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                           American Wrestling Alliance
                                 Proudly Presents
                               The Last Stampede

                  Live from the South Laredo Rodeogrounds
                                   Laredo, Texas
                                 August 30, 2008
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[As the closing notes to the "Sanford And Son" theme fade into nothing,
the viewing audience is greeted by the sounds of "Man With A Harmonica"
by Ennio Morricone.  Grainy black and white footage of a vacated Laredo
Fairgrounds fills the screen as the voice of the AWA, Gordon Myers,
speaks.

"Laredo, Texas.  At one time, it was one of the hottest professional
wrestling territories in the world.  Men like Bishop, Tex Violence, and
Casey James plied their trade there, leaving the streets of Laredo
stained crimson with their blood and the fans always wanting more."

The footage slowly fades to black - leaving nothing behind.

"But as all things in life, wrestling in Laredo came to an end, leaving
those fans' passion for the sport unfulfilled... 

...until tonight."

The shot fades back up, now showing black and white photos of former LWC
superstars doing battle - Robert Donovan, Midori-Iro Kikai, Otto
Verhoeven, Steve Spector, Bad Eye McBaine all in the throes of combat.

"Tonight, the names will change - but the heart of professional
wrestling will beat as strong as ever in the streets of Laredo, Texas."

The black and white photos are replaced with a color shot of a soulless
Grant Stone driving Kevin Slater skullfirst into the canvas, bending his
neck at a sickening angle.

"Tonight, this man stares dead in the eye of a man out to avenge a
fallen friend."

The shot changes again to reveal a downed Rough N Ready at the feet of
the Glamour Boys.

"Tonight, these men continue their rivalry in the home of the some of
the greatest tag team matches of all time."

The shot changes again to reveal Shadoe Rage, Bruno Verhoeven, Mark
Shaw, and Adam Rogers in the midst of battle.

"Tonight, four men battle for the right to be the next to challenge for
the AWA National Championship..."

A quick cut to Ron Houston delivering the Fade To Black on Marcus
Broussard.

"...while the Champion steps into the fray against an unknown opponent
to prove to the world he will take on any and all comers."

The shot of Houston is replaced by one of a rage-filled Ricky Royal
taking his boot to a stunned Tumaffi.

"Tonight, these men square off one more time in an attempt to end the
most bitter blood feud that the AWA has ever seen."

And a final barrage of shots of the participants in WarGames.

"Tonight, these men step into the ultimate battleground - the massive
double cage structure known as WarGames.

Tonight, there will be blood.  

Tonight, there will be carnage.

Tonight, there will be war.

Tonight, the streets of Laredo will be alive with the beating heart of
professional wrestling once more.

Tonight... is The Last Stampede."

A large white map of the United States fills the screen as the music
plays.  The shot zooms through the map, different states "popping up"
into view as we race past them.  As we pull back from the map, it no
longer is white but rather made up of the Stars and Stripes.

The map goes into a spin, spinning round and round as we zoom all the
way into it, dissolving into a few slow motion shots of animated men
battling in a red, white, and blue ring.  The animation runs through
various wrestling moves from an atomic drop to a bodyslam to a
piledriver.

And as the blue animaniac applies a clawhold on the white animaniac, we
freeze and the AWA logo fills the screen.

After a moment, we fade away from the cheaply done intro to the smiling
faces of two men.  They do not sit in front of a plain backdrop per
usual but instead at a small table at ringside - a sea of roaring fans
seen and heard all around.

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

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

GM:  Good evening, fans, and welcome to The Last Stampede featuring all
the stars of the American Wrestling Alliance, _the_ major league of
professional wrestling.  I am Gordon Myers, your host for the next three
hours of action, and by my side, as always, is the Announcer of the Mid
Year, Mr. Bucky Wilde.

BW:  Very good, Gordo.  I didn't even have to remind you this time!

GM:  How could anyone forget?  Fans, we are overjoyed to be in Laredo,
Texas, the former home of the Longhorn Wrestling Council, for tonight's
action.  To many here in the AWA, we almost feel like we are on hallowed
ground here tonight in Laredo.  For the wrestlers in the locker room,
for many in the front office, and I'll speak for myself as well - the
LWC was one of the greatest promotions to ever exist in our world of
professional wrestling so it is a great honor to be in their hometown
for tonight's action.

BW:  That's right, Gordo.  Everyone who was anyone in our business back
in the day made a stop in this dusty ol' town.  Casey James, Bishop, Tex
Violence, Otto Verhoeven, Steve Spector - so, so, so many others.  At
one time, it was arguably the greatest promotion in the sport and very
few territories can lay claim to that, daddy.

GM:  So much blood was spilled on these grounds.  So many memories in
the hearts and minds of the fans here.  Tonight, we hope we can add a
few new ones as we present six matches that should be some of the very
finest action that the AWA has ever seen, Bucky.

BW:  It's an incredible lineup and I know I've been looking forward to
this for weeks, Gordo.

[The camera cuts away to pan over the rabid crowd filling the South
Laredo Rodeogrounds.  There are many LWC tribute t-shirts and signs
everywhere to be seen mixed in with those sporting the merchandise of
their favorite AWA stars.]

GM:  Stone and Steele.  Rough N Ready and the Glamour Boys.  Bruno,
Rage, Rogers, and Shaw.  Houston and the Open Challenge.  That huge
Stretcher Match between Royal and Tumaffi... and to top it all off,
don't forget about WarGames, Bucky.

BW:  How could we forget about WarGames?  Ten men going to battle -
submit or surrender - all inside that crazy double cage.  It's going to
be something else, daddy.

[The camera cuts to a wide shot of the arena, revealing two rings set up
side by side in the middle of it all.  The Rodeogrounds has changed
quite a bit from the ol' LWC days, expanding in size from holding a mere
few hundred fans to well over a couple thousand.  Wooden and steel
bleachers have been set up on all sides of the ring.  There are no pads
on the floor, only wooden floorboards like the glory days of the LWC.]

GM:  There you can see it - the double ring is in place and later
tonight, both of those rings will be surrounded by unforgiving steel. 
It's going to be a war for the ages - that's for sure.  And speaking of
wars for the ages, let's talk about our opening match.  

BW:  War?  Don't make me laugh, Gordo - this is gonna be a slaughter. 
Luke Steele is thinking with his heart here and Grant Stone just might
rip the thing out and stomp on it, daddy.

GM:  It all started about a month ago when- 

[The sounds of Beck's "Farewell Ride" start up over the loudspeakers to
a huge ovation from the rabid crowd on hand.]

GM:  Hold on one second... fans, I'm not sure what is going on here. 
Ron Houston, the National Champion, is not scheduled to be out here
until later tonight but I can hear his music as clear as day, Bucky.

BW:  So can I, daddy.  The big man's apparently not about to wait for
later - he's got an Open Challenge laid out for tonight and apparently
he's gonna get it answered right now.

[The cheers grow louder as the National Champion emerges from the locker
room area, walking down the narrow aisle surrounded by steel barricades
on both sides.  He ignores the outstretched hands reaching out to slap
his or the belt hanging over his shoulder.]

GM:  He certainly looks focused.  Being a marked man like this can not
be an easy situation to step into, Bucky.

BW:  Definitely not, Gordo.  You don't know who is coming for you.  You
don't know why.  But he just made sure he knew exactly when.

[Houston quickly steps up the wooden ringsteps, climbing through the
ropes into the ring where he grabs the mic from a waiting Melissa
Cannon.]

RH:  Ah jus' couldn't take it no more.

[Houston leans over the ropes, facing the hard camera.]

RH:  They tol' me mah match was later tonight - but ah jus' couldn't
take it no more.  How could anyone?  Sittin' there.  Waitin'.  Thinkin'.
 Wonderin'.  

Who's it gonna be?

[Houston shakes his head, taking a few steps back to the center of the
ring.]

RH:  It could be anyone, ya know?  Anyone from the AWA.  Anyone from
another promotion lookin' to make a name for themselves.  

[Houston smirks, waving a hand in the direction of the LWC legends.]

RH:  Maybe one of these old-timers wants one more night in the sun.  Who
could blame 'em?

[He shakes his head again.]

RH:  So, ah got tired of waitin'.  Ah got tired of thinkin'.  Ah got
tired of wonderin'.

Now ah'm out here to do what ah do best.

[A smirk.]

RH:  Fightin'.  

[Houston hands the mic back to Melissa Cannon, backing to the ropes as
he waits for the introduction of his opponent.  Melissa looks confused
for a moment and then shrugs, speaking into the mic.]

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a thirty
minute time limit and is our Non-Title Open Challenge match!

[The crowd cheers.]

MC:  Introducing first, already in the ring at this time, standing 6'7
and weighing in at 286 pounds... from Athens, Georgia... 

He is the AWA National Champion...

The Athens, Georgia Madman...

RON HOUUUUUUSTON!

[Another big cheer goes up for the East Coast Terror as he raises an arm
in the air, shrugging his trenchcoat down off his shoulders.]

MC:  And his opponent...

["The South's Gonna Do It Again" by the Charlie Daniels Band starts up
to almost zero reaction from the crowd.]

MC:  From Nashville, Tennessee... standing 5'11 and weighing in at 260
pounds... 

KARL KANE!

[The apathetic reaction continues as Karl Kane emerges from the locker
room area.  Old, paunchy, and bald, he hardly appears to be the ideal
challenger for Ron Houston on this night.]

GM:  Well, that's a bit of a surprise.

BW:  Don't you mean "letdown?"

GM:  Karl Kane is a tough competitor, for sure, a former Southern
Heritage Champion from the old Southern Championship Wrestling days,
Bucky.

BW:  I know, Gordo, I was there too.  But that don't mean he's ready to
take on Ron Houston.  Kane's glory days are long past him.  He hasn't
been in a Main Event in years.

GM:  All very true but-

[As Kane steps through the ropes into the ring, he gets levelled by a
huge running boot to the side of the head by Ron Houston, knocking him
flat.  A frantic referee calls for the bell to start the match.]

GM:  Houston's wasting no time here.  Taking it right to the- are you
kidding me?

[The crowd roars as Houston yanks Kane off the mat to his feet, ducking
down to hoist the veteran off the mat in a fireman's carry...

...and then spins around in a full 360 before tossing the former
Southern Heritage champion off his shoulders and down to the canvas.]

GM:  FADE TO BLACK!  And just like that, I think this one is over.

[A seemingly-annoyed Ron Houston plants a boot in the chest of the
downed Kane as the referee counts to three and signals for the bell.]

GM:  Ron Houston is the winner in this Non-Title Open Challenge and...
well, Bucky, it was rather impressive fashion.

BW:  Of course it was, Gordo.  It could've been you in there and I bet
you would've lasted longer.

GM:  Well, we had heard rumors in recent days that the Championship
Committee was having difficulty filling the spot in this Open Challenge
match, Bucky.  

BW:  That's right.  According to the buzz, once people realized the gold
wasn't gonna be hangin' in the balance - they didn't want a shot at the
champ no mo'.  Can't say that I blame them either with the kind of roll
he's been on lately.

[Houston backs off of Kane, allowing ringside attendants to help him
from the squared circle as Houston waves for Cannon to give him the mic
once again.]

RH:  That...

[He pauses, looking down at the dazed Kane.]

RH:  ...was nowhere near what ah had in mind fer tonight.  

[Houston spits on the canvas in disgust.]

RH:  Ah wanted a challenge.  Ah wanted a fight.

[He pauses.]

RH:  And ah still want both of those things...

...and ah don't intend to leave this here ring until ah get 'em.

[A big cheer from the fans!]

RH:  So, if anyone in the back is listenin' to me... y'all better find
someone to come out here.  Cause if you don't?

This show's being put on hold.

[Houston spikes the mic to the canvas as he looks out towards the
entryway, rubbing his hands together.]

GM:  This is quite the awkward situation, fans.  Ron Houston has won his
Open Challenge against Karl Kane but apparently that isn't enough for
the big man.  He wants another match.

BW:  Can we find someone?  Anyone?  

GM:  The show has been taken hostage by-

[The crowd begins to buzz as a suited man comes power-walking down the
aisle as quickly as he can.]

GM:  The Chairman of the Championship Committee, Stephen Ross, is on his
way out here, fans.  And hopefully he's got something that he can do
about this situation to resolve- 

BW:  He's coming over here to us, Gordo.

[Stephen Ross pulls to a stop by the announcers, grabbing the discarded
house mic off the canvas.]

SR:  Mr. Houston, I understand your frustration and believe me, the
Championship Committee did everything in its' power to find a worthy
opponent for you to face here tonight at The Last Stampede.

[Houston shakes his head, pointing an accusing finger.]

SR:  Unfortunately, when everything shook out, there were only one man
who were willing to take your Open Challenge for right here tonight in
South Laredo, Texas.

And you just defeated him in near record time.

[A big cheer as Houston cracks a grin.]

SR:  But the odd thing is that I was standing in the back with someone
who had some business to attend to here tonight and... well, he just
arrived here at the Rodeogrounds and after speaking with him, I've gotta
say...

[Ross returns the grin.]

SR:  If it was a challenge - a fight - that you were looking for here
tonight, I think you're going to be a very happy man in just a few
moments.

[Ross lowers the mic, waiting expectantly.]

GM:  Apparently, Mr. Ross of the Championship Committee has a second
opponent for Ron Houston tonight.  The National Champion's night isn't
over yet, Bucky.

BW:  Who's it gonna be, Gordo?  Who did they find to accept the
challenge of Ron Houston?

GM:  I think we're all about to find out together. 

[The crowd is buzzing, ears at the ready for any hint of music playing
over the PA system that will tip them off.  But it is not their ears
that give them the news.  

The curtains part at the entryway, drawing all eyes in that direction as
they strain to see who is coming into sight.]

GM:  I can't- can you see who it is, Bucky?

BW:  Not yet, I don't know who- wait a second... is that-?

[The crowd ERUPTS into deafening cheers as the newest signee to the
American Wrestling Alliance steps into the South Laredo Rodeogrounds,
grinning widely at the reaction.]

GM:  JUAN VASQUEZ?!?  ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!

BW:  I CAN'T EVEN HEAR MYSELF THINK IN HERE, GORDO!

GM:  THESE FANS ARE GOING CRAZY!  JUAN VASQUEZ HAS COME TO THE AWA!

BW:  WHAT?

[Vasquez slowly makes his way down the aisle, slapping the outstretched
hands reaching out to him as he walks the path.  He stops about halfway
down the aisle, shaking his head in disbelief as he chuckles to himself
at the absolute frenzy the crowd has worked themselves into.]

GM:  Look at Ron Houston!  I can't tell if he's shocked or elated!

BW:  Well, he wanted a challenge here tonight and you don't get much
more of a challenge in the wrestling business than Juan Vasquez, Gordo.

[Vasquez approaches ringside, shaking the hand of a beaming Stephen Ross
who hands the house mic over to the newest AWA superstar.  Dressed in a
nice, black suit-and-tie, Juan doesn't exactly look like a man that's
ready to get into the ring at the moment, but he does carry a sense of
importance, as if...he's got something important to announce, himself.]

JV:  So... I hear there's an open challenge?

[Juan is met with a roar from the crowd. He digs a finger into his ear
and playfully cups a hand to it.]

JV:   I dunno, was that a "yes" or a "no"?

