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                           American Wrestling Alliance
                                 Proudly Presents
                         AWA Saturday Night Wrestling

                         Live from the WKIK Studios
                                   Dallas, Texas
                                 August 2, 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-

BW:  Do it right, Gordo.

[Myers sighs.]

GM:  How long is this going to go on?

BW:  Until I win the Announcer of the Year award!

GM:  By my side is the Announcer of the Half Year, Bucky Wilde.

BW:  You got it, daddy!

GM:  Fans, the entire American Wrestling Alliance is still absolutely
reeling over the events of the last couple of weeks.  If you missed the
last edition of this show, we have a brand new AWA National Champion in
Ron Houston!

BW:  Do we have to talk about this?

GM:  Houston, of course, defeated Marcus Broussard right here two weeks
ago to win the gold.  And then the San Jose Shark proceeded to snap,
Bucky.

BW:  "Snap" is a bit of a strong word, don't you think?

GM:  Bucky, he assaulted his own bodyguard, the Super Ninja, DDTd him on
the concrete, and from all reports, we may never see the Ninja in the
AWA again.

BW:  You're complaining about that?

GM:  Well, I guess not but then he shoved you down, Bucky!  Aren't you
upset about that at all?

BW:  It was the heat of the moment.  Marcus is my boy, Gordo.  I'm not
concerned.

GM:  The Championship Committee on the other hand was very concerned and
as a result, Marcus Broussard has been suspended for an unspecified
amount of time, Bucky.

BW:  It's a crime.  A tragedy.  A miscarriage of justice.

[The twangy southern guitar of Beck's "Farewell Ride" abruptly rolls its
way over the PA system. The music, lacking an familiarity creates little
reaction from the AWA faithful.. until the figure that follows the music
emerges.]

GM:  And with some new music, it gives me great pleasure to announce
that the AWA National Champion is on his way out here to join us.

BW:  I'm out of here, Gordo.

GM:  You stay right where you are, Bucky.  Listen to these fans! 
They're going crazy for the new Champion and I can't say that I blame
them.  What a moment that was two weeks ago when the locker room emptied
and filled the ring with people wanting to congratulate Ron Houston.

[The imposing figure of "The Athens Georgia Madman" looms in the
entrance way. Clad in his traditional tan trenchcoat, which is
uncharacteristically buttoned up, Houston tips his black cowboy hat to
the AWA faihful.. The Madmen.  With a smile loosely hanging from his
face, Houston begins to unbutton his trenchcoat.]

BW:  Whoa whoa whoa, Gordo.  Isn't this a family show?  Somebody's gotta
stop this perverted lil' strip show, daddy.

GM: Perver- would you stop?  Give me a break.

[One button and then another fall, until the coat slightly opens. 
Houston reaches a big ol' Athens hand up and pulls the trenchcoat aside,
revealing _it_. Draped around his waist in all its glory...

... _The_ AWA National Title. 

The crowd roars in approval as Houston marches down towards Bucky and
Gordon.]

BW: You're going to have to interview _this_ guy, Gordon.  I've got
nothing to say to him after he put his hands on me, then ruined the
dream that was the Marcus Broussard title reign. 

[Houston steps up to Gordon and shakes his hand with Bucky "sulking in
the corner". The deafening noise subdues slightly as Houston pats the
title around his waist and smiles at the Madmen around him.]

GM: Ron Houston, let me be the first of many here to say
_congratulations_ on your National Title victory two weeks ago. 

RH: From the bottom of mah stinkin' heart.. the pit of mah bein'.. Ah'd
like ta say thank ya to _each_ and _every_ one of ya out there who
believed in me when ah may not have even believed in mahself. Who stood
and cheered fer me when ah seemed ta have the rest o' the world against
me. 

So thank ya, Gordon. Thank ya fer puttin' me in mah place two weeks ago.
Without it, ah don't know what would've happened when that there bell
rang and me and Broussard went ta war again.

[The crowd cheers at the memory of that match.]

RH:  Thank ya, Adam Rogers. Fer doin' what was _right_. Fer having the
gaul, when not many others did.. ta stand up ta The Shark.. and that
Ninja fella. Ah know how important friendship is, especially in our line
of work where ya can count true friends on one hand.. and sometimes on
one finger. Ah know it ain't easy to do what's right when it means
standin' up ta a friend. But ya showed yer true character in doin' so. 

[Another big cheer!]

RH:  And in a weird way, thank ya Marcus Broussard.. fer bein' the man
ya've always been. The spineless twit whose ego blindly fueled him ta
make a challenge he wasn't ready fer. Wherever ya are, remember this
scout.. 

..ah'm waitin'.

Ya'll be back, ah ain't stupid enough ta think otherwise. And when ya
get yer reinstatement.. ah know that there'll be another big ol' target
snakin' it's way onta mah back.. but just remember that ah ain't got no
qualms 'bout layin' ya out again. So ya better thing _real_ long and
_real_ hard 'bout yer next move, Marcus.. cause if ya cross mah path
again ah'll make two weeks ago look like a frolic in the park. 

[Houston holds up his hand, as if catching his aside.]

RH:  But ah'm getting off point, 'cause there's still somebody else ah
haven't thanked yet. Perhaps..no, most definitely the biggest thank ya
of 'em all. 

_YOU_

[Houston points at the crowd around him to a huge roar. The East Coast
Terror soaking in the cheers that rain down upon him.]

RH:  Each and every one of ya Madmen out there. 

Cause ya didn't give up on me.

Ya didn't quit. 

Ya'll expected me fer who ah am. 

And fer that, ya deserve the deepest, most sincere of thank ya's cause
ah couldn't have done a lick of it without ya'll bein' there fer me. 

[Houston motions to the crowd around him.]

RH:  Ah want ta make it _crystal_ clear ta each and every one of ya that
this...

[A big Athens paw smacks off the National Title around his waist.]

RH:  ... wouldn't even be here without ya.

[The crowd cheers yet again.]

RH:  Yer the spine that held me up through all those weary nights on the
road. When there seemed ta be no way out of the darkness of night. No
solace from it's ferocity. 

Yer the force behind each and every one of mah fists that smacks an
opponents skull.

Yer mah heart.

Yer mah _soul_. 

And 'cause of all that.. this ain't mah title. 

[Houston shakes his head emphatically from side to side.]

RH:  No.. this is _our_ title. 

[Houston grins as the crowd roars at that announcement.]

RH:  And whether it's Shaw.. or Marley.. or Royal.. or Scott..
Dufresne.. or even Rogers himself.. _WE_ will defend this title
_readily_. Cause ain't nobody gonna stop us, Madmen. Not a soul on
earth. 

[A grinning Gordon Myers lowers the mic to speak into it.]

GM: Ron, that was heartfelt as always, and I can assure you that the
entire WKIK Studios, heck, anybody who's ever turned on our programming
more likely than not feels the same way. But going off of what you just
said.. that you'll take on all comers. What, or should I say _who_, is
next for Ron Houston?

[Houston nods as he speaks again.]

RH: Well, Gordon. If ah were a bettin' man, ah'd assume that this here
Shaw and Rogers match is gonna decide all of it. Rogers already has an
opened invite ta a match fer this title bah way of winnin' that Battle
Royal. Meanwhile, Shaw's been hosed bah Broussard pretty much on pace
with me. 

And while ah hate ta play favorites.. ah think ah owe Adam Rogers the
first shot at this here title. Matter o' fact, ah think ah owe him more
than that. Adam, if ya can hear me back there.. come on out. 

[The camera stays on Myers and Houston as they turn toward the curtain,
and after a brief wait, the crowd cheers signalling that Rogers is on
his way.]

GM: Here he comes now...former World Champion, former friend of Marcus
Broussard.

[Rogers approaches the broadcast table and comes into the camera view,
dressed in nice khaki slacks and a powder blue button-down shirt.  He
acknowledges the crowd as Houston continues.]

RH: Rogers.. when ya first showed up here ah had some words with ya. Ah
talked down ta ya. Ah questioned ya and ah disrespected ya.. and fer all
of that, ah'd like ta apologize. Cause when a man's wrong he's wrong,
and about _you_, Adam Rogers.. ah couldn't have been more wrong. 

[Houston extends his hand to Rogers...

...who nods and accepts.  A big cheer!]

AR: Two things, Houston.  First of all, congratulations.  You earned
that championship and as I sat back there and listened to you talk about
that title, what it means to you, how you plan to defend it...you
already have the mark of a true champion.  You will do that title and
the AWA proud.

Second, your apology is accepted.  It's water under the bridge as far as
I'm concerned.  I don't blame you for being suspicious, given the
history Marcus and I have in other territories.  And I've made some bad
decisions over the course of my career, so any suspicion and lack of
trust was certainly well-deserved on my part.  That's why I came back to
wrestling, why I came to the AWA... to right past wrongs... to clear my
conscience... to do what I set out to do when I got into this sport.

I'm just glad I could start that process two weeks ago.

[Houston nods as Myers intervenes with a question.]

GM: Adam, Mr. Houston already mentioned this, but you do hold a shot at
his National Title by virtue of your win in the battle royal at the
Battle of Dallas and he's already said he'll give you the first shot at
his title but tonight you have some business with one Mark Shaw.

[Rogers smirks a bit.]

AR: Irony of ironies, isn't it Gordon?  I guess Shaw still owes me a
little something for the Battle of Dallas.  Sometimes good intentions
don't have the best results, and that's what happened with me and Shaw
last month. I heard him talk about it two weeks ago and to his credit,
he didn't sound bitter.  But he's a competitor, Gordon, and when we get
in that ring later tonight you better believe that's going to serve as
some motivation for him.

If it does?  Bring it on.

Because I don't want _anything_ less than his best tonight.  I can
promise you this, he's getting nothing less than that from me.  Let's go
out, have a clean hard-fought wrestling match, and I'll let the chips
fall where they fall.

[Adam looks back at the new champ.]

AR: But enough about me, Gordon.  This isn't my night.  It belongs to
the _champ_.

[The lips of The Athens Georgia Madman curl up as he reaches out and
pats the shoulder of Adam Rogers. He turns back towards Gordon and leans
in closely to the mic.]

RH: Gordon.. ah think that we're in fer a heckuva battle here between
Shaw and Rogers and while ah could stand out here and jabber inta yer
ear a little bit more, ah'd be doing these good folks in attendance an
injustice. 

Let's get on with the show. 

Let's get on with the card.

And let's sort this whole puzzle out in this _very_ ring.

[Another big cheer!]

RH:  The way that you, ah, and _everybody_ here knows it should be
decided.

[Houston turns back towards Rogers momentarily, extending his arm one
final time.]

RH:  Good luck tonight, Rogers. Ah'll be watchin'.

[And as the two AWA juggernauts shake hands the arena explodes. Houston
smiling before quickly making his way towards the curtains, Rogers
slowly following behind.]

GM:  Well, you heard the man - the champ, I suppose I should say.  So,
let's go up to the ring for our opening matchup!

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

MC:  Tonight's opening match is scheduled for one fall with a fifteen
minute time limit...

[Cut to a pair of solidly-built men standing in the ring, one sporting a
mullet and the other a crew cut. Both are wearing black and white trunks
and cow-pattern vests. They are both scowling as they are introduced.]

MC:  Already in the ring... from Oklahoma... weighing in at a combined
weight of 510 pounds... the team of "SOONER" MARK SMITH AND BILLY TULSA!

[The duo raise their arms, but the Dallas crowd boos them mercilessly.
They are jawing at the crowd... but stop suddenly when the loud howl of
a werewolf erupts over the PA, sending the crowd into a frenzy.
Metallica's "Of Wolf And Man" begins to blast over the PA system,
bringing the fans to their feet.

MC:  And their opponents... at a total combined weight of 485 pounds...
they are the team of...

WEREWOLF GREGORSON annnnnnd DESPAIR!

[The curtain parts and Gregorson and Despair step through.  Gregorson is
dressed in a pair of camouflage fatigue pants with matching jacket.
Despair is clad in a pair of black boardshorts and MMA style gloves.
They look at each other and then around the WKIK Studios and then charge
the ring, diving under the bottom rope. Smith and Tulsa nearly flee the
ring... but the fan favorites don't attack quite yet, they simply raise
their arms to the crowd, eliciting a big cheer.]

GM:  Gregorson and Despair are one of the top tag teams in this
impressive tag division. But they're preparing for their big War Games
match at the Last Stampede, where they're hoping to finally get some
retribution against the Russians and Stevie Scott.

BW:  Good luck. Vicious and conniving is how you have to describe that
trio. Not to mention what Adrian Freeman and Calisto Dufresne bring to
the table. These two have their work cut out for them Labor Day Weekend.

GM:  Well now, Bucky, don't underestimate the contributions of
Kentucky's Pride and Rick Marley.

[Gregorson looses one of those wild howls of his and then the two
finally turn to their opponents.]

GM:  Looks like we're about ready to get underway and clearly the fans
are excited to see Despair back in the ring after being shelved for a
few weeks after the events of The Battle Of Dallas.

BW:  By the way, let me make something clear about two weeks ago. I was
NOT running from Gregorson.

GM:  Oh no? Then what were you doing scrambling 20 feet that-a-way while
he was cocking his fist back for a punch?

BW:  I dropped a contact.

GM:  Uh huh.

BW:  I'll stand and fight him anyday!

[DING! DING! DING!]

GM:  And here we go. Gregorson and Smith starting it off. Collar and
elbow tie up... Gregorson, much stronger, forces Smith back into a
corner... and the ref breaks them up.. OH! Big right hand from Smith!
Cheap shot! And anoth- OH MY!

[Big cheer as Gregorson flattens Smith with a clothesline.]

GM:  Nice move! That's the raw power of the Werewolf. Gregorson getting
him back to his feet... couple hard elbows to the face here... he sends
Smith across the ring HARD into the opposite corner!

[Gregorson follows him, leaping into the air with a body corner splash
to another round of cheers!]

BW:  Ouch! 285 pounds of ex-Marine crushing you against the turnbuckles
is never a good way to spend a Saturday night.

[Gregorson steps back, allowing Smith to stumble, dazed, out of the
corner and fall flat on his face. Reaching down, he hooks his arms and
yanks him up...]

GM:  Gregorson pulling Smith up right into a full nelson here... oh, and
look at him crank it in... 

BW:  Gordon, that is a painful maneuver, let em tell you from personal
experience. Unless Smith can somehow...

[But as the referee is asking Smith for a submission, Werewolf hoists
Smith up and violently throws him down to the mat.]

GM:  Full nelson slam!  Right out of what looked like a killer
submission hold and into a devastating impact move before the referee
could even ask Smith if he wanted to submit.

BW:  He may have had the match won there with that hold. That might have
been a mistake, to go with the slam.

GM:  I don't know, Bucky. Gregorson's fully in control.

BW:  For now.  If we've learned nothing else in this business, we know
the tide can turn just like that.

[Gregorson tags Despair in, gesturing towards Billy Tulsa across the
ring and mumbling something before stepping out of the ring.]

GM:  Despair in... looks like they have a gameplan... 

[With Mark Smith on his hands and knees, recovering, Despair bounces off
the ropes and dashes across the ring at him...

THWACK!!]

GM:  OH MY! Did you see that kick to the ribs?  Goodness!

BW:  More than see it, did you HEAR the sound it made? 

[The momentum from the kick sends Smith tumbling across the ring and
back into his corner, clutching his torso. Despair is motioning toward
Billy Tulsa, who's now within arm's reach of Smith.]

GM:  And look at this! He's letting Smith tag in his partner.

BW:  Another big mistake by these guys. Fan favorites trying to please
the crowd with more action just get themselves in trouble.

GM:  These men are preparing for War Games at the Last Stampede, Bucky.
It looks like they want to show the Russians and everyone else what
they're in for.  And this seems like a good time to mention that 

[Tulsa reaches out reluctantly for the tag and enters the ring as Smith
rolls out to the apron.]

GM:  Billy Tulsa now approaching Despair... no! Despair rolls behind him
with a reversal.. and Tulsa catches him with an elbow to the face! 

BW:  There's your chance!

GM:  Tulsa on top of him with right hands... Tulsa's got about 50 pounds
on Despair and he's taking advantage of his size, throwing his whole
weight into those right hands.

BW:  That's what I like to see, relentless offense, none of this showing
off that Gregorson and Despair are doing here tonight.

GM:  He backs Despair up into the corner... Irish whip across the
ring... REVERSED! Despair sends Tulsa to the buckles! OHH! And follows
it up with- OHHHH!

[The crowd roars along with Gordon as Despair leaps to the midbuckle,
using the extra height to pop Tulsa under the chin with a kneesmash.]

BW:  A modified form of the Shining Wizard, one of Despair's favorite
moves.

[From the Shining Wizard, hooking the head, Despair turns and sits on
the top turnbuckle, signalling to the crowd.]

GM:  Here we go!

[THUD!!]

GM:  TWISTING DDT! Off the top rope!

[Quickly back to his feet, Despair heads for the top, using his superior
athleticism to leap up there in an impressive display.]

GM:  Despair heading up top again... ohhhh, what a backflip dive!
There's a cover! One... two... th- KICKOUT!

BW:  Wow, Gordo, maybe these Oklahomans are tougher than we give 'em
credit for.  Kicking out of that was impressive.

GM:  What was impressive was that array of moves by Despair.

[Dragging himself up is Billy Tulsa..

THWACK!!]

GM:  PALM STRIKE! He walked right into that shot from Despair! Pulled
himself up and turned around right into that move!

[The impact sends him staggering across the ring into his own corner and
he slaps hands with Smith.]

GM:  Mark Smith back in... and we have another collar-and- NO! OH! Punch
right to the throat by Mark Smith! That's a cheap shot!

BW:  It may be cheap, but it's a smart move. My opinion of Oklahomans is
improving every minute. Despair was out of action two weeks ago with
that injured throat.

GM:  Suffered at the hands of the Russians in the brutal chain match at
the Battle of Dallas.

[Smith steps up, hooking Despair around the waist, and LIFTS...]

GM:  SPINEBUSTER! Smith with a cover! One! Two! KICKOUT!
 
BW:  Smith's frustrated, but the one thing we know about Gregorson and
Despair is that they're not giving away a win that easily.

GM:  Never submit, never surender, and never say die, as we heard
Werewolf say last week. Oh! And an elbowdrop to the sternum of Despair
by Mark Smith keeps him down. And he's going for the legs now...

[Taking an ankle in each hand, SMith wraps up the legs of Despair...]

GM:  Figure four leglock! He's going to trap Despair in the center of
the ring with a devast- NO! Despair kicks him off! Scrambling to his
feet... Smith makes the tag and here comes Billy Tulsa for a two on one!

BW:  It's a numbers game now. They're on top of him with right hands,
those big Oklahoma haymakers!

GM:  Despair's in a bad way here... they're setting him up... for a
double suplex... and HE'S UP! NO! HE SLIDES OUT! Despair slides out of
the suplex...

["SLAP!"] 

GM:  And dives across for the tag to Gregorson! Here comes the big man!
Right hand to Smith! He goes down! A right to Tulsa! Here comes Smith
again... And GREGORSON HOOKS HIM! BIG TWISTING SLAM! He's planted him!

BW:  But look out! Here's Tulsa!

GM:  Tulsa with a right hand... no! Blocked! Gregorson with a right of
his own! And here we go... he hoists him up! 

["THUD!"]

GM:  Big snapping suplex by the Werewolf! 

[Gregorson lets loose with one of those earsplitting howls and the crowd
goes nuts! He reaches for Smith, yanking him up by his hair...]

GM:  Both men down! He's got Mark Smith... and look at this power lift!
Pressing him over his head!

BW:  I can't stand the guy, but his strength and his aresnal is
impressive...

[After a few presses, Gregorson drops Smith gut-first onto his shoulder
and falls forward, planting Smith onto his back on the mat!]

GM:  Into a powerslam! What a move!

BW:  Gregorson's covering, but... the referee's saying he's not the
legal man. In all the confusion, Gregorson's pinning the wrong guy!

[Tulsa's pulled himself up by the ropes... and Gregorson is suddenly
behind him, reaching down to grab his leg and using the leverage to drop
him head first to the mat.]

