hard to pull Broussard into a side
waistlock.  The crowd erupts!]

GM:  BACKDROP DRIV-

BW:  No!  Elbow!

[A frantic Broussard rains elbows down on the back of Shaw's head and
neck, trying to break the side waistlock grip applied by the Hellion.]

GM:  Broussard breaks the hold!

[The San Jose Shark quickly tucks his head under the chin of Shaw,
dropping down to both knees and slamming the jaw of Shaw into the top of
his head.]

GM:  Ohhh!  Jawbreaker by the champ!

[Shaw falls backwards from the impact of the move...

...but right towards his corner where an eager and ready Ron Houston
reaches over the ropes, slapping his partner's shoulder to the huge
eruption of the crowd!]

GM:  HOUSTON IS IN!  HOUSTON IS IN!

[The big man from Georgia steps over the ropes, blocking a right hand
from the San Jose Shark...

...and landing a big haymaker of his own that sends Broussard spiraling
away.]

GM:  Big right hand by the big man!  Broussard's backpedaling, looking
for an escape...

BW:  Wrong corner!

[The National Champion backs into a neutral corner accidentally,
allowing Houston to quickly close the distance, grabbing the champion's
arm and firing him across the ring.]

GM:  Broussard goes hard to the buckles... here comes Houston!

[The rampaging East Coast Terror connects with a heavy clothesline in
the corner, rocking the National Champion.]

GM:  BIG CLOTHESLINE IN THE CORNER!

BW:  Make the tag, Marcus!  Get out of there!

[Houston shakes his head as Broussard reaches a hand towards the corner,
staggering a couple of steps out of the buckles...

...and then throws the Shark back into the buckles.]

GM:  Back to the corner goes the Shark... Houston's got him by the arm
again...

[Another big whip causes the champion to slam hard into the corner.]

GM:  Houston again across the ring... ohhhh!  Another big clothesline in
the buckles!

[Broussard crumples under the impact before Houston throws him down to
the mat, flipping him over for a lateral press.]

GM:  One!  Two!  No!  Broussard gets a shoulder up at the count of two.

BW:  It's gonna take a lot more than a couple of clotheslines to finish
off Marcus Broussard, daddy!

GM:  Luckily for the East Coast Terror, he's got a lot more in him than
a couple of clotheslines, Bucky.

[Houston pushes up off the mat, raising both hands over his head in a
double axe handle...

...but a hard right hand to the midsection by Broussard knocks some of
the wind from his sails.]

GM:  Ohh!  Hard shot by Broussard to break off the offensive attack for
now.  

[With Houston doubled up, Broussard grabs him by the hair and drills him
with a clenched fist to the side of the face that causes Houston to fall
back...

...where Mark Shaw slaps the shoulder, tagging himself back into the
match.]

GM:  Shaw's back in - ohh!  

[A big running kick to the gut of the rising Broussard doubles him up,
cutting him off as he moves towards his corner where a fresh Rick Marley
is still standing.]

GM:  Houston not out of there yet - and look at this, Bucky!

[The crowd roars in support, cheering the two fan favorites on as Shaw
drives a big forearm down across the back of Broussard, putting him down
on the mat where both Shaw and Houston pummel him for a bit, knocking
him all the way down to a prone position on the canvas.]

GM:  They're showing some  good teamwork in there tonight.  They have a
common goal and they're showing it.  They both want to beat up the
National Champion, they both want to win this match and try to get
another shot at the biggest prize in our company, Bucky.

BW:  That wasn't fair!  An illegal doubleteam!

GM:  Give me a break, Bucky!

[Shaw drags Broussard off the mat by the hair as Ron Houston steps back
out on the apron, pushing the champion into the ropes.]

GM:  Irish whip by Shaw... three point stance...

[A loud "DUUUUUUUU!" comes from Shaw as he charges forward, drilling
Broussard with a huge running football tackle that wipes him out,
sending him down to the mat again.]

GM:  Goodness!  What a tackle by the Hellion!

[Shaw stands over Broussard for a moment, looking down at him, when
suddenly Rick Marley creeps a few feet down the apron towards him,
reaching over the ropes as he shouts for Broussard to make a tag...

...and Mark Shaw takes a swing at him, forcing Marley to quickly
straighten up, cocking his own fist as the fans buzz with confusion.]