[Another huge cheer from the crowd brings an equally huge smile to
Juan's face.]

JV:  Now, when I was in back puttin' my John Hancock on the dotted line,
I heard that there wasn't a single man in the AWA with the guts to step
into the ring with the champ. And you know what?

That's a damn shame.

[He nods his head.]

JV: A real shame. 'Cause, rumor has it... the man that we call our
champion, Mister Ron Houston?

I heard he was the toughest wrestler on God's green Earth.

[Another roar from the crowd. Juan shrugs his shoulders in a, "Hey,
that's just what I heard!" sort of way.]

JV: And no one wanted to step into the ring with this man? Why? 'Cause
the title ain't on the line? Tell me, seriously... 'cause I can't
comprehend the fact that we've reached a point in our lives, where
wrestling was no longer 'bout competition. 'Cause I can't comprehend the
fact that no one's willing to face the CHAMPION 'cause they don't got
the opportunity to wrap a shiny, over-sized piece of jewelry around
their waist while they prance around in their tights!

I don't need a title belt to know I'm the greatest wrestler in the whole
world. All I need to do, is to defeat...

[He holds up his finger and points it straight at Houston.]

JV: ..._that_ man.

[HUGE CHEERS.]

JV: I mean, it's kinda' funny. After all, the first time I ever won a
World Title, I did like our champion did now.

I laid out an open challenge.

I didn't put the title on the line, I didn't promise riches beyond your
wildest dreams and I didn't even promise that I was gonna put on a
particularly good effort. All I did, was promise someone that they'd be
stepping into the ring with the best thing the wrestling world had to
offer.

And you know who answered that challenge?

[Juan places his hand on the back of his neck and laughs.]

JV:  The Gremlin. The brick-throwin', expletive shoutin', craziest son
of a gun the world's ever seen. And you know what he did?

He kicked my tail. He made me bleed. He made me do terrible and horrible
things to another human being that I never thought I would be able to
do. In a match with literally nothing on the line other than our pride,
he made me fight harder, go further and far beyond anything I ever
thought I was capable of. And when I went past my limits, past my
ability, reached a level I never thought I was possible of reaching,
when I finally put him down...

...that was when I finally felt like I arrived.

That was when I finally felt like I could truly deserve to be called
"champion."

[He looks up and smirks at the champion.]

JV: So then... Mr. Houston, I suppose you realize my intentions.

[Juan looks over to Stephen Ross and gives him a short nod, before
turning back to Houston.]

JV: I figure...you realize that I don't give a damn if there's a title
on the line or if you're the baddest man walkin' on the planet.

[A cheer from the crowd!]

JV: I figure you realize that I intend to give you the toughest fight of
your life.

[A huge roar!]

JV: I came to the AWA for one thing and one thing only.

Competition.

[He smirks.]

JV: And I figure, if the champion can't give it to me, who can?

[At this point, Vasquez hands the mic back to Stephen Ross before
yanking off his suit jacket, tossing it in Bucky Wilde's direction
before stepping up onto the ring apron.]

BW:  Hey!  I'm not your valet, daddy!

[Vasquez steps through the ropes, staring dead in the eyes of the
National Champion who has taken up a position in the center of the
ring.]

GM:  Are you kidding me?  We've got Ron Houston, the National Champion,
about to square off with Juan Vasquez in our opening match... and we
didn't even advertise it!  You never know what's gonna happen here in
the AWA!

[Yanking off his tie, Vasquez fires it into the crowd, giving some lucky
Laredo fan one heck of a souvenir as he steps closer to Houston, running
his mouth all the while.]

GM:  I'd love to be a fly on the wall in there right now.  What on earth
could Vasquez be saying to him?

BW:  Vasquez never stops running his mouth, Gordo.  He might be telling
Houston what he had for dinner last night for all we know.

[Suddenly, the National Champion balls up a right hand and buries it
into the jaw of Vasquez with a hard uppercut sending a spew of saliva
through the air as the referee calls for the bell to officially start
the match once again.]

GM:  Ohhh!  Somehow I doubt it, Bucky.

BW:  Eh.  It was a theory.

[A second hard right hand across the side of the face causes Vasquez to
stumble back into the corner, grabbing the ropes with both hands and
then pushing up off the mat, lashing out with a boot to the midsection
that catches the champion coming in.]

GM:  Oof!  He catches him in the gut.

[Grabbing the champion by the head, Vasquez turns around and slams his
face into the top turnbuckle, earning a warning from the referee as
Vasquez spins Houston's back against the corner...

...and blasts him across the chest with a big knife-edge chop!]

GM:  Big chop by Vasquez is on target.

BW:  Well, it is a pretty big target, Gordo.

GM:  Good point.  Vasquez with a whip...

[But the powerful National Champion easily reverses it, sending the Los
Angeles native racing towards the corner...

...but he pulls up short, raising a boot to press against the midbuckle
and stop his charge.]

GM:  And Juan Vasquez counters the counter.

[Vasquez turns around with a grin, shaking his head at the Athens,
Georgia Madman and pointing at his own head.]

GM:  Vasquez telling the champion how smart he is.

BW:  And I'm not sure how smart that is.  I don't think you need to rile
up Ron Houston at all if you can avoid it, Gordo.

[Houston, showing some fire, moves quickly across the ring towards
Vasquez.]

GM:  Here comes the champ...

[Vasquez lunges at him as he approaches, quickly tying him in a
collar-and-elbow...

...which he quickly pulls out of, yanking Houston's arm behind him and
putting on the pressure with a tight hammerlock.]

GM:  Oh!  Right to the hammerlock - and Juan Vasquez may be making his
AWA debut in the ring tonight but there's no doubt he's done his
homework coming into this match.

BW:  No doubt, no doubt.  That's the arm that Houston's been having
trouble with for weeks.

GM:  The hammerlock is locked in - nice and tight.

[Houston reaches back with his lengthy free arm, trying to find a way
out...

...and promptly has his shoulder rammed into the turnbuckles instead!]

GM:  Ohh!

[With Houston hurting in the buckles, Vasquez delivers a few hooking
blows around the back into the ribcage before being backed off by the
referee.]

GM:  Vasquez yanks him from the corner by the hair... snap mare down to
the mat...

[As soon as Houston hits the canvas, Vasquez sprints to the far ropes,
rebounding back...

...and DRIVING both feet squarely into the face of the National Champion
with a seated dropkick!]

GM:  DOWN GOES HOUSTON!

[Seizing the moment, Vasquez quickly hooks the far leg as the referee
drops down to count.]

GM:  ONE!   TWO!   

[With little trouble, the Georgia powerhouse kicks out mightily from the
pin attempt.]

GM:  Big kickout by the cham- ohh!  Elbowdrop by Vasquez!

[Vasquez quickly gets back to his feet before dropping another elbow
firmly across the sternum - and then getting right back up and repeating
the process.]

GM:  Three quick elbowdrops by Vasquez - and there's another cover! 
One!  Two!  Nope.  

BW:  It's gonna take more than a few elbowdrops to put the champion
down, Gordo.

GM:  You've got that right.

[Pulling Houston up to his feet, Vasquez hits a forearm to the side of
the face that sends him falling back into the ropes...

...where he pops right out with a hooking right hand that knocks Vasquez
a few steps back.]

GM:  Ohh!  Houston fires back!

[Vasquez stumbles back in towards the National Champion...

...and eats another big right hand for his efforts that knocks him a few
steps back.]

GM:  A second right hand has Vasquez reeling... he falls back into the
corner...

[Which causes Houston to race the few steps across the ring, avalanching
the Los Angeles native in the buckles.]

GM:  OHHH!  AVALANCHE!

[Houston steps back as Vasquez staggers out of the corner...

...then ducks down, trying to hoist him up into the fireman's carry that
sets up the Fade To Black.]

GM:  FADE TO-

[Vasquez quickly slams his elbow down on the back of Houston's neck to
break the lift.  Grabbing Houston by the head, Vasquez unleashes a
series of clubbing blows to the back of the head and neck to the mixed
reaction of the crowd.]

GM:  Vasquez fights Houston off!

[With Houston stunned, Vasquez charges to the near ropes, rebounding
back and leaving his feet.]

GM:  Dropki- ohh!  Slapped down by Houston!

[Houston quickly steps forward, grabbing the legs of Vasquez behind the
knees...

...and dropping back, catapulting Vasquez over the ropes and down onto
the wooden planks at ringside!]

GM:  OHHHHH!

BW:  A desperation move by Ron Houston to clear Vasquez out of the ring.

[Houston rolls under the ropes to the floor where a stunned Vasquez is
clutching his lower back.  The National Champion promptly stomps Vasquez
a few times against the wooden planks that cover the dirt floor of the
Rodeogrounds before dragging him off the floor by his hair.]

GM:  Both men are outside the ring for the first time in this one.  The
referee is warning both men to get back inside the ring already, trying
to keep this one on the- look at this!

[The crowd roars as Houston scoops Vasquez up into the air...

...and slams him down hard on the wooden floor!]

GM:  Ohhh!  A brutal slam on the wooden planks at ringside - and that's
a move straight out of the LWC days here in the Rodeogrounds, Bucky.

BW:  The LWC always had a bit of a wild side for sure.  Houston might be
trying to relive that a little bit here tonight.  

GM:  He's right out there in front of our LWC legends in attendance here
tonight.  He might be helping them relive the glory days of this place.

[With a sneer, Houston stomps the downed Vasquez on the wood a few more
times as the Los Angeles native tries to roll away.]

GM:  Vasquez is trying to escape the champion but he's not having much
luck yet here.

[Reaching down, the Athens, Georgia Madman drags Vasquez off the canvas
by the back of the trunks, firing him under the ropes into the ring. 
The big man steps up on the apron as well.]

GM:  Vasquez back in the ring - Houston out on the apron...

[Vasquez charges back to his feet, throwing a knee into the midsection
of Houston, causing him to double up out on the apron.]

GM:  Uh oh.  Vasquez is out on the apron as well now.

[A pair of right hands put Houston a couple steps away from the
ringpost.]

GM:  Vasquez is takin' it to the big man out on the apron.  

BW:  What's he lookin' to do out there, daddy?

GM:  I have no idea.

[A hard right hand knocks Houston to a knee which allows Vasquez to back
away to the far ringpost...

...and then sprint down the ring apron, his eyes locked on a stunned
East Coast Terror.]

GM:  VASQUE- 

[The crowd roars as Houston pops up to his feet, slapping his hand
around the throat of a shocked Juan Vasquez.]

GM:  Oh no!  Oh no!

BW:  Is he going to chokeslam him off the apron on those wooden planks?

GM:  If he does that, this might be Juan Vasquez' _last_ match in the
AWA as well as his first, Bucky.

[Houston steps away from the ringpost, setting his feet...

...but a panicked Vasquez slams his arm down onto Houston's arm,
breaking his grip.]

GM:  Whew.  Close one for Vasquez.

[The National Champion throws a wild left hand aimed at the temple of
his opponent who deftly avoids it...

...but he can't avoid a clothesline with the right arm that immediately
follows it, catching him squarely in the side of the head, sending
Vasquez sailing off the apron and smashing chestfirst down onto the
wooden planks!]

GM:  OHHHHHHHH!

BW:  Did you see that?

GM:  Did I see- of course I saw it!  Give me a break, Bucky!  

BW:  Vasquez managed to duck the left but he couldn't duck the right -
and he may be done right now!  He sailed off the apron and smashed right
down on that unforgiving wooden floor!

GM:  Houston slumps through the ropes back into the ring.  

[The referee leans over the ropes to check on the downed Vasquez who has
rolled to his back, grimacing in pain with every breath.]

GM:  Juan Vasquez looks to be in a tremendous amount of pain.  

BW:  He looks like he's having trouble breathing.  It could be a cracked
rib.  A punctured lung.  Who knows?

[The referee slowly starts his count - on both men.]

GM:  Houston's down on the mat as well so both men are being counted
here.  They, of course, have a ten count to regain their feet or in
Vasquez' case, get back into the ring to continue the fight.

BW:  There's a lot of fight in a guy like Vasquez - we know that.  But
if I'm him?  I'm thinking of calling it a night.

[As the count reaches three, Ron Houston sits up on the mat, shaking his
head to clear the cobwebs a bit as he pulls himself off the canvas.]

GM:  Houston's going to get to his feet with ease but...

BW:  Don't look now, Gordo, but Vasquez is slowly sitting up as well.

[Clutching his ribcage, the Los Angeles native pushes himself into a
sitting position, still wincing with every breath as he looks up at his
opponent.]

GM:  Houston's waving him back into the ring - he wants the fight to
continue.  He doesn't want to win this thing by countout, Bucky.

BW:  That's because he's stupid.

GM:  What?

BW:  Look, I get the whole honor, respect, challenge, blah blah blah
nonsense.  But I also get that you're the National Champion,
representing the AWA, taking on a world-famous wrestling superstar who
is on his first night in with the company.  Take the win however you can
get it, ya goof.

[Using the apron, Vasquez tugs himself to his feet before rolling under
the ropes into the ring.  Houston slowly approaches as Vasquez pushes up
to a knee.]

GM:  Both men on their feet no- ohh!  Right hand by Vasquez!

[Houston steps back as Vasquez throws a second right hand that stuns the
big man.]

GM:  Vasquez to the ropes... clothesli-

[The crowd cheers as Houston reaches out with his lengthy arms, wrapping
them around the torso of his opponent and turning up the pressure.]

GM:  Bearhug!  Houston hooks in the bearhug!

BW:  And what a brilliant move this is for Ron Houston right now, Gordo.
 He knows that the ribs of Vasquez are hurting and he goes right after
them with this hold.

GM:  And it also lets him rest a bit, right, Bucky?

BW:  You got that right.  Houston has to exert nowhere near as much
energy to keep this hold on as Vasquez will need to to break it.

[Wincing in pain, Vasquez places his palm firmly over the face of
Houston, trying to push his head back.]

GM:  A hand over the face, presumably trying to disrupt the breathing
pattern of the champion.

[With Houston's head pushed back, Vasquez tries to work his free arm in
between Houston's arms and his body, trying to create some wiggle
room...

...but as the Athens, Georgia Madman squeezes harder, Vasquez is forced
to stop his escape attempt.]

GM:  Houston's doing a tremendous job in keeping this bearhug applied -
and would you look at this, Bucky?

[Showing amazing power, Houston hoists Vasquez off the canvas in the
bearhug...

...and then leans over, pushing Vasquez' shoulders down to the mat.]

GM:  ONE!  TWO!  THR-

[But Houston is forced to straighten up by a wriggling Vasquez who
somehow gets enough room to slip both arms into the hold, breaking the
grip before dashing to the ropes.]

GM:  Vasquez off the far-

[The crowd gasps as Houston hoists Vasquez off the mat, rotating quickly
and powerslamming him down to the canvas.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE-


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[The big mixed reaction from the crowd leaves everyone buzzing as a
refocused Ron Houston pushes off the mat to his feet, glaring at the
official for a moment as he drags Vasquez up to a standing position as
well.]

GM:  Both men up again - Houston off the ropes... LARI-

[The wild swinging Lariat comes up empty as Vasquez deftly ducks down to
avoid it.  Houston slams on the brakes, coming back in, and getting
snapped over to the mat with a quick hiptoss before leaping into the
air...

