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                           American Wrestling Alliance
                                 Proudly Presents
                           THE BATTLE OF DALLAS

                         Live from the WKIK Studios
                                   Dallas, Texas
                                  July 5th, 2008
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[We fade in to the sounds of "Song Of The Patriot" by Johnny Cash with
the deep voice of Gordon Myers speaking over a shot of a waving American
flag.]

"On this Independence Day weekend, we ask that you remember the words of
Dwight D. Eisenhower...

Freedom has its life in the hearts, the actions, the spirit of men and
so it must be daily earned and refreshed - else like a flower cut from
its life-giving roots, it will wither and die.

On this 4th of July weekend, we respectfully request you take a moment
to reflect on what freedom means to you - and on those who have fought
for that freedom over the years.

Happy birthday, America."

[The shot of the flag slowly fades to black...

...and is replaced by a panning shot inside the WKIK Studios where the
fans are going nutty.  James Brown's "Living In America" is blasting
over the PA syste.  The Studios are set up the same as usual with the
addition of a pair of large US flags hanging off the back walls.  The
ring apron has also been changed to a nice red, white, and blue
airbrushed job reading "THE BATTLE OF DALLAS."  After a few moments, we
cut to a shot of the announce team.

Gordon Myers is in a black suit with a white dress shirt underneath. 
His American flag tie breaks the black and white a bit as he grins at
the camera.  By his side?  Oh brother.

Bucky Wilde is dressed... if you can call it that... in pretty much an
exact replica of Apollo Creed's attire from Rocky IV.  He's wearing a
long red, white, and blue glitter-striped covered long jacket. 
Thankfully, he's added a pair of suede pants with one leg red and one
leg blue.  The... umm... nether regions are white.  Unthankfully, he's
also wearing the big top hat.]

GM:  Good evening, fans, and welcome to the WKIK Studios in Dallas,
Texas as the AWA proudly presents The Battle Of Dallas!  

[More cheers from the crowd.]

GM:  My name is Gordon Myers and I will be your host for the next two
hours of AWA wrestling action - perhaps the most exciting action of the
year so far.  By my side is...

BW:  Say it.  You know you want to say it, daddy.

GM:  Must I?

[Wilde spreads his arms wide.]

BW:  Come on, Gordo.  Don't be a sore loser.

[Gordon sighs deeply, shaking his head.]

GM:  By my side is my co-host... the man who just this week in an
international fan poll was voted the Best Announcer Of The Mid Year...
Bucky Wilde!

[Bucky cackles as he steps out from behind the announce desk, doing a
slow spin to soak up a mixed reaction from the crowd.]

BW:  That's right, daddy!  Only a few months on the job here in the AWA
and the fans all over the world already get it, Gordo!  Bucky Wilde is
the straw that stirs the drink, the man who makes the ladies wink, the
long-looked-for missing link, all that AND the kitchen sink... and now,
your Announcer Of The Mid Year, daddy!

GM:  Is this over yet?

BW:  Don't be bitter, daddy.  You finished in second.  And finishing in
second to yours truly is almost like winning.

GM:  Well, thanks Buck-

BW:  Hold on, daddy - I said almost.

[A big grin from the former seven-time Southern Manager Of The Year.]

GM:  That's enough of that, I think.  Fans, you are in for a night of
tremendous AWA action here tonight.  We've got that big six man tag
pitting Kentucky's Pride and "Showtime" Rick Marley taking on Adrian
Freeman, Calisto Dufresne, and his first time in an AWA ring, Stevie
Scott.

BW:  It's a tragedy, a travesty, and a miscarriage of justice that
Stevie Scott is bein' forced to wrestle here tonight, Gordo.  The man
has had valid injuries to keep him out of the ring but now the
Championship Committee has decided that they just don't care about that!

GM:  Rick Marley has been wanting to get his hands on all three of his
opponents since Memorial Day Mayhem - he gets his chance tonight.  Tin
Can Rust and Stevie Scott have been on a collision course for months -
tonight they will finally meet.  And City Jack has been chasing Calisto
Dufresne for years, Bucky - tonight, he gets his hands on the
Ladykiller.  What an explosive matchup that could end up being.

BW: No doubt, daddy, no doubt.  But it'll be Stevie Scott that is the
deciding factor, I think.  If he can overcome all of his injuries and
fight with the heart and true warrior spirit that I know he has, his
team is walkin' out with the win tonight, Gordo.

GM:  Speaking of true warrior spirit... and meaning it... what about
Ricky Royal?  The Ragin' Rebel is set to go one on one with Tumaffi here
tonight.

BW:  With a very angry Tumaffi, Gordo, that's the key.  The mighty
Tumaffi has his mind set on ending Ricky Royal's career here tonight
just like he did to Erik Reid a month or so back.  Royal has bitten off
way more than he can chew in this one.

GM:  We've got tag team action that might blow the roof off this place
when The Russians meet Werewolf Gregorson and Despair in a Double
Russian Chain match, Bucky!

[Bucky slaps at his red, white, and blue colored jacket.]

BW:  These colors don't run, daddy, but there will be a lovely shade of
crimson running all over the ring before that one is finished, I
guarantee you that.  

GM:  With the amount of... excuse the pun... bad blood flowing between
those two teams, that match may not be for the weak of heart.  Parental
guidance is definitely advised for that one.  Fans, we've got so much
action to bring to you, we want to get right down to it... after this
commerical break!

[The camera holds on Gordon and Bucky for a moment before fading to
black.

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

"Have you ever dreamed of fame?"

[Cut a little closer.]

"Of glory?"

[A little closer.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Two young students are grappling on the canvas.]

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

You want to wrestle!"

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

...and then fade back up on the ring which is now filled with the ten
men who are competing in the Top Ten Contenders Battle Royal - Ron
Houston, Frank Dylan James, Dave Cooper, Kevin Slater, Mark Shaw, Kenta
Kitzukawa, Adam Rogers, Sweet Daddy Williams, Luke Steele, and Paul
Driscoll.]

GM: Welcome back to the Battle of Dallas, fans, as we've been joined by
the reigning AWA National champion, Marcus Broussard, and we are about
to witness this ten man battle royale for the right to challenge for
your title at the end of the evening, Marcus.

MB: You got it, Gordon Myers. These are the ten guys who have been most
impressive to the AWA Championship Committee, and we're just going to
see which one makes it out alive.

BW: I mean no disrespect here, champ, but ain't you missin' someone
Gordo? Someone here at the announce position with us?

[Gordon audibly cringes.]

GM: I suppose I would be remiss if I didn't mention that the Super Ninja
is here at the announcer's booth as well. Happy, Bucky?

BW: Just strivin' for some journalistic integrity, Gordo.

GM: I'm sure the Super Ninja appreciates your good will. 


"DING DING DING" 


GM: The bell has sounded and the Battle of Dallas is underway!

[The crowd roars as the battle royal begins, and all ten competitors
converge upon one another. The first few moments are all punches, kicks,
elbows and headbutts, with the crowd loving every minute of it. The
gigantic hillbilly Frank Dylan James is the first competitor to break
from the pack, hurling Kevin Slater into one corner and rocking him with
wicked right hands. Luke Steele sees his compadre in trouble and goes to
his partners aid, pounding right hands into the ribs of James. Along the
ropes, near the Cult of Personality reunion, Ron Houston and Kenta
Kitzukawa exchange blows, with Houston taking the early advantage. Mark
Shaw wastes little time renewing acquaintances with Paul Driscoll,
stunning him with chops and then trying to throw him out. Driscoll curls
his arms around the ropes and fights back with elbows to the face. Dave
Cooper and Adam Rogers are trying to keep it more scientific, exchanging
wristlocks and hammer locks in the center of the ring, all the while
being watched by Sweet Daddy Williams, who is strutting and yucking it
up to the delight of the fans.]

BW: That no good-yella bellied-banana nose-no class havin'-mama dresses
him funny-overweight-

GM: Calm down Bucky, the match just started!

BW: He's walkin' around there like a bowling ball shaped rooster! He
ain't even trying to get involved!

MB: That's not bad strategy Buckthorne, gotta give him credit. Let
everyone else do the dirty work. That's something I would try to do.

BW: Bite your tongue, champ, any similarities you two have is an
accident on his part, I tell you what!

[Sweet Daddy picks his spot and throws an elbow to the back of Ron
Houston, then gets out of dodge before Houston realizes what happened.]

GM: Sweet Daddy Williams is no dummy, gentlemen, he knows that this is a
marathon, not a sprint. 

BW: Like he's ever been in a marathon.

GM: But his strategy is sound, Bucky Wilde, and now he plants a double
axehandle between the shoulder blades of Kevin Slater.

[This gives Frank Dylan James an opening, and takes advantage of it,
blocking a punch from Luke Steele and headbutting him, then hitting
Slater with such an open handed slap that it can be heard in the back
row! The crowd "oooohhhhhhhhh"s at the sound of it.]

GM: My goodness, Frank Dylan James might have slapped the skin off of
Kevin Slater! Luke Steele is recuperating from a mammoth headbutt-

[The crowd comes to life, as their hero gets into the fray!]

GM: And Sweet Daddy Williams is all over Frank Dylan James! Left hand,
right hand, upstairs, down stairs, he rears back and... oh! What would
you call that?

BW: Fat Man Can't Dance Elbow.

MB: Whatever you call it, it was only mildly effective.

[James stands in the corner, stunned from the elbow but not too out of
it, and then watches as Kenta Kitzukawa snaps off a shin kick to the
pillow-y side of Sweet Daddy Williams, knocking him to the ground. Kenta
wheels and delivers a kneelift to Paul Driscoll, and then a side kick
aimed for Dave Cooper... that is ducked by the veteran Cooper! Adam
Rogers takes it right to the grill and crumples to the mat, then wisely
rolls underneath the ropes to the outside.]

GM: An outburst of that hard hitting Japanese offense that Kenta
Kitzukawa is known for, and I think Adam Rogers may be a little woozy on
the outside!

BW: He went under the ropes, daddy, not under, just to be clear. That
means he's still in the match. 

GM: A very good point, champ, but I'm not sure if Kenta Kitzukawa is
sure of those rules. He's leaning over, hollering at Rogers...

[And does not anticipate Luke Steele and Kevin Slater joining hands,
charging and knocking him over the top rope to the floor with a double
clothesline! The crowd erupts for the first elimination!]

MC: KENTA KITZUKAWA HAS BEEN E-LIMINATED!

[The Japanese warrior slams his hands on the apron of the mat and points
at Rogers, who is still taking it easy on the outside and shaking the
cobwebs out.]

MB: Okay Adam, time to get it together. There's no reason a competitor
of his caliber needs to be taking this long of a breather!

GM: He nearly got his lights knocked out, Marcus.

MB: He's milkin' it, plain and simple. I know Adam Rogers better than
anyone else, take my word for it.

BW: Take the man's word for it, Gordo, he ain't never told a lie!

GM: Do you, Bucky... do you owe Marcus something? 

[Back in the ring, Dave Cooper scoops up Kevin Slater in a fireman's
carry and starts walking toward the ropes. Luke Steele sees this and
goes on the attack, peppering Cooper with right hands to his exposed
noggin and, maybe unwisely, kicking him in the stomach. Cooper stumbles
and loses his footing, falling backward and inadvertently dumping Slater
over the ropes! Slater holds onto the middle rope for dear life as the
crowd breathes a sigh of relief!]

BW: Luke Steele went for the save, and he may have cost Slater the
match! 

MB: What goes around comes around, Buckthorne, Slater's tried to pull
the wool over my eyes and now he's about to get knocked out because of
his best friend.

GM: The "Wild Thing" has both the top and middle ropes cradled, but he's
still tangled up in Dave Cooper's fireman's carry! 

MB: And he's leaving himself wide open for punishment, Gordon, look at
Ron Houston take advantage. 

[With Cooper still tied up between the ropes and Slater, and Steele
still depositing boots to the gut of him, Ron Houston tees off on the
unprotected head of Kevin Slater! The crowd is split, both cheering and
booing the big man's actions, while at the same time getting excited
over the predicament "Pistol" Paul Driscoll is in.]

GM: Mark Shaw has Paul Driscoll on the brink of elimination! Driscoll
has one leg on the apron, and the bullish Shaw is just driving shoulder
after shoulder into him! These two are no strangers to one another, and
the Texan might be in trouble.

MB: Mark Shaw is as heavy a hitter as there is in this battle royal, but
he's not the brightest bulb in the closet.

GM: I would dispute that argument, heavily in fact. Shaw is trying to
eliminate Driscoll, Houston and Steele are trying to untangle the mess
over there with Slater and Dave Cooper-

BW: Where's Adam Rogers, baby, where's the Natural?

[Sliding underneath the bottom rope, in fact, and walking over to assist
Mark Shaw.]

GM: Adam Rogers is back in the ring, but take a look over at the far
corner. Look who's taking it to Frank Dylan James...

BW: Oh Lord have mercy, I have never rooted for a drunken hillbilly so
much in my life! C'mon Frank James Jordan, take his head off!

GM: That's Frank Dylan James, and he is currently at the mercy of Sweet
Daddy Williams! 

[Sweet Daddy is gettin' down with his bad self, getting medieval all
over Frank Dylan James with boots and chops to the hillbilly's chest. A
few choice right hands and Sweet Daddy backs up, and then hollers to the
crowd:]

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

[And just like that, eliciting something that could be considered a war
whoop, he charges at the monstrous James and runs right into an equally
as monstrous foot!]

BW: Toe jam sammich, baby, I love it!

GM: Sweet Daddy Williams went face first into that big foot of Frank
Dylan James, and if the impact won't get him the smell certainly will!

MB: Sweet Daddy is a sitting duck, now's the time!

GM: James grabs him by the head and- whoa nelly, he just HURLED Sweet
Daddy out of the ring, and down to the floor!

[The crowd boos vociferously, despite a one man standing ovation from
Bucky Wilde, as Sweet Daddy hits the ringside floor with a thud.]

MC: SWEET DADDY WILLIAMS HAS BEEN E-LIMINATED!

BW: Ohhhh, thank you Lord! Thank! You! Lord! I feel better about this
night already, champ, it's gonna be a great night here in Dallas!

GM: A great showing by Sweet Daddy Williams, but took it to some of the
finest competitors the AWA has to offer. And none other than Adam Rogers
has taken up the fight with Frank Dyan James.

MB: You know, I've got no good insight on how to take this guy down.
Good luck, partner.

[Rogers does what he knows how to do, stunning Frank with a few rights
hands and then kicking the leg of the hillbilly, loosening it up and
then lacing it over the ropes.]

GM: Doctor Adam Rogers going into surgery over there in the corner, as
Kevin Slater has finally freed himself up from that entanglement over
there with Dave Cooper, and rakes the eyes to get back into the ring!

BW: Not very boy scout-y, if you ask me!

GM: Slater off the ropes, and a big axehandle to the shoulder of Ron
Houston! And it's that shoulder that you have worked over so intensely
these past few months, Marcus Broussard. 

MB: Smart move by Kevin Slater, and you're welcome.

[The crowd erupts as Dave Cooper, still groggy from the beating put on
him by Luke Steele, walks right into a discus punch from Paul Driscoll!]

GM: My oh my, the discus punch by Paul Driscoll, and Dave Cooper is out
on the mat.

MB: Not the worst thing in the world, Gordon. You're going to need a
very large spatula to get Cooper off the mat, and everyone knows that
lifting the deadweight of someone like Dave Cooper, who has to weigh
265-270, is more difficult than it sounds.

[Quick, look at the Cult of Personality working together, getting on
either side of Ron Houston, grabbing him around the waste and then
dumping him with a double back suplex.]

GM: The action is picking up here fans, and I apologize in advance for
not calling everything. Slater and Steele with a double suplex on Ron
Houston, just as Frank Dylan James swats away Adam Rogers.

[Mark Shaw was waiting for this and then gets down into his three point
stance, having played some college ball on the offensive line. James
takes two steps out of the corner and Shaw spring into action, charging
out of his three point stance and knocking James silly with a shoulder
block. FDJ goes down, Shaw gets to his feet and then gets knocked loopyy
his own self by a lariat courtesy of Kevin Slater! The fans are
applauding the action, as Luke Steele goes into action...]

GM: Luke Steele lifts up his own partner Kevin Slater, as if for an
atomic drop... and throws him down with a legdrop onto Mark Shaw! What
terrific team work from Slater and Steele!

BW: I love me great teamwork, Gordo, and even though these two are a
bunch of weasals, you gotta love the double team moves they're pulling
out.

MB: I'll second that, begrudgingly.

[On the other side, Paul Driscoll has Ron Houston in an arm wringer as
Adam Rogers stands up on the second turnbuckle.]

GM: Rogers to the air... elbow to that shoulder! 

BW: They livin' off your work, champ.

MB: What do you expect from guys like that?

BW: A thank you card or something. I know mama loves fruit baskets.

GM: Ron Houston is feeling it in that tender shoulder right now,
staggering in pain. Now Rogers and Driscoll are exchanging words, maybe
some teamwork from these two?

[Rogers drops to all fours behind Houston as Driscoll darts off the
ropes, gains speed and nails Houston with a lunging forearm, causing him
to fall over Rogers and hang himself over the ropes. Rogers and Driscoll
share a quick high five, and then turn to get back to work...]

GM: No! Driscoll from behind tries to throw Rogers out of the ring! Adam
is on the apron, hard righthands from Driscoll- Dave Cooper with a HARD
kick to the leg and knee area of Driscoll, and another! 

[Cooper turns "Pistol" Paul around and snap suplexes him into the center
of the ring. Cooper rolls to his belly, then to his feet and gets
promptly whipped to the farside by Mark Shaw, who hits a thunderous
powerslam on the way back!]

GM: This crowd has come alive with that powerslam from "Hellion" Mark
Shaw! Back to his feet, Shaw with a hard running clothesline to Frank
Dylan James! Hard right hands from Shaw, to the body and to the head!
This Frank Dylan James is sustaining tons of punishment, and is still
standing in spite of it all!

BW: This guy is provin' to be a tough, tough cookie, Gordo, and he got
himself a bullseye on his back because of it. He's taken some harsh
punishment, and is dishing it right back out in return.

[James stops Shaw in his tracks with a headbutt, and then punches him
right in the throat. Seeing this, the Cult of Personality bound off the
ropes in unison and prepare to attack... but Rogers cuts Slater off and
catches him with a spinning belly to belly suplex...]

MB: Hey! That's my move!

[...and Luke Steele spears Mark Shaw to the ground. Steele and Shaw
trade fists on the mat, while Dave Cooper and Paul Driscoll do the same
in the corner. Adam Rogers is slow to get to his feet after delivering
the suplex, and Slater has crawled to a corner. And slowly it dawns on
the fans, around the same time that it dawns on the wrestlers, that the
two men left standing are Ron Houston and Frank Dylan James.]

GM: Oh my goodness, oh my oh my, the roof is about to come off this
place! 

BW: Lordie Lord, remember where you is, Gordo. Fans at home, remember
where you're sittin' right now, because we're about to see a major clash
of titans right here.

MB: They're standing in the WKIK Studios, Gordon!

GM: Ron Houston and Frank Dylan James are literally stepping onto and
over strewn bodies to get to each other. Houston's there first!

[Big response from the fans!]

GM: Big haymaker by Ron Houston! And James returns in kind! Left hand by
Houston, forearm by James, right hand, right hand, left hand! My
goodness, neither of these two men are budging, and it sounds like
they're being shot at point blank range!

[Not only are the fans watching every move, along with Gordon, but the
rest of the wrestlers in the match are watching it as well. They watch
as Frank Dylan James scores with a wild left hook and then a headbutt
that staggers the Athens Georgia Madman. He then reaches out and grabs
Houston by the throat, and screams as he squeezes on it!]

GM: This is barbaric!

BW: They just throwin' down in the middle of the whole battle royal!
This is what it's all about!

[With a grunt, Houston swings his left arm up and slaps away the
chokehold... then rears back and NAILS Frank Dylan James with a
Pulsekiller heart punch! The crowd erupts as Houston takes a step back
and watches... waits...]

BW: TIMMMMBBBBBBEEERRRRRRRRRR!

[...and sees Frank Dylan James crumple to the ground! Houston throws his
head back and lets loose with a guttural roar as the rest of the
competitors get back to their feet, energized by the mid match
throwdown!]

GM: What a scene in the WKIK Studios here in Dallas, Texas! A mammoth
showdown has left the crowd buzzing, and the competitors are feeding off
the energy! Kick to the gut by Luke Steele, and Ron Houston is doubled
over! Off the ropes, Steele ducks a clothesline... my goodness, what
agility by Luke Steele! He ducked the clothesline, swung his body around
and landed in a DDT!