GM:  Look out!  Look out!  We may have a situation on our hands here!

[The two men glare at one another for a moment, giving Broussard time to
crawl away from Shaw, getting near the ropes where he tries to pull
himself off the mat again.]

GM:  Marley and Shaw are eye to eye, this could break loose at any
moment.

[Finally backing away from the situation with a warning finger point,
Shaw moves over with Broussard is huddled in the corner.]

GM:  The Hellion, regaining his focus on the National Cham- ohhh! 
Marcus with a boot to the gut!

[Seizing the moment, Marcus throws himself over the doubled up Shaw.]

GM:  SUNSET FLIP!  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE- 

[The crowd collectively exhales yet again as Shaw just barely fires a
shoulder off the mat in time...

...and as soon as the pin is broken, Broussard rolls to his stomach,
crawling as fast as he can...]

GM:  THE CHAMP GOING FOR THE TAG...

[And the San Jose Shark throws himself into the air, slapping the
outstretched hand of "Showtime" Rick Marley.  The crowd erupts!]

GM:  TAG!

[The quickly approaching Mark Shaw gets caught under the chin with a
foot from Marley as he slingshots into the ring with a kick.  The kick
staggers Shaw but does not drop him as Marley throws a pair of follow-up
right hands that knocks Shaw back to the center of the ring.]

GM:  Rick Marley should probably not even be in the ring tonight, Bucky,
but he's in there and he's come to fight!

[Marley quickly hits the ropes, dashing across the ring, and leaping
into the air with a spinng leg lariat that knocks Shaw down to the
canvas!]

GM:  "Showtime" takes Mark Shaw off his feet!

[Feeling spunky now, Marley springs back to his feet...

...and races across the ring, leaping into a flying forearm that knocks
Ron Houston off the apron to the floor!  The crowd roars with a mixed
reaction!]

GM:  Three of the most popular men in the AWA are beating the tar out of
one another and these fans have no idea if they like it at all!  Marley
just took Houston out of the equation...

[The Hellion regains his feet as Marley charges towards him, dropping
down in a baseball slide between the legs of the big man, popping to his
feet behind him...

...and leaping into the air, snaring Shaw's head between his legs as the
Hellion turns around, snapping him down to the canvas with a rana!]

GM:  OHHHH!  BIG HEADSCISSORS TAKEDOWN BY MARLEY!

[Marley pops back to his feet, pumping a fist at the cheering crowd as
he turns around, spotting Ron Houston getting up off the floor...

...and hits the far ropes, rebounding back...]

GM:  Marley across the ring... HE LEAPS!

[The crowd EXPLODES as Marley leaps through the top and middle ropes,
completely wiping out Ron Houston with a tope dive.]

GM:  SUICIDE DIVE BY SHOOOOWTIME!

BW:  It looks like the National Champion picked a capable partner.

GM:  Capable?  Marley's in total control right now!  Broussard's on the
apron praying no one tags him back into the match!

BW:  He is not!  The champion wants right back in there!

[Inside the ring, Mark Shaw climbs back to his feet, looking around for
his opponent...

...which gives the San Jose Shark a chance to strike, slipping into the
ring and burying his shoulder into the back of Shaw's injured knee!]

GM:  HE CLIPPED HIM!  HE CLIPPED SHAW!

[The Hellion collapses to the mat, screaming in pain as he grabs the
injured knee...

...the knee that Broussard quickly hooks as he goes for a pin attempt.]

BW:  Count, you stupid ref!

GM:  The referee won't count!  Michael Meekly is telling Broussard that
he's not the legal man.  He can't count Mark Shaw down if he's not the
legal man!

[Outside the ring, Rick Marley climbs off the downed Houston, stepping
up on the apron.]

GM:  Marley's on the apron!  He's waving Broussard out of the way!  He
wants to come off the ropes again on Shaw!  

[But Broussard doesn't even notice, still arguing with the referee. 
Marley is screaming for his partner to move... but gets no response.]

GM:  Come on, referee!  Get the Shark out of there!  

[Marley looks around at the cheering crowd and shrugs his shoulders,
leaping to the top rope before springing off...

...and sailing through the air, driving both feet squarely into the back
of the National Champion, sending him sailing over the ropes and out to
the floor as Marley's back slams down on the chest of Shaw and the crowd
EXPLODES!]