GM:  WOLF TRAP! That's the Wolf Trap!

BW:  A standing achilles tendon hold!  Look at the excruciating pain on
the face of Billy Tulsa!

GM:  This one may be ov- NO! Tulsa hooks an arm around the rope... and
the ref forces Gregorson to let go... 

[Immediately, Gregorson grabs the ankle of Tulsa and this time yanks him
into the center of the ring, pulling him into the air by his leg... and
he lands with a thud!]
 
GM:  And here we go again! Now he's got him in the middle of the ring!

BW:  And he's not lasting long! Tulsa's about to tap out! He's about to-

[That is, until Smith recovers enough to plow into Gregorson and break
up the hold!]

BW:  And Smith with the save! He literally just saved the match there!
Tulsa was done!

GM:  But Smith's about to feel the Werewolf's wrath. Gregorson whips him
to the ropes...

[But Smith wisely hooks an arm around the top rope to stop himself from
bouncing back and hits the deck, rolling out of the ring to safety.]

GM:  And Smith bails out! We're back to a one-on-one match in there.
Despair's cheering on his partner and yelling for him to get back to
Tulsa, who's laid out center-ring.

[Gregorson this time walks over, pulling Tulsa up and turning him
around...]

GM:  Oh, what's this... wrapping up his arms! OH! HERE IT IS! Swinging
cobra clutch!  Stars And Stripes Forever!  This is Clayton Shaw's move! 
Clayton Shaw uses this maneuver to finish his opponents and Gregorson's
taken to using it as a tribute the past few weeks after the Russians
took out Shaw for being the flag bearer for Gregorson and Despair back
at Memorial Day Mayhem!

BW:  Gordo, you know how I feel about Shaw. We're better off with him
AND his move on the shelf.

GM:  Well, his move is about to give Gregrosn another victory, because
Tulsa's seeing stars right now!

[But right on the verge of a submission... yet again Mark Smith enters
the ring and clubs Gregorson with a double forearm smash to the back!]

GM:  And AGAIN Smith spoiling the victory for Gregorson. Gregorson
clearly frustrated... 

BW:  And he goes after Smith... and AGAIN Smith bails out of the ring!

[Gregorson is screaming at the ref, Michael Meekly, and pointing to
Smith. The ref just shrugs, indicating there's nothing he can do.]

GM:  Despair calling for the tag and Gregorson gives it to him, as he
pulls Tulsa up. Holding him, exposing the ribcage! Oh! What a kick to
the ribs by Despair.

[Gregorson exits the ring, eyeing Mark Smith across the ring...]

BW:  Despair with a palm strike... that spins Tulsa around... OH!  LOOK
AT THIS!

GM:  Sleeperhold!  

BW:  I think it's more of the rear naked choke, Gordo.

GM:  Whatever you want to call it, he's got it locked!  And into a body
scissors!  Tulsa's locked up in the middle of the ring in that killer
submission hold from Despair! 

[But, as should be expected, Mark Smith is climbing the turnbuckle to
boos from the crowd... he leaps and lands a big elbow drop on Despair's
head to break up the hold!]

GM:  AGAIN! C'mon, ref! Stop letting this happen!

BW:  It's called teamwork.

GM:  It's called cheating. And the ref is finally up in his face! He's
shouting at Smith to stop interfering! He's threatening to disqualify
his team.

BW:  And Smith's totally ignoring him.

[A few stomps to Despair keeps him down, as Tulsa finally staggers to
his feet. Tulsa lands a couple blows, catching his breath and clutching
his throat.]

BW:  Look at the sadistic look on the face of Billy Tulsa. These
OKlahomans are fighters, daddy!

GM:  But not fair fighters. They've got a double team on Despair now, as
they ignore Michael Meekly's instructions to get it back to one-on-one.

BW:  Whip into the ropes.., flapjack.. 

[Lifting Despair way up... and dropping him down throat-first across the
top rope!]

GM:  OH MY! Right on the throat! Right on that injured throat! They're
going right for that injured throat tonight!

BW:  And look at this, they're SMILING!  Despair's down, clutching his
throat, and Tulsa and Smith are grinning and laughing!  I love it!  This
kid may not even make it to The Last Stampede and WarGames, daddy!

[Tulsa makes a "choking" gesture with his hands and Smith gestures back
for him to finish Despair off. As Tulsa heads out to the apron and walks
to the turnbuckle,  Smith exits back to his corner.]

GM:  Tulsa's going up!  He gestures... looks like an elbow drop
coming... making the slow climb up there... WAIT! DESPAIR IS UP!

[With Tulsa in mid-climb, Despair lunges for the adjacent ropes and he
throws himself on the top rope, rattling it and tripping up Tulsa, who
loses his footing and winds up falling crotch-first into the top
turnbuckle, facing the crowd.]

GM:  Tulsa doesn't even know what just hit him! Despair springing up
there! The crowd's going nuts... jumps up... headscissors... 

[After a springboard gets him up top, he's wrapping his legs around
Tulsa from behind. Despair lunges backwards and flips Tulsa to the mat
for a backwards frankensteiner to a big cheer!]

GM:  That's the Poison Frankensteiner! 

BW:  SPIKED HIM! Billy Tulsa landed right on his head! Look at him, he's
barely moving!

GM:  Despair standing over him... he's setting him up... OH MY! Look at
this!

[Locking him into an armbar/neck crank combination, Despair leans into
the move and has Tulsa's feet failing while the intense pressure on his
shoulders and neck intensifies by the second.]

GM:  He calls this the Human Torment! Tulsa's about to surrender! 

BW:  But here comes Mark Smith AGAIN! Talk about teamwork!

[Watching his parner flail, Mark Smith ducks under the top rope and
charges across the ring to break it up once more.]

GM:  TULSA'S-- NO! SILVER BULLET! SILVER BULLET! GREGORSON JUST
FLATTENED HIM WITH THAT VICIOUS SPEAR! He finally levelled the playing
field!

BW:  And Tulsa gives up! He submits! He's screamng for Despair to let
go!

GM:  Meekly's calling for the bell! It's over!

[DING! DING! DING!]

MC:  The winners of this match, by way of submission... Werewolf
Gregorson and Despair!

[Finally releasing the hold, Despair gets to his feet and he and
Gregorson raise their hands to massive cheers from the crowd!]

GM:  A nice victory there for Gregorson and Despair - and you can bet
it's no coincidence they scored a submission win just about one month
before their big night in the double-ringed cage battlefield known as
WarGames, Bucky.

BW:  Well, they're definitely sending a message to the Russians, Stevie,
Dufresne, and Freeman - but if they don't watch themselves, that message
may get returned to sender, daddy!
 
[After a few moments of saluting the fans and celebrating their victory,
Gregorson and Despair exit the ring and start walking towards the
announce desk where Bucky Wilde takes a few steps back.]

GM:  Congratulations, gentlemen, on another successful victory here on
AWA Saturday Night Wrestling!!
 
GREGORSON: Thank you, Gordon, and I must say it's not only a pleasure to
be here tonight but it's also a pleasure to have my tag team partner,
Despair, right back where he belongs in an AWA wrestling ring!
 
[The crowd cheers!]
 
DESPAIR: Well, let me tell you something, big man. After spending the
last couple weeks at home on the couch watching the AWA go to blazes in
a hand basket thanks to dirty rotten traitors like Stevie Scott and his
"comrades," The Russians, it's good to be back in the ring where I can
do something about it.
 
And, for anybody in the back who might think that I'm _not_ at a hundred
percent after what happened to me at The Battle of Dallas, why don't you
put your money where your mouths are and come on out here right
now...'cause The Werewolf and I would be more than happy to oblige you
all and show you how wrong you are!
 
GREGORSON: That's right, Gordon. Despair and I are both at one hundred
percent and we're both ready, willing, and able to prove it in the ring,
whether it's right here, right now, or at The Last Stampede when we team
up with Rick Marley and Kentucky's Pride to square off against Stevie
Scott, The Russians, and their partners, Adrian Freeman and Calisto
Dufresne.
 
DESPAIR: You got that right, Werewolf. You, me, Marley, Kentucky's
Pride...and War Games!  We were made to fight that fight, big man, and
Mr. Benedict Arnold, Stevie Scott, is in for one heck of a surprise if
he thinks his team is gonna take us out.
 
GREGORSON: I couldn't agree with you more, my friend, and what better
place than The Last Stampede to show Stevie Scott and The Russians that,
like death and taxes, there's one thing about Werewolf Gregorson and
Despair that they can be absolutely sure of.
 
GM: And that is...?
 
[Gregorson smirks.]
 
GREGORSON: We never quit...
 
DESPAIR: Never submit...
 
GREGORSON: Never surrender...
 
DESPAIR: And never, ever, ever say die!
 
[And, as the crowd roars huge, we fade out..

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 Melissa Cannon is standing.]

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

["Rock Me Amadeus" by Falco starts up to a negative reaction from the
fans in attendance.]

MC:  Standing 6'1 and weighing in at 225 pounds... from Lancashire,
England...

WILLLLLTON STOOOOONE!

[The jeers grow louder as Stone steps through the curtain.  Tall, tan,
and trim - Stone appears to be in tremendous shape as he walks towards
the ring, sneering at the jeering fans.  He pulls himself up on the
apron before stepping into the ring.]

GM:  Wilton Stone has felt disrespected by the AWA fans as well as the
promoters for quite some time.  It all goes back to Memorial Day Mayhem
when he was scheduled to debut but got bumped due to time constraints.

BW:  He's got a point, Gordo.

GM:  Perhaps he does - but what would really serve him well is to stop
crying about it and actually get some success in the ring.  If he can
beat his opponent here tonight, maybe then people will start to notice
him.

BW:  Who is his opponent?

GM:  It's a surprise for you, Bucky.

BW:  A surprise for- oh no.

"WHO WAN' SIT ON SWEET DADDY'S LAP TANIGHT?"

[The crowd erupts as the horrific caterwauling sounds of "I'm Goin' Be
Your Sweet Daddy" comes through the PA system - which can only mean the
arrival of the funkiest man in the AWA, Sweet Daddy Williams.]

MC:  His opponent... on his way to the ring... hailing from Hotlanta,
Georgia... 5'10 and weighing in at 312 pounds... 

SWEET!  DADDY!  WILLIAMS!

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

GM:  Haha!  I love it, Bucky!

BW:  This guy makes me sick, Gordo.  

[Williams rolls under the bottom rope into the ring...

...right into a barrage of stomps by an intense Wilton Stone.]

GM:  Oh, come on, referee!  

[The bell rings to officially start the match as Stone yanks Williams
off the mat by the bushy hair...

...and connects with a big chop that knocks the fan favorite back into
the buckles.]

GM:  Ohhh... what a chop by Stone and-

[The crowd boos as Stone wraps his hands around the windpipe of the
Sweet Daddy, strangling the air from his body.]

GM:  Illegal chokehold applied by the man from England.  The referee is
in there warning him.

[Stone backs off at the referee's orders...

...and then storms right back in where Williams simply puts his hands
behind his head and thrusts his hips in Stone's direction a few times.]

GM:  Haha!

[The crowd boos as Stone throws right hands to the midsection in the
corner, punctuating the attack with a few hard boots to the ribcage as
well.]

BW:  Apparently Mr. Stone didn't find that as funny as you did, Gordo.

GM:  Apparently not.

[Stone grabs Williams by the wrist, firing him across to the opposite
corner before charging in behind him to bury a running knee into the
midsection.]

GM:  Ohhh - hard shot to the gut by Stone.  He winds up that big right
hand and-

[The crowd roars as Williams blocks the punch and uncorks a right hand
of his own, knocking Stone out of the corner and down to the mat.]

GM:  And down goes Stone!  But he's right back up, moving back in...

[Another big cheer goes up as another right haymaker bounces off the
skull of the Englishman, knocking him flat once more.]

GM:  Look at Sweet Daddy Williams!  He's having a good time in there!

[Clapping his hands together and pumping his fists back and forth,
Williams bounces out of the corner to the cheers of the fans as he hits
the ropes, rebounding off...

...and hitting Stone with a running right hand that causes Stone to sail
through the ropes, crashing down to the concrete floor.]

GM:  Whoo boy!  Down goes Wilton Stone - all the way out to the floor!

BW:  And this nutcase is goin' after him, daddy.  This unwashed,
stanky-as-horse-manure, yellow-teethed, denture-wearin', pig fat
drinkin'-

GM:  Would you stop?

[Sweet Daddy Williams steps out onto the apron, dropping down to the
floor in pursuit of a fleeing Wilton Stone who is heading towards the
exit...

...but instead, he gets spun around by Williams and popped with another
right hand that knocks the Brit to the cold concrete!]

GM:  You can run, Wilton Stone, but you can't hide.

BW:  Sweet Daddy Williams could hide.  He'd blend right in in the cheap
seats with all this unwashed, rednecked hillbillies who come here to the
WKIK Studios, daddy.

GM:  They pay your salary, you know.

BW:  They pay your salary maybe.  Mine's by the white collar, upper
class fans of the AWA.  Men who appreciate true insight.

GM:  I see.

[Grabbing Stone by the head, Williams drags him towards the ring,
rolling him under the ropes.]

GM:  Stone back in.  And the Sweet Daddy rolls back in behind him. 
Ohhh!  And again, Wilton Stone was waiting for him with a diving sledge
to the back of the head!

BW:  Stone's on the attack!

[Dragging Williams to his feet, Stone shoves him back into the buckles,
driving right hand after right hand into the breadbasket.  He spins
away, moving to the opposite corner...

...and charges right back in.]

GM:  Here comes Stone - head full of steam and...

[The crowd roars as Sweet Daddy Williams steps to the side, spinning
away from the running corner splash, and quickly picking up Stone from
behind.]

GM:  What in the world?

[Williams shows off his unique offense by scooping him Stone in a
bodyslam position with his front side facing out...

...and then slams Stone down on his chest and face with an inverted
bodyslam!]

GM:  Ohhh!

[Williiams promptly leaps straight up into the air, dropping down with a
big headbutt on the back of Stone's head!]

GM:  Leaping headbutt by the Sweet Daddy - there's a cover!  ONE!  TWO! 
THREE!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


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

[The crowd roars as Sweet Daddy pushes up to his feet, clapping his
hands and nodding his head at the cheering crowd before stepping out to
the apron.]

GM:  A big win for Sweet Daddy Williams - Wilton Stone is quite the
superstar from around the wrestling world and the man from Hotlanta just
took care of him in... well, fairly short order.

BW:  I think Stone was overwhelmed by this filthy dog's stench.  Just
knocked him flat.

[Williams drops down to the floor, still clapping his hands as he
approaches the announce desk with a whoop and holler.]

SDW:  Lemme ask ya something, Gordon Myers!

GM:  Go right ahead, Sweet Daddy.

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

[A loud squeal goes up from the women in the audience - also known as a
"little girl" pop.]

SDW:  That's what I'm talkin' 'bout, Gordon Myers.  All the ladies wanna
see Sweet Daddy Williams shake his thang...

[Sweet Daddy emphasizes his point by sticking his rear out and swinging
it back and forth to another large cheer.]

SDW:  ...in the rang... and all the fella wanna see the Sweet Daddy take
on the best the AWA's got to offer and leave 'em all layin' like that
tea and crumpet eater flat on his back right now, ya know?

[The Hotlanta native bobs his head up and down, clapping his hands a few
times.]

GM:  You certainly did make short work of Wilton Stone tonight.

SDW:  Of course I did, Gordon Myers.  Heck, you woulda too if you'd been
in that ring.

GM:  What do you mean?

SDW:  Lessjus' say that if you're within nose reach of 'im, you'd lay
'im out in a hurry too.  

[Sweet Daddy makes a show of waving his hand back and forth in front of
his nose.]

SDW:  So, I punched 'im in the banger, I smashed 'im in the mash, and I
kicked his crumpet from corner to corner until he just couldn' take it
no mo', Gordon Myers.  

GM:  That you did.  So, what's next for Sweet Daddy Williams?

SDW:  The Sweet Daddy ain't prejudice, my friend.  I'll fight anybody
the AWA decides I should.  Whether it's a stanky ol' Englishman, a big
ol' Samoan whose gut is bigger than mine, a loudmouth traitor like that
tooty fruity Stevie Scott... I'll take 'em all on and I'll leave 'em all
layin'... believe that.

[And with one more whoop, Sweet Daddy Williams walks away from the
announce desk to the cheers of the crowd.]

GM:  Sweet Daddy Williams will take on all comers - just the kind of
thing we like to hear here in the AWA.  Fans, don't go away, we'll be
right back with more AWA Saturday Night Wrestling!

[The shot holds on Gordon Myers 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 ring where Melissa is standing.]

MC: Our next contest is scheduled for one fall.  Introducing first,
already in the ring, from Atlanta, Georgia...GEORGE WEST!

[The crowd reacts with indifference.]

MC: And his opponent...from St. Louis, Missouri, weighing in at 231
pounds...here is "HOTSHOT" STEVIE SCOTT!

[The supra-loud lead guitar of Nigel Tufnel blasts over the P.A.,
followed by the other lead guitar from David St. Hubbins.  The heel pop
immediately fires up, and leaping through the curtains, striking his
Superman Pose (tm) is none other than the innovator of Stevietainment,
the purveyor of all that is silly...

"Hotshot" Stevie Scott.]

GM:  This man, I have a feeling, is just one month away from the worst
beating of his life, Bucky Wilde.  He's got five men across the double
cage looking to hurt him for assorted reasons.

BW:  Please, Gordo.  You're talkin' about Kentucky's Pride who couldn't
hurt anything but the couch when they sit down or Social Security. 
You've got Rick Marley whose flippin' and floppin' won't do 'im a lick
of good inside the double cage.  And then there's Gregorson and Despair.

GM:  What horrible things do you have to say about them?

BW:  Well, they might be the only ones who're dangerous - but the
Russians will keep them off of Stevie.  You think he's a month from a
beating.  I think he's a month from the greatest win of his life.

[Stevie's clad in full-length tights, with flames airbrushed down the
outside of each leg, his dirty blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. 
Soaking in the boos, he flashes the infamous STEVIEGRIN~! and trots
cockily down the aisle, taking time to jaw with a few fans along the
way.

As he climbs onto the apron, he slingshots himself over the top rope and
ascends the near turnbuckle, raising his arms in the air to another big
heel poparooski.]

GM: Well, Bucky, we've been waiting for this for several months...Stevie
Scott's singles debut in the AWA. 

BW: We're in for a treat, daddy!

[Stevie points and mocks some fans in the front row as the bell sounds. 
He then turns his pointing and mocking to West, slowly approaching him
and getting in his face.]

GM: Stevie Scott in his singles debut here in the AWA, and already he's
up in the face of the veteran George West.

[West listens for a brief moment, then responds with a hard right hand
to the jaw of Stevie.  Pop!]

GM: And a big right hand shuts Stevie Scott's mouth, at least for a
moment!  The Hotshot backpedaling as West keeps the heat on with those
right hands!

BW: That's a DQ, daddy!  Closed fists and we ain't 15 seconds gone!

[Stevie covers his head and retreats into a corner, while West follows
still wailing away...that is, until Stevie ducks down, grabs West by the
trunks, and pulls him headfirst into the corner turnbuckle.]

BW: There ya go, daddy!  Just luring him into a trap, that's all that
was.

GM: Indeed, Stevie Scott has taken the upper hand, and now has spun West
into the corner...


"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!"


GM: Knife edge chop to the chest of George West!  Scott grabs an arm,
Irish whip sends West into the corner...Scott charging in...nobody home!
 West deftly moves out of the way and Scott hits nothing but the
turnbuckles!

[West quickly grabs Stevie and applies a side headlock, pulling him to
the center of the ring.  Scott grabs West's wrists and powers up to a
standing base as they both fight for position...until Stevie grabs a
handful of hair and pulls West down to the mat.  Heel pop!]

GM: There you see perhaps what Stevie Scott does best, Bucky, and that's
breaking the rules.

BW: Hey, I didn't hear you complainin' when Georgie was throwing those
closed fists, daddy.  Stevie's dirty...you gotsta know that when you get
in that ring with him.