[A floatover DDT for those keeping score at home.]

BW: What a clothesline, daddy, Luke Steele clotheslined Coop over the
top rope! 

MB: But Cooper hung on, he's not going down without a fight.

GM: Steele booting Cooper in the face, trying to kick the veteran tag
team wrestler out of this battle royale.

[Elsewhere, "Wild Thing" Kevin Slater has ascended the top rope and
pointed a finger at Marcus Broussard.]

BW: He said this one's for you, champ!

MB: Yeah, let's see it, Slater. You've got my attention!

[With that, Slater leaps off the top rope and _buries_ an elbow deep in
the heart of Ron Houston. Slater fires off the mat and goes to the rope
nearest Broussard, screaming at him as the fans turn around.]

KS: I'll see you later tonight, Marcus! I'm comin' for ya!

MB: Watch what you're doing, wise guy, keep your eyes on the match!

[Good advice from Broussard, as Mark Shaw races over and tries to dump
Slater out. Paul Driscoll follows suit and joins Shaw, beating on
Slater's back and pressing down his head. Seeing this, Luke Steele
rushes to help his friend...]

GM: Here comes Luke Steele!


"THUUUUUD!"


MB: There goes Luke Steele!

GM: Luke Steele got backdropped over the top rope by both Mark Shaw and
Paul Driscoll, and took a nasty fall! What an effort from the "Real
Deal", and I hope he's alright!

MC: LUKE STEELE HAS BEEN E-LIMINATED!

[A flock of officials runs down to check on Luke Steele, who wobbles to
his feet and needs help to steady himself. After a few seconds he's
okay, and walks away without help.]

GM: A terrific performance by Luke Steele, and thankfully he survived
that fall.

BW: Don't look now, Gordo, but Frank Dylan James is back up, and he
ain't happy.

[Indeed, Frank Dylan James rolls to his feet, lets loose a thunderous
scream and then tornados his way through the ring. Clothesline for
Driscoll, elbow for Rogers, overhand right for Slater. He grabs Dave
Cooper with one hand, tosses him like a ragdoll into the corner and then
follows in with an avalanche. One more avalanche, and Cooper is seeing
stars. The rampaging hillbilly fires a back elbow at Mark Shaw, then
bounces off the ropes and lands a BIG splash onto Ron Houston. The crowd
is aghast, watching James slobber, spit, pull out his own hair and
absolutely floor anything in his way.]

GM: Frank Dylan James just took the whole ring to school! Every man is
down, and this insane... insane, this... 

BW: Freak of nature!

GM: This man is the dominant force in this ring right now!

MB: And don't you know what it's like to be slapped around by this guy,
eh Gordy? 

GM: I didn't appreciate that, thank you very much.

[And neither did Paul Driscoll, who scrapes himself off the canvas to
fire a right hand, and then a second into the mug of James. He tries to
whip FDJ into the ropes, but fails miserably and is sent for the ride
himself in short order...]

GM: Driscoll sent for the ride... he ducks a back elbow, and stops on a
dime... James turns around...

[The crowd explodes!]

BW: DISCUS PUNCH! James is out on his feet!

GM: Frank Dylan James is stumbling from the massive right hand by Paul
Driscoll, and everyone else in the ring converges on him! Houston,
Rogers, Shaw, Slater, Driscoll, they're all pummeling away! And Cooper,
Dave Cooper-

[The crowd explodes again!]

GM: He pulled down the top rope, and Frank Dylan James tumbled right out
of the ring! 

BW: I can't believe it, they managed to get him out of there!

MB: I hope that security force is ready to haul themselves back out
here.

[The massive West Virginia native is quickly surrounded by every
official, security guard and off duty police officer in the Dallas area,
who cajole him roughly down the aisle, just as Melissa Cannon makes it
official.]

MC: FRANK DYLAN JAMES HAS BEEN E-LIMINATED!

[A cheer goes up from the AWA faithful, as Paul Driscoll plays to the
crowd in celebration.]

GM: Paul Driscoll has reason to celebrate, because that man from West
Virginia is a bonafide monster.

MB: Don't play too long, Driscoll, there's still a match going on.

GM: Kevin Slater is up, and he charges... big clothesline to the back of
Paul Driscoll, and Driscoll goes over- a boot to the face from Kevin
Slater, and Paul Driscoll's night is over! You're right Marcus, one
moment too long and Kevin Slater took advantage of it!

MC: PAUL DRISCOLL HAS BEEN E-LIMINATED! 

[Driscoll lays on the ringside floor for a minute as Slater dusts his
hands off, then rolls to his feet and heads for the showers.]

GM: The Pistol was close, so close, but Kevin Slater caught him napping
and sent him out of the ring.

MB: I gaurantee you that if Driscoll _had_ made it to the main event
tonight, with that kind of need for attention I would have dismantled
him. That kind of thing doesn't fly when I'm in the ring.

BW: Paul Driscoll deserves it, after acting the fool. At least act like
you've been there before, Driscoll, a little class ain't too much to
ask.

GM: Paul Driscoll is a classy individual, Bucky Wilde, but Marcus
Broussard I want to ask you something. Did you expect to see someone
like Dave Cooper, a tag team wrestler primarily, make it this far?

MB: Cooper's doing yeoman's work in there, Gordon. He may be a tag team
wrestler for the most part, but he's making this shot count. I respect
someone like that, taking the bull by the horns and fighting like heck
for this opportunity.

[Five men left now, and Dave Cooper is joined by Adam Rogers, putting
the boots to Ron Houston. Kevin Slater and Mark Shaw take their time and
then grab Adam Rogers, sending him for the ride and putting him up in
the lights with a double flapjack.]

GM: Waaay up high goes Adam Rogers! Kevin Slater and Mark Shaw are
choosing to isolate Adam Rogers, as Kevin Slater is now climbing to the
middle turnbuckle. Side backbreaker by Shaw... Slater with the elbow to
the exposed head of Adam Rogers!

BW: They dang near decapitated the Natural, daddy! It's like a
demolition derby all up in here!

MB: Wow. Another nice double team combination.

[Let's remember that Houston has now turned the tide on the now solo
Dave Cooper, and is pounding away in the adjacent corner.]

GM: Slater's right back outside, and he's climbing to the top rope now.
Shaw has Rogers double over, going for a- you don't think?

MB: Anything you've got to do for a shot at the champion, Gordon, oh the
humanity!

GM: There is none! If they hit an assisted piledriver on Adam Rogers,
we're going to have a medical emergency on our hands!

[It is at this moment that Dave Cooper puts a thumb to the eye of Ron
Houston and then races across the ring, slamming sternum first against
the ropes and causing Kevin Slater to slip on the top rope and then go
crotch first to the corner! A big "oooooooooh" from the fans, just as
Rogers sweeps the legs of Mark Shaw.]

GM: Adam Rogers with a great counter, and he's setting up for- yes, for
a slingshot! Cooper grabs Slater... and slams him off the top rope!
Rogers with that slingshot, and Shaw goes headfirst to the post! 

MB: If someone takes out Slater, does that mean they get the big pay
day? Does this count, Bucky? 

BW: I gotta think that bounty is up for grabs at any time! If Slater
gets any closer, I might take a whack at him myself!

[Who did Slater land next to when he was thrown off the top rope? Why,
that'd be Ron Houston, who grabs Slater by the throat and hurls him into
the corner.]

BW: We might need the collection agency daddy, 'cause Big Ron Houston
has Kevin Slater all to himself!

GM: Slater in that corner... driving knee by Ron Houston, and another!
Kevin Slater can barely stand! 

[Seeing this, Houston summons a strength from deep down and lifts Slater
up in a gutwrench... pivots 180 degrees and  slams Slater down with a
powerbomb!]

GM: Tremendous, prodigious strength from Ron Houston! Dave Cooper now,
looking to make himself famous, grabs Mark Shaw in a front facelock, and
goes for the bulldog- no, Shaw pushed him right off and right into Ron
Houston! 

BW: And Houston ain't wasting no time, he's got him right up on his
shoulders! 

GM: Ron Houston, near the ropes now... FADE TO BLACK OVER THE TOP ROPE!
DAVE COOPER HAS BEEN JETTISONED TO THE FLOOR AND THROWN OUT OF THIS
MATCH!	

MC: DAVE COOPER HAS BEEN E-LIMINATED! 

[The crowd gives Cooper one hell of an ovation, getting out of their
seats and applauding the man who stood toe to toe with the very best in
the AWA.]

GM: Listen to these fans pay tribute to Dave Cooper, Bucky Wilde, he
fought with everything he had and wrestled a terrific match.

BW: I think we all had our eyes opened tonight by ol' Coop, baby. He was
as good as the best guy in the building tonight.

GM: Dave Cooper being escorted by the ringside area now, as we are down
to the final four. Ron Houston, Kevin Slater, Adam Rogers and Mark Shaw.
All four men who want a piece of you and want a piece of that title,
Marcus Broussard.

MB: It ain't easy being the king, Gordon, that's why men like myself are
so special. We can handle it.

[All four men stay in their respective corners for a moment, and it is
Kevin Slater who bursts out of his corner and goes airborne with a
Stinger Splash onto Ron Houston, unleashing lefts and rights as soon as
his feet hit the ground. The crowd loves this!]

GM: Kevin Slater is getting his third wind in there, and he's going
after the biggest guy left in the ring. Body shots to the big man in the
corner, and now's about the time when those shots to the body start to
pay off.

MB: Absolutely correct, Gordon. Ron Houston is a big man, and he is not
in the best shape in the world. He is strong enough to shake off the
body blows early in the match, but as this match has gone on you can see
that Houston slowed down in large part due to those body shots.

GM: Slater sends Houston for the ride, no, reversed by Houston! Slater
off the far ropes and he's CAUGHT by Ron Houston!

[Houston takes two steps forward and then hurls Slater over his head
with a fallaway slam. No sooner does Houston hit the ground from
delivering that maneuver than do Rogers and Shaw circle around him like
a pack of dogs, stomping Houston, dropping knees on him, dropping elbows
and doing everything in their power to keep the powerhouse on the
ground.]

GM: Kevin Slater is trying to get to his feet near the ropes, and Mark
Shaw has spotted him. Slater to his feet, and Shaw knocks him over the
ropes with a clothesline! Kevin Slater is on the apron and he scrambles
to his feet! Now a wild right hand to Mark Shaw, and another!

BW: He's fightin' like he knows he's six inches away from being out of
the running!

GM: Another right hand by Kevin Slater, who's keeping hold of that top
rope with his left. Now a shoulder block to the midsection, and Slater- 

BW: HE FELL OFF! SLATER FELL OFF THE APRON! HE'S GONE!

GM: What in the world-?

[The camera swings down to see that Slater didn't fall... he had his
feet pulled out from under him by the Super Ninja, who has commenced to
stomping the hell out of Slater on the floor. This causes the crowd to
erupt in a chorus of boos, as Marcus Broussard cackles away at the
announce position!]

MB: Hahahaha, what now Kevin Slater! I told you I'd have something for
you, I told you! And look at the Ninja, Gordon Myers, look at him take
apart Kevin Slater! He wants that money, he wants to collect the bounty!

BW: THE NINJA NEEDS NEW SHOES, DADDY, HE GOT KIDS TO FEED! WRITE THE
CHECK, BABY! HAHAHA, I LOVE IT, I LOVE IT!

GM: Kevin Slater has been robbed of his chance to win the AWA National
Title! You and the Super Ninja have perpetrated an injustice right here,
Marcus Broussard, this was all a setup!

MB: Of course it was, Myers. Did you think I would forget? Slater tried
to pull a fast one, and he deserved to be punished for his actions. This
is what happens when you try to screw me over, you get dealt with! Now
it's been fun boys, but I've got a match to go scout. I'm out of here.

[With a clunk, the champion slams his headseat down and casually strolls
to the ring, passing by the cloud of security that is trying to bring
Kevin Slater to safe harbor from the money hungry Super Ninja. Broussard
passes the Ninja and says something, causing the Ninja to stop the
attack and to disappear from whence he came...]

GM: Kevin Slater has been ROBBED, Bucky Wilde! Marcus Broussard and the
Ninja absolutely stole that chance from him, and the crowd is in a state
of shock. How can you continuously sing the praises of this man, our so
called champion?

BW: Do it to the man before he does it to you, that's what Uncle Sid
always said! Slater tried to buy his way into a title shot and pull the
carpet out from under Marcus, and this is what he gets. Never cross
Marcus Broussard, daddy, mark it down! He _never_ forgets!

GM: I can't imagine that there is someone this AWA crowd dislikes more
passionately than Marcus Broussard, and yet he is now circling the ring,
cheering on the competitors. How disingenuous. 

BW: He just wants to see a good match, that's all!

[Someone else who never forgets is Ron Houston, who catches a peak at
Broussard and immediately ducks between the ropes and hawks a choice
loogie at him, which the crowd loves! Houston bellows at Broussard as he
wipes the spittle off of his suit, and doesn't notice Adam Rogers
waiting for him to turn around...]

GM: Houston turns back into the ring... and Adam Rogers catches him with
a jawbreaker! Here comes Mark Shaw!

[Shaw follows up the jawbreaker with a jumping knee strike to the face
of the doubled over big man... and then he grabs a leg of the stumbling
Houston... lifting it up and slinging it over the top rope...]

BW: He's almost- Ron Houston-

[...and then pushing Ron Houston to the floor with one last shove!]

BW: Ron Houston is out! Ron Houston is out!

[The fans cheer for the elimination but boo that one of their favorites
is now out of the battle royal. The crowd of officials are back on the
job, making sure Houston doesn't make a run for Broussard, who is now
sitting next to the time keeper.]

MC: RON HOUSTON HAS BEEN E-LIMINATED!

[Mark Shaw falls back into the corner as the announcement is made, while
Adam Rogers catches his breath in an opposite corner.]

GM: Ron Houston has been thrown out by Mark Shaw, in no small part
because of the distraction that is Marcus Broussard-

BW: Houston spat on him! All over his nice suit!

GM: And we're down to these two competitors, fans. Mark Shaw and Adam
Rogers, with the winner going to the main event tonight for a shot at
the AWA National title. 

BW: It don't get no bigger than this, Gordo. A shot at the title!

[The fans begin to clap and stomp their feet as both men walk out of
their corners and begin to circle... Shaw is the first to move, lunging
with a right hand that The Natural ducks and counters with a rear
waistlock, then uses an amateur waistlock takedown to get Shaw on the
mat.]

GM: Adam Rogers may be the most technically sound competitor the
wrestling world has ever seen! Rogers now riding Shaw, spinning around-
oh, a back elbow from Shaw catches Rogers in the mush! Mark Shaw gets
off the mat and hooks for a suplex, Adam Rogers slides down the back!

[The Natural gains his balance, locks his arms around Shaw and pushes
him forward as if for a rolling reverse cradle. The Hellion grabs the
top rope with both arms and pushes off, sending Rogers tumbling back in
a somersault... but Rogers get to his feet and measures Shaw...]

GM: Dropkick right on the button, and Shaw tumbles over the ropes!

BW: He held on! Shaw's still on the apron, daddy, he's still sniffin'
that title shot!

GM: Shaw managed to somehow keep himself on the apron, and he blocks a
right hand from Rogers- and returns one in kind! Shoulder block to the
midsection doubles Rogers over...

[And Mark Shaw connects with a knee lift to the mush, stunning the
Natural and giving himself time to get back in the ring.]

GM: That kneelift has proven to be a dangerous maneuver! Shaw grabs
Rogers by the hair and THROWS HIM OVER THE ROPES! MARK SHAW DISPOSES OF
ADAM ROGERS!

[Or has he? The crowd is on it's feet cheering as Shaw raises his hands
in celebration, and they clearly watch as Rogers has himself suspended
above the floor, hanging on for dear life by the top rope. Rogers skins
the cat back in... and puts himself back in the ring, having not touched
the floor with either foot!]

BW: NOT SO FAST GORDO, ROGERS IS STILL IN IT! THE FAT LADY AIN'T SINGIN'
YET!

GM: Adam Rogers has saved himself from certain defeat, and Mark Shaw is
finding out by the reaction of the fans! Shaw charges- HE CLOTHESLINES
HIMSELF AND ROGERS OVER THE TOP ROPE! THEY ARE TANGLED IN THE ROPES!

[Both men are holding onto the top rope, and tangled in the bottom two
ropes, punching and kicking each other with any available appendage
while trying to maintain their balance. The crowd is on their feet
cheering, and then all of a sudden booing their lungs out...]

GM: BROUSSARD!


"WHAAAACK!"


GM: OH MY! HE WALLOPED SHAW WITH THE AWA NATIONAL TITLE, AND MARK SHAW
HAS FALLEN OFF! MARK SHAW IS ELIMINATED FROM THE BATTLE ROYAL! 

BW: ADAM ROGERS WINS! WE GOT ROGERS AND BROUSSARD IN THE MAIN EVENT!


"DING DING DING"


[Rogers rolls inside the ring as the bell rings, and Melissa makes the
announcement.]

MC: MARK SHAW HAS BEEN E-LIMINATED! THE WINNER OF THE BATTLE ROYAL, AND
ADVANCING TO THE CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH IN THE MAIN EVENT... 

"THE NATURAL" ADAM ROOOOOGGGEERRRRRRRRSSSSSS!


[Rogers is helped to his feet by the referee and raises his hands in
victory. He leans heavily on Michael Meekly to catch his breath, but
eventually comes to celebrate with the fans.]

GM: Adam Rogers has earned the title shot for tonight, even though he
got a little help from Marcus Broussard! The relationship between those
two still mystifies many people, and some might view this as Broussard
helping out his friend.

BW: Marcus Broussard ain't got no friends, Gordo, and that's how he
likes it! He had this all planned out from start to finish, and now he's
got an opponent that he knows as well as he knows himself! And, he's got
an opponent that just went through a grueling battle royal.

GM: That's certainly true Bucky, Adam Rogers has already paid a hefty
price just to get into the title match tonight, and one has got to
wonder-


"WHAAAACK!"


GM: ONE HAS GOT TO WONDER JUST HOW LOW MARCUS BROUSSARD WILL SINK TO
KEEP HIS TITLE!

[That'd be Broussard going upside Rogers' head with the title belt, then
stomping the hell out of him on the mat! The crowd comes unglued with
boos, hollering down hate for every move Broussard makes, and getting
even louder as he takes his coat off and slaps on the So-Cal Clutch!]


"DING DING DING DING DING DING DING!"


GM: Marcus Broussard is taking apart his challenger right here! 

BW: He ain't waiting for the title match, he wants a piece right now!

GM: Adam Rogers just went through a ten man battle royal! He can barely
stand from exhaustion, and Broussard has that ankle lock cinched in! Get
him out of here, someone needs to get this man out of here!

[The swarm of officials eventually gets into the ring and pulls
Broussard off, although by that point Marcus has done his damage. He
unleashes the hold and gets to his feet, collects his title and jacket
and exits the ring as we fade to black...

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

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

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

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

[Now to the Southern Championship Wrestling logo.]

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

[And then the PWR logo.]

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

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

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

[Fade to black...

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

GM:  Welcome back, fans.  Just before the break, we saw Adam Rogers win
the Top Ten Contenders Battle Royal to win a shot at Marcus Broussard
and the National Title in tonight's Main Event - but after the bell, the
San Jose Shark showed his true colors by assaulting Rogers, first with
the title belt and then with his dreaded SoCal Clutch anklelock.

BW:  We haven't seen much of the Clutch in the AWA so far but wrestlers
and wrestling fans around the world know just how effective it can be -
and if the Natural forgot, you can bet he's remembering that right about
now.

GM:  Rogers had to be helped from the ring after that attack, unable to
put his body weight on the injured ankle.  We understand that he is
being checked out by the AWA medical staff as we speak and we hope to
have an update on the Natural as soon as possible.  But the show keeps
a-movin' and up next, we've got our huge six man tag team grudge match. 
Let's go up to Melissa!

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

MC:  The following contest is a six man tag team match scheduled for one
fall with a thirty minute time limit.  

Introducing first...

[ZZ Top's "Sharp Dressed Man" starts up over the PA to the jeers of the
crowd.]

MC:  At a total combined weight of 663 pounds, they are the team of
"Subzero" Adrian Freeman, the "Ladykiller" Calisto Dufresne, and
"Hotshot" Stevie Scott...

TEAM STEEEEEVIE!

[The crowd boos the introduction as the curtain parts and the hated trio
makes their way into the WKIK Studios.]

GM:  Team Stevie?  Oh brother.  

BW:  What's the matter with that?

[The jeers continue as the trio works their way towards the ring. 
Freeman looks with disdain at the booing fans while Scott and Dufresne
seem to revel in it as they step up onto the ring apron before climbing
into the ring.]