...and slamming all of his weight down across the chest of Houston with
a backsplash senton!]

GM:  Ohh!  Big backsplash by Vasquez!

[Flipping to his stomach to apply a lateral press, Vasquez reaches back
to hook a leg.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE-


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  And this time, it's a nearfall for Vasquez!  Both men just traded
nearfalls in the center of the ring with this crowd going crazy for
their every move.

[Vasquez rolls off of Houston, slamming the sole of a boot into the
canvas in frustration.]

GM:  Vasquez obviously thought he had him there.

BW:  Houston rolls to his stomach, trying to beat Vasquez off the mat.

GM:  No chance of that though as Vasquez is up and he's backing away to
the ropes, leaning forward...

[Vasquez is glaring at Houston, sizing him up - measuring him for his
next blow as he waits for the National Champion to get back to his
feet.]

GM:  Houston to a knee now - trying to regain his feet.

[But as soon as Houston shoves himself up into a doubled up position,
Vasquez charges across the ring...

...and slams his knee firmly into the face of the rising Houston,
knocking him flat again!]

GM:  RUNNING KNEELIFT!

[Vasquez drops to the mat, reaching back to hook both legs this time.]

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



"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  So close!  So close!  Juan Vasquez was less than a half count away
from beating the AWA's National Champion, fans!  Vasquez almost just
pinned the Champion in his debut!

[An irate Vasquez gets to his feet, immediately stomping the downed
Houston with his dress shoes - one of which actually comes off his foot
during the barrage.  He angrily kicks it from the ring, driving down one
more bare-footed stomp before reaching down to drag Houston off the mat
by the hair, shoving him back into the corner.]

GM:  He's got Houston back in the corner... right han- blocked!

[Suddenly, the East Coast Terror swings Vasquez around so that his back
is against the buckles and promptly tears the Los Angeles native's dress
shirt wide open, sending buttons flying before delivering a hard
overhand slap across the pectorals.]

GM:  Ohhhh!

[Vasquez staggers away from the corner, a red welt already forming on
his chest...

...and promptly gets thrown back into the corner by the National
Champion where Houston uncorks a pair of right hands that nearly knocks
Vasquez over the ropes to the floor.]

GM:  Goodness!  A lot of salt and pepper behind those right hands by
Houston.

[He grabs Vasquez by the wrist, firing him across the ring to the
opposite corner.]

GM:  Irish whip... here he comes!

[A big running corner-to-corner avalanche rocks Vasquez in the buckles.]

GM:  OHHHHH!  He squashed him like a bug right there!

BW:  And he's got his eyes set on that Fade To Black now, daddy!  If he
hits that, it's all over!

GM:  Vasquez staggers out of the corner... fireman's carry!

[But Vasquez slips out of it, quickly moving back to back on Houston and
reaching back to hook both arms, dropping to his knees to drag Houston
down to the mat.]

GM:  BACKSLIDE!  ONE!!!  TWO!!!  THREEEEEEE!!!

[The crowd roars with surprise...

...and then roars again as the referee leaps up, holding two fingers in
the air.]

GM:  It was a two!  Only a two count on the backslide!

[Vasquez quickly scampers to his feet, racing to the ropes and
rebounding right back as Houston gets up to his feet.]

GM:  SUNSET FLIP!! 

[The 6'7 frame of Houston though proves hard to take down as the big man
stands straight up, blocking the pin attempt...

...and then kneels down on the shoulders of Vasquez, reaching back to
tightly cradle both legs.]

GM:  COUNTER!  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREEEEE!!!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


[The crowd erupts into cheers as Houston's grip breaks just as the bell
rings, Vasquez just a second too late to stop the pinfall.]

MC:  Your winner of the match in a time of ten minutes and thirty-four
seconds...

RONNN HOUUUUUSTON!

[The cheers sound out yet again as Houston climbs to his feet, raising a
weary arm in victory as a disappointed Juan Vasquez pulls himself off
the mat as well, kicking the bottom rope in frustration before turning
to face the man who defeated him...

...and slowly walks across the ring towards him.]

GM:  Uh oh.  What's gonna happen here?

[As Vasquez stands a few feet away, glaring at the National Champion,
the fans buzz with anticipation.]

GM:  Vasquez saying something to Houston.

BW:  The last time he tried that, he got popped with a right hand.

GM:  We may be about to see the same result, Bucky.

[A few more words fly and then Vasquez shocks the world...

...and extends his hand to the East Coast Terror.]

GM:  How 'bout that?

BW:  Never would have saw that coming.

[Houston nods his head, accepting the handshake from the man who just
took him on.  Vasquez lifts Houston's hand in victory, pointing at the
National Champion as the fans cheer wildly for both men.]

GM:  And there you have it.  Ron Houston takes on Juan Vasquez in our
opening match and is triumphant in that non-title Open Challenge.  

BW:  Did you hear what you just said?  Houston takes on a debuting Juan
Vasquez... in the opening match!  What else could happen here tonight?

GM:  I can't wait to find out.  Fans, don't go away.  We'll be right
back!

[The camera holds on Vasquez holding Houston's arm in the air for the
fans to see 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 announce desk.]

GM:  Welcome back to the South Laredo Rodeogrounds and The Last
Stampede, fans.  We've already had a crazy night here in South Laredo,
Texas as Juan Vasquez made his AWA debut, answered the Open Challenge
from Ron Houston, and came up just short in that matchup.  So, if you
are just joining us, you missed a lot already - but now we're about to
get very serious in a hurry.

[Cut to a panning shot of the Rodeogrounds.]

GM:  Earlier this week, it was announced that Kevin Slater, who was
injured at the hands of Grant Stone just about a month ago, will be in
the house here tonight to address the fans of the AWA regarding his
condition and what we can expect for the future for the man known as the
Wild Thing.

BW:  I hope everyone stocked up on their facial tissue because the tears
will be flowin' from Slater in just a few.

GM:  Give me a break, Bucky.  Show some class.  Kevin Slater has given a
lot of himself to this company - to this business - over the years and
he deserves a chance to say... well, to say whatever he needs to say. 
Fans, let's go up to the ring where Kevin Slater is getting ready to
address our audience.

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

MC:  Ladies and gentlemen, at this time, please welcome to the ring the
former two-time World Heavyweight Champion and the man known as the Wild
Thing... 

KEVIN SLAAAAATER!

[The Dropkick Murphys' "I'm Shippin' Out To Boston" kicks in to a big
ovation from the South Laredo crowd.  The camera cuts to the entryway
where Slater steps into view, dressed in street clothes with a heavy
brace surrounding his neck.  He gingerly walks down the aisle with the
aid of a cane as the fans cheer.]

GM:  This is not the way the fans were hoping to see Kevin Slater
tonight - a neckbrace, using a cane.  A really sad scene.  

BW:  And we've got Grant Stone to thank for it!

GM:  We certainly do.  Him and that deadly Etched In Stone move that he
put Slater on the shelf with.  Stone will be in action later tonight
against Slater's good friend, Luke Steele, in a match where Steele will
definitely be out for some payback for his ally.

BW:  I guess someone had to do it.  Bobby Taylor didn't seem too
interested in defending his friend.

[On cue, the camera cuts to ringside where Bobby Taylor is standing in
the LWC legends section, clapping for his former Cult of Personality
teammate as he makes his way slowly down the aisle.]

GM:  There you see the Outlaw himself - applauding Kevin Slater - but
you are correct, Bucky Wilde.  When he was needed - when Slater was
under attack - Taylor stood at ringside and watched.  And then he didn't
even ask for this match tonight himself!  I don't understand that at
all.

BW:  Sure you do, Gordo.  Grant Stone made it very clear when he threw
that money at Taylor's feet a month ago.  Taylor's The Man With The
Money!  He's the one who has been plotting to take out Kevin Slater for
months!

GM:  Stone has made that accusation clear but... well, I just don't
understand why.  Taylor's never shown any desire to end his friend's
career.  And if he wanted to, it's not like Taylor's lacking in the
ability to try to do that himself.  I just don't get it.

[Slater reaches ringside, slowly being helped up the ringsteps by a
ringside attendant.  With a wince, Slater steps through the ropes and
thanks Melissa for the offered mic.  The fans cheer as Slater stands in
the middle of the ring, the music fading out.]

GM:  And these fans are letting Kevin Slater know exactly how they feel
about him here in South Laredo - and all over the wrestling world.  What
a great moment for the Wild Thing.

[Slater looks a little teary-eyed at the reaction, slowly raising a hand
to wave.  He raises the mic in the other hand as the crowd noise dies
down.]

KS:  Thank you all so much.  I can't tell you what your cheers tonight
mean to me.  Just like I can't tell you how much all the cards and
letters I've received over the past month have meant to me.

[Another cheer from the crowd.]

KS:  One month ago, I came out into the WKIK Studios to accuse Bobby
Taylor of some pretty bad stuff.  And the first thing I need to do is
walk right over here and look him dead in the eye.

[Slater slowly moves to the ropes, staring down at his friend.]

KS:  Outlaw, we've been up and down these roads together for years.  You
name the city and we've probably stood side by side in a wrestling ring
there.  

[A quick cut shows Taylor nodding his head in agreement.]

KS:  When I said those things a month ago...

[Slater rubs an arm over his forehead.]

KS:  Let's just say that I said some things I probably shouldn't have.  

[Slater turns back to the crowd.]

KS:  The first person who came  to the hospital one month ago to visit
me and see how I was doing was Bobby Taylor.  He was the very first
person there to check on me.

So, the way I see it is that either Bobby's one hell of an actor...

[Slater cracks a grin.]

KS:  Or I had it all wrong.  Bobby, I'm sorry for doubting you.

[Taylor shakes his head, waving it off like it's nothing.  Slater slowly
nods in thanks.]

KS:  So, that takes one thing off tonight's agenda.  The next?  Grant
Stone.

[The crowd boos wildly at the mention of Stone.]

KS:  I don't know what rock you crawled out from under to come after me
a month ago - and frankly, I don't know that I care.  But I can
guarantee you this.  The doctors don't know when - or if - I can come
back from this injury.  My neck's pretty banged up thanks to you.

But I tell you this.  If there's the slightest chance I can get back
inside this squared circle and wrestle - if there's any chance at all...

[Slater pauses.]

KS:  I'm coming straight for you, Grant Stone.  

And I'm not going to stop until I put you in the exact same position I'm
in - standing in this ring with your neck in a brace and wondering if
you'll ever get to wrestle for a living again.

[A big cheer from the crowd.]

KS:  That leaves one thing to talk about - The Man With The Money.

[Another big shower of boos erupt.]

KS:  I don't know what I ever did to draw your attention and quite
frankly, I just don't give a damn anymore.  I spent months trying to
figure out who you are and why you were coming after me.

[A shake of the head.]

KS:  Not anymore.  I don't care who you are.  I don't care why you want
my career ended.

And I'm tired of waiting for you to come to me.

[Slater cracks a slight smirk.]

KS:  You're not the only one with friends willing to do your dirty work,
buddy.  

As of right now, I'm issuing my OWN bounty!

[A big cheer!]

KS:  I've got twenty-five thousand dollars on the line for the man who
can discover the identity of The Man With The Money and bring me his
head.

[Another big cheer!]

KS:  And as a little bonus, I've got an extra ten grand...

[He pulls a pack of money out of his pocket, holding it up to cheers.]

KS:  ...for anyone who can put Grant Stone in that neckbrace before I
can.

[Another big cheer!]

KS:  I'm expecting the Real Deal to come out and collect this later
tonight and I can't wait to give it to him.  Best of luck to you
tonight, Lu-

[The opening riff of Borgo Pass' "Camero Crash Helmet" sounds out as a
chorus of boos from the fans greet the debut of Grant Stone. The
imposing figure of Stone enters the arena, looking serious and grim.
Stone wears an attire of dark green wrestling trunks and black boots -
other than that, he wears the look of a man who hasn't had a restful day
in a while. Scars litter his body and bags under his eyes; he looks like
a man who hasn't much of a care in the world.]

GM:  Uh oh.  We've got a problem here.

BW:  I don't think Grant Stone enjoys having the tables turned on him. 
A bounty placed on Stone by Slater?  

GM:  Turnabout is fair play, Bucky.

BW:  I think Stone begs to differ, daddy.

[Stone steps through the ropes into the ring, glaring directly at Kevin
Slater who looks a bit nervous as he edges away, a hand unconsciously
moving up to protect his neckbrace.]

GM:  This can't be a good situation.  We need to get some help out here
so that Kevin Slater can get out of this ring.  We need to- NO!

[The crowd gasps in unison as Stone stomps across the ring, grabbing
Slater by the hair and shoving him back into the corner...

...and then biel throws him out of the buckles by the head and neck! 
The crowd falls silent from the brutal and cold-blooded assault as
Slater lies motionless on the canvas, both arms covering his head and
neck desperately.]

GM:  I don't- I can't believe that!  I can't believe Grant Stone just
did that!  This psychopath should be fined - he should be suspended - he
should be fired!

BW:  Slater's not moving, Gordo.

GM:  Kevin Slater has not moved at all since he hit the canvas.

[Stone moves towards the downed Slater...

...and then turns his gaze towards "The Outlaw" Bobby Taylor.  Taylor
has stood up from his seat and is now returning the stare of the bounty
hunter.]

GM:  Grant Stone is staring dead in the eye of Bobby Taylor and Taylor
is staring right back at him!

BW:  But he's not getting in there, Gordo!  Taylor is not stepping up to
protect his friend against-

[The crowd explodes into cheers as Luke Steele comes tearing through the
curtain, dressed to compete.  His sprint turns into a headfirst slide
under the ropes where he pops up to his feet and lets the haymakers
fly.]

GM:  Here we go!  Here we go!

[A referee, running right behind Steele, slides under the ropes as well
and starts to pull Kevin Slater out of harm's way as he calls for the
bell to officially start the contest.]


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  The match is official and look at Luke Steele go!

["The Real Deal" unleashes a barrage of rights and lefts that actually
back Grant Stone into the ropes where Steele grabs him by the wrist.]

GM:  Irish whip by Steele...

[The 6'8 fan favorite charges forward, connecting with a back elbow that
causes Stone to take a few steps back but does not topple him.]

GM:  Stone is stunned but-

[Steele suddenly lunges in, trying to secure a scoop slam...

...but Stone counters, driving his elbow down into the ear of Steele, a
blow that sends him spiraling away.]

GM:  Ohh!  Stone breaks free!

[But a fired-up Steele races right back in...

...and gets a massive paw wrapped around his throat.]

GM:  Choke!  Stone's got him by the neck, Bucky!

BW:  Grant Stone is a monstrous mountain of a man and Luke Steele did
not bring his climbing gear to the ring tonight.

GM:  Stone and Steele are both 6'8 but Stone's got about 35 pounds on
him.

[Using his power edge, Stone forces Steele back into the corner.]

GM:  Get in there, referee.  Force a break.

[The referee starts his five count in the corner when suddenly Stone
releases the hold, throwing a big right hand.]

GM:  Right hand- blocked by Steele!

[Stone throws a wild left in response and has it stopped as well.]

GM:  Another block!

BW:  Incredible, daddy!  I never would have thought Luke Steele could
block a punch from Grant Stone.

[Stone steps back, looking a bit surprised as Luke Steele marches out of
the corner, cocking back his fist and drilling Stone in the left ear
with a haymaker.]