GM: Indeed he is, as West kips up to his feet and now it's Stevie with
the side headlock.  West backs him into the ropes and shoves him off to
the far side.

[As Stevie hits the ropes, West drops down and Stevie leaps over the
top.  On the rebound, West attempts a hiptoss but Stevie hops through it
and takes the veteran "enhancement talent" down with a hiptoss of his
own.]

GM: Nicely executed takedown by Scott, West back on his feet...and right
into a standing dropkick from the Hotshot!

BW: Bee-you-tee-ful, daddy!  Don't let it be said that Stevie Scott is
no athlete after seeing the elevation on that dropkick.

GM: Scott on the attack, pulls West up and sends him for the ride...

[Pop!  Stevie ducks a bit too early, allowing West to pull up short and
connect with a boot to the chest that sends Scott staggering backward. 
West, sensing his opportunity, hits the ropes on the far side and
charges in...

...only to get caught in mid-air and dropped throat-first across the top
rope.]

GM: And Stevie closes the door with a Hotshot on the charging West.  For
a brief moment it looked like George West might have an opening.

BW: Yeah, that opening didn't last too long.  I'm tellin' ya, ya'll
haven't seen what this guy can do in a ring yet.

GM: Hopefully he's not as annoying in it as he is out of it.

[Oh, he is, as evidenced by the fact that he's now standing over West
and mocking him, along with some members of the crowd, drawing a heel
pop.  Stevie slowly pulls West back up by the hair, taking perhaps a
little too much time.]

GM: Inside cradle by West!  We could have an upset here!

[1-2-and almost does the official's hand hit the mat a third time before
Stevie gets a shoulder up.]

GM: Stevie Scott was just inches away from being upset here on
television, Bucky.  That would have been devastating.

BW: Don't even talk like that, Gordon.

[West beats Stevie to his feet, then catches Scott with a right hand as
Stevie gets up.  The veteran grabs him in a front chancery and tries to
lift him into a vertical suplex, but Stevie is able to hook the leg and
reverse it into a suplex of his own.]

GM: Nice counter there by the "Hotshot", but I think he's had more
trouble with George West than he anticipated.

BW: Nah, he's just toying with him.  Cat and mouse, daddy.

[Stevie moves back into a semi-crouch as he awaits West to stand up.  As
George does, Scott moves toward him.]

GM: And there it is!  Stevie Scott connects with the Heatseeker
superkick, and it's lights out for George West.  One...two...three.

[Stevie quickly hops to his feet, arms raised in victory.]

MC: Your winner of the match..."HOTSHOT" STEVIE SCOTT!

GM: So Stevie Scott scores a win in his singles debut here in the AWA,
and now it appears that we'll be joined by him here at the table.  He's
one of the contestants scheduled to compete in the War Games main event
at The Last Stampede coming up on Labor Day weekend...
 
[As Myers talks, a smiling Stevie Scott walks into the camera frame at
the table alongside Myers.]
 
GM: ... he is none other than "Hotshot" Stevie Scott, who has made many
enemies during his short time in the AWA.
 
[Stevie gives Gordon an incredulous look.]
 
HSS: Enemies?  You think I care about _enemies_, Gordo?  You again
underestimate Stevie Scott, Oldy-locks.  Because, my friends...ha ha
ha...there's no reason to worry about enemies when you've got friends
like I've got.  I've got The Russians, who have done nothing but kick
tail and take names...well, actually, they asked me to take the names
because their English isn't all that good...but they're the meanest,
most dominant team _anywhere_!  And they're on my side.
 
I've got Calisto Dufresne, a man after my own heart.  And I've got
Adrian Freeman, who I really haven't talked to much yet...but he's cool
because he can't stand Fat Man Rust and Blubber Jack just like me.   So
yeah, Gordo.  Stevie Scott may have a lot of enemies, but none of 'em
can do anything to me.
 
[Stevie laughs again as Myers rolls his eyes and continues.]
 
GM: Now, I understand that you've brought back Stevie's Hotspot and have
pre-recorded a segment to air today.
 
HSS: That's right, Gordo.  See, the guest I have...well, let's just say
this is _big_ _time_.  And I can't have such a fine guest in a studio
like this one, man.  Too lowbrow, too low class.  So I put together a
set worthy of my guest, and now?  It's time to see the rest.
 
[Another eye roll from Myers.]
 
GM: Let's go to the tape.
 
[Cut to a room with a beige wall that has a white banner with "Stevie's
Hotspot" printed on it.  Oddly, it's a pretty nice banner.  Blue chairs
sit on the left and the right with a coffee table set just forward and
in between.  Stevie, dressed in a black tuxedo with a red bow tie, sits
in the chair on the left while the one on the right is empty.  He
flashes a STEVIEGRIN~! and gets this party started.]
 
HSS: It's another Stevie's Hotspot, ladies and losers.  It's been a
while since you've had the pleasure of viewing this, and for that I do
sincerely apologize, but I had to wait to find a guest _worthy_ of
bringing the show back to the air.  And tonight, I have found that guest
and I shall bring him to you.
 
[Camera angle changes from the wide angle to a close-up.  Camera 2 as it
were.]
 
HSS: For this Hotspot, I told myself that I needed to find someone with
intelligence...someone with panache...someone with _class_.  And I asked
myself, who could I bring on...who could I convince to sit in the
Hotspot with yours truly?  And then it hit me, like Blubber Jack hittin'
the buffet at the Sizzler on Friday night!
 
[Stevie stands up, buttoning his jacket.]
 
HSS: My guest tonight is the greatest, the most talented, the most
handsomest...my favorite professional wrestler of all time...
 
"HOTSHOT" STEVIE SCOTT!
 
[Camera cuts to a close up of the empty chair on the right...camera 3
we'll call it...and walking into the picture is Stevie Scott, this time
in his casual attire of Hawaiian flower-dy shirt, etc.  He flashes a
STEVIEGRIN~! and sits down, propping one leg up on the coffee table.]
 
HSS: Great to be here.  Thanks for having me.
 
[Camera 2.]
 
HSS: So, Mr. Scott.  You've travel the world, wrestled in the largest
venues, taken on and beaten the biggest names the sport has to offer. 
Tell me, how have you managed to do it?
 
[Camera 3.]
 
HSS: Well, I'd like to say it hasn't been easy...but who am I kidding? 
Of course it's been easy!  For cryin' out loud, I'm Stevie Scott!  It
all comes naturally to a great athlete like myself.  Plus...and let's be
honest...some of the "greats" of the sport?  Not so much.  At least not
when they're up against someone like yours truly.
 
[Camera 2.]
 
HSS: You've managed to take the AWA by storm in a short period of time. 
Do you feel any jealousy from other wrestlers who know deep in their
hearts that they're not as good as you, yet publically cannot bring
themselves to admit it?
 
[Camera 3.]
 
HSS: Oh yeah, all the time.  Take Blubber Jack and Fat Man Rust, for
instance.  I mean, they're old...fat...slow...ugly...from Kentucky...got
nothing going for them.  So yeah, I know they're jealous of me, my
talent, my looks, and my perfect grill.  But instead of coming out and
saying to everyone that they wish they were, indeed, Stevie Scott, they
try to attack me like I'm trying to take the last piece of fried chicken
off the buffet line.
 
Then there's Wolfie G and Despair...I mean, _come on_.  And Rick Marley?
 Can you say washed up?  Hey Rick...it's not 1999 anymore, you know what
I mean?
 
[Camera 2.]
 
HSS: Speaking of those five clowns, you'll be facing off against them in
War Games at The Last Stampede.  Can you give us a bit of a hint as to
how badly you and your team of The Russians, Adrian Freeman, and Calisto
Dufresne will destroy them?
 
[Camera 3.]
 
HSS: Wow...that's hard.  I don't know if words exist that can adequately
describe it.  Let's break it down this way.  The Russians?  Who's going
to do any damage to _them_?  Wolfie G and Desparado?  Don't think so. 
And Blubber Jack and Fat Man Rust will last all of about three minutes
before they'll be looking for an oxygen tank.  Which leaves Marley, also
known as not much of a factor.  So you do the math.
 
[Camera 2.]
 
HSS: Mr. Scott, time for one last question.  What would you like to say
to all the kids out there who look up to you as their idol?
 
[Camera 3.]
 
HSS: I'd like to remind them that no matter how hard they try...no
matter how much effort they give...they'll never be as good as me.  But
it's an honorable goal, so shoot for the stars, kids!  Even if you miss,
you might fall flat on your face and everyone will laugh at you!  Like
Blubber Jack and Fat Man Rust this coming Labor Day weekend!
 
[Camera 2.]
 
HSS: That's all the time we have, and Mr. Scott, I thank you very much
for taking the time to join me.
 
[Camera 3.]
 
HSS: The pleasure was all yours.  Or mine, depending on how you look at
it.
 
[Camera 2.]
 
HSS: Join me next time for "Stevie's Hotspot" when we'll ask Blubber
Jack and Fat Man Rust what it's like to walk 10 feet and be out of
breath.  Good night!
 
[Some cheesy talk-show music plays as the camera cuts back and forth
between 2 and 3 as Stevie(s) chat with themselves...or whatever, until
we cut back to an irritated Myers and a very proud Stevie Scott.]
 
HSS: What'd you think there, Gordo?  My best work yet!
 
GM: Fans, there's nothing we can do to follow that segment, so we'll
take a break and be back with more AWA action.
 
BW: I loved it!

[The camera holds on the trio, Myers shaking his head, 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 Kentucky's Pride
North Dallas Spectrum - Dallas, TX
August 3

Ricky Royal
West Dallas Galleria - Dallas, TX
August 5

Sweet Daddy Williams and Mark Shaw
Dallas Ford - Dallas, TX
August 7

Werewolf Gregorson, Despair, and Ricky Royal
Harris Chevrolet - Dallas, TX
August 9

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 what appears to be a small hall of mirrors.  Top,
bottom, the floor and even the walls all reflect the same image. 
Natiomea.  He stands with his back to the camera yet you see his
reflection plain as day.  He s wearing faded blue jeans and a white
wifebeater that shows off his tanned yet muscular petite frame and arms.
 His helmeted head turns a sharp left, his mirrored gaze meeting the
camera straight on.  That face, the carbon fiber fitted black helmet of
a bleached white skull with the mouth formed in a constant, annoying,
never changing smile stares into your heart.  His long and stringy black
hair fall from the opening in the top of the helmet to cover his entire
face and head.  The opaque eye slits of the helmet flash a bright red as
if he was suddenly turned on with a switch. 
 
Naitomea stands up on his tip toes and draws a small horizontal line on
the mirror with a black sharpie.  His high pitched, mechanical sounding
voice masked by some sort of synthesizer in his helmet erupts in the
silent room]
 
N:  Tumaffi.
 
[He reaches up again and makes a similar line only a few inches down]
 
N:  Adam Rogers
 
[Naitomea jumps up and slashes another line shortly above the first one
he made]
 
N:  Werewolf Gregorson
 
[Naitomea puts the flat of his hand on the top of his small 5 9 frame
and then measures straight across and marks and X on the mirror and
circles it.  He pauses and then steps backward surveying his place among
the other men]
 
N:  Do you get it yet?  For thirteen hours I sat on a plane across the
Pacific ocean wondering why I gave up the niche I had already carved in
Tiger Paw Pro and then it all became clear.  Before I ever arrived here
they had already written me off.  When word had gotten out I was going
to be transferred to the AWA the superstars mocked me and I was told
they laughed behind my back. The critics say I didn't stand a chance
here in the land of giants. The internet claims I don t have what it
takes to become a superstar over here.  You see I ve been around this
game just long enough to have heard all the complaints before - too
young, too small, too inexperienced.  There s this mold or this echelon
where we re all supposed to fit in.  But no more, those rules no longer
apply and I refuse to be known as some cookie cutter athlete that you
have all come to expect from the Far East.
  
[Naitomea cocks his head to the right then looks up at the lines he
created.  He shrugs and throws the sharpie against the mirror in some
act of defiance.  His body starts shivering and his voice turns into a
violent, hostile depression.  ]
 
N:  A heavy thought walks in my brain like a cold, slow, lead lightning
bolt.
 
[He pauses and his hands fly up to the horns that protrude from the
sides of his helmet.  He grabs them and twists his head from side to
side in utter torment]
 
N:  Uncertainty; Confusion and madness scream and dance in my death trip
white matter.
 
[His high pitches voice screams and cackles with pure insanity]
 
N:  I'm carrying something that I can barely hold onto!  I don't know
where it comes from, but it feels like a gun in my hand.  One shot. 
Like a perfect drug. One shot, IT GETS YOU OFF!
 
[Naitomea slams his helmeted head into the glass mirror shattering it
into a million pieces.  He throws himself back first against the wall
complete fear and he slowly slides to the floor.]
 
N:  Aztecs poured molten gold down the throats of captured conquistadors
to quench their ravenous greed.  Time is a control mechanism.  Time is
power, and power here in the AWA is in the wrong hands!  All of you are
in my way to success and since I see no signs that any of you are
willing to move from the path so I m just going to have to run over  ..
every  .. single  .. one  .. of  .. you! 
 
Your eyes _WILL_ turn to me!   I will become the center of attention
here in the AWA!
 
 I _WILL_ make my mark!
 
[Naitomea drops his head into his chest.  The red light from his eye
slits go dark and we fade to black...

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

GM:  Naitomea is coming to the AWA from our friends in Tiger Paw Pro and
he certainly seems determined to... as he said... make his mark here in
the American Wrestling Alliance.

BW:  He's coming in with a lot of buzz, Gordo, a lot of hype from his
days in Japan so it'll be very interesting to see just how much of an
impact he can have here in the AWA rings.

GM:  I understand that on the next AWA Saturday Night Wrestling we will
actually have footage of a match from Tiger Paw Pro featuring Naitomea
in action - our first look at him inside a wrestling ring.  I'm looking
forward to that.

BW:  Me too.

GM:  Fans, coming up next here in the WKIK Studios, we have-

[The opening chords of "Try Honesty" by Billy Talent begin to play as
"Subzero" Adrian Freeman walks out, smoke billowing out behind him. 
Most of the fans boo and jeer, and Adrian takes a moment to sneer at
them before he heads towards the announce table.]

GM: Well, it looks like we're going to get a visit from another one of
the participants in the upcoming War Games match.

[Freeman reaches the announce desk, glaring at Gordon Myers
disdainfully.]

BW: Mr. Freeman, pleased to have you here.

AF: Thank you Bucky. I think I'm supposed to threaten one of you now,
but I don't feel like it.

GM: Well, that's good, I guess.  Mr. Freeman, you recently seemed to
have formed an alliance with the Russians, Callisto Dufrense and Stevie
Scott.

AF: It's less of an alliance and more of a coalition united by a common
cause: getting that loser Rick Marley out of AWA. And we're going to do
it, Gordon, no matter what the suits want.

[Myers looks uncomfortable with this topic.]

GM:  I'm not sure what you're-

AF: Open your eyes. The promoters in AWA want Mister Tiger Beat there,
Mister crowd-pleaser to be on top. They're handing him the world when he
doesn't deserve any of it. Just look at the match at Memorial Day Mayhem
and last time here on Saturday Night Wrestling. Whenever Marley gets in
trouble there's a DQ to protect him.

GM: I would say that had more to do with the outside interference than-

[Freeman interrupts again.]

AF: You call it outside interference when we come in, but when those
rednecks and the freak show that is Despair & Gregorson stick their
noses in our business and stop us from delivering a well-deserved
beatdown... well, let's just say that's a display of their "courage" and
"bravery."

[The Australian sneers at Gordon again.]

AF:  City Jack, Tin Can Rust, Despair, Werewolf Gregorson... you could
have just sat back and watched. Marley would have left the studios on a
stretcher and this would all be over. But now you're all going to get a
beating too. Because you had to play the heroes you'll get to taste the
cold steel of that cage and be mercilessly dissected by a five-man
international dream team in the Match Beyond. 

And when you're all lying in bloodied heaps, I'll do the honour of
putting Marley in the Deep Freeze and forcing him to submit.

[A gleeful Bucky Wilde claps a hand on Freeman's shoulder.]

BW: Sounds like a plan!

GM: Well, if nothing else, Mr. Freeman, you certainly have initiative.

AF: Say what you like. All the words in the world aren't going to stop
me from winning in one month's time in WarGames... or tonight.

[Freeman walks away from the announce table, rolling under the ropes
into the ring where Melissa Cannon is standing next to a masked man.]

MC:  The following contest is schedul-

[But before Melissa can finish, Adrian Freeman charges across the ring,
drilling the masked man with a running back elbow that knocks him down
to a knee in the corner.]

GM:  Ohh!  Cheapshot before the bell!  

BW:  There's no better time for it, Gordo.

[The bell quickly rings to officially start the match as a focused
Freeman drives a pair of boots into the upper chest of his kneeling
opponent.]

GM:  Melissa didn't even get to make the introductions but that man
inside the ring with Freeman is a luchador out of El Paso known as
Blanca Guerrera.

[The white-masked luchador eats a few more stomps to the upper torso
before being dragged off the mat by the mask.]

GM:  Freeman dragging him up... 

[Pulling down on the head, the Australian pops upwards, connecting with
a European uppercut that snaps the luchador's head back, causing him to
fall chestfirst into the buckles.]

GM:  Nice shot by Freeman.

BW:  And if you're Rick Marley, if you're City Jack, if you're any of
those goofs - you've gotta be wondering what you've gotten yourself
into, Gordo.  This kid is the real deal and combined with the Russians,
Dufresne, and Stevie?  Whoa baby.

[Grabbing the middle rope, Freeman leans over...

...and lunges forward, driving his shoulder into the lower back of the
luchador!]

GM:  Ohhhh!  Right into the kidneys of Blanca Guerrera!

BW:  And do you sense a theme tonight, Gordo?  Do you notice all of
these WarGames participants physically breaking down their opponents and
making them scream for mercy?

[Freeman can be heard screaming at the luchador to submit before driving
his shoulder into the back again.]

GM:  The referee is ordering Freeman to back out of the corner -
ordering him to back away from the buckles.  

BW:  He needs to count, not yell.  Freeman's got until the count of five
to do whatever he wants there in the corner.

GM:  Freeman stands up, backing off...

[But lunges back in, driving a knee up into the lower back of the masked
man.]

GM:  Come on!  Back him off, referee!

[Mickey Meekly steps in, forcing Freeman away as the luchador staggers
away from the corner, hanging onto the ropes to stay on his feet.]

GM:  Adrian Freeman is getting backed away by the referee...

[Freeman nudges Meekly aside, racing past him towards the stunned
luchador...

...who drops his head in desperation, hoisting the Australian over the
top rope.]

GM:  BAAAAACKDR-

[Freeman grabs the top rope, landing on his feet on the apron and
immediately ducking, lunging forward to drive his shoulder into the
kidneys yet again.]

GM:  Ohhh!

["Subzero" pulls back grabbing the luchador by the head, tugging his
upper body down over the middle rope...

...and then charges down the apron, driving a hard kick into the side of
the masked skull before dropping down to the floor.]

GM:  Freeman's out on the floor.  He's completely dismantling Blanca
Guerrera so far in this one.

BW:  Oh man - look at this, Gordo.   Look at this!

[Freeman turns his back on the luchador, reaching back to hook a snap
mare...

...and then yanks the luchador through the ropes, whipping him down HARD
to the concrete floor!]

GM:  SNAP MARE THROUGH THE ROPES TO THE FLOOR!

BW:  Well, he won't be able to do that in WarGames but I think Adrian
Freeman is showing exactly why he is a valuable weapon to have inside
that double cage.  

GM:  The referee is really letting him have it right now but Freeman
doesn't look like he cares one bit.

[The Australian drags the hurting luchador off the floor, shoving him
under the ropes into the ring before rolling back in behind him.]

GM:  Both men back inside the ring now.  Freeman to his feet, dragging
the masked man up...

[Freeman applies a half nelson, screaming "THIS ONE'S FOR YOU, MARLEY!"
before hoisting the masked man up...