MC:  And their oppon-

[Melissa drops the mic and runs like hell as Rick Marley comes sprinting
into view, followed closely behind by a slower Tin Can Rust and City
Jack.  Marley dives headfirst under the ropes into the ring, springing
to his feet as he's swarmed by Adrian Freeman and Calisto Dufresne while
Stevie stands back to watch, safely out of reach.]


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  There's the bell and heeeeeeere we go, fans!  

[A standing Marley is pummeled by both Dufresne and Freeman, trying to
beat him down...

...but a fired up Marley battles back, throwing haymakers at both of his
attackers, buying just enough time for City Jack to join him in the
ring.]

GM:  City Jack joins the fray and-

[A hard right hand from Marley knocks Dufresne back into the ropes...

...which gives City Jack an easy target as he barrels across the ring,
connecting with a running clothesline that takes Dufresne over the ropes
and down to the floor.]

GM:  OUT GOES DUFRESNE THE HARD WAY!

[City Jack quickly steps through the ropes, jumping off the apron to the
floor where Dufresne is lying.  Inside the ring, Marley has Freeman
backed down into the ropes where he grabs a handful of hair...

...and _hurls_ Freeman through the ropes to the floor!]

GM:  And there goes Freeman as well!

[Marley steps out on the apron, dropping down to the floor as well.]

GM:  That leaves Stevie Scott all alon- NOT FOR LONG!

[The crowd erupts as Tin Can Rust slides into the ring, lunging at a
surprised Stevie Scott who ducks away, flinging himself through the
ropes and out to the floor.  An irate TCR rolls under the ropes to the
floor, moving in pursuit.]

GM:  All six man are outside the ring - chaos has broken loose here in
the WKIK Studios!

BW:  Run, Stevie!  Run!  Get away from Old Man Must!

GM:  Stevie Scott looks like he's trying out for the Olympic team out
here - maybe the 100 meter dash.

[Scott races over near the entryway, shaking his head as Tin Can Rust
slowly approaches, pointing a finger of warning at him.  Back at
ringside, City Jack applies a side headlock on Dufresne, driving right
hands into his head while Marley pulls Freeman off the floor, grabbing
his arm.]

GM:  Fans, we're going to try to keep on top of all of this acti- OHHHH!

[The crowd roars as Marley executes an Irish whip, causing Freeman to
smash into the ringpost before crumpling down to the floor.]

GM:  Freeman is down again... City Jack rolls Dufresne under the ropes,
back into the ring.  Hey!  Hey, watch it now!

[Tin Can Rust's pursuit continues over by the announce table, Stevie
Scott grabbing Gordon by the sportscoat and using him as a human
shield.]

GM:  Get away from here!

[TCR shoves Bucky Wilde aside as he moves closer.]

BW:  Ack!  You can't do that to me!  I'm Announcer Of The Half Year,
daddy!

[Rust slowly approaches, glaring at Stevie...

...who suddenly shoves Gordon Myers into Tin Can Rust who holds the
play-by-play man steady.  Rust holds him up, making sure Gordon is okay
as Stevie races off towards the ring, taking a spot in the corner.]

GM:  Thanks, Rust.  Now go get that- well, just go get him.

[Rust nods his head as he works his way back to the ring, hopping up on
the ring apron where Rick Marley is standing.  Adrian Freeman has slowly
pulled himself up on the apron as well, leaving City Jack and Calisto
Dufresne inside the ring.]

BW:  That was a close one, Gordo.

GM:  I'll say.  I might need to change my drawers after that.

BW:  You really shouldn't have grabbed on to Stevie like that.

GM:  What the- give me a break, Bucky!

BW:  I know you like Moldy And Musty but trying to slow down Stevie so
he could get his hands on the Hotshot?  Totally uncalled for.  There's
no wonder you didn't win the Announcer Of The Half Year like I did,
daddy.

[Inside the ring, City Jack has pushed Dufresne back into a neutral
corner, driving boot after boot into the midsection of the Ladykiller,
leaving him gasping for air.]

GM:  Jack's got Dufresne in the corner, taking it to him just like he's
been wanting to do for years now.  These two started their war in Pro
Wrestling Revolution several years ago over Dufresne's Pacific
Championship.  And now, Jack's finally getting a chance at some payback.

[Grabbing the wrist, Jack whips Dufresne to the opposite neutral corner,
charging across...]

GM:  Here he comes!

[At the last second, Jack spins around to drive his backside into the
midsection...

...but Stevie Scott slides down the apron, yanking Dufresne's arm to
pull him to safety causing Jack to slam spinefirst into the
turnbuckles!]

GM:  Ohhh!  Stevie saved his partner in crime right there... and there's
a tag to Adrian Freeman!  It looks like Dufresne wanted to make a tag to
Stevie but the Hotshot waved it off.

BW:  He's saving himself for the right time, Gordo.

[Freeman races into the ring, throwing his 190 pounds at the back of the
stunned City Jack's knee, clipping the big man's leg out from under
him.]

GM:  Oh!  He took the knee out - that injured knee!  Adrian Freeman is
on the attack and whatever you think about him, you know he's cold
blooded inside that ring.

BW:  That knee took City Jack out of action at Memorial Day Mayhem and
basically sidelined him for a whole month.  You know it can't be all
sunshine and roses already.

[Kneeling on the ankle to pin the leg down, Freeman drives clenched
fists into the side of the injured knee.]

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

BW:  You want a DQ for punching the knee?

GM:  It's against the rules, isn't it?

[The referee's admonishments forces Freeman to climb to his feet,
arguing with the official...

...and then dropping back down, driving his knee into the side of the
injured limb.]

GM:  Ohhh!  Come on!  

BW:  What?  That was perfectly legal and quite effective.

[Freeman kneels on the canvas, pulling Jack's injured leg off the mat
and then bending it over the back of the Australian's neck in a modified
torture rack.]

GM:  What in the world is this?

BW:  That's a beautiful move, Gordo - look at the pressure, the torque
on the leg.  Jack is screaming out in pain.  This match may be over
right now.

GM:  Adrian Freeman is trying to finish the match right here, trying to
force City Jack to submit to this unusual submission hold - I don't even
know how to describe it.  Jack's clawing at the mat, trying to get to
the ropes... trying to-

BW:  Look at that!

[The crowd buzzes with concern as Freeman stands up, putting even more
leverage on the knee, dragging City Jack away from the ropes...

...and then cheers as a concerned Tin Can Rust charges into the ring,
blasting Freeman in the back of the head with a forearm to break the
hold.]

BW:  Hey!  Now _that's_ illegal, Gordo!

GM:  Well, I won't argue with that one.

[Rust steps out of the ring as the referee reprimands him.]

GM:  Freeman trying to shake off the effects of that, glaring at Tin Can
Rust.

[Freeman complains to the official as he drags City Jack off the mat to
his knees...

...where the Liberty, KY native drives a right hand into the
midsection.]

GM:  Ohh!  Shot to the breadbasket by City Jack  And another one!  The
big man from Liberty is fighting back!

[A third blow knocks Freeman back a few steps, allowing Jack to get up
to his feet...

...where Freeman lunges back in, connecting with a European uppercut
that knocks Jack back against the ropes.]

GM:  Freeman caught him off-balance and made him pay for it.  The
Australian is moving in now...

[The crowd boos as Freeman simply reaches out with both hands, squeezing
the windpipe of the fan favorite.]

GM:  A choke!  A blatant choke by Adrian Freeman!  Come on, referee!

[Freeman holds the choke, squeezing hard until the referee reaches the
count of four.]

GM:  He breaks the choke at four.  Look at that smirk on his face.  He's
pretty happy with himself.

[The Australian points threateningly at Rick Marley after breaking the
choke, shouting "You're next!" at the high-flyer...

...who promptly tries to get into the ring, being cut off by the
official as Stevie Scott slides into the ring.]

GM:  Come on!  Referee, turn around!

[The "Hotshot" and Freeman rain down punches and kicks on the dazed City
Jack against the ropes to the jeers of the crowd as a fired-up Rick
Marley tries to get past the distracted referee.]

GM:  The referee is being tied up by Rick Marley.  Marley's not a tag
team wrestler, Bucky.  He's going to be prone to making mistakes like
this.  You know Tin Can Rust wants in there just as badly but he knows
it's going to be trouble for his partner if he acts.

BW:  It's the difference between a singles wrestler in a tag team and a
tag team wrestler, Gordo.  I've managed a lot of tag teams and mistakes
like this can cost you bigtime every time!

[Marley finally resigns himself to the fact that he's not getting at
Freeman, stepping out of the ring just as Stevie Scott does the same
thing on the other side of the squared circle.]

GM:  The fans are all over the referee and I can't say that I blame
them.  City Jack just got worked over illegally behind the referee's
back.  

BW:  He was trying to put that goofball Marley out of the ring.  If you
want to blame someone, blame him.

GM:  Adrian Freeman has this match under control right now, dragging
City Jack back to his feet, shoving him back into the corner of... well,
I guess Team Stevie.

[With Jack in the corner, Freeman drives a trio of right hands into the
body, causing the referee to force Freeman away from the buckles...

...which allows both Stevie Scott and Calisto Dufresne to batter,
strangle, throttle, and choke the dazed City Jack in the corner.]

GM:  Come on!  This is ridiculous, Bucky.

BW:  Part of the game is not just knowing the rules - it's using the
rules to your advantage.  That's what you're seein', daddy.

[After a moment, Freeman moves past the referee towards the buckles
where Scott and Dufresne have backed off.]

GM:  Freeman moving in once agi- Jack fires back!  Jack with a right
hand!

[Freeman stumbles backwards as Jack moves out of the corner.]

GM:  Jack's gotta make a tag, Bucky!

BW:  No joke there, daddy.  City Jack's taking a beating in there.

GM:  Freeman with a righ- blocked!

[And the Australian gets crowned with a big overhead elbow smash,
knocking Freeman to the mat as Jack stumbles past, heading towards the
corner where both Marley and TCR are waiting with their arms
outstretched.]

GM:  Here we go!  Jack's going for the tag!  Jack's- 

[A desperate Freeman throws himself at City Jack's legs, grabbing both
ankles from behind.]

GM:  He's got Jack around the legs, trying to stop the tag!

[The two men struggle against one another, one trying to get towards the
corner while the other tries to pull him away.  Suddenly, Freeman drives
his own skull into the side of Jack's injured knee, taking him just
off-balance enough to yank him down to the mat.  The crowd deflates with
disappointment.]

GM:  Down goes City Jack.  Adrian Freeman used his body as a weapon and
managed to prevent the tag.  Rick Marley and Tin Can Rust were ready and
waiting for the tag but Freeman cut it off.

BW:  And now he's dragging City Jack back towards the corner of Team
Stevie, daddy.  Excellent tag team strategy.

GM:  It certainly is and-

[The crowd roars as for the first time... well, ever... Stevie Scott
slaps the hand of Adrian Freeman to bring himself into the match.]

GM:  Look at that, Bucky!  Stevie Scott makes the tag!

BW:  Why do you sound so surprised?

GM:  Are you kidding me?

[The Hotshot quickly steps in, stomping the downed City Jack while
Freeman continues to hold the legs.]

GM:  Come on, referee!  Get Freeman out of there!

[Stevie leaps up, dropping a knee across the chest of Jack as Freeman
finally releases his grip, stepping out to the apron as Stevie hooks a
leg.]

GM:  One!  Two!

[But the big man from Liberty powers out at two, leaving an annoyed
Stevie Scott glaring at the official.]

GM:  Right hand by Stevie!  And another!

[The crowd boos as he cradles Jack's head, driving repeated fists into
the head.]

GM:  Those are clenched fists, referee!  Get in there and stop him!

[After a few more, Stevie Scott goes for another lateral press, grabbing
the leg.]

GM:  One!  Two!  That's all though as Jack kicks out again.

[Stevie is a bit more irate this time as he gets to his feet, grabbing
the referee by the shirt and shoving him back into a neutral corner,
screaming at him.]

GM:  Leave the referee alone!  It's not his fault you can't finish off
City Jack.

[But as the referee is distracting Stevie, City Jack starts crawling
towards the corner.]

BW:  Ack!  Stevie, turn around!

GM:  Jack is crawling towards the corner... City Jack is going for the
tag and Stevie Scott doesn't even know it!  Dufresne and Freeman are
screaming at Stevie but he's not- City Jack is getting closer!  He's
getting closer!

BW:  Stevie!  Stevie!  What are you doing?

[Suddenly, Stevie Scott seems to realize what's going on, spinning
around to spot City Jack getting closer and closer to the corner.]

BW:  STEVIE, STOP HIM!

[The Hotshot races towards the Liberty native, trying to prevent the
tag...

...but not quick enough as Jack throws himself into the air, slapping
the hand of Rick Marley!]

GM:  TAG!  MARLEY MAKES THE TAG!

["Showtime" slingshots over the top rope, rearing back with a right hand
aimed squarely at one of the men who robbed him of a chance to be the
first National Champion...

...but Stevie dives backwards, tagging in Calisto Dufresne before
rolling out to the floor.  Calisto promptly steps into the ring,
sprinting across.]

GM:  Stevie tags in Dufresne...

[And as the former Pacific Champion draws near, Marley sidesteps and
hiptosses him to the mat.  As soon as Dufresne's back hits the mat,
Marley leaps straight up in the air and slams backfirst down across the
chest of his foe!]

GM:  Ohhh!  Hiptoss into a backsplash by Marley and-

[Adrian Freeman charges in as well...

...and gets caught in a drop toehold, taking him down to the mat as
Marley charges to the ropes, sprinting back out and connecting with a
sliding dropkick to the side of the face!]

GM:  Ohhhh!  Rick Marley's on fire, Bucky!

BW:  I don't care!  Somebody get some control in there!

GM:  Marley pulls Freeman off the mat... he's got Dufresne up too...

[The crowd roars as "Showtime" slams both men's heads together.]

GM:  DOUBLE NOGGIN KNOCKER!  OHHHH MY!

[With both men dazed and staggered, Marley races to the closest ropes,
rebounding back...

...and leaping into the air, splitting his legs so that one foot hits
each man in the face.]

GM:  Split-legged dropkick!  Both men go down!

[Marley is quickly back to his feet...

...and spins around, driving a right hand into the side of Stevie's
face, knocking him down to the floor.]

GM:  Ha ha!  And down goes Stevie Scott as well!  Rick Marley is taking
out everyone on the other side of the ring and I am loving every second
of it, Bucky.

BW:  That doesn't seem very impartial of you.  No wonder you finished
runner-up to me.

GM:  Marley pulls Freeman off the mat - these two have a lot of issues
to settle...

[The high flyer pulls Freeman into a side waistlock, hoisting the 190
pounder into the air...

...and spinning him around, dumping him down to the mat with a Blue
Thunder sitout powerbomb!]

GM:  OHHHH MY!  That'll do a number on ya!

BW:  STEVIE!

[Trying to attack Marley from behind, Stevie Scott charges in on
"Showtime"...

...and promptly gets caught in a surprising hiptoss that sends the
Hotshot crashing down across the chest of Adrian Freeman!]

GM:  OHHH!  STEVIE'S DOWN!

[The Ladykiller moves to attack as well, staggering a bit from the
nogging knocker...

...and stumbling right into a drop toehold that sends Dufresne's head
slamming down into the groin of Stevie Scott!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  Did you see that, Bucky Wilde?

BW:  Yeah, I saw it.

GM:  That oughta spoil Stevie Scott's post game party plans!

[With all three opponents down, Marley charges across the ring, leaping
to the top rope with amazing agility, and springing back with a
breathtaking moonsault...

...right down on the pile!]

GM:  OHHHH MY!  What a backflip dive by Marley!

[Scott and Freeman both roll to the floor as Marley walks around the
ring, pumping his arms to the cheers of the crowd.]

GM:  Rick Marley has got this crowd on their feet, Bucky.  He has
electrified the WKIK Studios!

BW:  Yeah, yeah, yeah - but he'd better not spend all his energy making
these idiots cheer for him.  He's still got a match, you know.

GM:  Oh, you can bet Rick Marley knows all about that.  He is aching for
payback on Stevie Scott and Adrian Freeman here tonight so he will not
forget that for a moment.

[Marley pulls the dazed Dufresne off the mat, firing him towards the
neutral corner and sprinting in right after him, leaping into the air
for a monkey flip attempt...

...but Dufresne hooks the ropes, causing Marley to slam the back of his
head into the canvas when he falls back.]

GM:  Ohh!  Nice counter by Dufresne!

[With Marley stunned, Dufresne immediately grabs his legs, flipping
through in a double leg cradle.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR- 

[Marley just barely breaks the count, firing his shoulder off the mat.]

GM:  Dufresne almost got him there and what a win that'd be for the
Ladykiller.  You can bet he would have flown right into the Top Ten
rankings if he knocks off Rick Marley - tag match or not.

BW:  What's he doing right here?

GM:  Maybe another double leg cradle?  Maybe a Boston Crab?

[But with Marley's legs hooked, Dufresne instead drops back, leveraging
Marley up...

...and causing him to slam chestfirst into the corner of Team Stevie!]

GM:  Catapult to the corner... and Stevie Scott makes the tag.  The
opportunist sees Marley in trouble and now he wants in there to be part
of it.

[The Hotshot starts climbing the ropes as Freeman steps in as well.]

GM:  Triple team coming up.  

[Each grabbing an arm, Dufresne and Freeman execute a double wristlock,
holding Marley wide open as Scott steps up to the top rope.]

GM:  Marley's at the mercy of the Hotshot - and here he comes!

[Scott leaps off the top, smashing Marley over the head with a double
axehandle smash.  Freeman and Dufresne exit the ring as Scott goes for a
cover.]

GM:  One!  Two!  Thr- no!  Marley slips a shoulder off the mat again!  

[Again irate, Scott cradles the head of his opponent and batters him
repeatedly with clinched fists before dragging Marley off the mat by the
hair.]

GM:  Tag to Freeman - that was quick.

BW:  Quick tags are the name of the game in tag team wrestling, daddy. 
Even you should know that.

GM:  Freeman and Scott with a double whip...

[And as Marley rebounds off the ropes, Scott and Freeman hook arms and
level "Showtime" with a running double clothesline that sends Marley
down to the mat, coughing violently.]

GM:  Ohh!  Shades of Memorial Day Mayhem right there.  That looked
eerily similar to Scott and Vladimir Velikov attacking Marley with that
Russian chain.  And Freeman right down for a cover!  

[The Australian reaches back with both arms to tightly hook a leg.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE- 

[The crowd breathes a collective sigh of relief as Marley fires a
shoulder off the mat just in time.]

GM:  Again, a very close near fall for Team Stevie.  And now it's Adrian
Freeman in the ring with his arch-rival.  He's dragging Marley off the
mat by the hair... half nelson...

[The 190 pounder shocks the crowd by hoisting Marley into the air with
the half nelson...

...and bringing him down hard across the bent knee in a backbreaker!]

GM:  Ohhh!  What a move by Adrian Freeman!

[With Marley on the mat, Freeman quickly wraps his legs around Marley's
left arm, trying to secure a cross armbreaker.]

GM:  Freeman's going for an armbar of some type and-

[The crowd starts booing wildly as Dufresne grabs Marley's legs from
outside the ring, wrapping them up in a figure four leglock around the
steel ringpost!]

GM:  Armbar by Freeman!  Figure four by Dufresne!  The referee needs to
stop this right now!

[Outside the ring, Dufresne wrenches on the legs, trying to do serious
damage...

...which causes City Jack to drop off the apron, slowly making his way
around the ring.]

GM:  Come on, referee!  Get this broken up!  Rick Marley's being ripped
apart by two men and-

[The crowd erupts as Dufresne gets drilled by City Jack, causing him to
break his grasp and fall to the floor.]

GM:  Yeah!  That'll do it!

[Outside the ring, City Jack drags Dufresne off the floor, drilling him
with a right hand that sends Dufresne stumbling into the front row of
seats in the WKIK Studios.]

GM:  We've got City Jack and Dufresne brawling on the floor!

[Adrian Freeman breaks his armbar as well, pulling Marley to his feet by
the hair, shoving him back into the corner...

...and drilling him with a European uppercut.]

GM:  Ohh!  Hard shot by Freeman puts Marley back in the neutral corner. 
Uh oh!

BW:  This is it, daddy!  "Subzero" is about to put Marley on ice!

[Freeman hoists Marley into the air, dropping him in a seated position
on the top turnbuckle.]

GM:  He's got Marley seated on the top rope... and he's climbing up as
well now...

[A quick camera cut outside the ring shows Dufresne slip a thumb into
the eye of City Jack before slamming his head into the bleacher bench
seats.]