GM:  Steele's fighting back!  He's fired up!

[A few right hands find the mark on the head of the big man from
Kentucky...

...who shoves Steele hard in the chest, knocking him back towards the
corner.]

GM:  Steele got shoved back!  Grant Stone will not back down!

[Steele charges out of the corner again...

...and gets wiped out with a big boot that hits Steele squarely in the
chest.]

GM:  OHHH!

[A smirking Grant Stone leans over the ropes, glaring at Bobby Taylor as
Luke Steele writhes on the canvas.]


"Looking good, Outlaw?  Getting your money's worth?"


[Reaching down, Stone grabs a handful of Steele's hair, yanking him off
the canvas.]


"Try this one!"


[Hooking a biel on Steele, Stone takes a couple of big steps and hoists
Steele into the air...

...and hurling him clear over the top rope, slamming down onto the
wooden planks covering the dirt floor at ringside!  The crowd goes
silent from the impact as Steele lies motionless on the floor.]

GM:  Oh my... I- Bucky, did you see that?

BW:  This is over, Gordo.  Ring the bell.

GM:  I think you may be right.

[An outraged Michael Meekly yells for Stone to back off.  Outside the
ring, Bobby Taylor is on his feet, glaring at Steele's wrecked body.]

GM:  I can't believe what Grant Stone just did.  This guy is a nutcase -
a total menace to the entire American Wrestling Alliance.

[Stone shoves the protesting official aside, stepping through the ropes
and glaring right at a stunned Taylor.]

GM:  Come on!  Get this guy under control, referee!

[A smirking Stone crouches, reaching into his boot.]

GM:  What's he going to do now?  

[Stone stands straight up and with a flick of his wrist, tosses
something down onto the fallen Luke Steele.]

GM:  Is that-

BW:  I'll be right back, daddy!

GM:  Stay where you are, Bucky.  Is that a roll of money?

[The camera zooms in on a hefty roll of bills on the chest of the
motionless Luke Steele.]

BW:  You bet it is, Gordo!  And you know exactly what that means!

GM:  I do?

BW:  Don't try to cover up for him.  Bobby Taylor paid off Grant Stone
to take out Luke Steele too!  Taylor's snapped and he's taking out all
of his former friends!

GM:  Give me a break, Bucky.  I don't believe that for a second.

BW:  I don't care, daddy.  I know it!

[Stone drops down off the apron, ignoring the protesting referee as he
looks down at Steele...

...and then slams his foot down on the windpipe of Steele, causing his
body to convulse as he gasps for air.]

GM:  Come on!  This is ridiculous!  Someone needs to stop this guy!

BW:  How about Steele's good friend, Bobby Taylor?  Oh, that's right. 
Taylor's got his own agenda here tonight.  First, Slater - now, Steele.

[With Steele gasping for air, Stone drags the "Real Deal" up by the
hair, rolling him back into the ring before rolling under the ropes
behind him.]

GM:  Both men back in the ring.  Michael Meekly is right there to try
and stop Stone from-

[Stone shoves past the official again, dragging Steele off the canvas
and with a lone finger pointed in Bobby Taylor's direction...

...he spins Steele around, hoisting him up into a torture rack.]

GM:  NO!  The referee needs to stop this!  This is what he did to Kevin
Slater and Slater is out for- NO!

[With a wicked smirk on his face, Stone drops to the side, driving
Steele's head and neck into the canvas with a sickening impact.]

GM:  OHHHHHHH!

[Stone pushes up to a knee, placing a single finger in the middle of
Luke Steele's chest.]

GM:  There's no getting up from the Etched In Stone, Bucky.  One.  Two. 
Three.  That's it.


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


BW:  That it?  I can't believe it, Gordo.  I mean, I thought Grant Stone
was going to win this match but- like that?  Are you kidding me?

GM:  In just over three and a half minutes, Grant Stone has defeated
Luke Steele and- well, thank goodness he's just walking away from the
ring.  No more attacks on Luke Steele.

BW:  Grant Stone looks unstoppable, Bucky, period.  Who in the world can
stop this guy?  Slater had no chance.  Frank Dylan James got run out of
town.  Now Luke Steele gets demolished?  Seriously, who can stop him?

GM:  The referee is kneeling next to Steele - I think... well, I don't
even want to say it.

[Referee Michael Meekly checks on Steele for a bit and then starts
waving his arm frantically towards the locker room area.]

GM:  And that's what I was afraid of.  We've got a medical team on their
way out here to work on Luke Steele.  The Real Deal wanted so badly to
stand up to Stone for his friend Kevin Slater but in the end, Grant
Stone has claimed another victim.  And Bucky, you may be right, I just
don't know if anyone will be able to stop him.  Fans, we need to take a
quick break.  We'll be right back.

[The shot holds on the ring where a medical team has surrounded the
fallen Luke Steele 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 desk where Gordon and Bucky are
standing looking very solemn.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans, to The Last Stampede coming to you live from
South Laredo, Texas, here at the Rodeogrounds.  Before we move, we would
just like to inform our viewing audience that during the commerical
break, Luke Steele had to be removed from the ring by stretcher.  I
repeat again, Luke Steele suffered a serious injury at the hands of
Grant Stone and had to be removed from the ringside area by stretcher. 
We are very concerned about the condition of Luke Steele and we have
been told that he will be transported via ambulance to the nearest
medical facility for further evaluation.  As we get more details, we
will make them known to you.  Bucky, your thoughts?

BW:  It's a shame, Gordo, it really is.  Luke Steele just did not have
what it takes to tangle with a beast like Grant Stone.  He wanted to do
it in honor of his buddy Slater but he just didn't have the fight in him
to face off with Stone.  As a result, we saw a stretcher out here to
carry someone from the ring a little earlier than we thought we would.

GM:  That's right.  We've still got that big stretcher match to come
later tonight as well as the double-caged nightmare known as WarGames. 
But now, it's time for tag team action.  It was over a month ago on AWA
Saturday Night Wrestling when Rough N Ready had just had another very
successful victory inside the ring when a new tag team burst upon the
scene, looking to make a name for themselves.  Armed with a pool cue,
they tried to make that name at the expense of Rough N Ready, Bucky.

BW:  The Glamour Boys came out of nowhere, using that pool cue to bust
up Cooper and Somers, and instantly put their name in the middle of the
AWA's tag team division.  

GM:  But tonight, they'll face their first true test inside an AWA ring
as they do battle with Rough N Ready in their return to action.  Our own
Jason Dane caught up with Rough N Ready earlier this week to get their
thoughts on tonight's big match - let's take a look at what they had to
say.

[Fade to a simple studio set in which Jason Dane sits opposite the
members of Rough N Ready. In the first seat is Dave Cooper, who wears a
pair of brown slacks and a white button-down shirt. Next to him is Eric
Matthew Somers, who wears a blue polo shirt and jeans. Sarah Sharpe in
the seat furthest from Dane, she being dressed in a white blouse and tan
dress slacks.]

JD: Fans, I'm here with Rough N Ready, who will be facing The Glamour
Boyz at The Last Stampede in tag team action. Now, Dave and Eric, we all
know that Michael Taylor and Nick Hunter attacked you a few weeks ago on
Saturday Night Wrestling... the question that remains unanswered is why 
they targeted you... and Dave, as I understand it, this has to do with
more than it just being a random attack.

DC: [nodding] Well, Jason, that's one way to put it... first thing you
need to understand is that there was an extended period of time in which
I was not an active wrestler and operated an independent promotion out
of New Mexico. And when I operated that promotion, a couple of teenage
boys approached me at one point, asking about the chance to wrestle. And
those two boys would go by the names of Michael Taylor and Nick Hunter.

JD: That doesn't sound unusual. We've often heard in this business of
people starting their careers at 18 or 19 years old.

DC: That's true, but these two were about 14 years old at that point...
this dates back to about six or seven years ago. And while I understand
that there are those who start in wrestling at a young age, I'm not
about to hire a couple of youngsters who have just entered high school
and are four years away from earning their diplomas.

JD: So you suspect that this attack has to do with the two of them being
upset that you wouldn't hire them at that point?

DC: It would certainly explain why this Hoff individual is making noise
about how I tried to hold back their careers... when the truth is, I was
only making what was not just a sensible decision from my end, but from
their end as well. This wrestling business can be pretty rough on you,
and the last thing I think that should be happening is to expose
somebody who is barely into high school to the rigors of this business.

JD: Yet here you are, the two men who would be referred to as the
grizzled veterans, squaring off against two men who would be considered
up and coming youngsters.

[As Dave is about to answer, Eric chimes in.]

EMS: You mind if I cut in for a second here... now, Jason, I'm used to
people calling me seasoned, past my prime or other politcally correct
terms for the word old. But regardless of my age or Dave's age, there's
one thing that hasn't changed about us and that's how we like to take
punks like Hunter and Taylor and turn them into a couple of grease spots
on the mat.

[He turns toward the camera and points a menacing finger, clearly
agitated.]

EMS: And I can guarantee you that's exactly what's going to happen to
Hunter and Taylor... these Glamour Boyz, as they like to call
themselves, are gonna get a whippin' like they never felt before! I
don't put up with anyone jumping me from behind and attacking me with a
crowbar! So come Last Stampede, you two will learn your lessons through
a beatdown as only Rough N Ready can deliver!

[Dave reaches over to put a hand on Eric's shoulder.]

DC: Easy there... calm down. This isn't the time to be losing focus.

EMS: [turning to Dave] Focus? Oh, I know where my focus... right at a
couple of punks who have no business jumping me and my friend from
behind!

[Sarah now interjects herself, standing up from her seat and putting her
hand on Eric's other shoulder.]

SS: Eric, like Dave said, take a deep breath and relax... I know you
aren't happy with what went down, it's understandable to be upset... but
you don't want to get too upset, because that's exactly what Hoff and
his boys want.

DC: Sarah is right... if we let our emotions get the best of us, we're
walking right into their trap.

JD: What of Hoff, though... what do you think is his motivation for
taking Hunter and Taylor under his guidance?

SS: Jason, I could probably guess what it is... he wants to make a name
for himself, and what better way to do that than to take two kids who
have plenty of potential, but couldn't understand when somebody was only
looking out for their best interests, and using that to his advantage.
Well, as far as Hoff is concerned, those kids are going to learn that
there is no shortcut to success as they apparently thought when they
asked my husband for work when he was a promoter. And there is certainly
no shortcut to success as Hoff thinks by taking such kids and using them
to gain an advantage over vets like my men.

[She turns to the camera.]

SS: I can promise you this, though... Rough N Ready isn't going to let
The Glamour Boyz find their way to the top that easily, and Hoff
certainly isn't going to make a name for himself at my expense _or_ at
the expense of my men.

[Fade back to the ringside area where Stephen Ross has joined the
announce team.]

GM:  Fans, at this time, we have been joined here at ringside by the
Chairman of the Championship Committee, Stephen Ross.  Mr. Ross, you are
having one heck of a night so far.

SR:  Thanks, Gordon.  The debut of Juan Vasquez was something that we
felt very strongly about giving our loyal AWA fans as a surprise here
tonight.  It just goes to show that you just never know what'll happen
in the AWA.

GM:  You can say that again.  And now, I understand, you have a special
announcement you want to make.

SR:  That's right.  For months now, there has been speculation about the
AWA's tag team division and just when would we be introducing the
National Tag Team Titles to the wrestling world.  Tonight, I am here to
make it official.  The National Tag Team Title belts are being created
as we speak and we intend to crown the very first National Tag Team
Champions.

GM:  The obvious questions on my mind are how and when?

SR:  Gordon, the details on how we will be crowning the champions will
be revealed in the coming days but at this time, we intend to have the
first champions crowned at our big Thanksgiving night show in November.

GM:  Mr. Ross, obviously, this announcement has huge implications for
the participants in our next match.  Two tag teams both looking to win
those titles - you just put huge pressure on both teams.

SR:  And if you guys don't mind, I think I'll sit here at ringside with
you so I can report back on these two teams to the Committee.

GM:  By all means, sir.  Fans, let's go up to Melissa!

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

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

["Superman" by Stereophonics comes on over the PA system, to loud jeers
from the audience.]

MC:  At a combined weight of 412 pounds and hailing from Southern
California... being accompanied to the ring by their manager, Robert
Hofstedder... "Nasty" Nick and "Marvelous" Michael...

THE GLAMOUR BOYS!

[Robbie Hofstedder bursts through the curtains, leading his team to the
ring.  Hoff is dressed in a cheap looking suit and jacket, while both
Glamour Boys walk out dressed in blue and red robes.]

GM:  We talked about this being the first real challenge inside the ring
for the Glamour Boys - and now with the tag team titles officially
announced, things just got even more challenging for them here tonight,
Mr. Ross.

SR:  Well, we definitely wanted to raise the bar here tonight with a
couple of tag team matches on the books.  I can't reveal yet how we're
going to crown the champs but the winners of the two matches here
tonight will have a leg up on the competition for sure.

[The trio hits the ring with Huner and Taylor removing their robes as
the Hoff runs around and riles up the crowd.]

MC:  And their opponents... at a total combined weight at 615 pounds...
hailing from Albuquerque, New Mexico... being accompanied to the ring by
their manager, Sarah Sharpe... Dave Cooper... Eric Matthew Somers... 

ROUGH... N... READY!

[The opening strands of Deep Purple's "Knocking At Your Back Door" kick
in, the chords seemingly building anticipation for what is to come. And
once the chords reach their crescendo and the drums kick in, that's when
Rough N Ready emerges from the entranceway to a huge cheer from the
crowd.]

GM:  Here they come!  Rough N Ready makes their return to the AWA ring
and if you're the Glamour Boys, you may be thinking of making a run for
it right about now!

[Dave Cooper wears black wrestling trunks, matching kneepads and white
wrestling boots, and also wears a black T-shirt that says "Rough N
Ready" in white lettering. Eric Matthew Somers wears a black singlet and
white wrestling boots. Standing in between them is their manager, Sarah
Sharpe, dressed in black pants and matching jacket and a white T-shirt.

The trio makes their way to the ring, Sarah walking in front with Dave
and Eric side by side, Dave with a serious look on his face and Eric
with a furious glare towards the ring They reach the ringside area,
where Dave is the first to ascend the ring steps and duck between the
ropes, followed by Eric, as Sarah takes her place at ringside.  Cooper
immediately stands in front of his partner, resisting Somers' attempts
to get across the ring.]

GM:  Eric Matthew Somers, the big man of Rough N Ready, just wants to
get right at it!  He wants to get his hands on the Glamour Boys in the
worst possible way!

[Cooper manages to get Somers back to the corner as The Hoff lays right
into the referee, protesting Somers' actions.]

GM:  A lot on the line for both of these teams - moreso now than before
thanks to the Championship Committee.  Both of these teams know the news
- they know the National Tag Team Titles are on the horizon and a win
here could put them right in the middle of that.

BW:  And what was already a grudge match just got a lot more heated. 
But you've gotta be careful now.  A DQ here could cost you in a big, big
way.

[With the two managers out on the floor, referee Meekly calls for the
bell to start the match.]


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  It's going to be Dave Cooper starting the match off with Michael
Taylor it appears.  Both men getting some last moment words of advice
from their respective partners.  