...and then dropping down to a knee, smashing Blanca Guerrera across
Freeman's bent knee.]

GM:  OHHHH!  HALF NELSON BACKBREAKER!

[Despite the prone state of the luchador, Freeman doesn't even attempt a
cover, inside pulling the legs up under his arms...

...and stepping over into a high-angled Boston Crab!]

GM:  DEEP FREEZE!  DEEP FREEZE!

[In just mere seconds, the referee pulls up, calling for the bell to end
the match.]

GM:  That's it!  Freeman gets the victory by submission!

BW:  I don't think that's enough for him, daddy!

[The referee leans in again, tapping Freeman on the shoulder, shouting
that the match is over.]

GM:  Come on, referee!  Get him to break the hold!

[Freeman drops down to a knee, putting even more pressure on the back of
the losing luchador.]

GM:  This is totally uncalled for!

BW:  Boy, this kid's got a mean streak in him, Gordo.

GM:  I can see that.  The referee is screaming at him, demanding that he
break the Deep Freeze - ordering him to break this painful Boston Crab
hold.

BW:  Meekly can hoot and holler all he wants but Freeman doesn't look
like he cares one bit.

[Freeman tilts his head back, screaming loudly.]


"MARLEY!  MARRRRRLEY!  ARE YOU WATCHING?!"

[The Australian pulls back harder, still screaming.]

GM:  I guess it's obvious who this is a message for, Bucky.

BW:  Since Day One in the AWA, Adrian Freeman has despised Rick Marley. 
And since Day One, he's been looking for a way to end "Showtime's"
career.

GM:  The referee is- and finally... finally, Adrian Freeman breaks the
Deep Freeze.

[The Australian looks down disdainfully at his injured opponent as he
walks away from him.]

GM:  They finally got Freeman off of this poor kid from El Paso.  And we
may need some help out here for him.  We may need to get medical
attention for Blanca Guerrera.  Fans, we're going to take a quick break.
 We'll be right back with our first Main Event of the night!

[Fade out on the big showdown...

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

"On August 16th, we'll be in the WKIK Studios in Dallas for another huge
TV taping.  On August 30th, we'll be in Laredo, Texas for our latest
supercard event - The Last Stampede.  And don't miss out in September
when the AWA goes back on tour!"

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

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

[And we fade away from the graphic...

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

GM:  Welcome back, fans.  As I said moments ago, it's just about time
for our first Main Event of the night and I've been looking forward to
this one since it was announced last week.

BW:  Ricky Royal is a moron, Gordo.

GM:  What makes you say that?

BW:  Well, usually I don't need a reason but come on, Gordo.  The guy's
facing Tumaffi in a stretcher match in one month's time so instead of
taking it easy and getting ready for that, he's facing The Butcher here
tonight?!  Like I said... moron.

GM:  Speaking of the Butcher, I understand he's about to come out here
and join us.  During the last Saturday Night, he caused more chaos than
even his own camp expected. Please welcome the self-proclaimed "New
Butcher", Bruno Verhoeven!

[Bruno, already wearing his ring attire of the spandex trunks with the
red and golden stripe and the black gloves, enters the arena to a chorus
of boos. He seems to hesitate a moment as he surveys the crowd, then
spits and lumbers towards the announce table.]

BW: Are you out of your mind, Gordo? Self-proclaimed? He will tear you
into tiny little pieces and I will have to break in another announcing
partner.

[Verhoeven moves to stand beside Myers who stares up at the German
behemoth.]

GM: I meant no disrespect. It is just that many have called your
monicker into que-

[A huge paw wraps itself around Myers' hand and drags the microphone up
to his mouth.]

BV: Do not be concerned, Herr Myers. I vill do no such zing. You see,
all of you people do not know me, ja? You see one foreigner and zink as
all ze same.

Ve are not.

I am not!

[Gordon seems to want to pull the mic back to ask an actual question but
Verhoeven does not relinquish his hold one bit.]

BV: I am not a freakish savage running around in a berserker rage. I
come from a nation zat has culture unlike any ozer. Beethoven,
Mendelssohn, Goethe, Schiller.

I guess zese names mean nozing to a crowd who zink zat Elvis Presley is
ze peak of music history or zat Batman is actual literature.

[Another wave of boos is the response for the disrespect to Mister
Presley.] 

BV: I am not a mindless animal ... I am the man who puts an end to ze
bleating cattle. Ze New Butcher!

And in less zan five minutes, Ricky Royal vill learn zat very fact in ze
most painful manner he can imagine in his tiny brain.

I have vatched him, taking on ze Samoan, styling himself as some kind of
defender of ozers. Zis is no islander he faces tonight, ja? Zis is ze
heir to ze Verhoeven legacy. I am not just stronger, more skilled or in
a better shape zan him ... I represent a nation _and_ a family. Zis I
bear ... and zis vill crush Royal.

[Again, Gordon Myers seems to try to pull his arm down and again the
strength of Verhoeven easily prevents it.]

BV: After tonight, no one vill doubt zat I am actually ze son of Otto
Verhoeven. Not one witness here tonight vill question zat I am ze New
Butcher!

[He has become more agitated, his cheeks flushed red and his tone
becoming louder.]

BV: And no one viz eyes in his head vill deny ze superiority of
Germany's Premium Azlete!

[Little droplets of spittle shower Gordon Myers who shields his face
with his free hand.]

BV: And everyone vill tremble ven zey hear ze vords ... VELCOME TO ZE
SLAUGHTERHOUSE!

[With this last statement, Verhoeven releases Myers and pushes his fist
into the air, to the displeasure of the fans in attendance. As the
German walks off the camera stays on Myers as he wipes his sweaty brow.
Bucky Wild is grinning as his partner shakes off the hand that is
obviously in pain.]

BW: Great interview, Gordo. I always love your journalistic zeal. Those
hard-hitting questions ... I bet they are shining up a Pulitzer right
now.

GM:  Let's... let's just go up to Melissa.

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

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a twenty
minute time limit and is our Hour One Main Event!

[A big cheer sounds!]

MC:  Introducing first... already in the ring at this time... from
Berlin, Germany... standing 6'8 and weighing in at 285 pounds... he is
the New Butcher...

BRUUUUNO VERRRRHOEVEN!

[More jeers sound for the New Butcher as he looks on with apathy at the
fans.]

MC:  And his opponent...

[The familiar, rhythmic clanking of a cowbell elicits a big crowd roar!
When the crunchy opening guitar riff to "Mississippi Queen" by Mountain
kicks in, there's no question who the music can be heralding. And just
as that next squealing guitar note rips through the building, "Ragin'
Rebel" Ricky Royal, Jr. bursts through the curtain to another big
ovation!]

#Mississippi Queen you know what I mean
#Mississippi Queen, you taught me everything!

[Ricky is sporting red boots and kneepads and a pair of red trunks with
the "Stars and Bars" Confederate flag design adorning them. The back of
his trunks reads "Heritage Not Hate" in navy blue while the front says
"Ragin' Rebel". He also wears a sleeveless blue Texas Rangers t-shirt
with his moniker emblazoned on it.]

MC:  Now coming down the aisle... weighing in at 270 pounds... he hails
from Vicksburg, Mississippi... the "RAGIN' REBEL" ...

RICKYYYYYYYYYY ROOOOOYAAAAAAAAAAAL!

[With the beefy, angular '70s rock song blaring behind him and a big
smile plastered on his stubbly face, Ricky slaps hands with fans as he
walks purposefully down the aisle. He walks up to the announce desk and
shakes hands with Gordon and nods to Bucky.]

GM:  Ricky--care to give us some insight on your preparations for this
big match?

RR:  I ain't got much to say, Gordo. I'm just gon' take it to this
bruiser, really give him the fight of his young life. He ain't had much
big-time competition yet--all due respect to his previous opponents--but
he's 'bout to see why the Royal Family's got the reputation it's got.
He's about to see why AMERICA's got the reputation it's got!

[Royal throws out a salute to the crowd and they throw a big cheer right
back at him.]

GM:  Any comments on Tumaffi, Ricky? If history's any indicator, we may
see him before this match is over.

RR:  I ain't got nothin' to say 'bout him, Gordon. I'm concentratin' on
one man and one man alone right now: Bruno Verhoeven. And that's all I
gotta say 'bout that.

[And with that, Ricky steps away from the announce table and hops up the
ringsteps. He turns and salutes the crowd vigorously, several times.
Each time, they give him a big cheer. Then he jumps up onto the second
rope in one corner, facing the crowd, and salutes them once more to even
bigger cheers! Finally, Ricky pulls his t-shirt off and tosses it into
the crowd before dropping back down to the mat and readying himself by
jogging in tight circles in his corner.]

BW:  It may be a mistake for him to take his eyes off Tumaffi, even for
the few minutes it's gonna take Bruno to steamroll him.

GM:  Don't underestimate Ricky Royal, Bucky. This guy's got wrestling in
his blood and he's pretty savvy in that ring.

[Referee Michael Meekly steps to the middle of the ring, shouting last
instructions at both men...

...and signals for the bell!]


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  Here we go!

[Royal wastes absolutely no time in walking out to the middle of the
ring, extending his hand for a handshake.]

GM:  Some sportsmanship on display by Ricky Royal.

BW:  What a goof.  If Bruno accepts this, Royal may never get his arm
back.

[Bruno looks down at the offered hand in disbelief.]

GM:  The fans are cheering for the handshake.  They want to see it.

[The New Butcher looks at Royal for a moment...

...and then spits on the offered hand, an act that causes Royal to
spring towards him, fists a-flyin'.]

GM:  Oh yeah!  Royal's all over Verhoeven!

[But the powerful Butcher grabs Royal around the head and neck, hurling
him backwards and down to the canvas.]

GM:  Ohhh!  Look at the power!

[Verhoeven turns away from the downed Royal, raising his massive arms to
the jeers of the crowd.]

GM:  And now Verhoeven's rubbing it in - showing these fans what a
powerhouse he is inside that squared circle.

BW:  You've gotta be impressed by that.  Ricky Royal's not exactly a
small guy.  He's got some pop behind his punches - he's got some muscle
behind him.

GM:  Verhoeven is taunting Ricky Royal and I don't think the Ragin'
Rebel will take that for much longer.

[The New Butcher turns back to his opponent, waving for Royal to tie up
with him again...

...which Royal gladly does, lunging into a collar and elbow.]

GM:  Back to the tieup, Royal trying to push his way out of it... trying
to-

[Verhoeven suddenly shoves off, throwing Royal back into the buckles,
striking a big double bicep pose...

...which causes Royal to sprint out of the corner, fists a-flyin' once
more.]

GM:  Royal's fighting back!  The crowd is behind him and Royal is
fighting back!  He's throwing rights and lefts like-

[But again, the New Butcher powers up and hurls Royal back into the
buckles, stepping in and drilling Royal across the chest with a heavy
forearm smash.]

GM:  Ohh!  Hard forearm shot to the chest by the Butcher.  Irish whip
from corner to corner...

[As soon as Royal hits the corner, he storms back out, connecting with a
running clothesline that staggers the big German, causing him to stumble
back into the turnbuckles.]

GM:  Royal caught him on the chin with the clothesline - and now
Verhoeven's in trouble!

[The Ragin' Rebel springs up to the middle turnbuckle, lifting a
clenched right hand to a huge reaction...

...and starts raining down blows with that right hand with the crowd
counting along.]

"ONE!"

"TWO!"

"THREE!"

"FOUR!"

"FIVE!"

"SIX!"

"SEVEN!"

"EIGHT!"

"NINE!"

"TEN!"

"ELEVEN!"

"TWELVE!"

"THIRTEEN!"

"FOURTEEN!"

"FIFTEEN!"

"SIXTEEN!"

"SEVENTEEN!"

"EIGHTEEN!"

"NINETEEN!"

"TWENTY!"

[Royal leaps down off the turnbuckles, pumping his fist repeatedly as he
drags Verhoeven away from the corner to the middle of the ring.]

GM:  Snapping jab by Royal!

[The hard right hand knocks Verhoeven a step back and a second jab
knocks him back again.]

GM:  Royal's peppering him with right hand... to the ropes...
shoulderblo-

[The Butcher sidesteps the charge, hurling Royal through the ropes and
out to the floor.]

GM:  OHHHHHH!

BW:  Powerful and smart!  What a combo!  Did you see that, Gordo?

GM:  Of course I saw it.  Ricky Royal let his enthusiasm get the best of
him there and Bruno Verhoeven took advantage of it.  Bruno threw him out
to the floor off that missed shoulderblock.

BW:  And he's going after him.  The Butcher's gonna live up to his
namesake here tonight.

[Out on the floor, Verhoeven slowly approaches the rising Royal who is
clutching his shoulder from the impact on the barely-padded concrete
floor.]

GM:  Bruno's moving in... perhaps moving in for the kill...

BW:  And this is just a sample, Gordo.  Just a little offering of what's
gonna happen to this goofball Royal at The Last Stampede when Tumaffi
gets his hands on him in that stretcher match.

GM:  You could be right.

[With the German right behind him, Royal lashes out with a mule kick to
the gut, doubling him up.]

GM:  Oh!  Royal saw him coming and caught him in the gut!  Side headlock
applied by the Ragin' Rebel...

[Royal bellows, pointing towards the ringpost.]

GM:  He's gonna put Bruno into the post!  He's kicking it up a notch
here in the WKIK Studios!

[The Ragin' Rebel storms towards the ringpost with the intent of
smashing Bruno's head into the steel...

...but instead, he gets powered off, thrown shoulderfirst into the
post!]

GM:  OHHHHH!

BW:  Haha!  Royal had some evil intentions there but Bruno's intentions
were just a little more wicked, daddy!

GM:  That was awful.

BW:  You're right.  I think Royal might have chipped the paint on the
ringpost.

GM:  Would you stop?

[Verhoeven pulls Royal off the floor, shoving him onto the apron where
he slams a hard forearm across the lower back before pushing him under
the ropes into the ring.]

GM:  Royal's back in.  Verhoeven climbing the wooden ringsteps slowly,
taking his time.  That could be a mistake, Bucky.

BW:  I don't think so, Gordo.  Royal looks pretty banged up to me.

GM:  Verhoeven steps through the ropes, stalking towards his prey.

[And as soon as the Butcher gets close enough, Royal bursts to his feet,
throwing big right hands...

...but getting scooped up over the German Juggernaut's shoulder like a
small child.]

GM:  Wow.  Look at that.

BW:  I told ya, Gordo.  Pure power.  Pure brute strength.

GM:  What's he going to do with Royal here?

[Verhoeven charges towards the corner, smashing Royal spinefirst into
the turnbuckles.]

GM:  Ohhhh!

[The Butcher steps back, burying a hard left hand into the ribcage of
the Mississippi native.  He grabs Royal by the hair, yanking him back by
the head... 

...and then burying another big right hand into the ribcage.]

GM:  He's just battering Royal in the corn- choke!

[The crowd jeers as Bruno wraps both hands around the throat of Ricky
Royal.]

GM:  A blatant choke applied by Verhoeven!

[Bruno steps back, grabbing the arm of the battered Royal and whipping
him across the ring.]

GM:  Royal hits the corner hard... here comes Bruno!

[The rampaging German storms across the ring, hitting a huge running
clothesline in the turnbuckles!]

GM:  OHHH!  WHAT A CLOTHESLINE!

[Bruno grabs the arm again, attempting to whip Royal across but the
Ragin' Rebel stumbles in the middle of the ring, dropping down to a
knee.]

BW:  Haha!  He couldn't even get across the ring!  He just fell down
like a-

GM:  Here comes Verhoeven!

[The German charges yet again...

...but the wily Royal snares his legs in a drop toehold, taking Bruno
down to the canvas with a thud.]

GM:  Drop toehold!  Royal suckered him in!

BW:  That's the youth and inexperience of Bruno Verhoeven on display
right there.

[Quickly getting to his feet, Royal drops a big elbow on the back of the
head and neck of Bruno before popping back up and stomping the head and
neck of the German.]

GM:  Royal's all over him!  Royal's all over Verhoeven!  He's stomping
the head into the mat over and over!

BW:  Hey!  Get in there, referee!

[Royal yanks the German off the mat, shoving him against the ropes and
drilling him with a hard forearm to the side of the head.]

GM:  Ohh!  Forearm on target by Royal!  And another one!

[Grabbing the German by the wrist, Royal fires him across the ring,
dropping down into a three point stance...

...and charging forward, connecting with a clothesline that causes
Verhoeven to stumble backwards, falling into the ropes and ending up
with his arms trapped in between the top and middle ropes.]

GM:  Uh oh!  Verhoeven's trapped in the ropes!  Listen to these fans...
they want to see Ricky take advantage of this moment!

[Royal approaches the trapped Verhoeven, fist balled up as the crowd
cheers him on...

...and then drills Bruno with a hard right hand.]

GM:  Ohh!  Another one!  And another!

[The crowd roars as a fired-up Royal throws right hand after right hand
into the German's skull with the referee screaming for him to back off.]

GM:  Michael Meekly is trying to get Royal to back off!  He's trying to
free Verhoeven from the ropes!

BW:  What's going on here, Gordo?  What happened to all that
sportsmanship stuff you were going on about?  Where is that fair play
right now?

GM:  Hey, Verhoeven spat on Ricky's offer of sportsmanship!

BW:  That doesn't make it right, Gordo!

[Royal finally backs away, hitting the far ropes as the referee
continues to work...

...and then runs headfirst into a huge boot from Verhoeven just before
he gets free.]

GM:  Ohhh!  He caught Ricky coming in!

[And with the German now free, he moves in for the kill.]

GM:  Bruno's measuring him... he's set...

[When Royal staggers around, Verhoeven reaches out with his massive paw,
wrapping it around the throat of the Ragin' Rebel to the boos of the
WKIK Studio audience.]

GM:  Uh oh!  The Ragin' Rebel is in trouble now!

BW:  WELCOME TO THE SLAUGHTERHOUSE, DADDY!

[And somehow the boos grow louder as a massive figure emerges from the
curtain.]

GM:  And we all knew it was coming at some point.

BW:  TUMAFFI!

[The giant Samoan slowly makes his way to ringside, drawing a stare from
Verhoeven who has Royal still trapped in his grasp...

...giving Ricky the momentary distraction he needs to elbow out of the
choke, firing right hands at the big man.]

GM:  Ricky's fighting back!  Ricky's battled free of the Slaughterslam
and he's fighting back!

BW:  And that's just another rookie mistake for Bruno.  Tumaffi's not
out here for him so he should have ignored him, driven Royal home with
the Slaughterslam and scored a huge victory early in his young career
but instead, he's got Royal battling out of this.

GM:  A series of right hands puts Bruno on the ropes... irish whi-
reversed by Royal!

[The Ragin' Rebel sails across the ring, hitting the far ropes...

...where he grabs on to the top rope with both arms, preventing the
rebound.]

GM:  Royal grabs the ropes.  He countered the whip...

BW:  BRUNO!

[The big German stampedes across the ring again, arm reared back in a
clothesline attempt...

...that Royal manages to avoid when he drops down to the canvas, pulling
the top rope down as well which sends Verhoeven tumbling over the ropes
and down to the concrete floor with a thud!]

GM:  OHHHHHH!

BW:  I hate to admit it but that was a pretty smart move by Royal. 
Verhoeven was going to knock his head clear off his shoulders but Royal
managed to avoid it.

GM:  Ricky Royal showing that mental toughness that allows him to take
on a stretcher match with a monster like Tumaffi.  And speaking of
Tumaffi, take a look at this, Bucky!

[The giant Samoan has stepped over near where the Teutonic Terror is
slowly pushing up to a knee...

...where his eyes meet the massive frame of Tumaffi.]

BW:  Uh oh.  I don't like the looks of this.

GM:  Because two of your favorites might be about to square off?

BW:  No, because if they do square off, they may knock down the entire
WKIK Studios with us in it!  Sound the tornado warning!  Open the storm
shelters!  Put the women and children to bed!

[Verhoeven slowly gets to his feet, eyes locked on the massive Samoan.]

GM:  Uh oh!  Here we go, Bucky.  Are you ready for this?