GM:  There's a battle raging outside the ring for sure but inside the
ring... well, Adrian Freeman is looking to finish it off.

[Back inside the ring, we see Freeman step up to the middle rope...

...and eat a hard right hand from Marley.]

GM:  Marley's fighting back!  One right!  And another!  And a third big
haymaker!

[Marley pulls his feet back, slamming them both into the chest of
Freeman which sends the Australian crashing down to the canvas.]

GM:  Ohh!  Down hard to the mat... and that gives Rick Marley an
opportunity to turn this thing around... Marley on his feet... Freeman
staggers up as well...

[Leaping off the top, Marley looks to drive both feet squarely into the
jaw of his foe...

...who steps back, swatting the dropkick aside and causing Marley to
slam backfirst to the canvas!]

GM:  OHHH!  Marley missed the dropkick!

[But Freeman quickly steps forward, grabbing both legs for a Boston
Crab.]

GM:  Deep Freeze!  Freeman's going for the Deep Freeze!

[The voice of Melissa Cannon comes over the PA.]


"FIFTEEN MINUTES!  FIFTEEN MINUTES!  FIFTEEN MINUTES GONE BY!"


[Marley wriggles wildly, trying to prevent the move and as soon as
Freeman leans forward to try to solidify his balance, Marley somehow
grabs Freeman's head, pulling him into an inside cradle.]

GM:  ONE!!!  TWO!!!  THRE-  OHHHH!  SO CLOSE!

BW:  Too close, daddy.  Rick Marley almost pulled that one off.  

GM:  Marley - he's going for the tag!

[The crowd roars as "Showtime" crawls quickly towards the corner where
an anxious Tin Can Rust is waiting...

...but Adrian Freeman cuts him off with a well-placed elbowdrop into the
small of the back.]

GM:  A big elbowdrop - and that cuts off the tag attempt.  

[Freeman stays on top of Marley, digging the elbow into the back while
taunting a fired-up Tin Can Rust.]

GM:  TCR is dying to get in there, Bucky, absolutely dying.

BW:  As old as he is, I'd be careful about sayin' that, daddy-o.

GM:  Freeman back to his feet, pulls Marley up by the back of the tights
into a side waistlock...

[Out on the floor, we get another shot of City Jack and Calisto Dufresne
trading right hands near the emergency exit.]

GM:  And those two are _still_ brawling on the floor.  Their rivalry has
spilled over in a big way here tonight!

[Inside the ring, Freeman hoists Marley up for a belly to back...

...that Marley avoids by flipping right over onto his feet, leaping
right back up and driving both feet into the back of Freeman, sending
him sailing towards the corner.]

GM:  Nice counter by Marl- OHH!  TIN CAN RUST ROCKS FREEMAN!

[Freeman gets creamed by a right hand from Tin Can Rust that seems to
put the Australian on Dream Street, causing him to stagger backwards,
slowly turning...

...right into a deadleap rana by Marley that snaps Freeman down to the
mat and allows Marley to lunge forward.]

GM:  TAG!

[The crowd explodes as Tin Can Rust steps through the ropes for his
first legal appearance in the match...

...and promptly takes a rising Adrian Freeman right back down to the mat
with a running boot to the side of the head.]

GM:  He knocks Freeman flat again!

[Outside the ring, a loud crash draws everyone's attention as City Jack
apparently has hurled Dufrense through the emergency exit doors out onto
the streets of Dallas...

...and is now following behind him.]

GM:  What the- City Jack and Calisto Dufresne are out on the streets of
Dallas!  They're brawling out on the streets of this great city outside
the WKIK Studios!  

BW:  That's not fair!  City Jack's a thug, Gordo, plain and simple!

[Stevie Scott looks at the emergency doors with a shocked, pleading look
on his face...

...and fails to notice Tin Can Rust approach from behind.]

GM:  Here we go, Bucky.

BW:  STEVIE!  HEY, STEVIE!

GM:  Would you stop that?  Give me a break, Bucky.

[And as the Hotshot turns around...

...he gets brought over the top rope the hard way!]

GM:  HE BRINGS STEVIE IN WHETHER HE LIKES IT OR NOT!

[Stevie quickly rolls over, getting to his knees where he starts begging
for mercy...

...but Tin Can Rust is having none of it, shaking his head and raising a
clinched fist in the air to the cheers of the crowd.]

GM:  Rust is slowly moving in.  Stevie's trapped himself in the corner,
begging for Rust to ease up on him... to give him some mercy... but Tin
Can Rust is on the attack!

[Rust is within a step or two of Scott when Adrian Freeman staggers to
his feet, pulling his arms back in a double axehandle as he approaches
Rust from behind...]

GM:  Here comes Freeman!  Rust doesn't see him!

[Desperate to avoid the double team, Marley steps into the ring...

...and immediately gets cut off by the referee!]

GM:  Marley gets stopped by the ref!

BW:  And rightfully so!

[The big double axehandle crashes down across the back of Tin Can Rust's
head and neck, saving Stevie Scott for the moment as Freeman hits a
second big smash before pulling Rust's arms back behind him.]

GM:  Freeman's holding Tin Can Rust... holding him wide open for Stevie
Scott...

[Scott quickly gets to his feet, stomping the heel of his boot on the
mat a few times.]

GM:  What's he- I think he's loading that boot, Bucky!

BW:  What?  No way!  He's rallying the fans behind him!

GM:  Give me a break, Bucky.  He just loaded that boot!  I know it! 
Stevie Scott... with the loaded boot...

[And Scott charges out, lashing out with the allegedly-loaded boot aimed
straight at the jaw of TCR.]

GM:  HEATSEEKER!

[But the superkick misses the target as Rust dives aside, causing Stevie
to land that boot squarely under the jaw of Adrian Freeman, knocking
Freeman over the ropes to the floor...

...where he is absolutely motionless!]

GM:  HE CAUGHT FREEMAN!  HE MISSED THE TARGET AND CAUGHT FREEMAN
INSTEAD!

BW:  Good gawd almighty, Gordo... Freeman is OUT!

GM:  He got drilled with that loaded boot and- yeah!

[The crowd erupts as a terrified Stevie Scott finds himself face to face
with a wild-eyed Tin Can Rust who is nodding his head to the roars of
the crowd.]

GM:  Finally!  Finally!  We finally get Stevie Scott stuck in the ring
with Tin Can Rust and the roof is coming off the WKIK Studios here in
Dallas!  What a night!

[Stevie attempts to make a run for it...

...and gets cut off by Rick Marley who slides down the apron to block
his path, causing Stevie to spin back around, looking for another path.]

GM:  There's no way out, Stevie Scott!  It's time to pay the price for
everything you've done for the past few months!

[Stevie looks around frantically...

...and then starts waving his arms like a maniac.]

GM:  I don't- what's he doing, Bucky?

BW:  I have no idea actually.  It looks like- aw yeah!

[The crowd explodes in jeers as Kolya Sudakov and Vladimir Velikov
emerge from the locker room area, tearing towards the ring at top
speed.]

GM:  The Russians!  Stevie was calling for the damn Russians!

[Spotting the Russians on the attack, Rick Marley charges down the ring
apron, hurling himself off in their direction to try and cut off the
attack...

...and does manage to knock Kolya Sudakov off his feet, landing on top
of him with a crossbody.]

GM:  SUDAKOV GOES DOWN!

[But Vladimir Velikov manages to get into the ring, steel chain in hand
as Tin Can Rust rushes to greet him...

...and pops him with a right hand to the side of the head.]


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


[The fans boo the ringing of the bell as Velikov and Tin Can Rust trade
haymakers as quickly as they can.]

GM:  The match is over but the fight rages on!

[Seizing the moment, Stevie Scott buries a knee in the back of Tin Can
Rust.]

GM:  Ohh!  Come on!

[Velikov throws himself at TCR, knocking him flat with a clothesline. 
With Rust on the mat, Stevie stomps him repeatedly while Velikov
retrieves his fallen chain.]

GM:  Oh no.  

BW:  Oh yeah!

GM:  Velikov's going for that chain.  That big nasty Russian is grabbing
that chain they used on  Rick Marley at Memorial Day Mayhem to take him
out of the National Title Tournament.  

BW:  We've got the big Russian Chain match later tonight but I think
we're going to get to see it early, daddy!

[Scott yanks Rust off the mat, shoving him into the ropes.]

GM:  Velikov's got the chain... double whip...

[With Rust rebounding off the far side, Scott and Velikov stretch the
chain out between them.]

GM:  NO!  NO!  NOOOOOOO!

[But just before Rust comes back, Rick Marley gets up on the ring apron,
leaping into the air and springboarding off the ropes...

...only to take out both Stevie Scott and Vladimir Velikov with a cross
body!  The crowd explodes!]

GM:  OH YEAH!  Rick Marley with the big time save for Tin Can Rust,
returning the favor from the tour!

[Scott and Velikov retreat from the ring, leaving Tin Can Rust and Rick
Marley standing tall.]

GM:  Rust and Marley are ruling the ring - and the Russians and Stevie
are making a run for the border, Bucky.

BW:  This ain't over, daddy - not by a long shot.  I guarantee you that.

GM:  Fans, we'll be right back - don't go away!

[Marley and Tin Can Rust exchange a high five as we fade to black...

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

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

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

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

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

We wrap up the month of July on the 25th, 26th, and 27th on the road
with cities to be announced!"

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

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

[And we fade away from the graphic...

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

GM:  Welcome back, fans, to The Battle Of Dallas.  Two matches down,
three to go - and we want to get right back into things but before we
do, we have a quick update on the condition of "The Natural" Adam
Rogers.  If you're just joining us, in our opening match tonight, Adam
Rogers won a Top Ten Contenders Battle Royal.

BW:  Thanks to the champ.

GM:  That's correct.  Marcus Broussard, the National Champion,
interfered in the Battle Royal, scoring the win for Rogers.  In fact,
you could basically give Broussard credit for the eliminations of Ron
Houston, Mark Shaw, _and_ Kevin Slater.

BW:  Yeah, baby!  The champ took 'em all out!

GM:  Of course, after the match, he also tried to take out Adam Rogers. 
He hit him with the belt - then he slapped on the SoCal Clutch, trying
to injure the ankle of the Natural.

BW:  And he succeeded, daddy!

GM:  Yes, yes he did.  Rogers had to be helped from the ring and was
immediately rushed to the AWA medical staff for examination.  As of
right now, the preliminary report from the medical staff is that Rogers
has suffered an ankle sprain.  At this time, we do not know how bad the
sprain is.

BW:  What we do know is that Rogers won't be able to wrestle for the
gold tonight, right?  Cut to the chase, Gordo!

GM:  We have not been informed of that as of yet but we will continue to
update his condition throughout the broadcast.  With that in mind, let's
head up the ring for perhaps the biggest grudge match to date in the
AWA.

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

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

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

MC:  Introducing first...

[Hollow-sounding drumbeats and reedy-toned woodwinds form an ominous
tune (amongst the backdrop of the thunderstorm) over the PA, as the
behemoth form of Tumaffi steps forth from the curtain to a deafening
shower of boos.]

MC:  Coming down the aisle from the Island of Samoa... weighing in at
405 pounds...

TUUUUUUMAAAAFFI!

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

GM:  Here he comes, Bucky.  One of the most unstoppable, indestructible
forces I've ever seen in all my years associated with this business. 
Tumaffi is a monster - plain and simple.  And Ricky Royal has his work
cut out for him here tonight.

BW:  Erik Reid... Cal Casey... and Ricky Royal.  It's got a nice ring to
it, don'tcha think?

[Clad in a loose flowing black silk robe with a dark-colored floral
design, Tumaffi glares at the still jeering crowd...

...and is completely oblivious to the Ragin' Rebel, Ricky Royal's sudden
arrival through the entranceway at top speed.]

GM:  IT'S RICKY ROYAL!  ROYAL IS HER- OHHHH YEAH!

[The crowd explodes yet again as Royal leaps into the air, diving onto
the back of the surprised Tumaffi, throttling him with rights and lefts
thrown at wild velocity...

...until the big man stumbles over his own robe, dropping down to the
concrete floor.  Royal pops up to his feet, letting loose a big Rebel
Yell before dropping down to his knees, raining down overhand blows with
both arms to the head and neck area.]

GM:  Royal has snapped, fans!  He's lost it!  After what happened to
Erik Reid... after what happened to Cal Casey...

BW:  After what happened to you.

GM:  Well, perhaps, yes.  With all that weighing on his mind, Ricky
Royal is determined to take it to the big Samoan here tonight.  Look at
those blows - there's no measuring there, it's just pure aggression.

[Royal peels off finally, leaping into the air to drive a big stomp down
on the massive chest of the big man as the referee inside the ring
screams for Royal to get inside to start the match.]

BW:  Is this redneck goofball actually trying to get Tumaffi off the
floor?

[With great effort, the Ragin' Rebel manages to get Tumaffi up to a
knee...

...where he promptly buries his head in Royal's midsection, sending him
stumbling away.]

GM:  And now it's Tumaffi fighting back from his position down on the
floor. 

BW:  These two haven't gotten anywhere near the ring yet, Gordo.

GM:  As long as they stay away from our broadcast table, that's fine by
me.

[Tumaffi gets himself to a vertical base as Royal staggers closer to the
ringside area, leaning against the side of the bleachers to stay on his
feet.]

GM:  Royal's over by the fans - Tumaffi's coming after him!  The
referee's screaming at the Samoan monster but he's not listening any
more than Royal is!

BW:  I'm tellin' ya, daddy - Ricky Royal's career ends tonight.

GM:  I don't even want to think about that.

[The big man moves in on his prey...

...who reaches out suddenly, raking his fingers across the eyes of
Tumaffi.]

GM:  Oh!  

BW:  That's a dirty trick, Gordo!  He should be disqualified for that!

GM:  The match hasn't even started yet, Bucky.

BW:  I don't care!

[A blinded Tumaffi staggers around, trying to regain his sight when
Royal grabs two hands full of the long black hair...

...and _slams_ Tumaffi's head into the WKIK Studios wall!]

GM:  OHHHH!

BW:  Come on, Gordo!  Even you have to admit this is over the line!

GM:  Ricky Royal has thrown the rulebook out the window here tonight at
The Battle Of Dallas - I'll admit that!  He went with a sneak attack
before the bell.  He's gone to the eyes.  And now he sends Tumaffi
headfirst into the wall of this very building.

BW:  That could give a man a concussion!

[If that man was not Tumaffi perhaps...

...who apparently doesn't even feel the blow to the wall as he suddenly
lashes out with a knife edge chop across the side of the neck, knocking
Royal down to a knee.]

GM:  You've gotta be kidding me!  That slam into the wall of the
building did nothing to Tumaffi!  I can't believe it.

[Winding way back with both arms, Tumaffi lashes out with both hands,
driving hard chops down onto the neck and shoulder of the Mississippi
native, dropping him down to the floor.]

GM:  And down goes Royal.  Ricky Royal gets knocked flat out on the
cold, hard concrete floor with that big Mongolian style double chop,
Bucky.

BW:  Royal needs to stick and move - he needs to cheat his head off if
he wants to survive this.

[Tumaffi drives his bare foot down hard into the sternum of the downed
Royal as he barks sharply.]

GM:  Goodness.  I don't know if this fight on the floor is turning out
so well for Ricky Royal.  I know how badly Ricky wanted in this match -
but turning it into a fight hasn't gone so well for him so far.

[The big Samoan drags Royal off the mat by the back of the tights,
pulling his head back to shout at him.]


"YOU END TONIGHT!  YOU!  END!  TONIGHT!"


[And a hard chop across the chest takes Royal back down to the floor
again.]

GM:  Tumaffi, quite frankly, is an amazing competitor to see in action. 
Most guys in the business, you need several blows to knock someone off
their feet.  This guy?  Just one.  

BW:  When you've got 405 pound behind your shots, it's a little easier,
daddy.

GM:  You've got that right.

[Tumaffi pulls Royal off the floor again, dragging him over to the
ring.]

GM:  And finally, it looks like we're on the way to the ring.  Tumaffi
dragging Royal over near the ring apron now... tossing him back under
the ropes...

[Sneering at the jeering fans, Tumaffi slowly walks up the wooden
ringsteps, stepping onto the ring apron...

...where he finds Ricky Royal on his feet inside the ring, looking to do
some damage.]

GM:  Royal's on his feet... Tumaffi is- ohh!  Right hand by Royal!

[The crowd roars as Royal peppers Tumaffi with right hands from inside
the ring, trying to knock the Samoan off the apron and down to the
floor...]


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  It looks like this match is now officially underway.  And just in
time as we're about to move into our second hour of ring action here at
The Battle Of Dallas.

[Royal throws two more right hands, leaving a dazed Tumaffi hanging onto
the top rope with both hands, his weight perilously pulling him the
opposite direction.]

GM:  Royal's got Tumaffi in trouble...

[Winding up both arms, Royal slams them together on the ears of the big
man.]

GM:  Bellringer!  Tumaffi's in trouble... 

[And the big Samoan's grip loosens more, dropping to only one hand
keeping his 405 pounds on the ring apron.]

GM:  Tumaffi's barely hanging on with one hand, trying to- Royal off the
ropes!

[The Ragin' Rebel sprints across the ring, running at full speed...

...and connecting with a huge running haymaker that seems to loosen
Tumaffi's grip even more, his eyes rolling back a bit in his head.]

GM:  The Samoan simply will not fall!

BW:  You said it earlier, Gordo - he's unstoppable!  

GM:  Royal to the ropes again... another running right hand connects!

[Royal staggers away, shaking his hand from the impact of the punch.]

GM:  He might have hurt his hand on the head of Tumaffi right there. 
He's shaking it, trying to regain the feeling.

[The Ragin' Rebel shakes his head in disbelief as Tumaffi manages to
keep on the apron, refusing to fall.]

GM:  Royal to the ropes again... here he comes!

[But this time, as Royal approaches, Tumaffi pulls all his weight back
up on the apron, catching the running Royal under the chin with a big
back elbowsmash.]

GM:  Ohh!  Right to the jaw!  He caught Royal with that one!

[Royal falls to a knee from the impact which allows Tumaffi to reach
over the ropes, grabbing Royal under the arm...

...and using a HUGE hiptoss to hurl Royal clear over the ropes and down
to the concrete with a thud!]

GM:  OHHHHHH!  DID YOU SEE THAT?!

BW:  This is over, Gordo.  It's over right now.  Ricky Royal just got
tossed over the top rope like Mama tossin' that old cat off the front
porch.  Royal went waaaay over the ropes and slammed backfirst down on
the concrete floor!

GM:  Luckily for Royal, he landed on the area of the floor that is
thinly padded but I don't know if even that is enough to prevent a
serious injury right there.

[The referee reprimands Tumaffi for the move, the Samoan leaning on the
ropes to recover from the attack so far in the match.]

GM:  A slightly-winded Tumaffi is leaning on the ropes, still out on the
apron.  The referee is really letting him have it right now.  

BW:  I bet these fans are wishing they'd voted to instate that Top Rope
DQ rule right now, Gordo.

GM:  You could be right, Bucky.  And I don't know if this match can
continue.  Royal has barely moved since he hit the floor - we may need a
stoppage right here.

[Referee Michael Meekly slides under the ropes to the floor, kneeling
down next to Ricky Royal to check his condition as Tumaffi turns to face
the floor, glaring down at his victim and the official.]

GM:  The referee looks very concerned right here.  He looks very
concerned as he examines Ricky Royal and- he's calling for a doctor! 
The referee wants a doctor out here right now to examine Ricky Royal.  

BW:  It's all over, daddy!

GM:  Not yet it's not.  That decision has not been made official just
yet but Royal is definitely in some bad shape right now.  We need to get
some-

[The crowd suddenly ERUPTS into cheers!]

GM:  I don't believe it!  Is that-

[The camera cuts to the entryway where someone has emerged from the
locker room area.]

GM:  It's Erik Reid!  Erik Reid has entered the WKIK Studios!

[Looking to still be in pretty bad shape, Reid slowly makes his way into
view of the crowd, roaring for his appearance.  He's dressed in street
clothes but is moving very gingerly as he makes his way towards the
downed Royal.]

GM:  Erik Reid's here at The Battle Of Dallas!

BW:  This guy doesn't know when to quit.  Tumaffi might just decide to
put him through the floor again, Gordo.

GM:  Tumaffi looks as surprised as anyone.  He's pointing at Reid,
screaming "What are you doing here?" at him but Erik Reid's here and
he's- it looks like he's come to check on Ricky Royal.