BW:  That big goof Somers is staring a hole right through Taylor and
Hunter.  When he gets turned loose in there, it's gonna be a
slaughterhouse.

[Cooper claps his hands together as he circles out of the corner, Taylor
backpedaling to stay away.]

GM:  Cooper's looking for an opening.  He's the technician of the team,
always looking to break someone down on the mat.  

[With Taylor moving backwards, Cooper lunges towards him...

...and Taylor ducks his head, putting his torso between the top and
middle ropes to force the referee to step in Cooper's path.]

GM:  Marty Meekly backs Cooper off.

[Taylor holds until Cooper is back to the middle of the ring and then
ducks back into the squared circle.  He quickly lunges into a collar and
elbow tieup that Cooper turns, shoving Taylor back against the ropes.]

GM:  Backed into the ropes now... 

[The ringside mics pick up The Hoff standing near the announce desk,
hollering in the announcers' direction.]

"Keep your head up, Gordo!  Try to stay awake this time!"

BW:  You hear that, Gordo?  Some good advice.

GM:  Leave me out of this and keep your eyes on the ring.

[Cooper pushes hard, rearing back a right hand...

...and then breaking when Marty Meekly steps in, ordering him away from
Taylor.]

GM:  Michael Taylor escapes from getting clocked right there.  

[The Hoff slaps the mat a few times, screaming "watch the hair!" at the
official who shakes his head.]

GM:  The Hoff is trying to get the referee to think Dave Cooper used the
hair but I saw no such thing.

SR:  Me neither, Gordon.

BW:  I think I might've seen something.

GM:  Give me a break.

[Cooper shakes his head at the referee's questioning...

...and is barely paying attention when Taylor races forward, popping
Cooper with a right hand to the jaw.  He grabs Cooper by the wrist,
firing him to the ropes.]

GM:  Irish whip by Michael Taylor... Cooper off the ropes and-

[The crowd cheers as Cooper connects with a running shoulderblock that
knocks Taylor off his feet to the mat.]

GM:  Oh my!  Big running tackle by Dave Cooper!

[Cooper runs to the ropes as Taylor regains his feet.]

GM:  Cooper off the ropes... Taylor drops down, Cooper over the top...

[Dave Cooper hits the far ropes, rebounding back, and ducking under a
leapfrog by Taylor that sends Cooper into the ropes one more time.]

GM:  Off the ropes again... dropkick by Tayl- ohh!  

[Cooper pulls up short, allowing Taylor to slam backfirst into the mat
where Cooper quickly hooks the legs, turning Taylor slightly and
catapulting Taylor chestfirst to the buckles!]

GM:  To the corner goes Michael Taylor!  He got a faceful of turnbuckles
on that one!

BW:  I think he hit his chest, Gordo.

GM:  Whatever it was, it was effective.  

[Cooper pops back up to his feet, leaping into the air and dropping a
big knee across the chest of the prone Michael Taylor.]

GM:  Kneedrop down on the mark right there - and Taylor rolls right out
to the floor!  He didn't want any more of Dave Cooper right now and I
can't say I blame 'im.

BW:  And there goes The Hoff, right in there to check on his man.

[The ringside fans jeer wildly as The Hoff races over to embrace Michael
Taylor.]

GM:  Aww, how cute.

BW:  Some moral support by The Hoff could be the difference between
winning and losing this one, Gordo.  Don't criticize The Hoff's
managerial technique.

GM:  Is that what you call this?

[Taylor rolls under the ropes, popping up to a knee where he waves
Cooper away - an order that Marty Meekly echoes as Cooper paces back and
forth.]

GM:  And now it's Dave Cooper who looks like he can't wait to get his
hands on the Glamour Boy.  

[Taylor eases back to his feet, slowly moving into another collar and
elbow tieup...

...one that Cooper easily spins under, applying a rear hammerlock on
Taylor.]

GM:  Hammerlock slapped on by Cooper and this is where Dave Cooper is at
his most dangerous - with a submission hold locked in.  He's cranking up
on the arm of the kid who wanted to train with him and- oh, nice
reversal by Taylor!

[The speedy youngster spins back around into a hammerlock of his own,
cranking up on the arm.]

GM:  Now it's Cooper looking for a way out...

[The crowd cheers as Cooper suddenly races forward, ducking down and
using Taylor's own momentum to hurl him through the ropes and out to the
wooden floor!]

GM:  Ohh!  Taylor back out to the floor!

[And immediately, he's joined by The Hoff.  Nick Hunter drops down off
the apron as well, checking on his fallen partner who takes a knee,
pointing an accusing finger at the veteran inside the ring.]

GM:  Oh, come on.  Get back in the ring, guys.  This is getting
ridiculous.

[Taylor and Hunter both shout at the official with The Hoff's voice
carrying over both of them.]


"What kind of show ya runnin' here, ref?  He just threw my man to the
floor!"


[The referee waves them back into the ring and in response, they wave
him off, walking towards the locker room.]

GM:  And take a look at this - the Glamour Boys are walking out of here.
 This can't be good for their National Tag Team Title chances, Mr. Ross.

SR:  I would say so.  This could be a serious blow to them.

GM:  Hunter and Taylor are conferring with The Hoff - I'm not sure if-
well, now it looks like they're coming back.

[Taylor rolls under the ropes and promptly slaps the hand of "Nasty"
Nick Hunter...

...and across the ring, much to the delight of the crowd, Eric Matthew
Somers tags himself into the match for the first time.]

GM:  In comes the big man... and is Nick Hunter going to lock up with
him?  He's out of his mind!

[The big man ties up with the 6'2 Hunter, powering him back towards the
ropes where the referee forces a break...

...and Hunter buries a boot into the midsection of Somers, causing him
to stumble back towards the middle of the ring.]

GM:  He caught Somers in the gut - Hunter off the ropes...

[And the 213 pounder throws himself at Somers, connecting with a flying
forearm squarely in the chest of the big man who again stumbles back a
few steps.]

BW:  And this is exactly what the Glamour Boys need to do, daddy.  Stick
and move, stick and move.

[Hunter pops back to his feet, charging forward...

...and getting scooped up into the air, held high with one arm.]

GM:  Look at the power!

[And the 6'9, 350 pounder slams him down with a crushing slam!]

GM:  Oh my!  He nearly put him _through_ the mat, Bucky!

[Hunter is quickly back to his feet, one hand on his back as he stumbles
backwards to the turnbuckles where Somers moves in on him...

...and gets a hard boot to the gut for his efforts.]

GM:  Hunter with a boot to the gut... and there's a big right hand to
the side of the head... Hunter off the ropes again...

[And runs right into a waiting Eric Matthew Somers who hoists Nick
Hunter off the canvas, military pressing him high into the air.]

GM:  OHHH!  PURE POWER!

[From well over seven feet in the air, Somers hurls Hunter down to the
canvas with a press slam.]

GM:  And DOWN to the mat goes Nick Hunter... and he's getting right out
of there just like his partner did.

[Hunter rolls clear to the floor just as The Hoff races to his side to
console him.]

BW:  The Hoff is really going to need to regroup his boys here.  This
just isn't working for them at the moment.

GM:  They may need to toss out the gameplan altogether.

BW:  I don't know about that but it's about time they get one of Rough N
Ready isolated in there and apart from his partner.  Cooper's a better
bet in my opinion but if you can get Somers down, you can wear him down
faster.

GM:  That's actually some excellent analysis, Bucky.

BW:  I'm not a seven-time Manager of the Year for nothin', daddy.  I've
managed more tag team champions than you've had wives.

[After a few words of wisdom, Hunter rolls back in and slaps the hand of
Michael Taylor to bring him back into the ring where he quickly ties up
with Eric Matthew Somers...

...and jams a thumb into the eye of the big man.]

GM:  Cheap shot!  To the eyes of Somers to temporarily blind him.

[Taylor uses that blindness to shove Somers back against the ropes,
burying fist after fist into the massive gut to double up the big man
before driving his skull into the back of Somers' head.]

GM:  Ohh!  Hard headbutt by "Marvelous" Michael Taylor.  That'll stun
Somers for sure.

[Pulling the big man out of the corner, Taylor attempts an Irish whip...

...but finds it easily reversed by the 350 pounder.]

GM:  Reverses the whip.  Taylor off the ropes... and down he goes!  

[The 6'9 Somers hits a big clothesline to knock Taylor off his feet and
then deadleaps into the air, dropping a 350 pound legdrop across the
chest of Taylor.]

GM:  HUUUGE LEGDROP!  A COVER!  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE-

[Taylor just barely slips a shoulder off the mat in time, sending a buzz
of anticipation through the air.]

GM:  Rough N Ready almost stole that one!  Eric Matthew Somers dropped
one of the biggest legdrops I've ever seen squarely on the chest of
Michael Taylor for a near fall... and there goes Taylor again!

[A surprised Michael Taylor rolls to the ropes, wrapping his arms and
legs around them to avoid another pin attempt.]

GM:  Heheheh.

BW:  Laugh all you want but that's a sound strategy.  Avoid the pin
situation at all costs.

GM:  That'd work if Somers was going to let him.

[Somers yanks Taylor away from the ropes by the long hair...

...and takes a balled-up fist squarely in the jaw for it.  Straightening
up, Taylor drives the toe of his boot into the throat of Somers,
knocking him back from the ropes.]

GM:  Somers is sucking wind now, trying to clear that throat.

[Taylor immediately hits the ropes, rebounding back at top speed...

...and driving both feet into the chest of the stunned Somers, knocking
him off his feet and down to the mat.]

GM:  Ohh!  I didn't expect that at all!  But he managed to stagger
Somers enough to knock him flat with that big running dropkick.  The
speed of the Glamour Boys getting an edge on Eric Matthew Somers right
now.

[Taylor stomps the downed Somers a couple times before stepping back...

...and _driving_ the point of his elbow into the windpipe!]

GM:  Driving elbowsmash to the throat!  Michael Taylor has Eric Matthew
Somers down on the mat and is working him over.  Taylor back up...

[And promptly leaps in the air, dropping his leg across the throat.]

GM:  And it looks like "Marvelous" Michael Taylor may be going right for
the throat of the big man. 

BW:  Take out the man's air, he can't stand no matter how big he is. 
And a 6'9 beast like Somers takes a lot of air to stay on his feet.

[Taylor reaches over to slap the hand of "Nasty" Nick Hunter who grabs
the top rope, allowing his partner to slingshot him over the ropes...

...and down across the body of Somers with a splash.]

GM:  That's a cover.  One!  Two!  

[But the powerful half of Rough N Ready pushes Hunter off with relative
ease.]

GM:  Just a two count there.  But Nick Hunter is right up on his feet,
stomping Somers over and over again.

[Grabbing Somers by the arm, Hunter drags him towards the corner,
somehow muscling him into a seated position against the buckles where he
promptly drives a knee into the face.]

GM:  Oh, come on, referee!

BW:  He's got a five count in the corner, Gordo.

GM:  The ref's not even counting though!

[Hunter slams another knee to the face - and another - and a third which
finally brings the referee in to stop him.]

GM:  Marty Meekly finally gets in there, forcing Hunter away from the
downed Eric Matthew Somers- oh, come on!

[Hunter shoves the official aside, sprinting towards the corner...

...and DRIVING a knee squarely into the face of the seated Somers in the
corner!]

GM:  OHHHH!  Did you see that?!

BW:  That might do it!  That might do it right there!

GM:  Somers slumps down in the buckles.  You might be right, Bucky.  But
there's no pin attempt by "Nasty" Nick.  He quickly makes another
exchange with his partner.

BW:  That's one of the keys of tag team wrestling.  Quick tags, keep the
fresh man in, cut the ring in half.  The Glamour Boys are doing all
three of those things right now.

GM:  Michael Taylor back into the ring - up on the middle rope...

[And as Hunter clears out, Taylor leaps into the air...

...and drops the big elbow down across the chest of his downed
opponent.]

GM:  Middle rope elbowdrop on target!  Another cover by the Glamour Boys
on target!  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR-

[Somers again powers out before the three count.]

GM:  Michael Taylor couldn't keep him down and- The Hoff's shouting
instructions to his man.  He's telling "Marvelous" Michael to climb the 
ropes... to go up to the top rope...

[Taylor nods his head, quickly moving to climb the corner.]

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

[The Glamour Boy stands up top, facing away from the ring...]

GM:  He's up top... Somers is down and-  

BW:  MOONSAULT!

[Taylor backflips off the ropes with a beautiful backflip, floating down
towards Somers...

...who rolls out of the way at the last moment!]

GM:  HE MISSED!  TAYLOR MISSED!

[And Eric Matthew Somers seizes the moment to crawl like there's no
tomorrow, inching closer and closer and closer...

...and throwing himself towards the outstretched hand of his partner who
makes the exchange!]

GM:  IN COMES COOPER!

[Dave Cooper steps through the ropes, charging across the ring where he
greets an incoming Nick Hunter with a forearm smash that knocks him back
towards the corner!]

GM:  Hunter trying to sneak in there and he gets caught.  Cooper grabs
his arm...

[Spinning around, Cooper whips a stunned Hunter into a recovering
Taylor, the collision knocking both men flat to a huge cheer from the
South Laredo crowd.]

GM:  Both Glamour Boys are down and The Hoff is going crazy out here by
us!

SR:  And this is exactly the kind of action the AWA Tag Team Division is
becoming known for, Gordon.  This is why the Championship Committee is
introducing the National Tag Team Titles.

GM:  Cooper pulls Hunter off the mat... whip to the ropes...

[And Dave Cooper rampages towards "Nasty" Nick, knocking him flat with a
running clothesline before spinning on his heel, drilling "Marvelous"
Michael with a hard boot to the gut that knocks him back down to the
mat.]

GM:  Dave Cooper is taking on both members of the Glamour Boys!

[Cooper turns his attention back towards Nick Hunter, grabbing two hands
full of Hunter's long brown hair...

...and yanks him into the air off the mat, throwing him back down to the
roars of the crowd!]

GM:  He's all over Nick Hunter and Hunter's not even the legal man!

BW:  I don't think Cooper cares about legality after that hairpull slam,
Gordo!  That definitely wasn't legal at all!

GM:  Hunter rolls out to the apron.  Cooper's got Taylor... irish whi-
reversed by Taylor!

[Cooper ducks under a clothesline attempt, racing towards the ropes...

...where a sneaky Nick Hunter slips a knee into the kidneys of Dave
Cooper, stopping him cold.]

GM:  Ohhh!  Cheapshot by Nick Hunter!  

BW:  Dave Cooper had that one comin' - pure and simple.  He returned the
favor for that hairpull for sure.

GM:  And look at this blatant choke from Michael Taylor!  Come on,
referee!

[The referee immediately starts counting the illegal choke - which gets
broken at the count of four by "Marvelous" Michael.]

GM:  Just before the five count.  The Glamour Boys are showing that they
will pull out all the stops to win this match.  They will do absolutely
anything it takes.

[Marty Meekly backs Taylor away, reprimanding him for the choke...

...which allows Hunter to slip back into the ring, charging a few steps
out of the corner and leaping into the air, dropping all his weight down
in a senton on the downed Cooper!]

GM:  Ohh!  Come on, referee!

BW:  The referee is doing his job, Gordo - it's just that the Glamour
Boys are outsmarting him at every turn.  Taylor and Hunter were more
than ready for this match tonight.