BW:  No, no, no!  It's Royal!  Take out Royal!

GM:  Verhoeven and Tumaffi are eye to eye, nose to nose...

[But the big staredown gets broken up by a baseball slide kick that
catches Verhoeven in the side of the head, knocking him down to a knee.]

GM:  ROYAL STRIKES!  Baseball slide out of nowhere catches Bruno right
in the ear!

[Outside the ring, Royal glances warily at Tumaffi as he yanks Verhoeven
to his feet, shoving him back under the ropes into the ring.  Royal
poins a warning finger at the Samoan before climbing up on the ring
apron.]

BW:  What a spoilsport.  That jerk Royal just ruined what could have
been a world-class clash between two REAL men for these fans!  They
should boo him out of the building.

GM:  I don't think that's likely to happen.

[Stepping back into the ring, Royal hits a big double axehandle across
the back of the head that knocks Verhoeven down to the canvas...

...and with a big fist pump, Royal starts marching towards the corner.]

GM:  Here we go, Bucky!  Royal's heading for the high rent district!  He
may be thinking about that Rebel Yell Elbow, Bucky!

BW:  If he hits that, it may be all over.

GM:  Royal to the second rope... now to the top...

[With a wild whoop, Royal hurls himself off the top, elbow aimed
squarely at the heart of the big German...

...who rolls out of the way just in time, causing Royal to crash down to
the canvas with a thud!]

GM:  OHHHHH!

[Verhoeven rolls back, throwing an arm across the chest of Royal.]

GM:  ONE!!!  TWO!!!  THR-

[The crowd cheers as Royal fires a shoulder off the canvas just in
time.]

GM:  Verhoeven was a half a count away from beating Ricky Royal in the
center of the ring.  Royal just barely got the shoulder up in time to
break up the three count.

[The German pushes himself off the canvas, slowly reaching down to pull
Royal up as well...]

GM:  Bruno's dragging him towards the corner... uh oh!

[The crowd buzzes as Verhoeven pulls him into a standing headscissors.]

BW:  Bolt Shot!  If he hits this, it's over!

[With a mighty lift, the big German hoists Royal off the mat...

...and lunges forward, driving Royal into the buckles with a turnbuckle
powerbomb!]

GM:  OHHH!  HE NAILED IT!!

[Verhoeven collapses onto the downed Royal.]

GM:  ONE!!!  TWO!!!  THRE-

[The crowd cheers as the referee stops the count, pointing to the foot
of Ricky Royal that is draped over the bottom rope.]

GM:  Foot on the ropes!  Royal got the foot on the ropes!

BW:  And I hate to say it, Gordo, but yet another rookie mistake by
Bruno Verhoeven just cost him the win in this match.

GM:  And I think he just realized that - he looks furious!

[An irate German slams his fists down on the canvas before getting to
his feet, fire in his eyes.  He reaches down, yanking Royal to his
feet.]

GM:  Choke!  

[Verhoeven hooks a chokehold, shoving Royal against the buckles,
strangling the air out of him.]

GM:  Come on!  Get off of him!

[The referee leans in, screaming at Verhoeven to break the hold.]

GM:  This is a blatant choke!  The referee needs to get some control
over this situation.  He needs to-

[Meekly grabs the left arm of the German, trying to pry it free...

...which he finally does just a second before he eats a right haymaker
to the side of the head that knocks him flat.]

GM:  OHHH!  VERHOEVEN HIT THE REF!  That sonuva-


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


[The downed referee is motionless as a furious Verhoeven stands over
him, glaring at his downed form.  From outside the ring, the mighty
Tumaffi chuckles deeply at the scene before him as he slowly backs
away.]

GM:  Bruno Verhoeven's frustrations got the better of him and he
absolutely knocked our referee out cold.  Just look at him - he's got
ice water running through his veins.  What a sociopath!  

[Turning away from the referee, the German stomps back towards Ricky
Royal...

...who erupts with a right hand!]

GM:  Royal's battling back!

[A series of right hands puts Verhoeven near the ropes...

...and running diving shoulderblock causes the German to topple through
the ropes to the floor!]

GM:  AND THE RAGIN' REBEL CLEARS THE RING!

[Royal immediately drops to a knee, checking on the downed referee as
the ringside area floods with AWA officials preventing Bruno Verhoeven
from getting back inside the ring 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 fades back to the AWA Saturday Night Wrestling broadcast
table where Gordon Myers and Bucky Wilde are standing.]

GM: Welcome back, fans.  And joining us now is the man currently ranked
the number one contender in the AWA. The man who silenced many critics
two weeks ago with his win over Paul Driscoll.  Here is the  Hellion, 
Mark Shaw.

[Shaw, decked out in his ring gear, steps forward, pausing a moment to
listen to the fans' cheers. They seem to please the normally standoffish
Hellion.]

GM: Tonight Mr. Shaw, you have what many are saying is the greatest
challenge of your professional career. You are taking on The Natural,
Adam Rogers. Would you agree that this is your stiffest test to date?

MS: Who wouldn t agree Myers? Adam Rogers. Been everywhere, done
everything, and most of the time, come out on top. My greatest test? You
re damn right its my greatest test. But I know something that Rogers
doesn t.

I know what Adam Rogers weakness is.

[Myers looks confused.]

GM: His weakness?

MS: Yeah Myers, his weakness.

GM: Obviously this so called weakness is something you re not likely to
elaborate on, given that you ll be fighting him soon.

MS: Oh now, I ll tell ya, and I ll tell everyone else too. Because the
weakness I see in Rogers, it ain t something he s gonna be able to
overcome.

GM: Perhaps you mean Adam Rogers  previously injured ankle.

[Shaw smirks.]

MS: Nah, it ain t his ankle I m talking about. It's something else
entirely. Its real simple, actually. Ya see, it s the sorta thing that
most people wouldn t think is a weakness.

Adam Rogers already has a guaranteed title shot.

[Myers looks confused... yes, again.]

GM: Excuse me?

MS: Adam Rogers was already promised the thing I want. A shot at the
title. Adam Rogers won a battle royal. Eliminating me. And whenever he
wants it, he can take his shot at Houston.

Adam Rogers has got no motivation to beat me. What could he gain? Being
ranked number one? So what? If he s number one or number one hundred, he
still has his guarantee.

Me on the other hand? All I got is being number one. All I got is what I
ve fought for, what I ve earned. My only chance... my only chance, is
beating Rogers. Rogers has got nothing in this fight.

I ve got everything.

[Myers shakes his head, lowering the mic again.]

GM: Are you suggesting that Adam Rogers is taking you lightly Mr. Shaw?
If so, I think you may be underestimating the Natural.

MS: Don t get me wrong. I am sure Rogers has trained. I am sure Rogers
is coming in ready. I am sure he wants to win. But ya see... there is
wanting something, and then there s desiring it.

And ya just can t fake desire.

That spark. That thing that makes ya run the extra mile. That thing that
makes ya stand up when blood is running down your face. You either got
it, or ya don t. Ya got all the skills you ve always had Rogers. But
that thing in your heart? Its not there.

I know its not there. And when I look in your eyes after you ve stepped
in that ring, I ll just be reassuring myself that you ain t got it.

But look into my eyes Rogers. Ain t no doubt I got it. That spark is
there all the time. And that spark only comes when you re hungry.

And I m so hungry I may as well have not been eating for the last year.

Rogers, I hope you win when you get your title shot. I hope it pays off
for you. Because tonight, after I beat you, after I am still number one,
and you re champ?

I m coming for ya again.

[And with that, Shaw steps off, going to the back to make his final
preparations.]

GM:  Well, fans, Mark Shaw is certainly focused on getting the first
title shot at Ron Houston.  Will Adam Rogers be the man to stop him? 
We'll find out later tonight.  But right now, let's go up to the ring!

[As the Glamour Boys make their way down to the ring, their manager
Robert Hofstedder lead them through the less than civil crowd.  Melissa
Cannon waits in the ring to make the introductions.]

MC: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is set for one fall...
introducing first, already in the ring at this time, the team of Ricky
Angel and Rip Dupree!

[The two men standing in the far corner of the ring raise their arms.
Angel, a blonde man of moderate build, stands behind Dupree, a redheaded
muscleman, as he flexes for the crowd.]

MC: And their opponents, accompanied to the ring by Robert Hofstedder
Junior, at a total combined weight of 412 pounds, from the great state
of California, the team of "Nasty" Nick Hunter and "Marvelous" Michael
Taylor... The Glamour Boys!

[Taylor and Hunter climb through the ropes and step into the ring, and
after a few seconds of posturing and posing they each remove their robe
and hand them off to a ringside attendant.]

GM: So after their shocking escapades after Rough N' Ready's match two
weeks ago, this is the first chance we've got to see the Glamour Boys in
action here in the AWA.

BW: Yeah, they obviously impressed the board enough to gain employment
with their beatdown.

GM: That could be, but another rumor going around is that Dave Cooper
and Eric Matthew Somers petitioned to get their attackers signed here so
they can get their hands on the Glamour Boys themselves.

[The bell rings, and Hunter stays in the ring to go face to face with
Angel, as their partners head to the outside.  Hunter motions to his
opponent to lock up, but when Ricky tries to oblige, he instead takes a
shot to the face.]

GM: My goodness, what a hard shot straightaway from Nick Hunter! 
Quickly now an irish whip into the ropes... spinning elbow that knocks
Ricky Angel to the mat.

BW: Don't look now Gordon, but I think we've got some company.

GM: Robert Hofstedder, what on earth are you doing over here during your
tag team's debut match?

Hoff: I told you last time Myers, just call me Hoff.  I can't blame you
for being blinded by the brilliance that are the Glamour Boys, but trust
me.  Nick and Michael don't need me to help them when the bell rings,
they've got it all under control.

GM: Well Nick Hunter with a standing neck vice on Angel... and drags him
over to Taylor for the tag.  And a leaping kick over the ropes into
Angel's spine.

Hoff: You see, I told you they don't need me.

BW: They definitely didn't need you two weeks ago when they took care of
Rough N' Ready after their match, Hoff.

Hoff: Enjoy that Bucky?  Because there's more coming, I promise you
that.  Cooper and Somers were the reason why my boys came to the AWA,
but now it's everyone's problem because the tag team ranks are never,
ever going to be the same.  It doesn't matter who you put in front of
us.  Russians.  Kentucky's Pride.  Bring them all on, because the result
is always going to be the same.

GM: Taylor off the ropes with a beautiful dropkick right into the face
of Ricky Angel, who's in a bad way right now.  He needs a tag to his
partner in the worst way... Taylor with a firm grasp on the legs though,
catapult into a neutral corner.

[Angel turns around and is caught with a rapid-fire series of chops
across the chest from Taylor.  His upper chest beginning to turn red,
Angel flops to the ground.]

Hoff: Ooh, watch this now guys.  This is gonna be poetry in motion...

GM: A running dropkick into the corner!

Hoff: Check the hangtime on that thing, Myers.  Olympic high jumpers
wish they could stay in the air as long as that!

GM: This is rapidly becoming a one-sided affair, Ricky Angel is going to
need to tag out if his team has any chance of victory.  Here's a cover
by Taylor... one... two... thr- oh come on, he pulled his shoulder off
the mat on purpose!

Hoff: Of course he did, Myers.  These fans paid their hard-earned cash
to see more than half a minute of wrestling.  With the AWA's outrageous
ticket prices, that's a lot of hair they have to sweep up.  Or a lot of
super-sized extra value meals.

BW: Hey Hoff, exactly what's the problem between the Glamour Boys and
Rough N' Ready anyways?  You said last time Cooper knew the reason why
he and his partner were their targets, can you fill me in on the
history?

Hoff: Oh sure, just between you and me right?

BW: Exactly!

GM: Hunter tags back into the ring now, and immediately grabs Angel for
a powerslam... delivered with impact.

Hoff: Nice try, Bucko.  I want Dave Cooper to be the one to uncover the
truth and explain to everybody just what he did.  In fact, I'm daring
him to.  If he ever heals up of course.

[His partner having suffered nothing but abuse so far, Rip Dupree slaps
the turnbuckle trying to lead the crowd in cheering Angel on.  But
instead it gets him noticed by Hunter.]

Hoff: Uh oh, that was the wrong move pal.  The best you could've hoped
for was not to tag in at all and avoid the pain.

GM: Nick Hunter is dragging Angel right over to the corner, he's
practically tagging Dupree into the match himself.  Oh!  He slingshot
Dupree over the ropes himself!

BW: Look at him put the boots to Rip!

Hoff: Nasty Nick isn't just some gimmick we came up with because it
looks cute on the marquee.  The man has a hair trigger temper, and
Dupree's learning it the hard way.

GM: Indeed he is, as Hunter scoops Dupree up... now off the ropes... a
bent-arm clothesline rattles Rip Dupree!  Standing backbreaker...

[Hunter thinks about going for the pinfall, but instead gets up and tags
in Taylor who goes to the top rope without haste.]

Hoff: Get your cameras ready, this is going to be spectacular.

GM: A corkscrew bodypress right on top of Rip Dupree! 

BW: That was crazy!  Taylor defies gravity every time, Hoff.

Hoff: Just one of his many talents, Bucky.  The name might be Glamour
Boys, but pretty soon the girls here are going to realize they're all
man.

GM: Another tag by the Glamour Boys, here comes Hunter once more.

Hoff: The most well-oiled machine in wrestling, Myers.  Learn to get
quicker calling your moves, because you _will_ fall behind.  Wait, here
comes the Red Vine!

[Hunter waits for Dupree to stagger to his feet and then blasts him with
a superkick across the jaw.  Dupree is knocked right into a waiting
Taylor who scoops him up across the shoulders and drives the unfortunate
wrestler into the ground with a samoan drop.]

BW: Wow!  I'm beginning to agree with you calling them a well oiled
machine, Hoff.

Hoff: As impressive as that was, you ain't seen nothing yet.

GM: Dupree could be put away any time, Hunter and Taylor are just toying
with him now.  It's the equivalent of running up the score.

Hoff: That's how records are made and bigtime contracts are signed,
Myers.

GM: Dupree struggling to try and get back on his feet, but Nick Hunter
is waiting for him... a powerbomb coming up?

Hoff: As if we'd bother with something so pedestrian.  You're about to
witness history, the first ever Glamour Drop.

[Hunter lifts his opponent up for a powerbomb, but Michael Taylor
bounces off the ropes and executes a running neckbreaker drop into the
mat at the same time.  The crowd boos as Taylor hooks a leg.]

GM: One... two... and three.

Hoff: Gentlemen, it's been your pleasure.

[At the sound of a microphone hitting the desk, Hoff departs the
announce position and walks over to the ring to climb in and celebrate
with his proteges.]

MC: The winners of this match, in four minutes and 2 seconds... The
Glamour Boys!

GM: Well I must say, despite the sheer arrogance of their manager the
Glamour Boys are quite impressive in the ring.

BW: You can say that again.

GM: But skills aside they've got a very angry duo known as Rough N'
Ready after them.  And that's no short order.  Fans, don't go away,
we'll be right back!

[The camera holds on the Glamour Boys, 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 Kentucky's Pride
North Dallas Spectrum - Dallas, TX
August 3

Ricky Royal
West Dallas Galleria - Dallas, TX
August 5

Sweet Daddy Williams and Mark Shaw
Dallas Ford - Dallas, TX
August 7

Werewolf Gregorson, Despair, and Ricky Royal
Harris Chevrolet - Dallas, TX
August 9

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 fade back up on the announce table where Gordon Myers and
Bucky Wilde are standing.]

GM:  Welcome back to AWA Saturday Night Wrestling.  We've had an
exciting night so far and we've still got a lot more to come.  At this
time, we have a very special guest we would like to welcome to the
announce desk - the Outlaw of Professional Wrestling, Bobby Taylor!

[The fans cheer as Bobby Taylor walks into view in a black suit
alongside his standard Stetson hat.  He shakes hands with both men as he
steps behind the desk.]

GM:  Mr. Taylor, you made headlines all over the wrestling world with
your announcement at The Battle Of Dallas that you were looking for
someone to take on the Outlaw name - to take that legacy into another
era.  I'm assuming that's why you're here tonight.

[Taylor nods as he begins to speak.]

BT:  Absolutely, Gordon.  You see, I sat back two weeks ago and watched
Saturday Night Wrestling - looking to see who could step up and take
that challenge.  I wanted to see who could be that tough... who could
cause that much chaos... who could stand to be the target if every big,
tough animal to come down the pike.

[Taylor pauses.]

BT:  So, I watched.  I watched Shaw and Driscoll beat the tar out of one
another and I was impressed.  I watched that nutcase Shadoe Rage show up
and make himself a target.  Not bad.  I watched Tumaffi lay out even
more people - impressive.  I watched Bruno Verhoeven be a cold hearted
mauler just like his old man.  I saw Ricky Royal dig down deep and
challenge a man twice his size to a stretcher match.  

And then to top it all off, I saw Ron Houston beat the odds and become
the National Champion with a focus I haven't seen since I used to watch
a guy put skull facepaint on before a big match.

[Taylor removes the hat, rubbing a hand through his hair.]

BT:  So, yeah, Gordon... I'm impressed by what the AWA's got to offer. 
I'm impressed by a lot of these guys stepping up and putting everything
on the line.  I think there's an Outlaw out there.  I think there's
someone willing to risk anything to achieve everythin-

[Suddenly, Taylor's words trail off as another figure joins the announce
team.  The crowd cheers the arrival of the the "Wild Thing" Kevin Slater
who looks fired up as he produces a second mic.]

KS:  Risk anything to achieve everything.  That's kinda your motto, huh,
Bobby?  Always has been.

[Slater steps closer, causing Bucky Wilde to bail out of the area.]

KS:  You were always willing to risk anything.  Your wife... your kid...
they don't even talk to you anymore.  You spent all those years on the
road fighting, bleeding, breaking bones... and you chased them away. 
Your brother's the same way.  He doesn't even acknowledge you exist
anymore.

[Slater pauses.]

KS:  And what about your friends, Bobby?

[Taylor speaks up.]

BT:  Look, Kev.  I don't know what you're thinking right now but I-

KS:  You don't know what I'm thinking?  Really?

[Slater chuckles.]

KS:  I'm thinking about the Cult of Personality, Bobby.  I'm thinking of
ten years ago in Los Angeles.  Me, you, Luke, Chris.  I'm thinking about
your friends - and your willingness to risk anything to achieve
everything.

[Taylor looks confused.]

KS:  Your family aren't the only ones you chased away, Bobby.  What
about your friends?  You fought with Chris - you guys don't even speak
anymore.  Luke?  Same thing.  What about Simon?  Simon could be off in
some gutter somewhere and you don't even care.

BT:  Wait a second, Kev.  I don't think-

KS:  I don't give a DAMN what you think, Bobby.  Cause I know the truth.

[The crowd buzzes with confusion as Slater points an accusing finger.]

KS:  When your friends needed you... in the ring... outside the ring...
you turned your back and went with the people we fought against for
years.  When your friends needed you, you looked out for yourself. 
Always.  

It was always about being the Outlaw.  Being the man.  Being the baddest
man you could be.

[Slater pauses.]

KS:  And now, when I've got a bounty hanging on my head, you expect me
to think that's not what it's about this time?  

[Taylor raises a hand in protest.]

KS:  I don't want to hear it, Bobby.  You expect me to think it's
coincidence that you showed up just when my life couldn't get any worse.
 Megan's gone.  Luke thinks I've gone crazy.  And maybe I have.  Maybe
he's right.

But what I do know for sure is that it's no twist of fate that you're
here, Bobby.

[Slater's finger is right up in Taylor's face now.]

KS:  You're here... because you're The Man With The Money.

[The crowd gasps in shock as Slater makes his accusation.]

BT:  Kev, I don't know what's gotten into you but I have no reason to
want to put you out.  I have no reason to try to end your career... 

[Taylor bristles a bit.]

BT:  But if I did want to?  I damn sure wouldn't pay someone to do it.  


[The Outlaw slaps his friend's hand away.]

BT:  I'd do it myself.