[The camera pulls in close as Reid kneels down next to Royal, visibly
wincing as he does so.  Reid nudges the referee aside as he puts a hand
on Royal's shoulder, shaking him slightly.  Our cameraman is close
enough to pick up Reid's voice as he speaks.]

"Get up, Royal."

[Getting no response, Reid shakes him harder.]

"Get your butt off the floor and fight this guy!"

[Still no response.  Reid shakes harder.]

"Come on, Ricky!  You've gotta do it!  You've gotta fight this guy!"

[Royal's eyes open but there is still no reply...

...until Erik Reid winces as he reaches back and slaps Royal hard across
the face.]

"GET UP, YOU SONUVABITCH!"

[Royal's eyes light up with fire as Reid nods his head.]

"That's right.  Get in there and fight.  Fight for Cal.  Fight for me. 
Fight for Gordon.  Fight for your family."

[Royal winces as well as he sits up on the floor to the roar of the
crowd.  Reid stands up, helping Royal to his feet and then giving him a
little shove towards the ring where Tumaffi has stepped back inside the
squared circle.]

GM:  Royal's up!  Royal's up!

[The wild-eyed Ragin' Rebel dives headfirst under the ropes, springing
to his feet and ducking under a wild chop from Tumaffi as he races to
the ropes behind the big man...

...and catches him with a leaping shoulderblock on the rebound that
causes Tumaffi to stagger back against the ropes!]

GM:  Yeah!  Here we go!  Royal is fired up and ready for the fight of
his life!

[Royal gets back up, lashing out with a boot to the gut of Tumaffi
before grabbing a handful of the long black hair, pulling the big Samoan
to the turnbuckles.]

GM:  Royal moves him over to the corner, shoving him in... irish whi-
reversed by Tumaffi...

[And the big Samoan bulldozes in towards the corner where Ricky Royal is
standing...

...until he leaps in the air at the last second, leaning back into the
buckles to push both feet out and squarely into the face of the
rampaging Tumaffi!]

GM:  CAUGHT!  HE CAUGHT TUMAFFI CHARGING IN!

[The impact of the feet to the face causes Tumaffi to spin away from
Royal who promptly hops up to the middle rope, lets loose one of those
trademark whoops...

...and then leaps from the middle rope, snaring Tumaffi in a side
headlock, and _driving_ his face into the canvas!]

GM:  BULLDOG!  MIDDLE ROPE BULLDOG!  

[Royal, with much effort, rolls Tumaffi onto his back and goes for a
lateral press.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  

[But the mighty Tumaffi proves he's nowhere near finished yet as he
presses Royal high into the air off of him, throwing him down to the
mat.]

BW:  Wow!  What a kickout, daddy!

GM:  Tumaffi showing Ricky Royal that he's gonna need more that a couple
of boots and a bulldog to finish him off.  Royal looks a little shocked.

[Royal leans against the ropes, waving for Tumaffi to get up off the
mat.]

GM:  Royal's ready - he's ready to keep the fight going.

[Tumaffi rolls to his stomach, pushing up to a knee.]

GM:  The Ragin' Rebel is moving in!

[With his fist clenched, Royal drives it hard into the skull of
Tumaffi...

...who shoves Royal off his feet in response.]

GM:  Oh!  Big show of power by Tumaff- Royal's back up!

[The Ragin' Rebel charges back in, throwing fists o' fire once more...

...and getting shoved down to the mat once more.]

GM:  Tumaffi throws him down again!  The big man is absorbing a lot of
punishment but somehow, he continues to fight.  Royal's right back up as
well thought!

[Royal charges in again...

...but Tumaffi ducks down, hoisting Royal up into a fireman's carry, and
_crushing_ him into the canvas with a mammoth Samoan Drop!]

GM:  OHHHHHHH!

BW:  That's it.  That's it, Gordo!

GM:  You could be right.

[Tumaffi leans back in a sloppy pin attempt.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  TH-

[A hurting Royal rolls a shoulder off the mat just before the three
count, breaking the pin attempt.  An angry Tumaffi sits up as Royal
slowly tries to roll away from him.]

GM:  Ricky Royal's up at two - and now he's trying to get the heck out
of there, Bucky.

BW:  It's a smart move, Gordo.  He's banged up and hurting.  He needs to
try to recover a bit more.

[Tumaffi slowly regains his feet as Royal rolls out onto the ring apron,
clutching his lower back and trying to recover from the big smashing
slam into the mat.]

GM:  Royal's on the apron.  Tumaffi's on his feet.

[With a loud bellow, Tumaffi barrels across the ring towards Royal...

...who drops down at the last moment, pulling down the top rope and
causing Tumaffi to topple over the ropes, crashing down to the
barely-padded concrete floor below!]

GM:  OHHHHH!  WHAT A COUNTER BY ROYAL!!!

[The crowd roars for the wild-eyed man from Mississippi as he pulls
himself back up using the ropes, leaning back on the ropes as the mighty
Tumaffi rolls to his back, chest heaving heavily.]

GM:  Tumaffi just got laid out... got laid out hard on the floor by
Ricky Royal.  

BW:  This is shades of Memorial Day Mayhem, daddy.  Mark Shaw beat
Tumaffi by countout to move on in the tournament.  You've got to wonder
if Ricky Royal has the same strategy.  Maybe he realized he can't pin
him - he can't make him submit.

GM:  I highly doubt that.  

BW:  Are you sure about that?  What's that nutcase Royal doing now?

[Royal backs all the way down the apron, pumping his arm up and down.]

GM:  I have no idea but this crowd is going crazy!

BW:  We saw him use the Rebel Yell Elbow at Memorial Day Mayhem.  Maybe
he's going to- HERE HE COMES!

[The Ragin' Rebel charges halfway down the ring apron before hurling
himself off the apron into the air...

...and slamming down across the heaving chest of Tumaffi with an
elbowdrop!]

GM:  OHHHHHHHHHHH!

[The crowd explodes for the flying elbowdrop off the apron.]

GM:  Right in the cold, black heart of Tumaffi!  That soulless beast who
has laid a path of destruction over the entire AWA for months just took
an elbow squarely in the heart and I think this might be over.  All
Ricky Royal has to do is roll back into the ring and this is all over!

BW:  I thought you said he didn't want to win that way!

GM:  I said he hadn't given up on a pinfall or a submission - but in a
war with a beast like Tumaffi, you win any way you can, Bucky!

[A tired, battered Royal crawls away from Tumaffi, using the ring apron
to drag himself off the floor, throwing himself under the ropes into the
ring as Michael Meekly starts a ten count.]

GM:  Royal's back in!  Meekly's got the count going!  Tumaffi is ten
counts away from losing to Ricky Royal here at The Battle Of Dallas!

[Meekly leans over the ropes, making the count of one...]

GM:  Royal's banged up pretty badly but he's using the ropes to pull
himself up... all 270 pounds off the mat.  The count is at two... now to
three...

[Out on the floor, the dazed and hurting Tumaffi rolls over to his
side.]

GM:  Some signs of life out of Tumaffi.

[Royal leans against the turnbuckles, trying to stay on his feet as
Meekly counts to four... then five...]

GM:  Tumaffi was furious after losing by countout at Memorial Day Mayhem
to Mark Shaw - can you imagine what he'll be like if it happens again
here tonight to Ricky Royal, Bucky?

BW:  Remind me to go move my car if that happens.

GM:  You can move mine too while you're out there.  The referee's count
is up to six...

[Tumaffi somehow manages to push himself into a seated position.]

GM:  Now to seven... Tumaffi's starting to recover but he needs to
hurry!

[The big Samoan shoves himself to his feet as the count reaches eight.]

GM:  Up to eight... he's wobbly... 

[Tumaffi staggers towards the ring as the count hits nine...

...and then rolls himself under the ropes just before the count of ten.]

GM:  And Tumaffi just barely beats the ten count!

[Tumaffi leans against the bottom ropes as he sits up inside the ring...

...which brings Ricky Royal in on the attack.]

GM:  Royal's moving on... ohhh!  Hard stomp right to the bridge of the
nose!

BW:  We're seeing a different Ricky Royal tonight, Gordo.  Just vicious.

[Grabbing the top rope, Royal screams as he drives stomp after stomp
after stomp down onto the face of Tumaffi.  The referee is right there,
screaming warnings at Royal.]

GM:  Ricky Royal's gone over the edge!  He's stomping Tumaffi into
oblivion!

BW:  DQ!  DQ!

[The referee locks his arms around Royal's waist, dragging him off of
the downed Tumaffi, screaming at the Ragin' Rebel...

...who shoves the referee physically aside, moving right back in to
continue stomping the head and face of the Samoan.]

GM:  Uh oh!  Ricky Royal needs to be careful here - he's walking a very
thin line towards being disqualified.  The referee has let them have a
lot of leeway tonight but getting shoved down by Royal is going too far.

BW:  DQ!  DQ!

GM:  Would you stop it?

[An irate Meekly grabs Royal around the waist again, physically dragging
him off the downed Tumaffi and getting right up in his face, threatening
a disqualification.]

GM:  Wow!  Michael Meekly is hot!  He's furious at Royal!

[Royal raises his hands, backing away as Meekly reads him the riot act.]

GM:  Ricky Royal came very close to getting DQd right there.  He needs
to settle down a bit.

[Royal nods his head at the referee, moving back in as he grabs two
hands full of Tumaffi's hair, pulling him to his feet and shoving him
back into the corner.]

GM:  Ricky Royal's still on the assault... 

[The crowd roars as Royal steps up to the midbuckle, winding up his
clenched fist...

...and driving it down into the temple of Tumaffi as the crowd counts
along.]


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

[With the crowd roaring, Royal jumps down from the middle buckle,
letting loose one of those Rebel Yells as Tumaffi staggers out of the
corner...

...and Royal ducks down, looking for a bodyslam!]

GM:  HE'S GOING FOR THE SLAM!

[But just as has happened every time, Royal comes up short as Tumaffi
buries a headbutt into the ribcage of Royal before hooking the Ragin'
Rebel...

...and dropping him down over the bent knee in a side backbreaker.]

GM:  Ohhh!  Big counter by Tumaffi! 

BW:  He was not about to go up for that slam.  Royal hasn't talked about
the slam in weeks but you can tell it's still in the back of his mind.

[The camera cuts outside the ring where a concerned-looking Erik Reid
gives a "Come on, Ricky!" shout that gets the fans going as Tumaffi
glares at Reid, pointing a meaty finger at him...

...before bringing his arm down in a big chop across Royal's throat,
dumping him off the bent knee.]

GM:  Oh!  He nearly took his head off with that, Bucky!

BW:  We saw him do that at Memorial Day Mayhem as well.  Almost like an
executioner right there, trying to cleave Royal's head clean off his
shoulders.

GM:  We're close to ten minutes into this match - not even counting the
brawling before the bell that made the match official.  And both of
these men have been through the wringer so far in this one.

[Tumaffi slowly gets to his feet, ignoring the referee protesting the
blow to the throat as he slowly moves in on Royal who has rolled close
to the ropes.]

GM:  Tumaffi dragging Royal off the mat by the hair, pushing him back
against the ropes... ohhh!  Big chop across the chest by Tumaffi!  

[Royal slumps down from the blow but the handful of hair yanks him right
back up...

...right before another chop connects that knocks Royal back out on the
apron.]

GM:  What a shot!  And again, Ricky Royal's out on the ring apron. 
These two seem like they've spent more time outside the ring than inside
in this one.

[The big Samoan reaches over the ropes, pulling Royal up to his feet...

...and getting a desperation thumb in the eye!]

GM:  Back to the eyes goes Royal!  This is a street fight for him!

[Grabbing the hand full of hair, Royal races down the apron, and _slams_
Tumaffi's head into the top turnbuckle!]

GM:  Head to the buck-

[A wild-eyed Tumaffi snaps his head back, showing no effect from the
headsmash to the buckles...

...and promptly drives the same head into the skull of Royal, knocking
him to a kneeling position out on the ring apron.]

GM:  Royal's down on a knee on the apron... Tumaffi's stepping out on
the apron as well...

[The big Samoan slowly approaches Royal, lifting him off the apron by
the hair...

...and promptly wrapping his massive paw around the throat of the Ragin'
Rebel!]

GM:  Oh my god.

BW:  He's gonna put Royal in a hospital bed!

[The crowd starts buzzing like crazy as Tumaffi nods his head, pointing
out at the concrete floor.]

GM:  He's gonna chokeslam Royal off the apron on the floor!  He's gonna
finish Ricky Royal - not just for tonight but possibly forever, Bucky! 
Somebody needs to stop-

[A burst of cheers goes up as the injured Erik Reid steps up on the
wooden ringside stairs.]

GM:  Erik Reid's on the steps!

[An irate Tumaffi glares at Reid, bellowing "You're next!" at him as he
sets to chokeslam Royal.]

GM:  The referee is trying to get Reid down from there!  He's trying to
get Reid off the apron!  Tumaffi is distracted though - screaming at
Reid who is buying Ricky Royal some time...

[With Tumaffi distracted, Royal digs down deep into the playbook for one
more dirty trick to save himself...]



"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"



BW:  He went low!  He kicked Tumaffi in the coconuts!

[Tumaffi stumbles back a few steps from Royal, clutching his... nether
region.]

GM:  Tumaffi's hurting and-

[The crowd ERUPTS!]

GM:  ROYAL TOOK HIS BOOT OFF!  ROYAL TOOK HIS BOOT OFF!  

BW:  That's exactly how all this started!

GM:  Royal's got that boot in hand...

[The Mississippi native charges down the apron and _blasts_ Tumaffi over
the head with the boot, sending him staggering back into the ringpost.]

GM:  Tumaffi's stunned!  He's been rocked!

[Royal steps back into the ring, slipping his arm into the wrestling
boot and with Erik Reid still distracting Michael Meekly, Royal charges
down the length of the ropes...

...and connects with a running boot-assisted lariat that causes the back
of Tumaffi's skull to smash into the steel ringpost before the big man
spirals off the apron, crashing down to the concrete floor below!]

GM:  HE'S DOWN!  HE'S DOWN!  TUMAFFI IS DOWN!

[Royal quickly throws the boot aside, collapsing in the corner as Erik
Reid backs away, allowing the referee to turn his attention back to the
match...

...and to the motionless body outside the ring.]

GM:  The referee is- he starts the count!

BW:  This isn't fair!  This is a conspiracy against Tumaffi!

[The referee's count reaches two... then three as Royal deftly manages
to keep his uncovered foot out of sight.  The crowd is counting along as
Erik Reid looks on hopefully.]

GM:  The count's up to four... now to five... and Tumaffi still hasn't
budged.

BW:  You wouldn't move either if some goof hit you with his boot...
twice!  

GM:  Not to mention having his head bounce off the steel ringpost.  The
count's at six.

[Our camera shot reveals Tumaffi's eyes blinking for a moment just
before he rolls over onto his side at the count of seven.]

GM:  We've got movement!  But is it in time?

BW:  Why aren't you upset?!  Where's your screaming about injustice now?

GM:  The count is at eight - Tumaffi pushes up to his feet!

[But the big Samoan is very wobbly as he tries to move towards the ring.
 Michael Meekly counts to nine as Tumaffi reaches the apron.]

GM:  Almost... he's almost there in time...

[Tumaffi reaches up to slide in...

...but slumps down to a knee allowing the referee's count to reach ten!]


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


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

[The fans cheer wildly as Ricky Royal gets back to his feet, raising his
arms triumphantly in the air.]

MC:  Your winner of the match as a result of a countout in a time of 13
minutes and 24 seconds...

RICKY ROOOOOOYAL!

[Another huge cheer goes up for Royal as he falls back into the corner,
arms raised high in the air in victory as the referee holds his hand
up.]

GM:  Ricky Royal has done it!  Ricky Royal has bested Tumaffi in this
bitter grudge match!

BW:  This isn't over, Gordo.  We both know it.  A countout won't be
enough for Royal and Tumaffi won't be able to live with losing that way.
 This dance is just gettin' good, daddy!

GM:  We shall see about that.  Fans, don't go away - we'll be righ- hold
on!

[A quick camera cut shows a ringside cameraman that had zoomed in a
little too close to Tumaffi stumbling backwards as a screaming Tumaffi
snatches the camera away from him...

...and _spikes_ it down on the concrete floor, causing it to shatter
from the impact.  The massive Samoan points an arm at Royal as he and
Reid retreat towards the locker room.]


"THIS!  IS NOT OVER!"


[Tumaffi stomps down hard on the wrecked camera 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 back up on the announce desk where Gordon Myers and Bucky
Wilde are standing.]

GM:  Welcome back to The Battle Of Dallas, fans, where we have already
witnessed an incredible night of action and we still have two big
matches to go.

BW:  Correction, Gordo.  One big match.  We both know that Adam Rogers
isn't going to make it out here for the National Title match later
tonight.

GM:  Well, we actually do have an update to give the fans on that
situation as promised.  Moments ago during the commercial break, we were
informed that Adam Rogers will, in fact, NOT be able to challenge for
the National Title tonight due to the ankle injury.

[The crowd boos the announcement.  Gordon nods his head.]

GM:  We regret to make that announcement as we were all greatly looking
forward to seeing Adam Rogers take on Marcus Broussard in the title
match.  However, that will not happen tonight.  

BW:  Haha!  I told ya, daddy!  Marcus wins by forfeit and WE GON'
SIZZLAH!

GM:  Not so fast, Bucky.

[Bucky Wilde looks confused... and concerned.]

GM:  The Championship Committee has been called in for an emergency
session as we speak.  They are reviewing the situation and we are told
that following the Russian Chain match coming up next, they will make an
official announcement regarding Marcus Broussard and the National Title.

BW:  An announcement?  What kind of announcement?

GM:  No idea, Bucky.  You'll find out when we all do.

BW:  That hardly seems fair.  I work here, you know?

GM:  I'm aware.

BW:  In fact, I'm the Announcer Of The Half Year, you know?

GM:  Yes, I did hear something about that somewhere.

BW:  So, somebody needs to keep me informed.  Get me an intern!

GM:  Fans, at this time, we would like to warn- 

[The fans inside the WKIK Studios begin to buzz with confusion...

...and the buzz quickly turns to wild cheers as a very familiar face to
wrestling fans makes his first appearance on AWA television, walking
over to the announce position.  He's clad in a black suit - complete
with cowboy boots and the big ol' Stetson.]

GM:  My goodness, fans - we've been joined here at ringside by "The
Outlaw" Bobby Taylor!  Mr. Taylor, welcome to The Battle Of Dallas!

[Taylor stops to exchange handshakes with both Myers and Wilde before
removing his hat, setting it on the desk.]

BT:  It's my pleasure to be out here, Gordon.  You too, Bucky... I
guess.

["The Outlaw" smirks as he turns away from the color commentator.]

GM:  What brings you here tonight?

[Taylor nods.]

BT:  Gordon, in my life, this business has pretty much been everything
for me.  All the friends I have in life - I have because of this
business.  All the money I have - I have because of this business.  All
the opportunities I have - I have because of this business.

["The Outlaw" lowers his eyes.]

BT:  Of course, it goes both ways.  This business has taken a lot away
from me too.  My wife.  My son.  A lot of people I thought were my
friends.  My health.

[Taylor nods his head slowly.]

BT:  I've been a pro wrestler for 12 years.  I've fought and bled in
almost every state and in a lot of different countries.  I've had my
body wrecked by legends of this game and I've had it done by people
whose name no one would remember if I dropped it now.  

Gordon, I'm a realist.  I know my days in that ring are numbered.

[Gordon looks a little solemn at these words.]

BT:  I may have a few fights left in me but not many.  As most of you
know, I've already started pursuing my life outside of the ring - but
something's been bothering me for months now and I think when I just sat
back there and watched Ricky Royal fight his heart out, it came to me
what it was.

In 1998, a man I worshipped took a chance on a young kid with some
spirit... with some fire in his eyes and some hunger in his heart.  He
took everything he had and he gave it up so that someone else had a
future in this sport.

[Taylor rubs his chin.]

BT:  For ten years, I've cared more about living up to his expectations
that I did about anything else.  I didn't need titles.  I didn't need
big money Main Events.  I needed to be the Outlaw of Professional
Wrestling in every sense of the word.  

Because he believed in me.

Now it's my turn.

[Gordon Myers speaks again.]

GM:  What are you saying, Bobby?

BT:  I'm saying, Gordon, that since my days in this ring are almost
over, then my days of being the Outlaw of Professional Wrestling are
over too.  Just like Jay Dubba did for me... it's time to step aside and
let someone else carry that mantle for both of us.

[Myers' jaw drops.]

GM:  You're going to give up being the Outlaw?

[Taylor grins.]

BT:  Well, I'm not sure you ever really give that up.  But I am going to
let someone else carry the name, the legacy, the history with them too.