GM:  Taylor's moving back in - pulling Cooper off the mat... ohhh! 
Through the ropes to the floor!

[And as the referee reprimands Taylor, Hunter drops down off the apron,
pulling Cooper up and slamming his face into the ring apron to the jeers
of the crowd.]

GM:  Eric Matthew Somers is going nuts over there in the corner.  He's
watching his partner get worked over illegally time and time again and
Somers is about to snap.

BW:  He can snap all he wants as long as he stays in the corner where
he's supposed to, daddy!

GM:  Hunter picks Cooper back up, rolling him under the ropes where
Michael Taylor is waiting.

[Taylor drags Cooper around the ring by the head...

...and spits in the direction of Eric Matthew Somers which brings the
big man into the ring.]

GM:  Here comes Somers!

[But Marty Meekly steps into his path, refusing to let him pass...

...and unfortunately allowing Nick Hunter to slip illegally into the
ring as Taylor steps out to the apron.]

GM:  No tag there - not at all.  Hunter's got Cooper by the head...
ohhh!  He slams him facefirst to the mat!

[Kneeling on the mat, Hunter smirks at the steaming Eric Matthew Somers
before slamming Cooper's head into the canvas again before rolling him
to his back.]

GM:  Another cover - one!  Two!  Thr- Cooper slips a shoulder out in
time.

[Hunter drags Cooper off the mat, grabbing him by the arm.]

GM:  Both men back up and-

[Hunter spins around, whipping Cooper hard the short distance into the
turnbuckles!]

GM:  OHHH!  Chestfirst to the corner!

[Cooper slowly spins out of the corner, staggering across the ring...

...and catching a snapping superkick under the jaw that knocks Cooper
flat!]

BW:  WICKED VICIOUS!  That's what he calls that snapping superkick that
just laid out Dave Cooper!

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE-

[The crowd erupts into cheers as Dave Cooper slips a shoulder off the
mat just before the three count.]

GM:  Cooper breaks the pin!  Dave Cooper just barely broke the pin in
time.  And listen to these fans going nuts for Dave Cooper.  

BW:  And listen to Nick Hunter - Hunter's really letting the referee
have it.

[Both Hunter and The Hoff are screaming at Marty Meekly for his slow
count as Cooper attempts to crawl towards the corner where Eric Matthew
Somers' large hand is stretched out waiting for a tag.]

GM:  Somers wants the tag so badly!  But it's not going to happen - not
yet at least.  Hunter cuts off Cooper, dragging him back to his feet...
he makes the tag to Taylor...

[Hunter holds Cooper's arms back, exposing the body as Taylor steps into
the ring and buries a right hand into the midsection, knocking Cooper to
a knee...

...and then smashes him with a double axehandle blow, knocking Cooper
down to the mat!]

GM:  And right back down to the mat he goes.  The Glamour Boys are
really working him over, Bucky.

BW:  We talked about the keys to tag team wrestling and the Boys know
those keys very well apparently.

GM:  Taylor drags Cooper up... another tag... 

[The Glamour Boys back Cooper against the ropes, each grabbing an arm.]

GM:  Double whip by the Boys...

[Both Taylor and Hunter leave their feet, connecting with a double
dropkick that knocks Cooper flat before Hunter dives across him in a
lateral press.]

GM:  One!  Two!  Thre- the double dropkick almost got him but not quite.
 Dave Cooper is still alive and Nick Hunter can't believe it, again
screaming at our referee.

[Hunter drags Cooper up off the mat...

...and blasts him across the chest with a knife-edge chop.]

GM:  Ohh!  Hard chop by Hunter knocks Cooper to a knee!


"Look at him, Bucky!  He's out on his feet, baby!"


BW:  You can hear The Hoff, Gordo.  He's telling me that Cooper's out on
his feet and I've got to agree with him, daddy!

GM:  It's not over yet, Bucky.

BW:  It's just a matter of time now.

GM:  Hunter pulls Cooper up, another cho-

[But Cooper slaps the chop away, hooking both arms of his  younger
opponent before dropping down to his knees, pulling Hunter down to the
mat.]

GM:  BACKSLIDE!!  OUT OF NOWHERE!

[Marty Meekly dives to the canvas.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE-

[But Hunter fires a shoulder off the mat just before the three count
falls.]

GM:  Hunter gets the shoulder up - and he's actually the first back to
his feet, shoving Cooper back towards the ropes.  He's trying to tie
Dave Cooper up in the ropes... tie his arms between the top and middle
ropes...

[Which allows Hunter to hit the far ropes, rebounding back and leaping
into the air for a cross bodyblock...]

GM:  Cooper's in trouble here and-

[The crowd erupts as Cooper throws himself to the mat, causing a
charging Hunter to slam into the ropes, crashing down to the canvas in a
heap.]

GM:  HE MISSED!  HUNTER MISSED!

[Which gives Cooper a window of opportunity to charge the last few
steps, hurling himself in the air...

...and slapping the outstretched hand of Eric Matthew Somers who steps
over the ropes to the roar of the crowd!]

GM:  HE'S IN!  SOMERS IS IN!

[Somers storms across the ring, connecting with a running tackle that
knocks Taylor back into the corner.  He spins around, grabbing Hunter by
the arm...

...and whipping him into a stunned Taylor!]

GM:  Big collision!  

[Hunter staggers back out of the buckles...

...right into another huge military press by Eric Matthew Somers!]

GM:  ANOTHER BIG PRESS - AND DOWN GOES HUNTER!!

[The 350 pounder throws himself into a lateral press.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR- NO!  Taylor makes the save!

BW:  And now the Glamour Boys are both in there, working over Somers. 
Double whip by the Boys... double clothesli-

[A huge cheer goes up as Somers runs right through the double
clothesline...

...and then hits both men with a leaping double clothesline of his own
that topples both men!]

GM:  DOWN THEY GO!  

[Somers quickly gets back to his feet, yanking Taylor off the mat by the
hair...

...and wraps his hand around Taylor's throat.]

GM:  Choke!  He's got him goozled!

[Somers hoists Taylor into the air...

...and _DRIVES_ him down to the canvas with a huge thud!]

GM:  CHOKESLAM!  HE NAILS IT!

[And with Taylor rolling to the floor, Somers grabs a rising Nick Hunter
by the arm, throwing him to the ropes...

...and PLANTING him with a thunderous spinning powerslam off the ropes!]

GM:  OHHHH!  ONE!!!  TWO!!!  THREEEEEEE!!!



"DING!  DING!  DING!"


MC:  Your winners of the match in a time of fifteen minutes and thirteen
seconds... ROUGH N READY!!

[The crowd roars as Eric Matthew Somers hoists his big frame off the
downed Nick Hunter, raising a triumphant arm in victory as a dazed Dave
Cooper joins his partner inside the ring.]

GM:  Rough N Ready have put down the Glamour Boys, gaining some payback
for that brutal attack over a month ago - and in the process, Mr. Ross,
I'm guessing they took one big step forward towards the National Tag
Team Titles.

SR:  You would be absolutely right on that, Gordon.  Both teams were
impressive in this one but the win for Rough N Ready will go a long way
to putting them in reach of the gold.

GM:  Mr. Ross, we would like to thank you for joining us out here for
this match.  I understand that you will be out here later tonight for
our other tag team match as well.

SR:  That's correct, Gordon - and we've got a special announcement to
make before that match too so you can look forward to that.

GM:  We certainly will.  Fans, we'll be right back after this quick
break but before we go, let's take another look at an individual who is
on his way to the AWA, Naitomea!

[We fade out on a shot of The Hoff helping his defeated tag team down
the aisle towards the locker room area - a shot that is soon replaced by
the name "Naitomea" in black and silver letters.  The letters fade and
are replaced by video of AWA announcer Jason Dane.]

JD:  I don't know if the AWA is ready for this, to be quite honest with
you.  I think very few members of the AWA roster know what's in store
for them.  Naitomea is a force of nature - an unstoppable force of
violent nature that tears a path through anything and anyone in his way.
 It's going to be something incredible to see.

[The shot of Dane fades out to reveal three words...

"NAITOMEA IS COMING!"

The words fade and are replaced by Mark Stegglet.]

MS:  Students of the sport have known for a while what a special talent
this guy is inside the ring.  He's brutal, he's ruthless, he's cold as
ice - all that's true.  But he's also one of the toughest competitors
I've ever seen.  Tiger Paw Pro is not a place for people who can't cut
it and Naitomea has dominated over there for quite some time.

[Stegglet's image fades and is replaced by...

"NAITOMEA IS COMING!"

The words fade again to reveal occasional AWA competitor Kenta Kitzukawa
who speaks in a heavily accented voice.]

KK:  I'm glad he's gone from Tiger Paw Pro.  I've tangled with him quite
a few times and it's not something I'm eager to repeat.  He and Blue
Tiger formed one of the most hated teams that Japan has ever seen.  He
is... well, he's just not a nice guy.

[Kitzukawa fades out to be replaced by...

"NAITOMEA IS COMING!"

Again, the phrase goes out as Todd Michaelson's image appears.]

TM:  As the AWA's Head Trainer, I've had a chance to watch video tapes
of wrestlers from all over the world looking to get a shot at the AWA
roster and this guy struck me from Day One as someone that could have an
immediate impact.  A lot of guys take some time to get adjusted to a new
promotion - I think this guy is going to surprise a lot of people very
quickly.

[Michaelson's face fades...

"NAITOMEA IS COMING!"

With the words still on the screen, snippets of quotes are heard. 

Words like "Unstoppable"...

"Incredible"

"Vicious"

"Awe-inspiring"

"Dangerous"

"Dangerous"

"Dangerous"

And finally, the screen goes black as one word pops up at a time.

"NAITOMEA"

"IS"

"HERE!"

Fade to black...

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

"Have you ever dreamed of fame?"

[Cut a little closer.]

"Of glory?"

[A little closer.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Two young students are grappling on the canvas.]

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

You want to wrestle!"

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

...and then fade in on a high school gymansium and basketball court. A
wide shot. The place is packed to the rafters with screaming fans. A
title stamp in the corner reads:

Pep Rally
Vicksburg High School
Vicksburg, MS
Sunday, August 24, 2008

At the center of the court is a wooden stage. The large red backdrop
behind the stage reads "GO BULLDOGS" in huge letters. Upon the stage
stands a man in a suit at a microphone. As the crowd dies down, he
speaks in a heavy Southern accent.]

"Folks, without further ado, the man we're all here to celebrate
today... he's a man... we can all look up to... a man who comes from a
grand tradition..."

[As he speaks, we cut to old slow motion footage that looks like it's
from the '80s or '90s of a man who looks remarkably like Ricky Royal,
but somehow isn't. Southern wrestling afficiandos will recognize this as
Ricky's father, "The Rebel" Richard Royal.] 


"A man of integrity..."


[And the slow motion montage continues as we see Erik Reid face to face
with Ricky in the center of the ring. Ricky's offering his right hand,
but the Texan isn't biting. Suddenly, Reid reaches out to clasp the
Ragin' Rebel's outstretched hand as the crowd behind them explodes into
a frenzy.]


"A man of action..."


[Ricky slamming a shoulder into Bruno Verhoven and sending him sailing
out of the ring with the Ragin' River Rapids diving shoulderblock on a
recent edition of Saturday Night Wrestling.]


"A man of character..."


[A shot of Ricky making one of his many rescues over the past several
months, as he pulls Cal Casey out of the way of a Tumaffi avalanche
before scrambling into the ring to engage the Samoan monster in
fisticuffs.]


"A man with heart..."


[Ricky in the hospital, talking with a bandaged and bruised Cal Casey.]


"A man with guts..."


[Flying off the top rope onto Tumaffi in slow motion to connect with a
Rebel Yell elbow drop.]


"A man with strength..."


[Ricky lifting, scooping, and bodyslamming big Clayton Shaw as part of
the Bodyslam Challenge.]


"And so... it is mah great pleasure... as your mayor... ta intraduce ta
ya all... the pride a' Mississippi... Vickburg's own... RAGIN' REBEL...
RICKY ROYAL JUNIOR!

[The crowd explodes again as the Ragin' Rebel takes the stage wearing a
brown suit jacket, jeans, and a confederate flag bandana. He takes the
podium and leans into the microphone to speak, but finds himself drowned
out by the legions of chanting fans.]

"RICK - Y! RICK - Y! RICK - Y! RICK - Y! RICK - Y! RICK - Y!"

[And, giving up, Royal just steps back and lets them chant. A huge smile
on his stubbled face, we finally fade out and then up to another shot.
We see the same stage, but the gym is dark and empty, confetti and
streamers littered all over the floor. Instead of a wide shot, we get a
zooming close-up of the one man that remains: sitting on the edge of the
stage, Ricky Royal. He looks up and smiles.]

RR: Today, I was the guest a' honor in m'hometown. They gave me the key
to the city a' Vicksburg. And I'm proud t'have it. But this weekend, I
ain't gon' be in m'hometown. And I ain't gon' be the guest of honor. 

[The smile fades and he speaks slow, deliberately, and with force.]

RR: This weekend, I'm comin' out to Laredo to settle a score one last
time in front a' some of the greatest legends in this sport, in honor a'
the greatest rasslin' promotion the great state a' Texas has ever seen.
And I'm gon' be there and I'm gon' use the opportunity... to make one
man who'll be there in the front row... remember. Remember somethin'...
remember someONE... that he shoulda NEVER forgot. He may a' went up ta
bigger an' better things in his career... but he did somethin' when he
was a young pup and ain't nobody ever made 'em pay for it.

[Ricky, his face beat red, takes a deep breath and pauses, before
continuing.]

RR: But that's... that's somebody else and that's for another time.
Right now, all my focus is on Tumaffi, jus' like it has been for six
long months. Ya know, ever' time I had a match with Tumaffi, I ended up
in the hospital BEFORE the match. First, 'fore Memorial Day Mayhem, I
was there visitin' Erik Reid. Then, 'fore the Battle a' Dallas, I was
there for Cal Casey. This time ain't no exception. I went straight there
after the last Sat'day Night Wrestlin' to get m'ribs looked at. 

[He holds up a hand, waving off any concern.]

RR: Now, I'll be a'right, don't worry 'bout me. If ya'll are worried
'bout anyone, if ya'll are puttin' in prayers for anyone, let that be
Tumaffi. 'Cause this is the end a' the road. Six months a' fightin' an
uphill battle with that monster, tryin' to civilize 'em JUST enough so
he ain't endin' careers ever' dang week, an' it all comes down to this.
One match. Me or him. Somebody ain't walkin' out a' that buildin' in
Laredo on his own two feet.

[He points a finger at the camera, directly addressing his nemesis now.]

RR: Big boy, ain't much time left for words, so I got jus' a few more
for ya. This weekend, it's gon' be YOUR last stampede. Last time ya come
down 'at aisle with that kinda swagger, 'cause I'm gon' BEAT it outta
ya. Win or lose, big boy, you ain't gon' be the same man afterwards. Not
after all this. Not after all a' men you done put in the hospital. Or
put out ta pasture permanently. Not after some a' them boys ain't never
gon' get to wrestle again, ain't never gon' get ta do what they LOVE
again. I can't follow ya 'round day in and day out for the rest a' your
stay here in the AWA, but I can DAMN sure make sure you pay the toll for
the past six months a' runnin rampant and for the careers ya ended and
I can make sure ever' time ya get one a' them violent urges a' yours, ya
remember... remember the broken bones and the bruises and the scars
Ricky Royal left ya with.