[Slater cocks back a right hand, ready to throw it when suddenly Frank
Dylan James comes storming into view, nailing Slater from behind with a
running clubbing blow to the head that knocks him flat.]

GM:  Ohhh!  What on earth?  What is he doing out here?

[James drives a few bare feet into the ribcage of the downed Slater
before dragging him up by the hair.  He leans over the announce desk,
screaming at Taylor.]

FDJ:  I don't care much if you're gonna pay me to do it or give me a
nickname - but this one's gonna be fun.

[With a cackle, James drags Slater away from the announce area, hurling
him under the ropes into the ring before rolling in himself.]

GM:  Bobby, what's going on here?

BT:  I don't know, Gordon.  This was not how this was supposed to go
down.  Everyone's been saying how paranoid Kevin has gotten and I guess
they're right.  After everything we've been through, to accuse me of
paying to take him out?  

GM:  And what about Frank Dylan James?

BT:  Again, no idea.  I don't know if he's after the money, the Outlaw
name, or neither.  He's just a little crazy, I think.

[James slams Slater's face into the canvas, drooling tobacco juice all
over his prone form.]

BT:  Okay, a lot crazy maybe.

[The hillbilly drags Slater off the canvas, shoving him back into the
corner where he drives bare foot after bare foot repeatedly into the
torso.]

GM:  James is all over Slater, working him over in the corner. 
Remember, fans, this is not a sanctioned matchup - this is a fight!

BT:  This guy's got some spirit, Gordon.

BW:  He's also got a family tree that doesn't fork.

BT:  You may be right.

[James grabs Slater by the wrist, firing him to the opposite corner.]

GM:  James charging across...

[But the Wild Thing dives out of the way, causing James to slam
chestfirst into the turnbuckles.]

GM:  Ohhh!  Slater out of the way!

BT:  There's a reason he's a former two-time World Champion, Gordon.

GM:  There certainly is.

BW:  What was that?  Ten years ago?  Talk about resting on your laurels.

[With James in the corner, Slater blasts him with a forearm shot to the
side of the head before hooking a side headlock, storming out of the
corner...

...and planting James facefirst into the canvas!]

GM:  Bulldog headlock out of the buckles by Slater!  

[The Wild Thing springs to his feet, pumping a fist in triumph to the
cheers of the crowd as he steps out to the ring apron, moving towards
the ropes.]

BT:  I've seen this a thousand times in rings all over the world.  He's
going for the flying elbow.  

GM:  Again, there's no referee out here.  This is not a sanctioned
match.

BT:  Match or fight, if he hits the elbow, this thing is over.

BW:  And then he may be coming after you again.

BT:  We'll have to cross that road when we get there.

[Slater steps up to the second rope, then to the top.]

GM:  He's up top... looking out over the crowd...

[The Wild Thing turns slightly to point a finger squarely at his friend,
Bobby Taylor, and then leaps into the air...]

GM:  ELLLLBOW!

[Slater sails off the top rope, burying the flying elbowsmash squarely
in the chest of the downed hillbilly.]

GM:  The Wild Thing hits the elbow off the top - and that oughta do it
for Frank Dylan James.  That oughta- and there you go, Bobby... he's
pointing right at you again...

[The former two-time World Champion leans over the ropes, gesturing at
Taylor from inside the ring.]

BT:  I don't know what's gotten into Kevin.  I really don't understand
what his problem is.

BW:  Maybe you should get in there to discuss it with him - give these
fans another fight to watch.

BT:  Maybe I will.  Maybe I'll- 

[A buzz quickly grows from the WKIK Studio audience as a large figure
comes tearing through the crowd, diving headfirst under the bottom
rope.]

GM:  Who the-

BT:  Wait a second.  I know that guy.

[As the figure rises to his full 6'8, 310 pound frame, the crowd buzz
grows louder.  A big man with short, dark brown hair in street clothes,
the big man crouches, waiting for Slater to turn around.]

BT:  I think that's-

GM:  LOOK OUT!

[The crowd erupts as Slater turns around and gets CREAMED by a huuuuge
lariat that flips him over and dumps him down to the canvas in a heap.]

GM:  OHHHHHHH!

[The big man stands alone in a ring filled with downed bodies as he
slowly walks towards the ropes.]

BW:  Umm... is it just me or is he staring straight at you, Bobby?

[Taylor doesn't respond - simply returning the cold gaze of the big man
as he stares over the ropes.]

GM:  Is that-?

BT:  Grant Stone.

GM:  What is he-?

BT:  No clue.

[Stone smirks at Taylor...

...and then grabs Kevin Slater off the canvas, hoisting him quickly into
a torture rack.]

BT:  Son of a-

[A "CLUNK!" is heard as Taylor drops his mic, heading towards the ring
when Stone suddenly drops to his side, _spiking_ Slater's skull into the
canvas, compressing his neck on impact!]

BW:  BURNING HAMMER!  He calls it Etched In Stone!

GM:  Did you see that, Bucky?  Did you see the impact of that?

[Slater's body is motionless on the canvas as Taylor reaches ringside,
glaring up at Stone who is smiling at the Outlaw.]

GM:  Grant Stone just _planted_ Kevin Slater into the canvas.  His
head... his neck... my god, that was horrific to see inside the ring. 
Grant Stone is a-

[Taylor puts a hand up on the ropes, ready to join the fray...

...but Stone is ready for him, striking a defensive position.]

GM:  Bobby Taylor's in a standoff with Grant Stone!  And you know that's
not what he had in mind here tonight!

BW:  Where did Stone even come from?

GM:  I have no idea but he just laid out Kevin Slater - the Wild Thing
still hasn't moved, Bucky.

[Stone smirks at Taylor as the Outlaw takes a couple steps back, waving
towards the locker room area.]

GM:  Bobby Taylor's calling for medicial attention for his friend.  

[Inside the ring, a staggered Frank Dylan James gets to his feet,
cackling loudly at the downed Kevin Slater.]

GM:  Was Grant Stone in on this with Frank Dylan James?  Did James set
Slater up with that attack?

BW:  It certainly looks like it.

[The hillbilly drapes an arm over the shoulders of Grant Stone, still
cackling like an idiot.]

GM:  What a duo this is.  A very dangerou-

[Stone suddenly grabs James by the wrist, tugging him towards him, and
obliterating him with a short-arm clothesline that knocks James off his
feet to the mat!]

GM:  OHHHHH!

BW:  So much for that alliance.

[The big man from Kentucky continues the assault, repeatedly stomping
the neck and throat of James...

...and then leaping into the air, bringing three hundred pounds squarely
down on the throat of his victim.]

GM:  Good grief!  I've got no love for Frank Dylan James but Grant Stone
has gone too far.  He's going too far, Bucky.

[Stone flips James over onto his stomach, reaching down to grab both
arms, pulling them back to pull the hillbilly off the canvas...

...and with a grin at Bobby Taylor, Stone places his foot firmly on the
back of James' head.]

GM:  Oh no.  No!  NOOOOO!

[The mean-spirited three hundred pounder pushes down hard with his foot
DRIVING James' face into the canvas with a crushing thud.]

GM:  OHHHHHH!

[The crowd falls to a hush from the impact as Stone stands over his
second victim, looking outside the ring squarely in the eyes of a
stunned Bobby Taylor.]

GM:  Grant Stone... my God, Grant Stone has spiked Kevin Slater's head
and neck into the canvas.  Absolutely crushed his head and neck.  Then
he stomped Frank Dylan James clear through the canvas.  Bobby Taylor is
looking on in disbelief.

BW:  The American Wrestling Alliance was just hit by a storm - a
violent, dangerous storm the likes of which it has never seen before,
Gordon.  Grant Stone has just hit the shores of the AWA and the Alliance
may never be the same for it.

[With Stone still smirking at Taylor, the camera holds for a moment
before fading 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 graphic changes to show a list of cities, venues, and dates.]

"On August 16th, we'll be in the WKIK Studios in Dallas for another huge
TV taping.  On August 30th, we'll be in Laredo, Texas for our latest
supercard event - The Last Stampede.  And don't miss out in September
when the AWA goes back on tour!"

[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 who are looking on with solemn
expressions.  Gordon Myers looks up at the camera.]

GM:  Fans, welcome back to AWA Saturday Night Wrestling.  Moments ago,
we witnessed...

[Myers' words trail off as he looks off-camera.  After a moment, the
camera follows his glance to show two EMT teams hard at work outside the
ring.

Bobby Taylor is still in the area, looking on with concern as his
long-time friend and ally, Kevin Slater, is loaded onto a gurney, his
neck secured in a heavy brace.  The EMTs are preparing Slater for
transport as his friend watches.

Nearby, Frank Dylan James has been loaded onto a second stretcher, his
face covered in white gauze that is already stained a deep crimson from
the assault he suffered moments ago.]

GM:  I apologize, fans, but we are currently witnessing here in the WKIK
Studios is a very- HEY!

[Myers' words are cut off with a sound of a struggle.  The camera
quickly pans back to show Grant Stone staring dead into the lens.  He is
silent for a moment before lifting a wad of money into view, blood
smeared all over the green bills.]

GS:  Here's your damned money back... Outlaw.

[Stone spits Taylor's nickname like a curse word, throwing the wad of
bills in his direction.  The big man from Kentucky lifts his hand,
revealing some blood on his fingers.  With a sick grin, he reaches out
and wipes the blood on Gordon Myers' white dress shirt.]

GS:  Their blood is on your hands now, Taylor.

[With a snarl in his voice, Stone turns away from the announce team,
shoving past the cameraman as he makes his way out the emergency exit
doors, leaving the chaotic scene behind him as the EMT teams start to
wheel the two injured bodies away from 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 fades back to the AWA Saturday Night Wrestling broadcast
table where Gordon Myers and Bucky Wilde are standing.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans, to AWA Saturday Night Wrestling.  

[Myers pauses - sighing heavily.]

GM:  Whew.  We just saw some very disturbing stuff, Bucky.  I'm a little
bit at a loss right now.

BW:  I can't blame you.  We saw Bobby Taylor talking about his hunt for
the new Outlaw.  We saw Kevin Slater accuse Taylor of being The Man With
The Money.  We saw Frank Dylan James try to make a name for himself at
Slater's expense and fail miserably.  We saw the debut of Grant Stone as
he laid both James and Slater to waste, causing them both to be wheeled
out of here on a stretcher.  We saw Stone also imply that Taylor paid
him to take out Slater.

GM:  All of that is very-

BW:  Wait, wait - perhaps the best part?  We saw Bobby Taylor stand by
and do absolutely nothing as his supposed friend was put in the
hospital.

GM:  I'm sure there's a reason for that.

BW:  Me too.  And I'm pretty sure it's because Bobby Taylor is The Man
With The Money.

GM:  I don't- I'm not even getting into that, Bucky.  I'm not sure if-

[Suddenly, a third person is on the scene.  I'd describe him as
flamboyant but... well, to this man, flamboyant isn't just a word.  It's
a state of being.  Ask Shadoe Rage as he preens before the camera in a
sleeveless fuchsia robe sequined with gold.  The Enemy of the World is
stencilled across the back in pink lettering.  His arms bulge with
muscularity.  He wears one long black fingerless glove on his right hand
that extends all the way up to elbow.]

SR:  No one cares about Kevin Slater!  No one cares about Bobby Taylor! 
No one cares about The Man With The Money!

[As he keeps his back to the camera, he sort of sways and shakes with
energy.  It's obvious that he can't stand still.  His braided hair is
kept in place by a pink bandana wrapped around his forehead.  He throws
out both arms and spins to face the camera.  His face is almost as
angular and chiselled as his body.  His golden brown skin gleams with a
combination of summer tan and biracial heritage.  His eyes are hidden
behind honey-coloured aviator glasses.  He brings his hands together and
pulls them apart.  A shower of confettit explodes from his hands.]

SR: Freak out!  Freak out!  The busiest man in all of professional
wrestling is here.  The AWA is now Rage Country!  Yes it is.  And you
all should feel blessed.  It's been too long since you've been treated
to something worth seeing.  It's been too long since you've watched a
wrestler worth his salt.  The future is now and the King of Rage Country
is here to deliver the news.  Let the celebration and the coronation
begin.

[Rage wipes his gloved hand across the back of his mouth as Gordon Myers
tries to speak up...

...and gets shot right down as Rage continues.]

SR: Yeah, my daddy always told me that if you're going to do things do
them big.  I'm doing them big.  And so I went after a big dumb redneck
because the AWA didn't want to look at what I have to offer.  Well, they
found out the hard way that they better look because I am a shining star
and you, Paul Driscoll, you're just a stepping stone to greatness.  

Yeah, that's about all you cowboy types are good for, boy.  Get ready to
be saddled up and ridden straight to the top.  I make no bones about it
that I am looking for the AWA National Championship.  I make no bones
that I am looking for glory.  In Rage Country that's all we think about.

[He kisses his biceps.]

SR: Paul Driscoll, trust me when I say this.  What you got was just a
piece of the Rage.  And that piece was too much for you.  What are you
going to do when I open up a bottle of Rageohol and make you drink every
last drop?  Not good for you.  Very good for all the people watching.
Yeah, Shadoe Rage is here.  And Paul Driscoll, your career path stops
now.  Yeah, I'm spitting right on your face.
 
[He looks around.  For a moment he is bewildered by something.  He
sniffs at the air.]

SR: Is it hot in here or... oh wait, it's just my career.  Wow!
 
[Rage breaks away from the announce desk, charging towards the ring.  As
the camera cuts, we find Melissa Cannon standing, microphone in hand.]

MC: Our following contest is scheduled for one fall, with a ten minute
time limit!  Introducing first, already in the ring, standing 5'11" and
weighing in at 195 pounds, hailing from Houston, Texas, please give a
warm welcome to... JOHNNY RIIINNNGOOO!!!!

[The crowd applauds politely for the hometown fighter, as Ringo raises
his arm and extends the longhorn sign with his hand.]

GM: It appears that young Johnny Ringo has returned to action here in
the AWA and will attempt to give the menacing Shadoe Rage all he can
handle in his debut here in the AWA.

BW: I guess we were short on ritual sacrifices around these parts, so
someone called Johnny Ringo again.

[The camera cuts back to Melissa Cannon.]

MC: And his opponent, making his AWA debut... Standing 6'3" and weighing
in at 248 pounds, hailing from Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada, he is...
SHADOOOOOOOOOE RAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGEEEEE!!!!!!

[Rage spins around slowly in a circle, soaking up the jeers from the
WKIK Studio audience...

...and then cranking back his hand, threatening a backhand at Melissa
Cannon who quickly flees the ring.]

GM: This man is clearly disturbed, Bucky Wilde.  Between threatening
Melissa and the devastating attack on Paul Driscoll two weeks ago, I'm
not the only person who is saddened to see this man given a contract
here in the AWA.

BW: Were _you_ gonna be the guy to tell him he couldn't work here,
daddy?  After what he did to Driscoll, which is gonna cost Driscoll a
couple of weeks of action, you give this guy whatever he wants!

GM: He injured Paul Driscoll's collarbone with that cowardly attack from
behind.  We wish Paul a speedy recovery and hope to see him back in
action in this ring very soon.

BW: We might as well extend one to Johnny Ringo while we're at it.

[DING! DING! DING!]

GM: And we're a go!

[And Shadow Rage wastes absolutely no time, sprinting across the ring
and connecting with a vicious lariat that snaps Ringo's neck back and
actually spins him around so he lands face down on the mat!  The crowd
gasps at the stiff manuever from the AWA newcomer, but he doesn't give
them much time to react as he quickly scales the top rope and awaits
Ringo to rise to his feet, dazed, and Shadoe Rage leaps off of the top
rope with a flying double axehandle that drops Ringo once again!]

GM: Shadoe Rage is picking up with Johnny Ringo right where he left off
with Paul Driscoll two weeks ago!

BW: I hope every guy in the back is paying attention, because this guy
means business, daddy!

[Rage wastes no time, scooping Ringo off of the mat, whipping him to the
ropes.  Ringo comes back towards Rage and is quickly deposited back on
to the mat with a hiptoss.  Rage quickly straddles Ringo's chest and
begins lacing the young man with right and left hands.]

GM: Get in there, ref!  Those are closed fists!

BW: I don't think Shadoe Rage much cares for the opinion of Meekly.

[Bucky Wilde is quite right.  Meekly gets down on his knees, screaming
at Rage to cease the strikes, and is paid no heed.  It's only after he
begins a five-count that Rage finally stops pummeling Johnny Ringo. 
Ringo tries to rise on his own, but is unable to do so, so Rage decides
to help out, wrapping his arms around Ringo's waist and lifting him off
of the mat and right back on to it after pulling Ringo all the way over
with a German suplex all in one motion!]

GM: Wow, an impressive debut thusfar for Shadoe Rage, Bucky.  He's
showing off speed, strength and a _very_ mean streak.

BW: I can almost guarantee you that Paul Driscoll at 100% couldn't hang
with this guy for five minutes, daddy.

GM: I think Paul Driscoll is at home taking issue with that statement,
Bucky!

[Rage retreats to an empty corner, a sadistic smile creeping across his
face as he awaits Johnny Ringo.  Ringo, ever the competitor, begins to
push himself up to his feet as Rage sinks into a crouching position. 
Ringo staggers around a bit until he faces Rage directly, and Rage
springs out of the corner with a superkick directly to the jaw of the
Houston native, who merely falls limply to the ground.]

GM: He calls that the Dirge!  

BW: I think ole' Johnny Ringo has about had it for the evening.  He's
countin' the lights!

[But Shadoe Rage isn't done with him yet, as he quickly applies a
guillotine chokehold on Ringo, known as the Death in Darkness.  Ringo is
no position to break out of it, so Meekly quickly goes down to the mat,
lifting an arm in the air and releases it, and it limply falls to the
mat.






ONE!






He repeats the process.






TWO!









Meekly goes to grab Ringo's arm for the academic third time, but Rage
releases the hold on Ringo.]

GM: What scum!  This man is truly twisted!  He's had Johnny Ringo 
outclasses from the first bell and yet he continues to dole out
punishment on this young man!

BW: He's sendin' a message, daddy.  To everyone and anyone in the AWA. 
Shadoe Rage is a force to be reckoned with!

[The crowd boos mightily at Rage's callous attitude as Rage merely
smirks, pointing a finger at the crowd, then dragging his thumb across
his throat.  He quickly scales the top rope, and stares down coldly at
Ringo's motionless body.  He then leaps, arcing high in the air and
comes crashing down with a horrendous elbow drop right to Ringo's
throat.  Ringo doesn't even have enough energy to react properly as Rage
quickly hooks a leg and Meekly drops down for the inevitable.]







ONE!!!









TWO!!!









THREE!!!!!

[Ding! Ding! Ding!]

GM: Thank God this one is over, Bucky!  

BW: We just witnessed an absolute domination by Shadoe Rage.  And I
think there'll be more to come, daddy!

[The camera cuts to Melissa Cannon.]

MC: And the winner of this match, in a time of four minutes, fifty
seconds...

...SHADOOOOOOOOOE RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGE!

[Rage crawls off of Ringo, sticking his head through the ropes where the
cameraman is standing.]


"YOU SEE IT, COWBOY?!  YOU SEE IT?!  STAY AT HOME!  STAY IN BED!"


[With the maniacal Rage cackling in the camera lens, the shot quickly
cuts to Gordon and Bucky.  Gordon is shaking his head.]

GM:  The AWA is out of control these days, Bucky.  

BW:  It sure seems that way.  

GM:  Fans, we'll be right back.

[The shot holds on Gordon Myers 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 ring where Melissa is standing.]

MC:  Ladies and gentlemen, at this time, please welcome to the ring the
Chairman of the AWA Championship Committee... Stephen Ross!

[A minor reaction for the only suit to make television in the AWA as
Stephen Ross.  In his usual black suit, Ross quickly makes his way up
the wooden ringsteps.  He shakes hands with Melissa before taking the
mic from her.]

SR:  Thank you.  The Championship Committee does not often like to make
themselves seen on camera but after review, we have determined that this
situation must be resolved effective immediately.