[Bucky Wilde intervenes.]

BW:  Let me ask the question everyone wants answered... who?

[Taylor turns to face Bucky.]

BT:  That's the real question, isn't it?  The night I was made part of
this legacy - the old man told me something that has rang in my ears for
over ten years...

Jay Dubba said he came to see what kind of kid would wave the red flag
at the bull and ended up being surprised by what he saw.  He said that I
reminded him of himself - the angry kid who came back wanting more after
every beating and every drop of blood spilled.

That's when he knew.

[Taylor pauses.]

BT:  Gordon, this isn't a gift.  He told me that too.  "The Outlaw name
means you're gonna have a big ol' bullseye on your back and every hombre
from every country is gonna take a shot at you."

So, that's the real question, isn't it?  Just who is ready to have that
hanging over their head?

[Taylor picks up the discarded hat, tugging it down over his head.]

BT:  I guess we'll find that out together.

["The Outlaw" starts to walk away...

...then grabs the mic one more time.]

BT:  Ain't life grand?  

[And with that, Bobby Taylor walks off the WKIK Studios set, leaving a
stunned Myers and Wilde behind.]

GM:  Fans, we'll be right back with the Russian Chain match!  Don't go
away!

[We fade away from the broadcast table...

...and back up on a black screen with a voiceover.]

"Be the first on your block to sport the gear of your favorite AWA
superstar!"

[The black screen switches to a shot of a white t-shirt with the Stars
And Bars on it.]

"Feel like a Ragin' Rebel with the new Ricky Royal t-shirt!"

[The shot switches again to a black shirt with a silver-outlined Kevin
Slater dropping a big flying elbow.]

"The Wild Thing is better than ever and you can be too in his new
sweatshirt!"

[Cut again - this time to a black shirt with the words "FADE TO BLACK"
on them.]

"Let everyone know that you're the biggest Ron Houston fan around town!"

[And then finally, to a black and red AWA logo t-shirt.]

"Or just fly your AWA colors with pride."

[One final cut shows all of the mentioned t-shirts with a phone number
listed.]

"All of these shirts and much, much more is available now at the AWA Fan
Shop!  Telephone now or check us out on the Internet today!"

[And with that, we fade back to the announce desk where Myers and Wilde
are standing.]

GM:  Welcome back to The Battle Of Dallas - and Katie bar the door, this
is going to be a Pier Sixer.

BW:  I don't think I have the words for the potential of violence this
match has, Gordo. 

GM:  Of course, we are talking about the Russian Chain match.  And fans,
at this time, especially for you parents out there, we want to issue an
advisory.  The Russian Chain match has the possibility of being one of
the most brutal, one of the most vicious, one of the most violent
matches in the AWA's history.  Because of the use of the steel chain in
the match, it also has the potential to get very, very bloody.  So,
please be advised that if you have young children in the room, parental
discretion is key for this one.

BW:  Amen.

GM:  Fans, hold on to your seats because this is going to be a rough
ride.  Let's go up to Melissa!

[We cut to the ring where Melissa Cannon is standing.  On the canvas,
two shiny steel chains have been stretched out in the ring with leather
straps on the ends of both chains.]

MC:  The following contest is a DOUBLE RUSSIAN CHAIN MATCH!

[The crowd roars!]

MC:  The rules for this match are as follows.  All four men will be
legal in the ring at the same time.  There are two chains inside the
ring as I speak.  One end from each chain will be tethered to the wrist
of one man from each team.  Once the chains are in place... ANYTHING
GOES!

[Another huge roar!]

MC:  The match can only end by pinfall or submission and has a SIXTY
MINUTE TIME LIMIT!

[Yep!  More roarage!]

MC:  And now... the participants.  Introducing first...  At this time,
they request that you please rise and pay the appropriate respect for
the Soviet National Anthem.

[The crowd boos wildly as the referenced music starts up.]

BW:  Come on, Gordo.  Show some respect.

GM:  On the Independence Day weekend?  You've got to be kidding.  I
can't even believe you're standing up for this stuff.  Show some
national pride, Bucky.

[The curtain parts and two large Russian men walk into view.]

MC:  Hailing from Kemerovo, Russia... at a total combined weight of 510
pounds... they are the "Russian War Machine" Kolya Sudakov... Vladimir
Velikov...

THE RUSSIANS!

[More boos pour down for the big men from the former Soviet Union as
they head towards the ring.

Sudakov is the smaller of the two at 6'2, 240.  But he is built for
fighting with an athletic build.  He's in a pair of black MMA style
trunks with the hammer and sickle of Soviet Russia on the leg.

His uncle Vladimir is right behind him.  At 6'0, 270 pounds, Velikov
is rotund to put it mildly.  He looks like he might have been in
excellent shape at one time in his life but not anymore.  A

The two men stop at ringside.  Velikov glares at the jeering
fans before rolling under the ropes into the ring as his nephew climbs
up on the apron, sneering at the boos.]

GM:  Unfortunately, this is not the first time we've seen these two
tonight.  Earlier in the evening, the Russians intervened in the six man
tag team match, giving Kentucky's Pride and Rick Marley the win by DQ -
and then they tried to use that steel chain on Tin Can Rust like they
did to Marley at Memorial Day Mayhem.

BW:  They would have gotten away with it too if it wasn't for Marley
getting in the way.  And I can guarantee you, the Russians won't forget
that.  Rick Marley already had Dufresne, Freeman, and Stevie gunning for
him.  He'd already crossed paths with Marcus Broussard.  And now, the
Russians too?  This guy is not long for this world, Gordo.

[The Soviet Anthem finally cuts off as the Russians stalk around the
ring, waiting for their opponents.]

MC:  And their opponents...

[To the roar of the crowd, the Marine Corps Anthem kicks in over the PA
system.]

GM:  Oh yeah!  On America's birthday weekend, that's more like it!

[The music continues to blare as Velikov barks angrily at Melissa Cannon
like the choice of entrance music is her doing.]

MC: At a total combined weight of 485 pounds... they are the team of...

WEREWOLF GREGORSON annnnnnd DESPAIR!

[The curtain parts with Despair stepping into view first.  He's clad in
red, white, and blue MMA style boardshorts and gloves for this special
holiday.  A moment later, Werewolf Gregorson steps through the curtain
as well.]

GM:  Well, would you look at that?

[The crowd roars loudly for Gregorson who looks drastically different
than seven days ago.  Gone are the glowing yellow wolf's eye contacts
and the shoulder-length hair, replaced with a crew cut, camouflage,
fatiguesand a new t-shirt with a wolf howling at a full moon on the
front and his catchphrase on the back.  He is also carrying the American
flag on a wooden flagpole and has his face painted with camoflauge.]

GM:  Haha!  I love it!  The United States is well-represented here
tonight, Bucky!

BW:  If these two goofs are what passes as representing the USA, maybe I
should think about treason.

GM:  Every time you cheer for these Russians, you get one step closer to
treason in my book.  Might as well go the rest of the way.

[Gregorson marches up the wooden ringsteps, waving the flag to even more
cheers from the crowd as he steps up on the second rope.  Despair dives
headfirst under the bottom rope, popping up into a defensive position as
he eyes the waiting Russians.]

GM:  You can feel the tension in the air between these two teams, Bucky.
 It was Night One of the AWA when these two teams first became involved
and in the months that have followed, this rivalry has gotten uglier and
uglier.  Tonight, I will be very surprised if their bad blood is not
spilled all over this ring.

BW:  You can keep your white and blue - cause tonight, I just want red.

GM:  Classy.  

[Gregorson hands the flag to a ringside attendant before jumping over
the ropes into the ring to join his partner.  The referee immediately
steps between the two teams, trying to keep them apart.]

GM:  Both teams huddled up now - trying to decide who will partner up
with who.  

BW:  And this is more important than you'd think.  You're choosing which
person you're likely to spend most of the match battling with.  When
you're dealing with a smaller guy like Despair, this could be the
crucial decision of the match.

GM:  And it looks like it's going to be Velikov chained to Despair and
Sudakov linking up with Gregorson.  The referee's trying to make sure
that happens without a brawl breaking out.

[Sudakov straps the chain to his wrist, tossing the other end
disdainfully at Gregorson who does the same.  Despair tosses Velikov the
other end of the other chain...

...and then promptly sprints towards him, leaping into the air and
knocking the big Russian off his feet with a Thesz press.  The referee
quickly calls for the bell.]

GM:  Here we go!  Here we go!

[Sudakov moves to help his downed uncle...

...but Gregorson pulls the chain hard, stopping Sudakov short and
drilling him with a haymaker.]

GM:  And we're going to apologize in advance because this is going to be
near impossible to call all the action in but we'll give it our very
best effort.

[On the mat, Despair drills Velikov with a few more hard right hands
before grabbing the free end of the chain and securing it to the wrist
of the downed Velikov.

In one of the corners, Gregorson has managed to back Sudakov down and is
peppering him with right hands of his own.]

BW:  Gordo, it just occurs to me just how difficult a match like this
might be for Kolya Sudakov.  With his MMA background, you know it's
going to be hard in a fight where one of his limbs is tangled up.

GM:  A good point, Bucky.

BW:  There's a reason I'm the Announcer Of The Half Year, daddy.

GM:  I knew there was.

[Despair pulls Velikov to his feet, blasting him across the chest with a
knife edge chop that knocks the big, burly Russian back into the
opposite corner from their respective partners.]

GM:  The Russians are being smacked around in the early moments of this
one.  

[The crowd roars as Gregorson and Despair both step up to the middle
buckle, raining down punches on their opponents.]


"ONE!"
"TWO!"
"THREE!"
"FOUR!"
"FIVE!"
"SIX!"
"SEVEN!"
"EIGHT!"
"NINE!"
"TEN!"


[The fan favorite duo drops down off the buckles, looking to one
another.]

GM:  Double whip!

[And the two Russians collide in the center of the ring, falling down to
the canvas where they promptly roll under the ropes out of the ring to
regroup.]

GM:  And the Russians are looking to rethink their battle plan, Bucky.

BW:  This absolutely can't be the way they thought this match would go
so far, Gordo.  This is _their_ match.  They're supposed to be
dominating these two goofs right about now.

GM:  Sudakov and Velikov are talking things over, trying to-

[The crowd roars as Gregorson starts pulling on his chain, yanking
Sudakov away from his uncle and tag team partner...

...which gives Despair the chance to dash towards the ropes, dropping
down into a baseball slide that sends both feet squarely into the face
of Velikov, knocking him into the first row of seats!]

GM:  Oh yeah!  

[Inside the ring, Gregorson pulls Sudakov back into the ring, quickly
rushing him to shove him back against the turnbuckles as he uses some
slack in the chain to press across the windpipe of the former MMA star.]

GM:  Choke!  He's using the chain to choke Kolya Sudakov but that's
completely legal in this matchup!

BW:  It's legal?  What?

GM:  This isn't the first Russian Chain match you've seen, Bucky.

BW:  Well, yeah, but - aren't their different rules when it's Americans
trying to use the chain?  Doesn't seem fair.

GM:  Give me a break.

[Outside the ring, Despair grabs a loop of slack, winding up with it.]

GM:  Look out!

[Despair lashes down with the chain like a whip...

...but Velikov rolls to the side, causing Despair to lash the concrete
with it.  Velikov promptly kicks up hard with his big boot, catching
Despair off-balance and knocking him down to the concrete floor as
well.]

GM:  Despair and Velikov are really taking it to one another out there
on the floor.  Back inside- look at this!

[Looping the chain around Sudakov's throat, Gregorson shoves him down
chestfirst over the middle rope and starts pulling back on the chain,
strangling the life out of the Russian War Machine.  He starts pulling
back harder, shaking Sudakov back and forth.

The camera quickly cuts as Vladimir Velikov wraps the chain around his
forearm, climbing up to a standing position on the ring apron.]

GM:  Velikov's got that chain wrapped on his arm, looking to use it as a
weapon for the first time in the matchup...

[And the big Russian leaps off the apron, bringing the chain-wrapped arm
down hard across the back of the recovering Despair's head and neck,
knocking him back down to the floor.

Spotting his nephew in trouble, Velikov quickly pulls Despair off the
floor, throwing him under the ropes and rolling back in himself.]

GM:  All four men are back in the ring now.  But Gregorson doesn't see
Velikov coming!

[A hard double axehandle blow across the back of the neck breaks up
Gregorson's attack on Sudakov, knocking the former Marine down to the
mat.]

GM:  Down goes Gregorson - and Velikov throws himself into a cover,
looking to end this quickly.  

[The referee drops down to count.]

GM:  One!  Two!  Just a two count.  Gregorson's nowhere near worn down
enough.  I'm a little surprised to see the Russians try to end the match
that quickly, Bucky.  

BW:  You try standing in that ring when people are looking to hit you
with steel.

GM:  Granted.  But the Russians made such a big deal about wanting to
punish the Americans in their specialty match - I just expected them to
try and draw this out some more.

BW:  With the talk about National Tag Team Titles so hot, no team can
afford a loss.  Even vengeance sometimes has to take a backseat.

[Velikov drags Gregorson off the mat, shoving him back into the corner
and burying a big boot into the gut.  The big Russian grabs the middle
rope with both hands, driving a few shoulderblocks into the ribcage.]

GM:  Velikov's working over Gregorson in the corner, trying to wear him
down a little bit.

[Sudakov gets back in the fray, grabbing the slack of the chain...

...and lashing Gregorson's torso with it, leaving red welts behind on
the midsection of the former Marine.]

GM:  The Russians are really doing a number on Gregorson.  What a brutal
blow it is to be whipped with that steel chain.  I can only imagine what
that must feel like.

[Suddenly, Despair races across the ring, jumping on the back of Velikov
and dragging him away from his tag team partner with the chain.]

GM:  Despair getting back in the fray.

[He yanks the chain hard, spinning Velikov towards him.  The big Russian
throws a right hand but Despair somehow manages to block it...

...and then throws a series of lightning fast strikes to the body of
Velikov, knocking him to a knee.]

GM:  Velikov goes down to- ohhhh!  A hard snapping kick to the side of
the head of the big Russian takes him down to the mat!  

[Across the ring, Sudakov has thrown Gregorson down on his chest on the
mat before looping the chain around his throat again, placing his knee
in the middle of the fan favorite's back for leverage.]

GM:  Ahhh!  This is a very dangerous situation for Werewolf Gregorson! 
He needs to get out of this in a bad, bad way.

[The camera zooms in on Gregorson, showing him trying to get his fingers
between his throat and the steel chain.  In the background, we can see
Despair dropping big leaping fistdrops on the downed Velikov.]

GM:  Gregorson's fighting it!  He's battling to his feet!

BW:  No!  No!  No!

[Gregorson somehow manages to get his hand between the chain and his
throat...

...and then drives a back elbow into the body of the Russian, breaking
the attack.  Still gasping for air, Gregorson staggers away from Sudakov
as Despair drags Velikov off the mat, whipping him towards the ropes.]

GM:  Velikov off the ropes- no, he hangs on!

[Despair charges towards Velikov and eats a hard back elbow to the jaw
that sends him falling backwards...

...right into a running clothesline from the big Russian veteran that
knocks Despair down to the canvas.]

GM:  Ohh!  He takes Despair down off his feet and-

[And the crowd gasps as Sudakov holds a section of chain up between his
hands...

...and drives it into the throat of Gregorson with a running clothesline
that knocks the former Marine over the ropes and down to the floor,
coughing and gasping for air!]

GM:  To the throat!  And Rick Marley can tell you just how very
dangerous that can be!  Werewolf Gregorson took a running blow to the
throat with that steel chain and went all the way over the top to the
floor.

[Sudakov starts to pursue but his uncle calls him back.]

GM:  And it looks like Vladimir Velikov wants to play a little divide
and conquer on the Americans.

[Velikov slowly drags Despair off the mat, holding his arms behind him
as Kolya Sudakov wraps the steel chain around his clenched fist...]

GM:  Oh no.  This can't be good news for Despair.  He needs his partner
in there to help him in the worst possible way.  The Russians have him
at their mercy.

BW:  This is going to be fantastic, Gordo.  Turn your DVRs on, people! 
This is about to get interesting.

GM:  Sudakov winds up... Despair is helpless and-

[The crowd gasps in unison as Sudakov drives the clenched fist squarely
between the eyes of the spunky fan favorite who crumples down to the
canvas, his arms over his head as the Russians stand over him, raising
their arms triumphantly.]

GM:  The Russians are acting like they've won this thing but in my book,
they haven't won a single thing yet, Bucky.

BW:  It's just a matter of time now, Gordo.  Gregorson's out on the
floor, trying to learn how to breathe again.  Despair's getting slapped
around by both of the Russians.  It's a good time to be a fan of the
Russians.

GM:  And an absolutely miserable time to be an American on this 4th of
July weekend with these two ingrates running roughshod over everyone in
sight.

[Velikov rolls Despair onto his back with his toe...

...and the crowd gasps in unison once more as they get their first look
at Despair's forehead, completely split open from the brutal steel chain
shot to the head.]

BW:  Awww yeah!  Look at that, Gordo!

GM:  I see it, I see it.  Fans, again, we remind you this could get very
ugly.  Please, if you have young children, remember that parental
discretion is heavily advised.

[A cackling Velikov drops down in a lateral press.]

GM:  One!  Two!  No!  Despair shoots a shoulder off the canvas!

[Velikov quickly regains his feet, pulling Despair into a seated
position as he wraps his fist in the steel like his nephew did moments
ago...

...and then drives the steel-wrapped punch into the bloody forehead of
Despair!]

GM:  Ohhh!  Another shot to the head!  These Russians are loving every
second of this.  Getting the chance to bleed American heroes dry here on
the 4th of July in Dallas is like a dream come true for them.

BW:  And a horrible nightmare for you.

GM:  A horrible nightmare for ALL Americans, Bucky.

BW:  Not me.  I'm loving it.

GM:  You're creeping closer to treason with every second, my friend.

[Velikov's gravelly voice fills the air.]

"Give up, little man!  Give up the fight!"

[The referee drops to a knee to check to see if Despair submits...

...but then shakes his head at Velikov who angrily drives another
chain-wrapped fist into the forehead, bringing even more blood from the
wound.]

GM:  That's three brutal chain shots to the forehead!  That head is
split open like a melon, Bucky, and quite frankly, this is getting a
little difficult to watch.

[Velikov climbs to his feet, spreading his arms wide as  the fans jeer
him wildly.]

"Look at your Americans now!  Look!"

[And the moment of taunting is all Despair needs for one desperation
act, pulling hard on the slack of chain...

...which brings it up hard squarely to the groin of Velikov!]

GM:  OHHHH!

[Spotting his uncle in trouble, Sudakov stretches out the chain again,
dropping back to the ropes...

...where Werewolf Gregorson reaches up to grab the top rope strand,
yanking it down and causing Sudakov to tumble over the ropes and down to
the floor!]

GM:  THERE GOES SUDAKOV!  SUDAKOV GOES OVER THE TOP!

[With Velikov down on his knee in pain, Despair staggers to his feet,
wiping the blood out of his eyes...

...and sprints at him, springing off the bent knee and driving his own
knee squarely into the head of the Russian.]

BW:  SHIIIIINING WIZARD!

GM:  What?

BW:  And that's why you finished in second, daddy!

[Despair throws himself across Velikov, reaching back to hook a leg.]

GM:  ONE!!!  TWO!!!  TH-


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  That was close, Bucky!  Despair, covered in blood, came very close
to winning it all right there.

[Outside the ring, Gregorson crawls under the bottom rope from one side
of the floor to the other...

...and then tugs hard on the chain, causing Sudakov to crash chestfirst
into the ringpost!]

GM:  OHH!  What a brilliant move by Gregorson!

[The former Marine lets a little slack go on the chain...

...and then yanks hard on it again, slamming Sudakov into the ringpost
once more!]

GM:  Again to the post!  Gregorson is using that chain to great
advantage right now - and I think you're right, Bucky.  That MMA
background is hurting Sudakov right now more than it's helping him.

[Gregorson rolls back to the other side of the ring, joining his Russian
foe who is kneeling on the floor, clutching his sternum.  The
face-painted warrior steps behind Sudakov, looping the chain around his
throat and pulling back!]

GM:  And now it's Gregorson returning the favor, strangling the life out
of Kolya Sudakov with that steel chain!

[Inside the ring, Despair gets back to his feet and with an angry
scream, starts wrapping the steel chain around his own fist, measuring
Velikov as he gets to a knee...

...and drives the steel-wrapped fist into Velikov's head to a huge cheer
from the crowd!]

GM:  Payback is... well, it's not a good thing for Vladimir Velikov
right now.  He bloodied Despair earlier and now Despair is looking to do
the same thing right now.