[Fire in his eyes, he glares at the camera, and speaks his finally words
slowly and visually emphasizes his own name with a hand gesture.]

RR: Count on it. 'Cause Ricky Royal... declares 'ese things... to be...
abs'lutely God dang true.

[Fade back to the ringside announce table where Gordon Myers and Bucky
Wilde are standing.]

GM:  A very determined Ricky Royal speaking to his hometown fans earlier
this week, Bucky... your thoughts?

BW:  My thoughts are that I hope Royal went on a lot of long walks this
week because after Tumaffi gets through with him tonight, he may end up
in a wheelchair - permanently.

GM:  It's a very real possibility.  This whole thing started several
months back during our big Rumble match where Royal managed to somehow
eliminate Tumaffi from the match, using his boot to batter the Samoan in
the process.  From there, we saw Tumaffi attempt to hospitalize every
man he faced inside the ring, including Erik Reid - while Royal was
making plans to bodyslam the big Samoan.  

BW:  That's right.  Royal was busy flexing his muscles while ham'n'egger
after ham'n'egger got wheeled out to the hospital.  Erik Reid almost had
his career ended by Tumaffi while Royal was striking a double bicep
flex.

GM:  But all that changed that night.  Ever since then, Ricky Royal has
been chasing Tumaffi, trying to prevent him from sending anyone else to
the hospital.  He's had success - he's had failures - and tonight, in
their final showdown - in THEIR Last Stampede, Ricky Royal will attempt
to keep Tumaffi from sending one final man to the hospital... Ricky
Royal himself.  Fans, this is going to be something very special to
witness, I believe.  Let's go up to Melissa Cannon for the
introductions.

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

MC:  The following contest is a STRETCHER MATCH!

[The crowd erupts in cheers!]

MC:  There are no pinfalls, no submissions, no countouts, no time limit,
and NO DISQUALIFICATIONS!

[The cheers somehow grow even louder!]

MC:  The only way to win this match is to render your opponent in a
state where he can be carried from the ringside area on a stretcher and
out of the South Laredo Rodeogrounds.  

[The camera shot cuts to the ringside area where two stretchers are
seen:  the first is your basic rolling metal gurney while nearby is
Tumaffi's canvas and bamboo handheld stretcher.  Several burly men in
AWA Staff shirts stand nearby.]

GM:  You can see some local weightlifters the AWA has employed tonight
to ensure that Tumaffi will be able to be carried in case he ends up on
the stretcher.

BW:  You might need more guys than that, Gordo.

GM:  Hopefully we'll get a chance to find out.

[Cut back to the ring.]

MC:  Introducing first...

[CLANK! CLANK! CLANK! CLANK! CLANK! CLANK! CLANK!

Big crowd roar for the cowbell! And then the crunchy opening guitar riff
to "Mississippi Queen" by Mountain kicks in.  First, through the walkway
steps Erik Reid in street clothes. The fans give him a big round of
cheers and the Texan waves before he turns and points both index fingers
at the entrance...

... where, after a moment, the Ragin' Rebel blows through the curtain
and the roof nearly comes off of the building as the crowd explodes!]

GM: And here they are. The fans love these guys and rightfully so! Erik
Reid and Ricky Royal are in the building!

BW: My forecast says there's a 90% chance these guys BOTH end up in the
hospital tonight.

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

[Ricky raises his arms to the AWA fans, a big smile on his face. He is
sporting red boots and kneepads and a pair of red trunks with the "Stars
and Bars" Confederate flag design adorning them. The back of his trunks
read "Heritage Not Hate" in navy blue while the front says "Ragin'
Rebel". He also wears a sleeveless black "LWC" t-shirt, which he
excitedly points to with his thumbs as he walks down the aisle.]

MC: Now coming down the aisle... accompanied by Erik Reid... weighing
in at 270 pounds... he hails from Vicksburg, Mississippi... 

He is the "RAGIN' REBEL"... 

RICKYYYYYYYYYY ROOOOOYAAAAAAAAAAAL JUUUUUUUUUUUUUNIOOOOOOR!

[With the beefy, angular '70s rock song blaring behind him and a big
smile plastered on his stubbly face, Ricky slaps hands with fans on one
side of the aisle while Reid slaps hands on the other side. Upon
reaching the ring, Ricky quickly hops up the ringsteps and ducks under
the top rope, while Reid rolls under the bottom rope and into the
squared circle. Ricky turns and salutes the crowd vigorously several
times. Each time, they give him a big cheer. Then he jumps up onto the
second rope in one corner, facing the crowd, and salutes them once more
to even bigger cheers! Finally, Ricky points to the LWC logo on his
chest and brings the crowd to a frenzy. He pulls the t-shirt off and
tosses it into the crowd to one more roar.

Suddenly, though, he stops moving and swings his gaze down to that
famous front row. He's glaring into the legends section. The legends are
all looking back, but Ricky'seyes are locked on one man and one man
only: 



Otto Verhoven.]


BW: What is this all about?

GM: I'm not entirely sure.  It seems like Ricky Royal is staring at our
legends section of the crowd - more specifically, it looks like he's
staring right at Otto "The Butcher" Verhoeven.  I don't know what this
is about at all.

[His music dies down, but Ricky stands there on the second rope, glaring
at the original Butcher, who looks back stoically, unmoved. After a
short staredown, Ricky finally yells out to him, the forceful words
flying like spit from his mouth.]

"You remember?!"

[Otto stares while Ricky seethes. Reid reaches up to tap Ricky on the
back and calm him down, but Ricky slaps his hand away and just stares at
Verhoeven.]

"Been a long time, but you remember, don't ya? Think on it! Think back
and you remember. An' count on this: I'll NEVER forget!"

[With that he jumps down off the ropes and turns to the task at hand.
Reid gets right in his face immediately and starts shouting instructions
with spit flying, vigorously waving dismissively at Verhoeven. Ricky
finally relents and starts nodding, though he shoots one last glare at
Otto when Reid turns around.]

GM:  Well, obviously, there's something there between Ricky Royal and
Otto Verhoeven.  We'll try to get some clarification on that later but
for now, Ricky Royal needs to regain his focus.

BW:  He sure does.  If he expects to last more than five minutes, he
needs to remember he's here for one reason - one four hundred pound
reason.

[Royal is swinging his arms back and forth, trying to stay loose as
Melissa speaks again.]

MC:  And his opponent...

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

BW:  Here comes trouble, daddy!

[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 massive
outpouring of boos from the AWA fans.]

GM:  Tumaffi is far from the most popular man in the AWA, Bucky.

BW:  Cheers don't pay the bills but a stack of people heading to the
hospital will.

GM:  And as a bit of a subtext to consider for this match, you would
have to imagine the Championship Committee is looking on at this match
with great interest.  Whoever wins this one would be very close to
securing a shot at Ron Houston and the National Title, I would have to
believe, Bucky.

BW:  Without a doubt, Gordo.  Tumaffi and Houston for the gold?  We'd
need to build bomb shelters for the fans.  They might level an entire
city.

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

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

TUUUUUMAAAAAAAFI!!

[Clad in a loose flowing black silk robe with a dark-colored floral
design, Tumaffi strides up the ring steps and onto the apron...

...which gives Ricky Royal his cue to charge across the ring, wildly
throwing haymakers at the massive skull of his archrival to the cheers
of the crowd.]

GM:  Royal didn't want to wait!  He didn't want to wait!

[Erik Reid drops down to the floor, applauding his friend's actions as
referee Michael Meekly calls for the bell to officially start the
match.] 

GM:  Royal's battering Tumaffi on the apron!

[The crowd roars as Royal throws fist after fist into the rock-hard
skull of the Samoan who clings to the top rope with one hand, trying to
stay on the apron.]

GM:  Look at 'im, go, Bucky!  He's trying to knock Tumaffi off the apron
to the floor - fist after fist after fist smacking into the skull of
Tumaffi...

[Royal steps back and then drives a big kick through the ropes into the
ample midsection of Tumaffi.  He moves closer, trying to grab Tumaffi's
lengthy hair...

...and gets a stiff-fingered blow to the throat that sends Royal
staggering away, gasping for air.]

GM:  Ohh!  To the throat!

[Tumaffi steps through the ropes into the ring, irate as he stomps
towards the staggered Royal.  He grabs his rival by the head, bellowing
at the South Laredo crowd to a huge shower of boos...

...and drives home his massive skull, scoring with a headbutt that
knocks Royal down to a knee.]

GM:  Oh!  Royal goes down!

BW:  Tumaffi has one of the hardest heads in the business - and Ricky
Royal is already down on his knees begging for mercy, Gordo!

GM:  He is not!  But Tumaffi is one of the biggest, strongest men I've
ever seen in the ring and it is going to take the best night of Ricky
Royal's life if he hopes to put him on a stretcher and wheel him out of
here, Bucky.

BW:  Fighting Tumaffi is like running outside and throwing right hands
at the wall of your house - except this wall hits back, daddy!

GM:  Ricky Royal is in for the fight of his life here tonight in South
Laredo.  Don't forget that the AWA Championship Committee forced Royal
to sign a medical waiver before they would even sign this match tonight
so Royal is on his own in there.

[Dragging Royal off the mat by the head, Tumaffi slaps him hard across
the face.]

"WEAKLING!  PATHETIC WEAKLING!"

[Tumaffi promptly shoves the struggling Royal back into the turnbuckles,
pulling his arms aside to expose Royal's upper body...

...and proceeds to nearly cave in his sternum with a hard overhard
forearm smash to the chest!]

GM:  Ohhh!  You could hear that one across the border, Bucky!

BW:  Royal might have had his breastbone cracked with one blow.   I've
NEVER seen a forearm smash to the chest like that.  Ricky Royal is
sucking wind already.

[With Royal still cornered, Tumaffi delivers another hard forearm shot
across the chest as the referee moves closer to the corner, asking
Tumaffi to back off.]

BW:  What is Meekly doing?  There's no DQs in this!  His only role is to
stand there and watch someone get carried out on a stretcher.  Stay out
of their way, ref!

GM:  Some habits are hard to break.  The referees are all trained to
maintain law and orde- ohh!

[The crowd gasps as Tumaffi throws a hooking forearm smash to the ear of
Royal, causing him to cling to the ropes to stay on his feet.  A hooking
left forearm catches Royal in the other ear, snapping his head back in
the other direction.]

GM:  Tumaffi's got Royal cornered and he's just battering him there,
Bucky!

[The referee actually steps in, forcing Tumaffi back.]

BW:  Come on, ref!  Get out of his way!  

GM:  I hate to agree with you, Bucky - but this is not the referee's job
in this match.  He needs to let things go.

[An angry Tumaffi, fearing no disqualification, grabs Meekly by the
shirt, throwing him down to the mat to the jeers of the capacity crowd
before moving back into the corner.]

GM:  Ohh!  There's no call for that!

BW:  The heck there's not, Gordo!  You said it yourself!  Meekly was not
doing his job in there and Tumaffi just let him know that he's not gonna
stand for anyone getting between him and Royal tonight!

GM:  Tumaffi back in on the corner... oof!  What a hooking blow there,
knocking Royal down to a knee...

[On his knees, a huge overhand forearm smash hits Royal on the back of
the head to knock him down to the mat as Tumaffi backs off, arms spread
wide to soak up the jeers from the crowd.]

GM:  I think Tumaffi enjoys being booed - I think he thrives on it.

BW:  Ricky Royal has made a key error in the early moments of this
match, Gordo.  He can not stand and throw with Tumaffi.  He got off to
the quick start but he got too close and the big man made him pay for
it.  If he wants to stand a chance tonight, he needs to stick and move
and use his size to his advantage.  He needs to make Tumaffi chase him
because the longer the match goes, the better situation Ricky Royal
finds himself in.  You can bet Tumaffi wants to end this one in a hurry.

[Reaching down, Tumaffi grabs a recovering Royal by the wrist, yanking
him back to his feet...

...and then knocking him right back down courtesy of a short-arm
clothesline that dumps Royal on the canvas.]

GM:  He pulls him up - and then puts him right back down.  Royal got
laid out with that one.

BW:  And he's already looking to get out of town.  He needs to find a
way to regroup and do so in a hurry.

[Royal starts rolling across the ring, trying to get under the ropes to
the floor as Tumaffi slowly stalks towards him.]

GM:  Ricky Royal rolls under the ropes, trying to recover out here on
the floor.

BW:  But Tumaffi has absolutely no problem with chasin' Royal out to the
floor, daddy!

[Tumaffi steps through the ropes, looking down at Royal who is doubled
over on the wooden planks, sucking oxygen into his body as the big
Samoan drops down to the floor.]

GM:  Both men out on the floor now - remember, there are no countouts
and no disqualifications.  They can do whatever they want to do out
there on the floor.

[Grabbing Royal from behind, Tumaffi tugs him to his feet...

...and drives his massive skull into the back of Royal's head, hanging
onto the head after the headbutt.]

GM:  Big headbutt by the Samoan - not letting go yet... and another big
headbutt to the back of the head of Royal.

[Tumaffi uses his two-handed grip to throw Royal under the ropes back
into the ring before climbing up the ringsteps behind him.]

GM:  One advantage of Tumaffi's large size for Royal is that it takes
Tumaffi a very long time to get back at him when they go outside the
ring - giving Royal a lot longer to recover than you would get with a
normal sized competitor.

BW:  Not long enough though.  Tumaffi steps back into the ring and Royal
is crawling towards the ropes again, trying to get some distance between
himself and the big man.

[Tumaffi catches Royal before he can escape again, tugging him up to his
feet.]

GM:  Irish whip by Tumaffi... clothesli- ducked by Royal...

[And the Ragin' Rebel turns on a dime, popping Tumaffi with a
clothesline of his own...

...to absolutely no effect as Tumaffi holds his ground, bellowing in
Royal's direction.]

GM:  No effect!  The clothesline didn't even budge him barely!

BW:  Oh... my... lord.  Ricky Royal is-

GM:  Royal to the ropes... he's not going to give up!  He's going to
give it all he's got!

[Running at top speed, Royal throws himself into a cross body block that
knocks Tumaffi back a couple steps into the ropes...

...but the big Samoan catches him in his arms before throwing him down
to the mat.]

GM:  Oh!  Just tossed him down like he was nothing!  Like he was
absolutely worthless.  And another bellow by Tumaffi, really trying to
intimidate Ricky Royal.

BW:  Wouldn't you be intimidated, Gordo?

GM:  I would - but I'm not Ricky Royal.

[Tumaffi glares at Royal as he scampers up to his feet, striking a
defensive posture as he eyes the massive man from the Isle of Samoa.]

GM:  Look at this faceoff.  Ricky Royal has got to be a little
off-balance at this point.  He could not have expected to have this
little success against Tumaffi this early in the match.

BW:  Why?  I expected him to have this little success.

[Royal lunges into a collar and elbow tieup, trying to change gears but
the four hundred pounder does not relent, simply marching across the
ring and shoving Royal back into the buckles.]

GM:  Backed into the corner again - ohhh!  Hard forearm finds the mark
across the chest again... and another one of those hooking forearms to
the side of the head nearly takes Royal's head clear off his shoulders.