GM:  DID YOU SEE THAT?!

BW:  I saw it!  I saw it!  That's totally unfair, Gordo!  How DARE Rick
Marley do that to Marcus Broussard after the opportunity that the
National Champion gave him here tonight?  I'm disgusted by that!

[Still lying on Shaw, Marley reaches back to hook the leg as the referee
drops down.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE-  OHHHHH!

[The crowd responds with a mixed reaction as Ron Houston makes the
diving save to break the pin attempt.]

GM:  Houston makes the save for Mark Shaw!  Ron Houston just broke up
the three count just before it came down for his team.

BW:  And I can't believe I'm about to say this but... go Houston!  Take
Marley's friggin' head off, daddy!

[An angry Athens Georgia Madman yanks Marley off the mat by the hair,
drilling him with a pair of right hands that knocks Marley back into the
ropes.]

GM:  The referee's trying to get Houston out of the ring.  He's not the
legal man.

BW:  Who cares, daddy?  Break 'em, big man!

[A hard reverse knife edge chop against the ropes stuns Marley as
Houston grabs him by the wrist.]

GM:  Irish whip by Houston... 

[Still pissed off, Houston charges forward...

...and OBLITERATES Marley with a running big boot that completely flips
"Showtime" before dumping him on the canvas in a heap.]

GM:  OHHHHHH!

BW:  Yeah!  Do it again, daddy!  Take his head off!

[Out on the apron, the National Champion looks on with a look of
ambivalence on his face, watching as Houston pulls his tag team partner
off the mat.]

GM:  Shaw and Houston both on their feet now... uh oh...

BW:  Marley's a dead man!

GM:  You're far too excited about seeing your buddy's tag partner get
laid out.

BW:  I'm torn, Gordo.  I think I'd almost rather see Marcus lose the
match if it means Marley gets destroyed.

GM:  What a sportsman you are.

[With both men backing Marley to the ropes, they execute a double irish
whip.]

GM:  Double whip...

[Houston and Shaw both rear back...]

GM:  DOUBLE PULSE KILL- NO!  MARLEY HOOKED THE ROPES!

[The desperate move saves "Showtime" from certain defeat as the two big
monsters pull down their cocked-back Heart Punch fists, grabbing each
other's wrists instead and bulldozing forward.]

GM:  Double clothesli-

[Marley saves himself again, this time with a front rolling somersault
that takes him underneath the double clothesline attempt that would've
hit his injured throat.]

GM:  Marley to his feet... Shaw and Houston turn around...

["Showtime" leaps into the air, splitting his legs so that one foot hits
each man squarely in the face, a double dropkick that knocks both of his
huge opponents over the ropes.  Ron Houston completely clears the apron,
slamming down on the floor while Shaw manages to hook a rope, dropping
down on the hard apron.]

GM:  OHHHH!  DID YOU SEE THAT?!

[Out on the floor, the San Jose Shark immediately springs into action,
dropping off the apron.]

GM:  Where's Broussard going?  Keep him on the apron, ref!  Keep him up
on the apron!

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

[The National Champion ignores the protests of the referee, yanking
Houston off the floor by the hair.   He signals across the ring where
the Super Ninja leaps up on the apron, causing Michael Meekly to try to
remove him.]

GM:  Meekly's distracted.  Houston- the National Champion's got Ron
Houston...

[And promptly charges towards the ringpost with him, DRIVING Houston's
sleeve-protected shoulder into the steel!]

GM:  OHHHH!  CHEAPSHOT!  CHEAPSHOT!  There's no call for that, Bucky!

[On the other side of the ring, a dazed Mark Shaw has managed to roll
back into the ring, unbeknownst to Rick Marley who is screaming at his
tag team partner.  Broussard steps up on the apron, head bowed as Marley
screams at him.]

GM:  Marley didn't like it!  Rick Marley didn't like what we just saw
out of Marcus Broussard either!

BW:  Who cares?

GM:  Marley's screaming at his partner - telling him he wants no part of
that.  He's telling the National Champion to fight his own matches if he
wants to-

[The San Jose Shark seizes a chance, grabbing Marley by the hair, and
dropping off the apron...

...smashing Marley's windpipe into the top rope!]