In recent days, we announced that at The Last Stampede, the AWA fans
would see Ricky Royal go one on one with Tumaffi in a Stretcher Match.

[A big cheer goes up from the fans.]

SR:  After further review, we have decided that some steps must be taken
in order to allow that match to go on as planned.  

[The cheer turns to a buzz of confusion.]

SR:  Because of the intensity of their rivalry and because of the
dangerous nature of both the match, the Championship Committee has great
concern over the physical health of Ricky Royal.

[Boos pour down on Stephen Ross who holds up a hand begging off.]

SR:  Now, we have all the faith in the world that Mr. Royal can put up a
valiant effort but due to Tumaffi's so-called "stretcher statistics" -
that being his tendency to destroy an opponent until they must be
carried from the ring on a stretcher, we have concern that he may go too
far in ending this rivalry.  

[More boos for Ross as he suddenly produces a clipboard with a stack of
paper attached.]

SR:  Therefore, the Championship Committee has ruled that in order for
the match to take place - the Ragin' Rebel, Ricky Royal, must come to
the ring and sign a waiver that will legally clear the AWA of all
liability when it comes to the sanctioning of this match for The Last
Stampede.  Mr. Royal, if you please?

[And the WKIK Studios blow up with cheers as "Mississippi Queen" hits
the speakers! The Ragin' Rebel comes charging through the entrance
curtain and spins around in a circle, frantically throwing salutes
before he starts making his way down the aisle.] 

GM:  Ricky had that brutal battle with Bruno Verhoven earlier tonight,
but he's as full of energy as ever, spurred on no doubt by the cheers
from this crowd.

[Still wearing his ring attire, Ricky slaps hands with the fans as he
makes his way to the ring. He hops up the wooden ringsteps and steps
through the ropes. Jumping up on the second turnbuckle, he throws a few
more salutes to big cheers, before heading to the center of the ring and
taking the waiver clipboard and a microphone from Stephen Ross.]

RR:  So I'm sittin' in a' back, lickin' m' wounds that the Butcher
tattooed me with... and all a' sudden, somebody taps me on the shoulder
and says they need me out here in the ring.

[He flips through the waiver and looks at Ross.]

RR:  So, Mr. Ross... what ya'll sayin' is... ya'll 'fraid Tumaffi's not
just gon' beat me. He gon' break m'bones, put me in a' hospital, end
m'career, paralyze me, kill me... something 'long them lines. Yeah? 

[Ross looks anxious at the crowd's reaction.]

SR:  Well, uhh, we're very concerned about-

[Royal interrupts.]

RR:  Sound like ya'll up in a' front office ain't got much confidence in
me, then, huh?

[Royal turns to face the crowd as Ross looks sheepish.]

RR:  Well, how 'bout ya'll, Dallas!? Ya'll worried 'bout me? Or do ya'll
think maybe I'm gon' kick Tumaffi's big fat butt on Labor Day Weekend
and send it back up this dang old aisle... laid flat... on a
stretcher!!?

[BIG ROAR!]

RR:  Well, that's what I think, too. 

[Turns back to Ross.]

RR:  So you know what, Ross?  I'll sign yer waiver.  I'll sign m'career
away; heck, I'll sign m'life away.  But only on one condition: Missus
Ricky Royal ain't gon' let me sign my name on that dotted line 'less the
Royal Family's got some kinda insurance that-- worst case scenario, say
I get laid out on 'at stretcher and I'm at the mercy a' the most vicious
sonuvagun in the AWA--that he ain't gon' have a chance to do me in like
he did dang near ever'body else he faced till I came 'round to put a
stop to it. 'Cause--all due respect, Mr. Ross--ya'll in the Championship
Committee ain't doin' such a good job a' keepin' the excessive violence
un'er control here. 

[Ross looks confused.]

SR:  Insurance?  I'm not sure I-

[Royal interrupts again.]

RR:  The kinda insurance I'm talkin' 'bout ain't All-State, ain't
Progressive. It ain't Geico. I'm talkin' 'bout the only kind that covers
Tumaffi Damage. 

I'm talkin' 'bout bringin' down to the ring, durin' that Stretcher
Match, the only man in the AWA that ain't afraid to step up t' Tumaffi
if he gets that look in his eye, if he gets one a' them vicious thoughts
crossin' his mind. I'm talkin' 'bout the only guy that ain't afraid to
go toe-to-toe with that beast, stare 'em down, and knock 'em flat on his
back.

[The crowd gets louder and louder as does Ricky's voice.]

RR:  Every fan in this buildin' knows the man I'm talkin' 'bout!  He
been provin' that he ain't the least bit afraid a' Tumaffi since Day
One! He had the guts to take 'em on even 'fore I did!

[The extended crowd roar is in full force, almost drowning out the
Ragin' Rebel as he turns to face the entranceway.]

RR:  ERIK REID! I'm calling you out here right now, brother!

[Kansas' "Carry on My Wayward Son" starts up as the crowd continues to
cheer.  The cheers culminate when Erik Reid steps out of the back and
into the aisle.  He stops and soaks in the cheers from the hometown
crowd before he slowly makes his way to the ring, slapping hands with
the fans.  Reid gets to the area around the ring and stops, looking
directly at Royal then climbs the ringsteps and steps into the ring as
his music fades.

Face to face in public for the first time since Reid was put on the
shelf for three months by Tumaffi, they stare at each other for several
seconds as the crowd buzzes. Ricky finally lifts his right arm, offering
his hand. When Reid hesitates to shake it, Ricky uses his left hand to
bring the mic up.]

RR:  Erik, ain't no question 'bout it, I owe ya one. Ya wound up out a'
action for the whole summer 'cause a' me, 'cause I had my focus on some
bodyslammin' contest 'stead a' on doin' what's right. 

But in spite a' that, I gotta ask ya for a favor. I need somebody down
here at ringside at the Last Stampede. Somebody who ain't afraid a' that
monster, somebody that'll stand up to him if he tries to break me in two
when I can't defend m'self, someody that ain't gonna let him go beyond
winnin' the match, and somebody that's got what it takes to take 'em
down if it comes to that. And we all know, every single one a' us in
this buildin', that YOU is that somebody. 

[Big cheer for Reid!]

RR:  Now, whaddya say, Erik?

[Reid looks around at the cheering crowd urging him to accept.  The
Dallas native looks down at the canvas as he speaks.]

ER:  I've sat back and watched you over the last three months, Ricky. 
I've seen the transformation you've undergone.
 
[Big cheer from the crowd as Reid looks up at Royal.]
 
ER:  Don't blame yourself, Ricky.  When the time dictated that someone
stand up to Tumaffi, you did just that.  Same as me.  For that?  You owe
me nothin'.  I'll be darned proud to have your back at Last Stampede. 
Once again, I can do something to prevent Tuamffi from running wild.

[Ricky offers his hand once more and Reid finally reaches out and shakes
it as the crowd goes nuts!]

RR:  THEN WE'RE ON! BOOK IT, MR. ROSS!

[Big cheer! Royal grabs the pen and enthusiastically scribbles his name
on the waiver before tossing the clipboard back to Stephen Ross.
"Mississippi Queen" starts blaring to yet another big ovation and Reid
and Royal take to opposite turnbuckles, raising their arms to big cheers
from the crowd.]

GM:  You heard it, fans!  Erik Reid is going to be at The Last Stampede
in Ricky Royal's corner!  Royal has signed the waiver - the Stretcher
Match is on!

BW:  He may not have been talking about Geico or Allstate - but for his
wife's sake, I hope his disability insurance is paid up because after
they tussle in Laredo, Royal may never walk again, daddy.

GM:  We'll see about that!  Fans, don't go away - we'll be right back!

[The camera holds on Reid and Royal on the turnbuckles with the fans
roaring 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 Kentucky's Pride
North Dallas Spectrum - Dallas, TX
August 3

Ricky Royal and Erik Reid
West Dallas Galleria - Dallas, TX
August 5

Sweet Daddy Williams and Mark Shaw
Dallas Ford - Dallas, TX
August 7

Werewolf Gregorson, Despair, and Ricky Royal
Harris Chevrolet - Dallas, TX
August 9

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 announce team.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans.  All night long we've been seeing members of
the two WarGames teams in action - building momentum as they prepare for
that huge double cage ten man battle in Laredo, Texas, in about one
month's time.  And in just a moment, we're going to see yet two more
members of the match in tag team action.  Let's go up to Melis-

[Stephen C. Foster's "My Old Kentucky Home" plays over the PA as the duo
of City Jack and Tin Can Rust come out the entrance and into the WKIK
Studio. Both are dressed in their usual wrestling attire. As Jack goes
over to some nearby fans, Tin Can Rust approaches the announcer's area
and signals for a microphone. Gordon Myers obliges and rises the mic to
TCR.]

GM: You have something to say, Mr. Rust, before you get into the ring?

TCR: Yeah, Mr. Myers - I would like to address -

[The crowd nearby cheers loudly as City Jack approaches them. Rust looks
over his shoulder, a little annoyed by the interruption, but then comes
back to go on.]

TCR: I would like to address a group of people right now that I am down
right sick of seeing. Now whether it's the Russians -

[The crowd boos loudly.]

TCR: Adrian Freeman

[Again, boos from the crowd.]

TCR: Calisto Dufresne -

[Another round of boos.]

TCR: Or Stevie Scott -

[Yep, another burst of boos.]

TCR: Some combination of you all, I'm sick of ya coming down to this
ring with numbers and plantin' a flag, plantin' a chair, or plantin' a
chain into us. I'm sick of all you all tryin' to get yours numbers going
on Rick, Werewolf, Despair, CJ, and myself. And you know what? Starting
tonight? I'm not putting up with it no more!

[An unusually fired up Tin Can Rust gets some cheers for showing some
life as his tag team partner, City Jack, sidles up beside him.]

CJ: Oh, yeah, that sure is on point, Crusher! See, this ol' sob here and
TCR? Werewolf, Despair, and Rick? We ain't gonna be waitin' for ya
cowards to come on out here and attack us first! You all want a fight,
just come on down and we'll be there, ready for ya. We'll be right here,
outside the ring, in the stands, at the concessions - 

[Some of the crowd cheers at the prospect of sitting next to one of the
AWA stars (and some realize that sitting next to City Jack may not be
comfortable!).]

CJ: Hell, I'll do my best Bucky Wilde impression and sit right here at
this desk and fiddle with my thumbs for a while, just waitin' for ya
fellas to attack!

[Mr. Wilde rolls his eyes, not too impressed.]

CJ: You all want to be a gang? Well you got a gang now fightin' right
back. Week in, week out, fellas? Week in, week out, we'll be fightin' to
the end - all the way up 'til Labor Day at the match they call War
Games!

[Another pop from the crowd as Tin Can Rust points the mic toward
himself.]

TCR: And Scott? Dufresne? CJ and myself can be SURE that we'll be
kicking your cowardly backsides all over those rings on Labor Day. So
just remember that any attack on us between now and then? Any attack at
all? We'll give it back to ya one hundred times more than you two could
ever muster on us!

[With that, Tin Can Rust nods to Myers, and surprisingly to Wilde,
before turning around and going into the ring. Jack pats Myers on the
shoulder and gives a wink to Myers before following his tag team mate up
to the ring where Melissa Cannon is standing.]

MC:  The following contest is set for one fall with a fifteen minute
time limit.  Introducing first... in the corner to my left... from Parts
Unknown, Weight Unknown... they are the team of Mr. X and The
Painmaster!

[Two masked men raise their  arms to the jeers of the crowd.]

MC:  And their opponents... in the corner to my right...

[Melissa's introduction is cut off by a storm of boos as the curtain
parts again to reveal The Russians and "Hotshot" Stevie Scott walking
into view, Stevie waving the Soviet flag back and forth as usual.]

GM:  Now wait a second.

BW:  What are you complaining about now?

GM:  These two teams have managed to stay out of each other's business
all night.  Why now?  Why is Scott and the Russians out here right now?

[Tin Can Rust and City Jack seem to be wondering the same thing, as they
turn their focus to the Russians and Stevie Scott, TCR screaming at both
men and threatening to come out after them...

...which gives the masked duo a chance to act, charging across the ring
with an attack!]

GM:  Here we go!  Here we go!

[A running knee by Mr. X connects squarely in the back of Tin Can Rust,
knocking him through the ropes to the floor while the Painmaster hits a
double axe handle to the back of the head that sends City Jack stumbling
into the buckles.]

GM:  The referee just rang the bell.  This match is official.

BW:  Haha!  It's officially over, Gordo!  Rust is already taken out -
and look at the joy on Stevie Scott's face.  The Hotshot is loving every
second of this.

[Back inside the ring, the Painmaster delivers a few hard right hands to
the ample gut of City Jack before grabbing him by the wrist.]

GM:  Irish whip by the Painmaster...

[The big masked man sets before charging across the ring...

...and getting caught with a Metropill forearm that sends the Painmaster
crashing down on his rear on the mat.  The crowd cheers!]

GM:  Down goes the Painmaster!

[City Jack cocks his arm back to deliver another one on Mr. X who is
standing on the apron but the smaller masked man drops off the apron,
landing on the floor and shaking a finger at City Jack who leaps into
the air, dropping a big elbow across the chest of the Painmaster
instead.]

GM:  Ohhh!  Big elbow by City Jack!

[Outside the ring, Tin Can Rust, angry as all hell steps back up on the
apron, slapping the turnbuckle to get his partner's attention.]

GM:  Tin Can Rust is back on the apron and he's looking for the tag.

[Jack slowly gets to his feet, careful to not put too much weight on his
injured limb and drags the Painmaster across the squared circle,
slapping the hand of his partner.]

GM:  In comes TCR...

BW:  Isn't that a beer for white trash?

GM:  Would you stop?

[City Jack holds the Painmaster's arms behind him, leaving him wide open
for a hard right hand to the breadbasket by Rust.  Jack steps out to the
apron as Rust pulls the Painmaster into a front facelock before scooping
him up and slamming him down to the mat.]

GM:  Big bodyslam by Tin Can Rust!

[A quick camera cut shows Stevie Scott standing in front of the fans,
waving the flag back and forth and making a weak attempt to start a
"RUS-SIA!" chant...

...which quickly gets drowned out by a chant of "U-S-A!"]

GM:  Alright!  These fans are letting the Russians and Stevie Scott know
exactly what they think of them.

[Vladimir Velikov looks outraged at the fans' reaction, screaming at
anyone who'll listen while putting his hands over his ears.]

GM:  The Painmaster crawling across the ring, trying to get to his
partner.

BW:  And Tin Can Rust isn't doing a thing to stop him.  He wants Mr. X
in there too!

GM:  Well, it was Mr. X who knocked Rust to the floor.

[But as the Painmaster reaches his corner, Mr. X drops down to the floor
again, shaking his head.  A stunned Painmaster slumps in the corner as
Tin Can Rust sprints across, connecting with a thunderous clothesline in
the buckles.]

GM:  Ohhh!  Big clothesline in the corner!

[Rust turns around, pumping a fist in triumph...

...and then moving quickly as the two Russians yank City Jack off the
apron and start pounding him as the referee quickly calls for the
disqualification.]

GM:  What the-?!  What's going on here?!

[But Rust's path is cut off as Mr. X slides into the ring in front of
him.]

GM:  Mr. X is blocking Tin Can Rust from getting to his partner!

[Rust winds up his right hand to pop the masked man in the face...

...but Stevie Scott is in the ring as well and absolutely _creams_ Tin
Can Rust in the back of the head with the flagpole!]

GM:  OHHHHH!  Flagpole right to the back of the head!

[Rust crumples to the canvas from the blow, landing at the feet of Mr. X
who quickly pulls off the mask to reveal...]

BW:  CALISTO DUFRESNE!

GM:  Of course it is.

[Dufresne and Scott exchange a quick high-five before they start
stomping the downed Rust in unison while the same assault happens on the
floor to City Jack.]

GM:  This was a setup!  Pure and simple!

BW:  I think Dufresne was just trying to give a young kid a fighting
chance against Kentucky's Pride. 

GM:  Give me a break.  They set this all up.  The Russians, Dufresne,
and Scott... and here comes Adrian Freeman to join in on all this.

[Freeman joins the Russians on the floor, stomping City Jack
repeatedly.]

GM:  We need to get some help out here!  This situation has broken down
and-

[The crowd erupts as Rick Marley tears through the curtain, diving
headfirst under the ropes to drill Stevie Scott with a right hand.]

GM:  Right hand on Stevie!

[Marley spins around...

...and snaps off a picture perfect dropkick that catches an incoming
Dufresne right under the jaw.]

GM:  And Dufresne is down as well!

["Showtime" gets to his feet, pumping his fists in enthusiasm as the
crowd roars.  He spots the beatdown outside the ring, quickly hitting
the ropes.]

GM:  What's Marley doing now?

[Marley sprints across the ring at top speed and hurls through the
middle and top ropes, wiping out Adrian Freeman with a suicide dive to
the floor!]

GM:  OHHHHHH!

[The crowd roars even louder as Werewolf Gregorson and Despair sprint
through the curtain, immediately tussling with the Russians by the
entryway!]

GM:  It's broken loose out here!  We need to get control!  Fans, we'll
be right back!

[Fade out on the big showdown...

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

"On August 16th, we'll be in the WKIK Studios in Dallas for another huge
TV taping.  On August 30th, we'll be in Laredo, Texas for our latest
supercard event - The Last Stampede.  And don't miss out in September
when the AWA goes back on tour!"

[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.  Adam
Rogers and Mark Shaw are both already in the ring as well.]

MC:  The following contest is our Main Event of the evening.  It is
scheduled for one fall with TV Time Remaining!  Introducing first... in
the corner to my right... standing 6'3 and weighing 243 pounds...  from
Naples, Florida... he is a former World Champion and current #3
contender for the National Championship...

He is "The Natural"...

AAAAAADAM ROOOOOGERRRRS!

[Rogers lifts an arm to the cheers of the fans and then leans over,
hands on knees, glaring at the opposition across the ring.]

MC:  And his opponent to my left... he stands 6'2 and weighs in at 270
pounds... from Los Angeles, California... he is the current #1 contender
for the National Championship...

He is "The Hellion"...

MAAAAAAAARRRRK SHAAAAAAAW!

[The powerful, barrel-chested Shaw raises an arm to salute the cheering
fans as well.]

GM:  This is it, Bucky.  We have to believe whoever wins this match will
challenge Ron Houston for the National Title at The Last Stampede.

BW:  That makes sense, Gordo.  It's gotta be.  Rogers already has a
guaranteed title shot though.  What if he loses and says he wants the
title shot anyways?  What happens then?

GM:  I have to admit - I have no idea.  That's a question for the
Championship Committee, I suppose.

[The referee steps to the center of the ring, waving both men forward
for final instructions.]

GM:  And look at the staredown between these two.

BW:  You think that Shaw's forgotten that Adam Rogers is the reason he's
not wearing the National Title right now?  I sure don't.

GM:  That's a clouded way of stating it but yes, I'm sure Mark Shaw has
not forgotten The Battle Of Dallas by any means.

[Rogers extends a hand to Shaw after the referee orders them back to
their corners...

...but the Hellion turns his back and walks away, leaving a frustrated
Rogers behind.]

GM:  No handshake there for the two contenders.

BW:  Rogers had to have expected that.

GM:  By the look on his face, I think he wanted that handshake pretty
badly.

[The Natural backs to his corner, Shaw to his...

...and the referee calls for the bell which sends Rogers tearing out of
his corner, leaping into the air to hit a forearm shot to the side of
the head that stuns Shaw in the buckles.]

GM:  Ohh!  Rogers out of nowhere!

BW:  Maybe that shunned handshake made him more upset that we thought!

[Rogers fires a few more hard forearms to the jaw of the Hellion before
backing off...

...and lunging for a single leg takedown attempt that Shaw stuffs,
blasting Rogers with a clubbing forearm across the back.]

GM:  No takedown for the Natural there.  Shaw had it scouted and knew
exactly what to do about it.

[A second hard forearm causes Rogers to back off, pushing back to his
feet...

...where a hard kick across the pectorals sends Rogers staggering back
towards the adjacent corner.]