[Showing some MMA instincts, Despair climbs into a mount position on
Velikov, exposing a small trickle of blood...

...that quickly becomes larger as Despair rapidly drives steel-wrapped
fist after fist into the skull of his rival.]

GM:  And now it's Despair who is exacting some payback in blood from
Velikov!  We've got one of the Russians split open as well as Despair.

BW:  Despair looks like he's going to run out of blood soon.  That cut
is nasty.

[Despair lets loose a loud scream of triumph as he stands up, hair and
face soaked in blood that is slowly starting to cover his neck and chest
as well.  He lifts the steel chain into the air, also covered in blood -
but from his Russian rival.]

GM:  Ohh!  

[Out on the floor, Sudakov manages to free himself, hooking a Thai
clinch on Gregorson, burying knees to the body and then throwing them
into the face, causing Gregorson to fall back against the ringpost.]

GM:  Gregorson just got rocked by Sudakov and- what's he doing now?

[Stepping behind the ringpost, Sudakov wraps the chain around the
throat, placing his foot on the ringpost for leverage and pulling back
hard.]

GM:  Ahhh!  What is with these two?  They keep trying to choke each
other out!

[The camera pans up, showing Despair climbing the corner where his
friend and partner is being strangled, looking to jump off on the
now-bloodied Vladimir Velikov who is slowly getting to his feet...

...and then lunges at the ropes, causing Despair to get crotched on the 
top rope!]



"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"



GM:  Despair gets hung up on the top rope strand!  Velikov knocked him
off balance and hung him out to dry.

[The big Russian wipes the blood from his eyes as he steps up on the
second rope, hooking Despair around the neck in a front facelock.]

GM:  Are you kidding me?

BW:  The big Russian is going for a superplex!  That might end it all!

GM:  Velikov's got him hooked... got him set...

[But Despair fires back, throwing fist after fist into the ribcage of
Velikov...

...and then blasts him with a headbutt that causes the Russian to fall
off the ropes and down to the mat below.]

GM:  Down goes Velikov... Despair steps up top!

[Velikov suddenly yanks on the chain around his arm, causing Despair to
tumble off the ropes, crashing down to the canvas on his back.]

GM:  Ohhh!  I thought Despair had him there, Bucky.  He was all set for
something big right there and Velikov somehow managed to bring him
crashing down again.

[Outside the ring, Sudakov has released Gregorson, letting him slump
down to the floor motionless...

...and then drives a soccer style kick into the ribcage.]

GM:  Sudakov has Gregorson laid out, rolling back under the ropes into
the ring now.  He saw his uncle down but their opposition was down as
well.

[Sudakov drags Despair off the mat by the bloody hair, hurling him
bodily back into the corner.]

GM:  Despair's in the corner... and that's a dangerous place to be
against Kolya Sudakov.

[The Russian War Machine throws big kicks to the body, wrecking the
ribcage of the smaller man over and over again.  He quickly switches up,
throwing an uppercut that almost knocks Despair over the ropes to the
floor.]

GM:  Good grief!

[Grabbing Despair in a clinch, Sudakov throws him down to the mat in a
heap.]

GM:  He's going for that soccer kick!  If he kicks him in the head right
here, this is over!  This is it!

[Sudakov starts to march towards the fallen Despair...

...but a desperate Gregorson snaked an arm under the ropes, grabbing the
ankle of the former MMA star, preventing the soccer kick from
happening.]

GM:  BLOCKED!  GREGORSON SAVED HIS PARTNER!

[A hard pull on the ankle trips up Sudakov...

...and a hand over hand yanking of the chain drags the Russian War
Machine back out to the floor where Gregorson drops him with a big
haymaker!]

GM:  DOWN GOES SUDAKOV!

[Gregorson quickly rolls back under the ropes, crouching down in the
corner as Vladimir Velikov starts to regain his feet...

...and then sprinting towards him.]

GM:  SILVER BULL-

[Velikov throws himself to the side at the last moment, causing
Gregorson to slam chestfirst into the middle buckle...

...and then the big Russian pulls Gregorson down in a schoolboy!]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR- OHHH!  DESPAIR MAKES THE SAVE!

[Despair drags Velikov off the mat, immediately whipping him to the
ropes.]

GM:  Irish whip...

[The spiky-hair warrior spits on his hand and with a loud bellow,
delivers a powerful palm strike squarely into the jaw of the big
Russian!]

GM:  PALM STRIKE!

[With the shotay having levelled Velikov, Despair drops down into a
cover.]

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

[The crowd roars in disappointment as Sudakov pulls Despair off of
Velikov from outside the ring.]

GM:  Sudakov breaks the pin!

[With a bloody Velikov downed at his feet, Gregorson pulls the chain
slack into his hand...

...and lashes it down across the chest of Velikov, causing the big man
to roll to his stomach where another lash of the chain eats at his
back!]

GM:  OHHH!  Gregorson's whippin' him like a dog with that chain!  

BW:  He's takin' the hide off him!  Get out of there, Vlad!

[Velikov indeed rolls under the ropes, trying to escape the assault...

...only to find himself right next to his nephew who is trading wild
haymakers with Despair!]

GM:  We've got a three man battle on the floor!  Despair is fighting it
out with Sudakov and Velikov...

[Seeing his partner in trouble, Gregorson charges across the ring at top
speed...

...and drops into a headfirst slide under the bottom rope, taking all
three men out with a tackle!  The crowd erupts at the move, roaring as
all four men are down on the floor!]

GM:  What a dive by Gregorson!  He took out his own partner as well -
but he got both of the Russians!

[The former Marine throws Sudakov under the ropes into the ring, rolling
behind him.]

GM:  Sudakov and Gregorson are back in...

[Gregorson pulls Sudakov into a kneeling position, wrapping the chain
around his arm...

...and drives a steel-wrapped elbow down into the eye of the the Russian
War Machine!]

GM:  Ohhh!  A brutal shot by Gregorson right there!

[Gregorson unwraps the chain, hooking it around Sudakov's throat again,
pulling back to strangle him once more...

...but Sudakov is quick to fight back, mulekicking Gregorson in the
groin!]

GM:  Low blow!  The Russian goes low!

[Sudakov throws himself onto Gregorson in a lateral press.]

GM:  One!  Two!  Thr- foot on the ropes!  Gregorson got his foot on the
ropes!  Just in time!

[From outside the ring, Despair fires Velikov under the ropes into the
ring, rolling in behind him as well.]

GM:  All four men are back in the ring.

[Despair goes to pull Velikov off the mat but a hard blow to the
windpipe causes him to fall away, gasping for air as Velikov moves in on
Gregorson, dragging him to his feet.]

GM:  Velikov's holding Gregorson's arms...

[Sudakov grabs some of the slack from the chain, lashing Gregorson
across the ribs.]

GM:  Ohhh!  What a shot!

[The Russian War Machine winds up again...

...and whips the former Marine across the body again.]

GM:  Goodness!

[Sudakov drives the right hand into the body again and again and again,
knocking Gregorson down to a knee.]

GM:  The Russians are on the attack.  Double whip on Gregorson... double
clothesli-

[But Gregorson ducks under the linked hands, rebounding off the far
side...

...and springing into the air, knocking both Russians off their feet
with a huge double shoulderblock!  The crowd explodes in cheers for the
former Marine!]

GM:  Gregorson is helping Despair back up... what's he-?

[The crowd erupts as Gregorson hoists Despair up in a gorilla press...

...and throws him down on Velikov!]

GM:  ONE!!!  TWO!!!  THRE-  NO!  NO!  VELIKOV GOT THE SHOULDER UP!

[Gregorson pulls his partner off of the downed Velikov, reaching down to
drag the Russian off his feet...

...and then gestures to his partner who walks over the ropes,
slingshotting over them to land on the apron.]

GM:  What are they setting up for now?

[The former Marine bends down behind Velikov, hoisting him up onto his
shoulders in an electric chair lift as Despair grips the top rope,
getting ready to springboard.]

GM:  Despair's ready... he's set...

BW:  STEVIE!

[The crowd bursts into jeers as a Russian flagpole wielding Stevie Scott
charges out of the locker room area.]

GM:  Look out!

[Just as Despair leaps up to the top rope, Stevie Scott takes a full
speed swing with the wooden flagpole, _shattering_ it over the back of
Despair's head and neck, leaving fragments in the ring.]

GM:  OHHHHH!

[A stunned Gregorson drops Velikov off his shoulders, turning around...

...and _EATING_ a high kick from the Russian War Machine that knocks
Gregorson off his feet completely motionless.]

GM:  Son of a- Gregorson just got LAID OUT by that high kick!

BW:  If you've ever seen Sudakov in MMA, you'd know that that high kick
was his most feared weapon in that world and he just nailed Werewolf
Gregorson square in the head with it!

GM:  Stevie Scott... he's in the ring!  What the heck is going- OHHH!

[The crowd boos wildly as Stevie shoves down a protesting referee inside
the ring.]

GM:  Oh, come on!

[With the referee down, Sudakov unhooks his wrist from the chain,
throwing a limp Gregorson out to the floor.]

GM:  Wait a second!  He can't do that!

BW:  He just did!

[Velikov pulls Despair off the mat, throwing him down to his knees.]

GM:  Velikov's wrapping his fist with the chain again.  Ohhh!  Another
hard shot to the head!  Like he wasn't bleeding badly enough already! 
Despair is now victim to a two on one... heck, a three on one with
Stevie out there!

[Sudakov joins the attack, holding Despair's arms as Velikov continues
to pummel the cut with his steel-wrapped fist.]

GM:  That's enough!  Somebody needs to put a stop to this!

[The "Hotshot", cackling like an idiot, slides out to the floor.]

GM:  Stevie Scott is out- where is he going?

[Scott walks over to the timekeeper...

...and grabs the US flag that was brought to ringside.]

GM:  What's he doing with that?  That traitor doesn't even deserve to
lay his hands on that flag today!

[Stevie pulls Gregorson off the floor, leaning him against the apron. 
The camera zooms in to listen.]

"You see your boy?  You see what they're doing to him?"

[Another hard steel chain shot to the face of Despair causes Gregorson
to cringe, turning his head away from the ring.]

"Throw in the towel!  Throw it!"

[Scott shoves the US flag into Gregorson's hand.]

GM:  Stevie Scott is trying to get Gregorson to throw that flag in... to
throw in the towel...

BW:  He should!  He should do it!  His partner needs him!

[Gregorson struggles against Stevie but the Hotshot is able to hold the
weakened former Marine down, forcing him to watch the bloodied Despair
be pummeled.]

GM:  Come on!  Somebody stop this!

BW:  Gregorson can stop it - he can stop it at any time!

[The camera stays positioned over the shoulder of Gregorson as the
Russians pull Despair up to his feet and Stevie continues his verbal
barrage.]


"Do you remember what we did to Marley?  DO YOU?!  This is your last
chance!"


[Gregorson shakes his head defiantly causing Scott to slap Gregorson
hard across the back of the head.  He nods at the Russians who each grab
an arm on Despair.]

GM:  No!  Double whip by the Russians...

[Velikov and Sudakov stretch the chain out between them, running
forward, and driving the chain into the exposed throat of Despair,
knocking him flat.]

GM:  Clothesline with the chain!  Sudakov covers!  One!  Two!  Three!


"DING!  DING!  DiNG!"


[Stevie Scott releases Gregorson, rolling into the ring to celebrate
with his allies.]

GM:  That traitorous son of a- I can't believe what I just saw.  Despair
and Gregorson had this match won and that treasonous Stevie Scott just
cost them the match!

BW:  Despair's in bad shape, Gordo.  

GM:  I'm suffering from deja vu watching Despair roll around, clutching
his throat, gasping for air just like Rick Marley did back at Memorial
Day Mayhem.

[A battered Gregorson crawls into the ring, throwing his body over his
bloodied and injured partner.]

GM:  Werewolf Gregorson is trying to shield his partner from any further
attack.  This is absolutely disgusting.  I can't believe Stevie Scott. 
I can't believe the Russians.  This is one of the worst scenes in AWA
history.  Fans, I- now what?

[The Russians suddenly turn their attention to Werewolf Gregorson,
dragging him to his feet...

...but the Werewolf fires back, throwing haymakers at both Velikov and
Sudakov.]

GM:  Come on!  Come on!  Fight them off!  Fight them-

[The crowd boos wildly as the former Marine turns...

...and gets popped in the jaw by a Heatseeker superkick right under the
chin by the "Hotshot!"]

GM:  OHHHH!

BW:  HEATSEEKER!

[The fans boo wildly at the scene as the two Russians and Stevie Scott
stand over Gregorson, arms held high.

The boos quickly turn to cheers as City Jack, Tin Can Rust, and Rick
Marley come charging out of the locker room, getting into the ring as
the three rulebreakers make a run for it.]

GM:  Fans, I don't- this is awful.  This is terrible.  Go to black.

[With Kentucky's Pride and Marley trying to help Gregorson and Despair
in the ring, we fade to black...

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

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

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

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

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

We wrap up the month of July on the 25th, 26th, and 27th on the road
with cities to be announced!"

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

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

[And we fade away from the graphic...

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

GM:  Welcome back to The Battl-

[The crowd boos wildly as Gordon Myers is interrupted by the sounds of
"Super Bon Bon" by Soul Coughing - the music that can only mean the
arrival of the National Champion.]

GM:  Apparently we're about to be joined out here by Marcus Broussard
who is, quite frankly, a few moments early.

BW:  The champion works on his own schedule, daddy!

[Broussard walks through the curtain to even more jeers.  He is dressed
in street clothes, a stylish olive colored suit.  The title belt is
slung over his shoulder.  The Super Ninja is nowhere to be seen as the
San Jose Shark approaches the ring.]

GM:  Ooookay, apparently he's just going straight to the ring.  I
thought he was coming here to the desk.  

[The National Champion walks up the wooden ringsteps, stepping through
the ropes.  He holds the title belt high in the air to still even more
boos from the crowd.  Broussard waves at Melissa Cannon who offers up a
mic.]

MB:  Let's get this over with.  I've got a busy night ahead of me.  Get
the ref out here, call for the forfeit, and I'm heading home.

[Referee Michael Meekly comes dashing out of the locker room area,
sliding under the ropes.]

MB:  About time.  Do your job, Meekly.

[Broussard tosses the mic outside of the ring to Melissa as he settles
back against the turnbuckles.  Meekly speaks with Melissa briefly as she
nods, taking the mic again.]

MC:  Referee Michael Meekly has made a decision.  Since tonight's
scheduled challenger will be unable to compete tonight, your winner of
the match by forfeit...

...and STILL AWA National Champion...

[The San Jose Shark nods his head, grinning like an idiot as the
announcement continues.]

MC: MARRRRRCUS BROUUUUSSARRRRD!

[The champion climbs to the middle rope, holding the belt high in the
sky.]

GM:  Unfortunately, Adam Rogers' ankle injury he suffered earlier
tonight at the hands of the National Champion prevented him from being
able to compete here tonight so we just heard the announcement of the
forfeit.  It's offic- hang on one second, fans...

[Broussard drops down off the buckles, stepping through the ropes to the
apron but before he can go any further, the voice of Gordon Myers is
heard over the PA.]

GM:  Mr. Broussard, before you leave the ring, you might want to hear
this.

[The camera cuts to a shot of Myers holding up a sheet of paper.]

GM:  This is the official statement from the Championship Committee
regarding tonight's National Title situation.

[Broussard stands on the apron, staring at Myers who opens the sheet of
paper and begins to read.]

GM:  "After considering all of the facts from tonight's Top Ten
Contenders Battle Royal and the events that followed - the Championship
Committee has made the following ruling.

Because of Adam Rogers' ankle injury, he will not be able to challenge
for the National Title tonight and therefore must forfeit the match."

[The San Jose Shark grins at the jeering crowd, patting the title belt
over his shoulder.]

GM:  "However..."

[Broussard looks concerned suddenly.]

GM:  "Since Mr. Rogers did win the Battle Royal to earn a shot at the
title, the Committee has declared that when Mr. Rogers is medically
cleared to compete, he will be awarded that title shot at his
discretion."

[The crowd cheers that decision as an angry Broussard kicks the ring
ropes in anger, screaming at Gordon Myers.]

GM:  "Also... the AWA promoted that a National Title defense would occur
at The Battle Of Dallas and when at all possible, the Committee intends
to honor our promotions."

[Broussard steps into the ring, dropping the belt on the mat as he looks
more concerned.]

GM:  "Therefore... since Marcus Broussard obviously did not want to face
Mark Shaw in tonight's Main Event and did everything in his power to
prevent that from happening, the Committee has awarded tonight's
National Title match...

...to Mark Shaw!"

[The crowd explodes as an irate Marcus Broussard yanks off his
olive-colored jacket, spiking it on the canvas to reveal a white dress
shirt underneath...

...and as "Go" by Powder starts up over the PA system, the WKIK Studios
erupts in a roar.  Broussard is furious, kicking his jacket out of the
ring as the referee hands the title belt to an attendant.]

BW:  Gordo, I can't believe this.  This isn't fair at all!  How could
you do this to the National Champion?

GM:  I didn't do it!  It was the Championship Committee!  They got tired
of Broussard trying to call all the shots.

[Suddenly, Mark Shaw dashes into view.  The 6'2, 270 pounder bursts
through the curtain in a pair of long black wrestling pants and boots. 
He dives headfirst under the bottom rope, Broussard charging forward to
stomp the rising Shaw as the referee calls for the bell to start the
match.]

GM:  The National Title is on the line!  

[The San Jose Shark, still in his street clothes, kicks and stomps at
Shaw who slid headfirst into the ring.  After a few more, he pulls Shaw
up off the mat, grabbing him by the arm.]

GM:  Irish whip by the champion...

[Shaw rebounds off the far side, ducking under a big backhand chop,
hitting the ropes behind Broussard...

...and OBLITERATING the San Jose Shark with a bone-rattling spear tackle
off the other side!]

GM:  SPEAR!  SPEAR!  WHAT A TACKLE!!

[Shaw drops back down into a lateral press, reaching back to hook the
leg.]

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


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[Broussard rolls like crazy, right under the bottom rope to the floor as
he hobbles away from the ring.]

GM:  The Hellion was a half count away from becoming the National
Champion right there!  Mark Shaw almost won it all in a heartbeat!

BW:  Get out of there, Marcus.  Get a breather.

[Out on the floor, Broussard clutches his ribs through his dress shirt,
looking back in at the Hellion who is leaning over the ropes, waving him
back into the fray.]

GM:  Shaw wants him back in and he wants him in badly.

[The National Champion looks up at Shaw, shaking his head...

...and then waves him off, walking away from the ring.]

GM:  What the-

BW:  He's walking out, Gordo!  Marcus is done with this match and he's
taking the rest of the night off.  That's his perogative you know?  As
the National Champion, he can choose to do this at any time.

GM:  The heck he can!

[The Hellion has seen enough, stepping out onto the apron and hopping
down to the floor.]

GM:  The challenger's coming out after him!

[Shaw walks across the ringside area rapidly and just before the Natonal
Champion disappears behind the curtain...

...the challenger grabs him by the shoulder, spinning the champion
around into a big right hand.]

GM:  Down goes the champion!

BW:  This isn't right, Gordo!  He's allowed to walk out if he wants to!

GM:  I don't know where you get your delusions, Bucky.

[The 270 pounder pulls Broussard off the concrete floor by the hair,
dragging him back towards the ring where he fires him under the ropes
into the squared circle.]

GM:  Shaw brings him back into the ring... Shaw rolls back in as well...

[The champion scrambles to his feet first, throwing a wild right hand at
Shaw as he rises...

...but the Hellion slaps it away, hooking his arms around the body of
Broussard.]

GM:  BELLY TO BELLY!  STRAIGHT OUT OF THE PLAYBOOK OF THE CHAMP!

[Shaw again applies the lateral press, hooking the legs.]

GM:  ONE!!!  TWO!!  THRE-


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  How close can you get without becoming the champion?!

BW:  Someone get this animal off of Marcus!  Where in the world is the
Super Ninja?

[Shaw yanks Broussard off the mat, shoving him back into the
turnbuckles.]

GM:  The champion's in the corner - Shaw moving in on him.

[In the corner, Shaw grabs the collar of Broussard's dress shirt,
ripping it open to expose his upper body.]

GM:  Ohh!  He tore the shirt!

BW:  That's a five hundred dollar shirt, Gordo!  Shaw's gonna pay for
that, daddy!

GM:  If he wins the National Title tonight, I'm sure he'll have no
problem doing so.

[With Broussard's chest exposed, Shaw winds up...

...and blasts him across the pectorals with huge reverse knife edge
chop!]

GM:  Ohhh!  What a shot by the Hellion!