GM:  OHHHH!  ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!  DID THAT JUST HAPPEN?!

[Marley's head snaps back, his hands wrapping around his own neck as
Broussard smirks, backing away with a shake of his head.]

GM:  Broussard just attacked his own partner!  The San Jose Shark just
attacked his own tag team partner!

BW:  Just like Marley did to him earlier, daddy!

[With Marley gasping for air, Mark Shaw pushes up off the mat, slowly
moving in on his wounded opponent.]

GM:  Shaw's coming up... I can't believe that Marcus Broussard just did
that to his own partner!  That's absolutely despicable... and it's given
Shaw a chance...

[Clutching his throat, gasping for air, Rick Marley slowly staggers
backwards where Mark Shaw is waiting...

...to wrap his massive arms around the waist of Marley from the side.]

GM:  He hooks it!  BACKDR- no!

[A desperation back elbow catches Shaw right in the bridge of the nose
before he can apply the side waistlock.  Marley drops to a knee, having
trouble breathing...

...and then drives a second elbow back, this one catching Shaw in the
midsection with enough force to double him up.]

GM:  Ohhh!  Shaw got caught in the gut with-

[Marley, in one motion, pops to his feet, hooking a front facelock, and
twists, leaping into the air...

...and _driving_ Shaw's face into the canvas with an ace crusher!]

GM:  LIMELIGHT!  LIMELIGHT!  LIMELIGHT!

[An injured Marley dives atop Shaw, reaching back to hook both legs
tightly.]

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


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


[But before Melissa Cannon can make an announcement of the winner,
Marcus Broussard dives back into the ring, pulling Marley off the mat...

...and _drilling_ him with a European Uppercut squarely in the windpipe
that sends Marley falling back into the turnbuckles.]

GM:  Ohh!  Cheap shot!  Cheap shot by the champi-

[The crowd ERUPTS into jeers as Adrian Freeman comes charging out of the
locker room area, diving into the ring...

...and drilling the gasping Marley with a running clothesline in the
corner, knocking him off his feet where Freeman promptly applies a
double handed choke!]

GM:  CHOKE!  HE'S CHOKING MARLEY!  WE NEED SOME HELP OUT HERE!

[Broussard smirks at the action in the corner, shouting encouragement to
Freeman as he strangles the air out of Rick Marley.]

GM:  Marley's down!  Shaw's down!

[The crowd EXPLODES again, this time as Tin Can Rust comes running in
from the locker room area.]

GM:  TIN CAN RUST IS IN!

[Broussard tries to sidestep the oncoming TCR...

...but eats a hard right hand that sends him falling through the ropes
out to the floor as Rust moves right along to tackle Freeman, knocking
him down to the canvas as well.]

GM:  RUST CLEARS OUT FREEMAN!  THEY'RE OUT ON THE FLOOR!

[The crowd roars as the Kentucky native and the Australian trade blows
out on the concrete floor, leaving a red-faced Marley behind, clutching
at his throat.]

GM:  Broussard is- he's back in!

[Embarassed by Tin Can Rust, Broussard rolls back into the ring, moving
in on the downed Marley with stomps and kicks to the upper body.]

GM:  Oh, come on!  That's enough!

BW:  It's not enough until this kid is out of the sport, Gordo!  He
embarassed the champion and now he's going to pay for it!

[Mark Shaw pushes up to a knee...

...but gets caught with a spinning back mule kick to the jaw by the
Super Ninja, a blow that knocks Shaw flat and allows the Ninja to roll
him under the ropes to the floor, crawling out after him to continue the
attack.]

GM:  Broussard's stomping on Marley!  The Ninja is stomping on Shaw! 
Tin Can Rust and Freeman are fighting right out the emergency exit
doors!

[A scattering of fans peel away, following that brawl outside of the
building as the National Champion drags Marley off the mat.]

GM:  Oh my stars... what's he going to do with him now?

[Broussard spins Marley so that they're back to back, reaching back to
lock his hands across the windpipe of his victim.]

GM:  Hangman!  He's going for a Hangman choke hold on Rick Marley and-

[And out of nowhere, a banged-up Ron Houston slides into the ring...

...and points a warning finger squarely at the National Champion to the
roars of the crowd.]