GM:  Goodness!  These two aren't pulling any punches in the early
moments of this matchup.

[The powerful Shaw steps forward, physically hurling Rogers back into
the corner and moving in on him.]

GM:  Uh oh.  This is not where you want to be with a powerhouse like
Mark Shaw, Bucky.

BW:  It's certainly not.   He can turn your lights out real quick.

[Shaw hits a big right hand in the corner then follows up with two
bone-rattling forearms to the side of the head that knocks Rogers down
to a knee, trying to wrap up the body of the Hellion...

...but a big kneelift to the side of the face causes Rogers to fall
through the ropes to the floor, looking up in frustration at the #1
contender.]

GM:  Rogers spills out to the floor - and you can tell this match is not
going how he anticipated so far.

BW:  Adam Rogers likes to take people down, work them over on the mat,
wear them out.  He can not stand and trade with Mark Shaw and he knows
that, Gordo.

GM:  So, what you're saying is he's out there trying to figure out how
to get Shaw on the mat?

BW:  You got it.

GM:  Adam Rogers is arguably the best in-ring wrestler in the world but
without that National Title strapped around his waist, the argument
falls a bit short.

[Rogers rolls back into the ring, standing across from Shaw with his
hands on his hips...

...and then sprints across the ring again, leaping into the air with a
dropkick that seems to surprise Shaw.]

GM:  Oh!  Rogers takes to the air!

BW:  You don't see that too often from Adam Rogers and it appears like
he caught Mark Shaw a little off-balance there.

[The Natural immediately dives in for a single leg takedown again but
again gets battered on the back with big forearm blows.]

GM:  Another failed takedown attempt by the Natural.

[Shaw grabs Rogers by the upper body, pulling him off the mat, and then
_hurling_ him down to the canvas in the corner, seated against the
bottom buckle as the Hellion starts raining down big boots to the side
of the face.]

GM:  Stomps in the corner by Shaw!  Get in there, referee!

[The referee leaps into action, trying to force Shaw away from his
assault in the corner.  He starts his five count which makes Shaw back
away, eyeing the referee who warns him for his attack.]

GM:  The referee backs Mark Shaw away.  Like it or not, Mark Shaw's
intensity will make him go as far as he needs to to become the National
Champion.

[The open space between Rogers and the backed-up Shaw is too much for
the Natural to resist, diving back in and grabbing the leg of the
Hellion again...

...who again drives a clubbing blow down across the back that cuts off
the takedown attempt.]

GM:  Rogers, again and again, going for that takedown.

BW:  And Shaw, again and again, makes him pay the price for it.

[A second forearm knocks Rogers onto his back as Shaw stands over him,
glaring down...

...and earns a few jeers from the crowd with a hard stomp to the face of
the downed Rogers.]

GM:  Ohhh!

BW:  What a shot, Gordo!  Rogers may need to see a dentist after that
one.

GM:  Some of the fans didn't like that one though.

BW:  Who cares?  If it gets him the biggest win of his career, why
should Shaw care if the fans are happy about it?

GM:  The fans are very important to some members of the AWA locker room,
Bucky.

BW:  Baby-kissin' sissies.

[Shaw drags the stunned Rogers off the canvas, firing him across the
ring with an Irish whip to the corner.]

GM:  Rogers into the buckles... here comes Shaw!

[The crowd reacts splitly as Shaw drills the cornered Rogers with a
running clothesline in the buckles.]

GM:  Ohhh!  Big clothesline on target by the big man!

[As soon as the former World Champion slumps down to the mat, he rolls
under the ropes to the floor.]

GM:  And again, Adam Rogers rolls to the floor to regroup.

[But this time, the Hellion decides he's had enough of that, stepping
through the ropes to the apron before dropping down to the floor.]

GM:  And Mark Shaw's coming out after him!

BW:  It looks like Rogers' gameplan of running for his life is over,
daddy!

GM:  I don't think that's what he-

[As Shaw approaches, Rogers explodes towards him, connecting with a hard
forearm to the side of the head that causes Shaw to stumble back a
step.]

GM:  Ohh!  Big forearm by Rogers!  

[A second forearm connects as well...

...but Mark Shaw will have none of it, lashing out with a forearm of his
own that knocks Rogers down to all fours on the floor.]

BW:  I told ya, daddy!  You do not want to trade blows with Mark Shaw!

[Shaw approaches the kneeling Rogers...

...who erupts upwards with a European uppercut that snaps Shaw's head
back.]

GM:  Oh!  Rogers fighting back again!

[Grabbing Shaw by the head, Rogers throws three rapid fire forearms to
the side of the face...

...and gets a wild swinging arm to the side of his head that knocks him
down to a knee again.]

GM:  Goodness!  

BW:  It looked for a second like Rogers was getting somewhere with those
forearms but Shaw threw what essentially was a clothesline to the side
of the face that knocked him flat again.

GM:  Shaw drags him off the mat, rolling him back into the ring.

[The big man turns away from the ring for a moment, raising his arms in
triumph to the crowd...

...and turning around into a hard baseball slide kick to the jaw that
knocks him flat on the floor a few feet away from the ring!]

GM:  OHHH!  BASEBALL SLIDE BY THE NATURAL!

BW:  Shaw took his eye off his opponent for just a moment but it cost
him dearly right there.  The Hellion was in total control but just like
that, Adam Rogers turns the tide in his direction.

GM:  Both men are out on the floor.  I think Rogers is still feeling the
effects of that clothesline to the ear.  He looks a little wobbly as he
pushes up to his feet outside the ring.

[Rogers drags Shaw off the floor, firing him under the ropes.]

GM:  Shaw's back in - and now Rogers rolls in right behind him. 

[Dragging Shaw off the mat again, Rogers whips him to the corner,
backing all the way up to the opposite corner...

...and sprinting across, connecting with a running clothesline against
the buckles!]

GM:  Ohhh!  We saw that running clothesline in the corner earlier from
Shaw - now we see it from Rogers!

[And as the Hellion staggers out, Rogers hooks a front facelock,
dragging Shaw down in an inside cradle.]

GM:  ONE!  TWO!  THR-

[The crowd responds with a mixed reaction as Shaw fires a shoulder off
the mat to break the pin attempt.]

GM:  A very near fall there for the #3 contender. 

BW:  We've said it many times before but Adam Rogers has some of the
best cradles in the business.  Anytime you find yourself with your
shoulders to the mat at the hands of Adam Rogers, your night may be
about to end.

GM:  Rogers scampers back to his feet, Shaw is back up as well...

[The Natural throws a right hand that Shaw manages to block before
slipping a knee into the midsection of Rogers.]

GM:  Into the gut goes Shaw, taking some wind out of the Natural's
sails.  Irish whip...

[Shaw throws Rogers into the nearest ropes, quickly ducking for a
backdrop...

...but the Natural leaps over the top, attempting a sunset flip!]

GM:  Sunset flip by Rogers!

BW:  But Shaw's fighting it!  Mark Shaw has done his homework.  He knows
he needs to avoid the cradles of Adam Rogers if he wants to stay the #1
contender!

GM:  Mark Shaw is- whoa!

[The crowd buzzes in surprise as Shaw reaches down with both hands,
yanking Rogers up to his feet in a double choke...

...but the Natural quickly fights back, peppering the midsection with
hard body shots to break his grip and double him up.]

GM:  Rogers breaks out of the double choke... front facelock...

[The Natural reaches back, grabbing the left leg of Mark Shaw.]

GM:  Cradle supl- 

[But Shaw's leg strength breaks Rogers' grip, allowing him to straighten
up and rain down forearm blows across the back of the head and neck of
the Natural, knocking him down to a knee.]

GM:  Shaw blocks the cradle suplex... look at this!

[The crowd begins to buzz once again as Shaw pulls Rogers into a
standing headscissors.]

GM:  What's he gonna do here?

BW:  He's going to try to end this match right now, Gordo!

[Rogers wriggles to try to free himself but the power of Mark Shaw is
too much for him as the Los Angeles native hoists the Natural into the
air, pauses...

...and then DRIVES him down to the canvas with a thunderous powerbomb,
leaning forward to jacknife the legs in a pin attempt!]

GM:  POWERBOMB!!  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE-

[Rogers fires a shoulder off the canvas just before the three count
lands, breaking the pin count.]

GM:  Very close.  The Hellion was a half count away from what I believe
would be a date with the National Champion at The Last Stampede in one
month's time, Bucky.

BW:  Rogers made a mistake in going for that cradle suplex when Shaw
hadn't been softened up enough and it almost cost him the match, Gordo. 
An uncharacteristic mistake for Rogers.

GM:  Shaw slowly back to his feet, measuring his next move, trying to
decide what's next.

[The Los Angeles native pulls Rogers off the canvas as well.]

GM:  What's he going to do now?

[The crowd gasps as Shaw decides to show off his power by scooping
Rogers up...

...and pressing him high overhead.]

GM:  Gorilla press!  The military press by Mark Shaw!

[Shaw stands in the middle of the ring with Rogers high overhead and
slowly lowers him so that his stomach touches the top of Shaw's head...

...and then presses him back up to full arm extension!]

BW:  Man oh man.  This guy is strong as an ox, daddy!

GM:  Incredible power on display by the #1 contender, pressing Adam
Rogers high overhead like he's a small child!

[Shaw lowers him down again, pauses, and then starts to press him back
up when a wily Rogers slips free, dropping down to his feet behind Shaw
and hooking a waistlock...]

GM:  Waistlock applied by the Natural!

[Rogers grits his teeth, attempting to muscle the 270 pounder off the
mat in a German suplex...

...but gets nowhere in a hurry as Shaw holds his ground.]

GM:  He wants the suplex but he can't get him up.  Mark Shaw is too
heavy, too strong for the former World Champion to get up in that German
Suplex.

[With Shaw blocking his German Suplex attempt, Rogers promptly leaps
into the air, hooking his legs around the barrel-chested body of Shaw
while wrapping his arms around the head and neck.]

GM:  SLEEPER!  Rogers applies a sleeperhold!

BW:  And this is a great move by Rogers in my view, Gordo.  He's gonna
wear him down.  If he can stay up on him like this, he's going to make
Shaw carry him around the ring as well.  This could wear down the big
man in a hurry.

[But Shaw quickly counters it, twisting his body around to hook a side
waistlock on his attacker.]

GM:  BACKDROP DRIV-

[The lift hoists Rogers into the air but he backflips out of it at the
peak of the lift, dropping to a knee as he hits the mat...

...but jumping right back up onto the back of Shaw with the
sleeperhold!]

GM:  The sleeper is slapped back on by the former World Champion!

[The crowd roars for the old school sleeperhold as Shaw pumps his arms
wildly, trying to power out of the hold, wobbling towards the ropes.]

GM:  This hold cuts off the flow of blood to the brain and has been a
very effective hold in the world of professional wrestling for many
years.

BW:  Not too many people can apply it expertly enough anymore but this
looks like a good one.

[Shaw slumps over to a knee, his arms starting to slow as Rogers turns
up the pressure...

...but then battles back to his feet, Rogers still on his back.]

GM:  Shaw's trying to fight it!  The #1 contender is trying to fight off
the effects of the sleeperhold!

[With part of the crowd cheering him on, Shaw powers up...

...and then _drives_ Rogers backwards into the turnbuckles, the impact
breaking his grasp.]

GM:  Ohhh!  Shaw breaks the sleeper!

BW:  Yeah, but how much damage was done, Gordo?

GM:  We're about to find out.

[Shaw stumbles away from the corner to the middle of the ring, then
spins on his heel, charging back in...

...and coming up empty with a running corner splash as Rogers pulls
himself out of the way!]

GM:  OHHH!  CHESTFIRST TO THE CORNER!

[The Natural moves quickly, trying to catch Shaw before he recovers,
hoisting him up on the top rope facing away from the ring.]

GM:  Rogers deposits Shaw on the top turnbuckle... and now where's he
going?

[Rogers steps up on the second rope, hooking Shaw from behind...

...and then steps up to the top rope!]

BW:  You've gotta be kidding me.

GM:  Is he seriously attempting a belly-to-back superplex?!

[The Natural takes a couple deep breaths and lifts...

...hoisting Shaw into the air before dropping backwards, smashing the
back of his head and neck into the canvas with a huge thud!  The crowd
explodes with the impact!]

GM:  HE GOT IT!  HE GOT IT!!   SUPERPLEX BY THE NATURAL!

[Rogers rolls over, throwing an arm across Shaw's barrel-chest.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR-


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  ONLY TWO!  ONLY TWO!  MARK SHAW GOT THE SHOULDER UP AT TWO!

[With the crowd still buzzing, Adam Rogers pushes up off the mat,
dragging a tired Mark Shaw up as well...

...and reapplies the rear waistlock.]

GM:  He's going for the German again!  Rogers is-

BW:  But he can't get it!  Shaw's still got it blocked!

[Instead, Rogers charges forward, bouncing Shaw's chest into the ropes
and attempting to roll back with a cradle...

...but Shaw hangs on to the top rope.]

GM:  Shaw blocked the rolling reverse cradle!  He blocked it!

[And as Rogers gets to his feet, Shaw sprints towards him.]

GM:  CLOTHESLI-

[The Natural ducks under the big clothesline attempt, again hooking a
rear waistlock...

...and this time, jerking Shaw up into the air before dumping him down
on the back of his head and neck!]

GM:  GERMAN SUPLEX!  WITH A BRIDGE!

[The referee dives to the mat to count as Rogers holds the picture
perfect bridge.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE-


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  AGAIN!  SHAW GOT THE SHOULDER UP AGAIN!

[A frustrated Rogers slaps the canvas with both hands, looking
pleadingly at the official who holds up two fingers.]

GM:  Rogers was so close.  Adam Rogers was so close to beating the #1
contender right there.  The Natural hit the German Suplex and I thought
he had him, Bucky.

BW:  I think a lot of people in this place did judging by the reaction
when Shaw kicked out.

GM:  Rogers back to his feet, still shaking his head in disbelief.  He
flips Shaw onto his back, grabs the legs...

[Some of the crowd cheers as Rogers attempts to step through, the setup
for the Natural Selection scorpion deathlock...

...but this time, it's Mark Shaw who reaches up to grab the head of
Rogers, pulling him into a cradle.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE-


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  How about that, Bucky?  Mark Shaw almost gets the win with a
cradle!

BW:  Rogers never saw that one coming.  He was absolutely stunned that
Shaw would even attempt it.

[With the crowd roaring for both men, Rogers and Shaw slowly retake
their feet...

...and throw down!]

GM:  Ohh!  Forearm by Rogers on the button!

[The blow causes Shaw to stumble back towards the ropes but as Rogers
moves in...]

GM:  OHHH!  Shaw returns fire!

[The hard shot from the big man knocks Rogers to a knee...

...where Shaw bowls him over with a running boot to the face!]

GM:  Goodness!

[Shaw drops down to the mat, hooking a front facelock on the downed
Rogers and brings a knee up into the head.]

GM:  Ohh!  Knee to the head!

[The Los Angeles native continues the assault, repeatedly bringing up
knee after knee after knee to the head of the trapped Rogers.]

GM:  The referee's getting in there close!  He needs to make sure he
doesn't need to stop this match.  He needs to make sure that Adam Rogers
can defend himself!

[The knee strikes repeatedly land cleanly on the crown of Rogers' skull,
rocking the former World Champion over and over again.]

GM:  Rogers is in trouble here.

[Shaw quickly flips him to his back, hooking a leg.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE-

[And this time, it's Shaw's turn to slap the mat in frustration, holding
up three fingers at an official who shakes his head.]

GM:  Only a two count off the knee strikes by Shaw.

[The big man pushes up to his feet, dragging a battering Rogers off the
mat by the hair...

...and pulls him into a side waistlock.]

GM:  BACKDROP DRIV-

[Rogers frantically throws elbows to the back of the head and neck,
trying to break the grip on the finishing move.]

GM:  Rogers is fighting it!  The Natural is trying to break free!

[But Shaw holds his grip, bracing his legs...

...and yanks Rogers up into the air, driving him down on the back of the
head and neck with crushing impact!]

GM:  BACKDROP DRIIIIIVER!

[An exhausted Shaw crawls over towards Rogers, throwing himself into a
lateral press.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR- FOOT ON THE ROPES!

[Another huge mixed reaction goes up from the crowd as the Natural just
barely throws his foot over the bottom rope before the three count
falls.]

GM:  Unbelievable!  Just how badly do these two men want a shot at the
National Title, Bucky?

BW:  This is nuts!  These two men are giving it everything they've got
and just coming up short time and time again.  What a war we've seen
from Mark Shaw and Adam Rogers in this one!

GM:  Shaw drags him off the ma-

[The WKIK Studio audience ERUPTS as Rogers pulls Shaw down into a small
package.]

GM:  SMALL PACKAGE!!  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREE-  NO!  NO!  SHOULDER UP!

[The buzz in the studio is intense as Rogers and Shaw roll apart from
one another, sucking wind into their bodies as they ponder what else
they can do to put the other man down for a three count.]

GM:  We've seen the German Suplex.  We've seen the cradles of Rogers. 
We've seen Shaw's knee strikes.  We've seen the Backdrop Driver.  What
is it going to take, Bucky?  What is it going to take to win this match?

BW:  This is when you dig deep.  You find the energy you didn't know you
had to do the things you didn't know you could do.  

GM:  Rogers sits up off the mat, holding his head and neck.  Shaw
pushing up to a knee.  We're going again, Bucky!  We're going again!

BW:  This is what the AWA is all about, daddy!

GM:  Rogers to his feet... and Shaw's right there with him...

[A tired right hand from Rogers comes up wild and empty, allowing Shaw
to hook another side waistlock.]

GM:  ANOTHER Backdrop Driver?!

BW:  If he hits this in the middle of the ring, it's over, daddy!

[Shaw sucks in some oxygen and lifts Rogers into the air...

...but the Natural flips over the top, landing on his feet behind Shaw
and hooking a rear waistlock, charging to the ropes in one motion.]

GM:  To the ropes... rolling reverse cradle!

[Rogers rolls back still holding the waistlock, rolling Shaw onto his
shoulders as Rogers pushes the legs down, throwing his body back into
yet another picture perfect bridge.]

GM:  NATURAL BRIDGE!

[The referee dives to the canvas to make the count.]

GM:  ONE!!!  TWO!!!  THRE-

[The referee's hand comes down for the final count... just as Shaw's
shoulder pops free...

...and just as the ring bell sounds.]


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  Did he get it?  Did Rogers get it?

[The Natural falls out of the cradle, arms high in the air as the crowd
buzzes with a mixed reaction.]

GM:  He certainly believes he has!  I think he may be right!  Adam
Rogers has pinned Mark Shaw - and I've gotta believe that'll give him
the title shot against Ron Houston at The Last Stampede!  I've gotta
believe it will, Bucky!

BW:  Well, I would have to agree with you there - if he pinned him.  I
think Shaw got the shoulder up in time, Gordo.

[Rogers pulls himself to his feet, holding his hands high as the referee
slides to the floor to talk to Melissa Cannon.]

GM:  The referee going over to Melissa to make it official.  Adam Rogers
has gotta be the new Number One contender, Bucky.

BW:  Uhhh.

GM:  What's wrong?

BW:  I think this is more than making it official.

GM:  Huh?

[The camera watches as the referee and Melissa converse some more -
finally, both individuals nodding their heads as Melissa takes the mic.]

MC:  After further review, the referee has determined that before the
pinfall or kickout could occur...

...THE TIME LIMIT HAS EXPIRED!

[The crowd boos that announcement.]

MC:  Therefore, this match has been declared... A DRAW!

[The fans continue to boo as Rogers looks on in shock at the referee
waving his arms to indiciate the match is over.]

BW:  A draw?  No one wins?  But... who is going to face Ron Houston at
The Last Stampede?

GM:  We're out of time!  We've gotta go!  I'm Gordon Myers for Bucky
Wilde saying so long from Dallas, Texas, until next time when we'll see
_you_... at the matches!

BW:  Who's the #1 contender?  Unbelievable.

[And with both Rogers and Shaw pleading their case to the referee...

...we fade to black.]