[The San Jose Shark grabs his chest, stumbling out of the corner,
wobbling into the adjacent corner where his challenger follows him,
spinning him around in the buckles...]

BW:  Another one?!

[And _rocks_ the National Champion with another blistering chop across
the chest!]

GM:  Good grief!  You could hear that one out on Rose Street!

[The champion staggers away from the blow again, wobbling back and
falling backfirst into the next corner...

...where, of course, Shaw quickly pursues.]

GM:  Look at the red welts forming on the chest of the National
Champion.  Mark Shaw is one of the hardest hitting men inside a
wrestling ring that I have ever-


"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!"
"WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"


GM:  Another huge chop by the challenger - he may not have known he was
getting this shot tonight but he came ready to fight, did he not, Bucky?

BW:  I don't want to talk about it, Gordo.  This is the perfect example
of a miscarriage of justice, daddy!  Mark Shaw has no business fighting
for the National Title tonight - he lost his chance in the Battle Royal!
 Rogers won, he got hurt - the night should be over for the Shark!

GM:  Broussard wobbles away from Shaw again, staggering into the fourth
corner... here comes Shaw...

[The Hellion pats Broussard on the head as he closes in, winding up.]


"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!"
"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!"
"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!"
"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!"
"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!"
"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!"
"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!"
"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!"
"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!"
"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!"


[The crowd erupts for the barrage of chops as Broussard's chest is lit
up repeatedly with the hard-hitting blows.  Shaw backs off as Broussard
staggers out...

...right into a military press!]

GM:  OHHHH MY!  LOOK AT THE POWER!!!

[Shaw walks around the ring for a moment or two, showing off the
helpless National Champion...

...before throwing him down to the canvas in a massive slam!  Broussard
immediately grabs for his lower back, rolling to the side, backing off
to the corner where he lifts his arms, begging for mercy.]

GM:  Broussard's trying to get Shaw to give him a break - trying to find
a way out of this...

[As Shaw approaches, Broussard quickly lunges forward, pulling the legs
out from under the challenger and bending him back in a jacknife cradle
pin...

...and slipping his feet over the middle rope as the referee drops down
to count.]

GM:  ONE!!!  TWO!!!  TH-

[But just before the three count, the referee spots the feet on the
ropes, refusing to count any further.]

GM:  Yeah!  Michael Meekly saw the feet on the ropes and refused to
count any further.

[Broussard breaks the cradle attempt, getting to his feet and walking
right up into the face of the official.]

BW:  Uh oh!  It looks like Meekly may have gotten the champ-

[The San Jose Shark shoves Meekly back a few steps, shouting at him...

...but the AWA's senior official will not be denied as he steps back up,
returning the shove...

...right into the waiting arms of Mark Shaw who holds the waistlock,
spinning Broussard around.]

GM:  He's got the Shark hooked!  He's ready!

[And with a powerful lift, he hoists Broussard high overhead.]

GM:  WAISTLOCK SUPLEX!

[Shaw releases the German suplex, creating a whiplash effect as the
National Champion slams into the mat.]

GM:  Right down on the head and neck... and another cover by Shaw! 
ONE!!!  TWO!!!  THRE-


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  Shoulder up!  The champion got the shoulder up off the mat just in
the nick of time!  Mark Shaw, repeatedly, has been less than a half
count away from becoming the National Champion here tonight, Bucky.

BW:  Shaddup, Gordo!  I don't want to hear that!  Where's the Super
Ninja?!  Marcus needs help - someone, anyone!

[The Hellion is the first to his feet, holding up three fingers at
Michael Meekly who shakes his head, confirming a two count.  A
frustrated Shaw reaches down, tugging Broussard off the canvas by the
back of the trunks...

...and yanks him into a side waistlock.  The crowd explodes!]

GM:  He's going for the Backdrop Driver!  We're going to see a new
National Champion!

BW:  Fight him off, Marcus!

[A desperate San Jose Shark throws elbows at the back of Shaw's head and
neck, trying to wriggle free of his grasp.  Still hooked, the National
Champion grabs the nearby referee by the shirt, pulling him closer...

...and out of view when Broussard swings his leg back, kicking Shaw's
squarely in the groin!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  Low!  He kicked the challenger low!

[Broussard shoves Meekly aside, dropping into a lateral press on the
downed Shaw.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR-

[Shaw powers out just before the three count comes down, causing
Broussard to pound his fist into the canvas in rage.]

GM:  The champion thought he had him there.  He thought he'd cheated his
way to victory - again.

[Still kneeling, Broussard balls up his fist, driving it repeatedly into
the side of Shaw's head, drawing the referee's ire yet again.]

GM:  The San Jose Shark showing a bit of fire here.  

[The champion climbs to his feet, leaning down to drag Shaw off the mat
to his feet.]

GM:  Both men back to a vertical base... ohh!  Big European uppercut by
the champion knocking Shaw back to the ropes.

BW:  Now you're going to see what the National Champion is all about,
daddy!

[Pulling down on Shaw's head, Broussard explodes upwards with another
big forearm uppercut under the chin that snaps Shaw's head back, hanging
onto the top rope to stay standing.]

GM:  Side headlock applied by Broussard... dragging the challenger into
the corner with it...

BW:  Here he comes!

[The San Jose Shark charges out of the corner, leaping into the air with
the intent of driving Shaw's face into the canvas...

...but the big powerhouse holds Broussard high, blocking the bulldog
headlock attempt.]

GM:  Blocked!  He blocked the bulldo- Broussard flips over the top! 
Waistlock!

[The champion charges to the corner, smashing Shaw's chest into the
buckles...

...but Shaw hangs on, causing Broussard to roll back without his
opponent.]

GM:  He went for the rolling reverse cradle he used to become the
National Champion but he couldn't get the job done with that one.  Shaw
knew it was coming, held on to the ropes, and managed to counter it.

BW:  Marcus looks off his game tonight.  He didn't expect this title
defense.  He didn't prepare for it.  And the Championship Committee is
trying to rip the gold off the rightful owner tonight.

[The Hellion spins around, facing the champion, and barrels towards him
with a clothesline...

...that the champion ducks, snaring the arm, and dragging Shaw down to
the mat with a crucifix!]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE-

[The crowd gasps in unison as Shaw just barely gets a shoulder off the
mat in time.]

GM:  That was close - very close, Bucky.

BW:  It's what he used to eliminate Ron Houston from the tournament at
Memorial Day Mayhem.  We've talked about it before - Marcus Broussard
has some of the best cradles in the business and any one of them can end
a match at any time.

GM:  Both men scrambling up to their feet- ohh!  The champion caught him
with a knee to the gut.  Irish whip...

[And Broussard charges the ropes, driving a hard knee up into the
breadbasket of the challenger, taking him down to the mat again.]

GM:  Two hard knees to the gut will take some of the fight out of the
challenger.  You can be sure of that.

BW:  He should keep working the body.  Take the energy away.  Take the
power away.

GM:  Broussard's standing over Shaw.

[The National Champion leaps into the air, driving his elbow down into
the midsection of Mark Shaw.]

GM:  High elbow drop by the San Jose Shark, staying at the midsection. 
Trying to weaken the body just like you suggested, Bucky.

BW:  Great minds think alike.

[Broussard grabs Shaw by the boot, dragging the Hellion towards the
corner.]

GM:  What's the champion thinking about doing here?

[The Shark props himself up to the second rope, standing tall...

...and then leaping off, driving his knee down into the ribcage of the
Hellion!]

GM:  Ohhhh!  That might do it right there.

[Broussard hooks the leg as the referee drops to count.]

GM:  One!  Two!  Thr-

[Shaw powers out in time, breaking the pin attempt - but not forcing
Broussard far enough away as the champion balls up his fist and drives
haymakers into the gut...

...and then drops down into another cover.]

GM:  One!  Two!  Thr-

[Again, Shaw powers the shoulder off the mat in time.]

GM:  Broussard drags the challenger off the mat, forcing him back into
the buckles... 

[The Shark grabs the wrist of his foe.]

GM:  Irish whip... here comes Marcus...

[The champion speeds across the ring, leaping up for a high knee to the
chest...

...but he gets snatched out of the air by Shaw, held over the shoulder
like he's going for an inverted atomic drop.]

GM:  CAUGHT!

[But instead, Shaw charges across the ring, crushing Broussard's body
against the opposite corner.]

GM:  Ohhh!  What a move by the Hellion!

[And as Broussard staggers out, Shaw ducks down, hoisting the champion
up onto his shoulders.]

GM:  He's got him up!  Maybe a Death Valley Driver?

[But the champion wriggles free, dropping to his feet behind the
Hellion...

...and drops down to his knees, driving his arm up into the groin of the
big 270 pounder!]

GM:  OHHHHHH!  Low blow!  Right in front of the referee!  That's gonna
do it.

[Broussard rolls out to the floor, grabbing his title belt as the
referee turns to call for the bell...

...but Mark Shaw grabs the officlal by the ankle, shaking his head.]

BW:  What the-?!

GM:  I think- yes, Mark Shaw is telling the ref not to DQ Broussard for
the low blow!  The Hellion is pleading with the referee to not end his
opportunity to become the National Champion!

BW:  He can't do that!  It was an illegal blow - ring the bell, ref!

[Out on the floor, the National Champion clings to the title belt,
shaking his head as he slowly gets to his feet, backing towards the
locker room...

...when suddenly, a hobbling Adam Rogers walks into view, sending the
crowd into a frenzy!]

GM:  ROGERS!  ROGERS IS HERE!

BW:  NO!  NO!  NO!

GM:  The Natural is here at ringside and Marcus Broussard doesn't have a
clue about it!

[Broussard continues to back up...

...and backs right into a waiting Adam Rogers!]

GM:  Look at the champion!  He's in shock!  Adam Rogers, bad ankle and
all, has stopped Broussard from leaving the WKIK Studios!  

[Referee Michael Meekly leans outside the ring, speaking to Melissa
Cannon who nods her head before raising the mic.]

MC:  Referee Michael Meekly has ruled that since Marcus Broussard's
illegal strike was a blatant attempt to get himself disqualified... and
since his challenger wants to continue...

THE MATCH WILL GO ON!

[The WKIK Studio audience goes NUTS at the announcement and then gets
even louder as Adam Rogers pops Broussard with a right hand, knocking
him off his feet...

...and then pulls him up by the dress pants, dragging him towards the
ring and HURLING him under the ropes into the ring!]

GM:  Rogers throws him back in!  Adam Rogers is furious that he lost his
title shot here tonight and he's going to make Marcus Broussard pay for
it!

[Still hurting from the low blow, Shaw slowly gets to his feet...

...and finds Marcus Broussard screaming at Adam Rogers from inside the
ring, totally oblivious to his challenger being back on his feet and
ready to fight.]

GM:  Shaw's up!  The San Jose Shark doesn't see him!

[Broussard suddenly spins around, spotting Shaw, and charges at him with
a clothesline...]

GM:  Clothesli- ducked by Shaw!  The champion off the far side and-

[As the champion quickly approaches, Shaw hoists him off the mat,
spinning quickly...

...and DRIVING Broussard into the canvas with a powerslam!]

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

[The crowd roars with boos as suddenly the Super Ninja arrives on the
scene, yanking Michael Meekly out of the ring by the foot, breaking the
pinfall attempt.]

GM:  The Super Ninja!  

BW:  YES!

GM:  You asked where he was, Bucky, and now we know!  The Super Ninja
was waiting for his moment.  He was waiting for his opportunity to make
an impact and he just saved the National Title!  Mark Shaw should be the
new National Champion!

[Rogers hobbles around the corner, trying to get to the Super Ninja...

...but another figure dashing out of the locker room beats him to it,
tackling the Ninja down to the mat and raining punches down on his
hooded face!]

GM:  SLATER!  KEVIN SLATER IS AFTER THE NINJA!

BW:  NO!  NO!  NO!

GM:  Kevin Slater was eliminated from the Battle Royal by the Super
Ninja and now he's gettin' some payback like only the Wild Thing can!

[Soon, the Ninja is back to his feet, trading blows with Kevin Slater as
the two men battle all over the ringside area.  

With that battle raging on, Mark Shaw pulls Broussard off the mat,
tugging him into a gutwrench.]

GM:  Gutwrench is hooked!  Shaw's gonna- HE LIFTS!

[The crowd roars as Shaw gutwrenches Broussard up into the air, spinning
him horizontal...

...and then sitting out in a huge powerbomb with the National Champion!]

GM:  POWERBOMB!!  

[Shaw holds the pin position, waiting for the count...

...but the referee is still down on the floor thanks to the Super Ninja.
 Adam Rogers hobbles around the corner, trying to help the referee to
his feet.]

GM:  Rogers is trying to get the referee back in there.  Shaw's got this
match won, I think.  If the referee was in there, this match would be
over!

[An irate Shaw screams for the referee, still holding the pin attempt.]

GM:  The Natural's trying to get the ref back up... come on, Adam!

[After a few more moments, Rogers shoves the referee under the bottom
rope.]

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



"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"



GM:  BROUSSARD GOT THE SHOULDER UP!

BW:  Thank god for miracles!  

GM:  This match would be over if it wasn't for the Super Ninja, Bucky,
and you know it!

BW:  I don't know what you're talkin' about, daddy!

GM:  Mark Shaw had him beat with the powerbomb!  He had Broussard beat! 
We should have a new National Champion!

[Outside the ring, we see Kevin Slater and the Super Ninja still
battling, moving through the entrance curtain and back into the locker
room area.]

GM:  Slater and the Ninja are out of here!  They've battled all the way
to the locker room area!  We've got this back to a one on one encounter!

BW:  One on one?!  What about that traitor Rogers?!

GM:  Give me a break!  Adam Rogers is trying to keep this to a fair
fight for both men!  

[The camera cuts to inside the ring where Mark Shaw is slowly back to
his feet, dragging Broussard up by the hair, and slinging him up over
his shoulder in a powerslam position.]

BW:  Oh no.

GM:  He's got the champion up!  He's going for the running powerslam!

[The Hellion backs to one corner...

...and rampages across the ring towards the other.]

GM:  FROM CORNER TO CORN-

[Broussard slips off the back of his opponent halfway across the ring,
charging in behind him...

...and connecting with a leaping knee to the back that smashes Shaw into
the corner!]

GM:  Ohhh!  What a counter by the champion!

[Hooking a waistlock, Broussard charges back in, slamming Shaw to the
buckles again...

...and rolls back into a reverse cradle.]

GM:  ROLLING REVERSE CRADLE!

BW:  THIS IS HOW HE WON THE TITLE!

[The champion throws his body back into the Natural Bridge of his former
friend and ally, Adam Rogers, as the referee drops down to make the
count.]

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

[The crowd EXPLODES as Shaw's powerful legs breaks the cradle attempt,
stopping the count before the ending three count.]

GM:  KICKOUT!  KICKOUT!

BW:  What?!  How?!

GM:  Without the injured knee he had at Memorial Day Mayhem, Shaw was
able to kick out of the rolling reverse cradle!  He had enough power in
the legs to kick out of that tight cradle attempt and Adam Rogers is
going nuts!

[Rogers starts slapping the canvas, rallying the fans to do the same.]

GM:  The crowd is going nuts!  The people of Dallas are witnessing one
heck of a war and they know it!  Mark Shaw has gotten a second chance to
become the National Champion and he's trying to take advantage of it,
Bucky!

BW:  Come on, Marcus!  Hit the ref!

GM:  What?  He'd be disqualified!

BW:  But he'll keep the title!  Hit the ref, Marcus!

GM:  You disgust me!

[A battered Broussard climbs to his feet, shaking his head as he tries
to exit the ring...

...but Adam Rogers blocks his path!]

GM:  Broussard's trapped!  Rogers won't let him out!  Rogers won't let
him out of the ring!

[The San Jose Shark spins away in frustration...

...and gets popped with a huge right hand from Shaw that knocks him
towards the ropes.]

GM:  The National Champion is all alone out here!

BW:  Against two men!

GM:  Rogers is just keeping this thing fair!

[A second right hand knocks Broussard into the ropes.]

GM:  The champion's in trouble...

[The crowd roars as Shaw drops down into a three point stance.]

GM:  Here we go!  

[The Hellion charges towards his opponent, looking for the big
clothesline...

...but Broussard drops down to the mat, causing Shaw to sail over him,
falling over the ropes.]

GM:  OHHH!

[And somehow managing to get his head caught between the top and middle
ropes!]

GM:  SHAW'S CAUGHT IN THE ROPES!  HE'S CAUGHT IN THE ROPES!

[The National Champion rolls under the ropes as the referee moves over
to try and free Shaw from his precarious predicament.]

GM:  Mark Shaw's being strangled by the ropes!  The referee's trying to
help but he can't-

[The crowd roars as Adam Rogers pulls himself up on the apron, trying to
assist the referee in getting the ropes from around the throat of the
challenger.]

GM:  The referee's trying to help!  Adam Rogers is trying to help!  Just
hang on, Mark!

[With his opponent tied up and the referee distracted, Marcus Broussard
grabs his fallen title belt from outside the ring, climbing back in to
stand near the ring apron where the chaos is unfolding.]

GM:  He's got the belt!  That son of a- he's got the title belt!

BW:  Do it, Marcus!  Finish him off!

[Broussard measures Shaw's head between the ropes, winding up with the
gold belt...

...and having it grabbed by Adam Rogers, blocking the blow!]

GM:  YEAH!

BW:  Stay out of this, Rogers!  This has nothing to do with you!

GM:  Broussard and Rogers are fighting over the title belt!  Rogers is
trying to keep the champion from crowning his challenger with the title
belt!

[The referee manages to pull the ropes far enough apart that Mark Shaw
can slump down to the canvas, red welts on the sides of his neck from
the tight metal cables.]

GM:  Shaw is free but the battle rages on!

[Michael Meekly tries to intervene in that next, grabbing the belt
himself!]

GM:  Three people are fighting over the belt!  Three people are trying
to get control of the National Championship belt and-

[Rogers and Broussard suddenly shift positions to the side, causing the
belt to graze the head of the referee, knocking him down to the mat
stunned.]

GM:  Ohhhh!  Down goes Meekly!  

BW:  He didn't take the belt full on to the head though!

[Rogers breaks his grip in shock at what happened to the referee,
slipping through the ropes to check on him as Broussard moves in behind
his challenger...]

GM:  No.  No, please - not like this!

[The Hellion slowly makes his way to a knee, then climbs the rest of the
way up to his feet, still doubled over and coughing...]

GM:  Broussard's behind you!  Look out!

[But as the National Champion rears back with the title belt...

...his past intervenes once more!]

GM:  ROGERS!  ROGERS SNATCHES THE BELT AWAY FROM BROUSSARD!

[A stunned San Jose Shark turns around...

...just as Rogers takes a full-force swing at his head with the golden
title belt.]

GM:  ROGERS!

[The gold belt races towards the surprised face of the National
Champion, visions of his title reign ending dancing all over his face...

...just before he drops down to the canvas, causing the belt shot to
sail over his head...]

GM:  NO!

[And SLAM right into the face of a shocked Mark Shaw who drops to the
canvas like he's been shot.]



"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[A stunned Rogers looks down at Shaw in total disbelief over what he
just did...

...which allows Broussard to drive a hard stomp down to the ankle of his
former friend and ally before shoving him through the ropes to the
floor.]

GM:  OHH!  He throws Rogers to the floor!

[The National Champion shakes Meekly violently, reviving him enough to
make the count as he drops down on top of Shaw.]

GM:  Not like this.  Please - not like this.

[The referee's hand comes down once and tiredly goes back up.]

GM:  Come on, Mark!  Kick out!  Kick out one more time!

[It comes down again, slowly moving back up.]

GM:  NOOOOOOO!

[And the hand comes down again, seemingly in slow motion...

...and slaps the canvas for the third time.]



"DING!  DING!  DING!"



[The crowd erupts in jeers as Broussard rolls off of his challenger, his
arms held high in the air.]

MC:  Your winner of the match in a time of 16 minutes and 9 seconds...
and STILL AWA NATIONAL CHAMPION...

MARRRRRRCUS BROUUUUSSARRRD!

[The referee drops the title belt on Broussard who is still lying on the
mat, now hugging the gold strap close to his chest.]

GM:  I don't believe it.  I just don't believe it.

BW:  WE GOIN' SIZZLAH!

GM:  Fans, we're out of time.  We've gotta go.  From The Battle Of
Dallas where Marcus Broussard has just retained the National Title...
I'm Gordon Myers for Bucky Wilde... until next time we'll see you... at
the matches.  Unbelievable.

[The camera holds on Broussard, the title belt clutched to his chest
with exhausted glee covering his face...

...as we fade to black.]