GM:  HOUSTON'S IN THE RING!  HOUSTON'S IN THE RING!

[The San Jose Shark's eyes go wide, staring blankly at the East Coast
Terror, shaking his head.]

GM:  The National Champion can't believe it!  He thought Houston was out
of the way - out of the match... but Ron Houston is staring that nasty
ol' Shark dead in the eye!

[Broussard lets Marley go, letting him slump down to the canvas in a
heap, lifting his hands to beg for mercy.]

GM:  He's begging Houston - pleading with him.  He wants no part of Ron
Houston... not again.

[The East Coast Terror shakes his head, refusing Broussard's pleas for
mercy...

...so the National Champion lunges forward, burying a knee in the
midsection of Houston.]

GM:   Ohh!  He caught the Athens Georgia Madman in the gut!

[Broussard smirks as he grabs the arm of Houston.]

GM:  Irish whi- reversed by Houston!

[The National Champion hits the ropes, rebounding back to where Houston
has set for a backdrop...

...and pulls up short, driving a boot into the jaw of Houston, causing
him to stagger back into the ropes.]

GM:  Houston's on the ropes... Broussard backs off... HERE HE COMES!

[The San Jose Shark charges in, leaping into the air for a flying
knee...

...where Houston spins his body slightly, catching Broussard across his
shoulder's in a fireman's carry.  The crowd ERUPTS!]

GM:  HE'S GOT HIM UP!  HE'S GOT THE CHAMPION UP!

[Broussard wriggles like crazy, trying to free himself...

...but this time, the shoulder's healthy and Houston spins easily,
hurling the National Champion off his shoulders.]

GM:  FAAAADE TO BLACK!

[The crowd erupts once again as Broussard sails over the ropes, crashing
down on the barely-padded concrete floor!]

GM:  THE CHAMPION IS DOWN!  RON HOUSTON HAS TAKEN THE CHAMPION
DOWN ONCE MORE!  THE FADE TO BLACK HAS CLAIMED YET ONE MORE VICTIM,
BUCKY!

BW:  It's not fair!  He's supposed to be hurt!  He's supposed to be
hurt!

[With chaos still reigning in the ringside area, we cut to the announce
desk where Gordon Myers and Bucky Wilde are standing.]

GM:  Fans, it has broken down out here again!  We've got Broussard
completely laid out here on the floor not too far away from us.  Ron
Houston is standing tall over his arch-rival.  We're almost out of time
but we've just been given a letter from the Championship Committee to
read before we go off the air.

Here goes...

[Myers lifts the sheet of paper.]

GM:  The Championship Committee as sanctioned by the American Wrestling
Alliance announces the following matches for the 4th of July weekend
event - The Battle Of Dallas.

The Committee has decided that the ongoing battle between The Russians
and the team of Werewolf Gregorson and Despair has reached a breaking
point.  As a result, these two teams will meet at The Battle of
Dallas...

IN A RUSSIAN CHAIN MATCH!

[The crowd goes nutty at the announcement, Myers shaking his head in
disbelief as he continues.]

GM:  In addition, there will be a six man tag team matchup pitting
Kentucky's Pride and "Showtime" Rick Marley taking on Stevie Scott,
Calisto Dufresne, and Adrian Freeman... and if Stevie Scott does not
compete in that match, he will be INDEFINITELY SUSPENDED!

[Another huge cheer!]

GM:  In a Memorial Day Mayhem rematch, we will see the mighty Tumaffi go
one on one with the Ragin' Rebel, Ricky Royal!

[More cheers!]

GM:  Finally, the Committee had decided that if either Mark Shaw or Ron
Houston pinned Marcus Broussard in tonight's match, they would receive a
shot at the National Title at The Battle Of Dallas.  Since neither
accomplished that, the Championship Committee has ruled that The Battle
of Dallas will begin with a TOP TEN CONTENDERS BATTLE ROYAL.  Whoever
wins that Battle Royal will receive the National Title shot at the end
of the night!

[Myers lifts his head from the letter, setting it down.]

GM:  Unbelievable, fans!  Some huge announcements there and I'm sure
we'll be hearing more about them in the days to come.  For Bucky Wilde,
I'm Gordon Myers and we'll see YOU... at the matches!  So long
everybody!

[The camera holds on Myers and Wilde...

...and then fade to black.]