[Tumaffi quickly grabs the arm of Royal, whipping him from corner to
corner before charging across behind him.]

GM:  Tumaffi's going for it all already!  AVALANNNNNNCH-

[But at the last moment, Royal throws himself out of the corner, causing
Tumaffi to slam chestfirst into the buckles.]

GM:  He missed!  He missed!

[Royal promptly jumps up on the second rope and with a wild whoop,
throwing himself into a flying clothesline that topples Tumaffi down to
the mat with a massive thud!]

GM:  Oh yeah!  Down goes Tumaffi!

BW:  That's a fluke, Gordo.  It'd never happen again!

[Still down on the mat, Royal drives fist after fist into the head of
the downed Tumaffi to the roaring cheers of the Laredo crowd.]

GM:  He's all over him, Bucky!

BW:  Where's that stupid referee now?  Now's when he should be breaking
this up - those are clinched fists, ya know?

GM:  Give me a break!

[Royal springs up to his feet, marching around the ring to the roars of
the crowd.  Erik Reid slaps the canvas a few times, drawing Ricky's
attention and screaming at him to stay focused on his opposition that is
slowly teetering up to a knee...

...which allows Royal to sprint across the ring, connecting with another
lunging clothesline that knocks Tumaffi back down to the mat!]

GM:  Ricky Royal is a house a-fire in there!  He's taken down the big
man twice now and Tumaffi is reeling!  

BW:  Tumaffi needs to get back to his feet.  That's where all that size
can be put to use.  When he's flat on his back, he does no one any good
except Mrs. Tumaffi.

GM:  Would you stop?

[With Royal across the ring, pumping his fist repeatedly in the air and
drawing the fans into starting a rally clap for him, Tumaffi slowly
pulls himself back up using the ropes...

...right where Royal wants him.]

GM:  Here comes the Ragin' Rebel!

[Royal sprints across the ring at top velocity...

...and scores with a HUGE running clothesline that actually somehow
causes Tumaffi to topple over the ropes and smash down on the wooden
boards covering the ringside dirt!]

GM:  OHHHHH MY!

[Royal quickly mounts the midbuckle, soaking up the cheers of the
sold-out crowd and then pointing a finger at Otto Verhoeven sitting
ringside.]

GM:  Again, he's gesturing at Verhoeven for some unknown reason.

BW:  I hope he keeps doing it because he's giving Tumaffi time to
recover outside of the ring on the floor.

GM:  Tumaffi took a pretty hard fall out there to the floor and that's
going to give Royal the advantage for the time being.  He's been using
that speed, that quickness edge to stun the big man and then uses the
big guns to hurt him.

[Inside the ring, Royal is still running around pumping up the crowd as
Tumaffi lies on the wooden floor, breathing heavily.]

GM:  You can see the chest of Tumaffi moving quickly.  We said he'd be
looking for the quick finish and he hasn't gotten it yet.  

BW:  We're over seven minutes into this match and Tumaffi is lying flat
on his back on the wooden floor and you can bet this is not how he
wanted this match to be going at this point.  He may have even thought
this match would be over by now.  I know I did.

[Tumaffi slowly rolls to his side, reaching up to grab the steel
barricade around the ringside area, dragging himself off the floor.  He
leans against the railing, looking back inside the ring where Ricky
Royal is screaming for him to get in the squared circle.]

GM:  Royal wants him back in the ring!  He wants to keep this fight
going!

BW:  He needs to be outside the ring to win the match though.  He needs
to remember that.  He can't win the match inside the ring.

[Tumaffi slowly walks over to the ringsteps, glaring at Royal as he
strides step by step up them before stepping through the ropes into the
ring.]

GM:  Both men back inside the ring now.  Uh oh - look at this.

[The crowd boos wildly as Tumaffi slowly raises his right arm to the
air, asking for a test of strength.]

GM:  Are you kidding me?  Royal's got no shot in a test of strength with
this massive beast.

BW:  He doesn't at all.  He shouldn't be stupid here.  He wants no part
of this at all.

GM:  Royal's looking around at the crowd - looking for some more support
in this.

BW:  All the screaming fans in the world won't help Royal in this one.

[But the Ragin' Rebel slowly edges forward, lifting his hand up to meet
Tumaffi's.]

GM:  This is a bad, bad idea.

[The big Samoan quickly cranks up the pressure, twisting the arm of
Royal to increase the torque on the wrist.]

GM:  And just like that, Tumaffi takes the edge in-

[Royal quickly lashes out, jabbing a thumb into Tumaffi's eye!]

BW:  Ohh!  He thumbed him!

GM:  No DQs in this one - that's as legal as a wristlock.

BW:  I don't think we're going to be seeing a lot of wristlocks in this
one, Gordo.

[With Tumaffi blinded, Royal lashes out with a big right hand.]

GM:  Right hand by Royal!  And another!

[Royal suddenly slams his foot down on the bare foot of Tumaffi, causing
the big man to hobble...

...and then uncorks a huuuuuge running right hand that knocks Tumaffi
off his feet, forcing him to roll away under the ropes to the ring
apron.]

GM:  Oh yeah!  Ricky Royal turns the tide back to his favor!

[Tumaffi quickly pulls himself up using the ropes, standing out on the
ring apron.]

GM:  Right hand by Royal!  And another right!  And a third!

[With Tumaffi dazed on the apron, Royal steps up and claps his arms
together on the ears of the massive Samoan!]

GM:  OHHH!  He rang the bell of the big man!

BW:  What is he-?

[Royal steps forward, hooking a front facelock and throwing Tumaffi's
arm over his neck.]

GM:  He's going for a suplex?!  Are you kidding me?!

BW:  There's no way, Gordo.  No way.

GM:  He's trying for it!  He's trying to-

[Royal struggles and strains...

...and accomplishes absolutely nothing.]

GM:  He can't do it!  He can't get him up!

[Tumaffi slips out of the suplex attempt, driving a big overhand chop to
the skull of Royal to stun him...

...and promptly tugs the top rope hard, slingshotting Royal over the top
rope and causing him to crash down to the wooden floor in a heap!]

GM:  OHHHHH!

BW:  That's it, Gordo!  It's over!  Get the stretcher!

GM:  Royal went over the ropes and hit the floor real hard - right down
on the wooden floor!  This could be a big, big problem for Ricky Royal.

BW:  A problem?  A problem?  Now _that's_ an understatement, daddy!

[The big Samoan drops off the apron, glaring at Royal who is wincing in
agony on the wooden floor.]

GM:  Ricky Royal just went flying over the ropes onto that wooden floor
and- he's calling for the stretcher!

[Two of the weightlifters walk over to the downed Royal, setting out the
bamboo and canvas stretcher on the floor.  Tumaffi uses his bare foot to
roll Royal onto the stretcher.]

GM:  Royal's on the stretcher - Tumaffi's telling them to drag Royal out
of here.

[The weightlifters hoist Royal's stretcher up and start the long walk up
the aisle towards the locker room area.]

GM:  Ricky Royal's in trouble!  He's being carried out of here on that
stretcher.  If they reach the locker room area, this match is all over. 
The crowd is screaming for Ricky, begging him to get up off the
stretcher.

BW:  Tumaffi's following behind the stretcher.  If Royal gets off of it,
Tumaffi's gonna put him right back on it.  Guaranteed.

GM:  They're about halfway up the aisle and-

[The crowd roars as Royal throws himself off the stretcher, pushing up
to a knee as the massive Samoan moves towards him...

...and then levels the rising Royal with a running body attack, slamming
his arms together on the head of Royal.]

GM:  Oh!  Down goes Royal again!

[Tumaffi stands over the downed Royal, the Ragin' Rebel laid out on the
dirt floor, screaming down at him.]


"GIVE IT UP, ROYAL!  GIVE IT UP!"


[He buries a bare foot stomp into the ribcage of the downed Royal as he
glares at the Ragin' Rebel before reaching down to drag Royal off the
dirt by the head.]

GM:  Royal's covered in dirt, being dragged by the head back towards the
ring now.  Remember, there's no countout and no disqualification so
absolutetly anything goes out there.

BW:  Look out, Gordo!

[The announcers scramble as Tumaffi drags Royal over near the broadcast
table...

...and slams his head into the wooden table, sending papers scattering. 
With Royal lying prone across the table, Tumaffi drags him off by the
back of the trunks.

He hooks Royal around the head and neck...

...and hurls him through the air, sending him crashing down onto the
wooden floor courtesy of a biel throw!]

GM:  Bucky, can you hear me?

BW:  Yeah, I think we're back on.  

GM:  We're back on - but Ricky Royal may be out for good after that big
throw down on the floor.  His upper body must be absolutely ravaged in
pain at this point.  His back has hit the wooden floor from a high
altitude on two occasions now.  

BW:  And Tumaffi's got the other stretcher now!

[The big Samoan grabs the metal stretcher, sizing up Royal with it as he
starts to rise off the floor...

...and charges forward, pushing the stretcher in front of him, slamming
the steel squarely into the face of Royal!]

GM:  OHHHH!  DOWN GOES ROYAL AGAIN!

[Tumaffi looks down at the fallen Royal...

...and promptly tips the metal stretcher over, sending it crashing down
onto his rival.]

GM:  What a jerk!  There was no call for that!

BW:  And now Tumaffi's calling for the stretcher again.  He's got Royal
down again and he wants that stretcher over here again to carry the
Ragin' Rebel to the locker room.

GM:  Tumaffi rolls him onto the stretcher - now he's waving for them to
get Royal out of here.

[The two weightlifters get Royal up on the canvas stretcher, carrying
him from the ringside area.]

GM:  Royal's out of the ringside area - now being carried up the aisle
once again.  Tumaffi's following behind, barking orders for them to
carry faster.

[The crowd roars, trying to inspire Royal to get off the stretcher and
back to his feet.]

GM:  These fans are cheering Royal on - trying to get him up.

[Just a few feet up the aisle, Royal rolls off the stretcher to the
floor...

...and promptly gets a hard foot to the face from Tumaffi, knocking him
down to the wooden floorboards.]

GM:  Royal's back down on the floor... and Tumaffi's right after him,
dragging him- 

[The crowd roars as Royal erupts with a right hand that knocks Tumaffi
back a couple of steps.]

GM:  He's fighting back!  Royal's fighting back!

[A second right hand knocks him back a bit further.]

GM:  Royal's got Tumaffi staggered... where's he-

[Grabbing Tumaffi's arm, Royal puts his all into an Irish whip...

...that sends Tumaffi crashing backfirst into the steel barricade!]

GM:  OHHH!

[Royal quickly scrambles over to the steel stretcher, setting it up just
as his rival did earlier...

...and rushes forward, smashing the steel into the face of Tumaffi, a
blow that causes him to slump all the way down to the floor.]

GM:  Tumaffi is down!  That big stretcher shot puts Tumaffi down on the
wooden floor - and Royal's calling for the weightlifters!  

BW:  Now we'll find out if these guys are as strong as they think they
are.

[With much effort, Royal somehow manages to get Tumaffi off the floor
and up onto the metal stretcher.  The weightlifters start to push the
stretcher away...

...but the big Samoan slaps their hands away.]

GM:  Tumaffi won't let them wheel him out of here!

[A fired-up Royal throws a right hand down on Tumaffi who is still on
the stretcher.  A few more right hands keeps the Samoan in place on the
gurney.]

GM:  Royal's trying to keep Tumaffi on the gurney for some reason - now
where's he going?

[Royal wanders away from Tumaffi towards the ring aisle.]

GM:  What's he- he's got the other stretcher!

[Royal rolls up the canvas stretcher...

...and swings it down like a club, smashing the bamboo down over the
head of Tumaffi!]

GM:  OHHHH!  What a shot that was!

[A dazed Tumaffi slumps off the gurney down to the floor.]

GM:  Royal blasted him with the bamboo stretcher!  It's all completely
legal though, Bucky.

BW:  I guess.  Seems unfair to me.

[Out on the floor, Royal drives right hand after right hand into the
head of Tumaffi...

...and then using his wild hair to slam the back of the Samoan's skull
into the wooden planks!]

GM:  Ohh!  His head is driven to the wooden platform!

BW:  That can't be legal.

GM:  Everything's legal in this one.  You said it yourself.

[Royal pulls the massive Samoan off the canvas, shoving him under the
ropes back into the ring.]

BW:  Now, I don't get this at all.  He had Tumaffi out on the floor
where he might be able to beat him but now he's going back into the
ring.  Explain that, Gordo.

GM:  I have no idea what Ricky Royal has in- wait a second!

[The crowd roars as Royal lets loose a wild whoop and starts climbing
the ropes.]

GM:  Maybe I do know what he has in store for Tumaffi!  Ricky Royal is
climbing the ropes - heading up to the top rope...

BW:  Even if he hits this, there's no way to get him on the stretcher. 
There's no way to-

[The crowd explodes in boos as Tumaffi suddenly gets up to his feet.  A
stunned Royal gets wide-eyed at the sight of it and suddenly throws
himself at Tumaffi in a cross-body.]

GM:  Cross body- CAUGHT!

[Tumaffi catches him across his massive chest...

...and then throws Royal up into the air, hooking him in a Samoan Drop
and driving backwards to smash Royal into the canvas!]

GM:  SAMOAN DROP!  OH MY!!

[Tumaffi gets right back to his feet, standing over Royal with his arms
raised, soaking up the jeers from the capacity crowd.]

GM:  I can't believe this - and look at this guy, posing.  What a jerk! 
What a great idea that is!

BW:  You actually think Royal is getting up off the mat after that?  He
had 405 pounds crushed down on his sternum and spine, Gordo.  This thing
is over right there.  You may need more than a stretcher to end this
thing, we may need a spatula, daddy!

GM:  Tumaffi is standing tall, looking out over this capacity crowd.

[Tumaffi sizes up his fallen opponent for a moment...

...and then leaps into the air, dropping all four hundred pounds down in
an elbowdrop to the upper body!]

GM:  Ohhh!  All that weight... all that impact - it's hard to imagine
just what kind of damage this is doing to the upper body, the ribs, the
chest of the Ragin' Rebel.

[The massive Samoan slowly pushes himself back to his feet, holding his
arms wide at the jeering crowd.]


"WHO CAN STOP TUMAFFI?  WHO?!"


[The fans continue to let Tumaffi know how they feel...

...so he decides to answer their boos by leaping into the air, dropping
another huge elbow into the body of the Ragin' Rebel!]

GM:  And another 400 pound elbowdrop!  Royal's not even moving after
that one!  This one may be all over.

BW:  May?  It's over!  It's all over, daddy!  Get that stretcher in
there!

GM:  Tumaffi's back up on his feet, backed up into the ropes... he's
measuring him... really measuring him for another big elbow drop.  Here
he comes...

[But it's not an elbowdrop on this occasion as Tumaffi lifts up,
determined to put Royal THROUGH the mat with a big splash.]

GM:  SPLASH!!

[The crowd goes silent as Tumaffi's 400 pounds crashes down across the
upper body of Royal with a big splash.]

GM:  OHHHH!  If this was a regular match, this would be over.  There's
no chance he's getting up from that.

BW:  Regular match, strap match, chain match, stretcher match - it can
be any kind of match you want and this thing is over, daddy!

GM:  Tumaffi slowly getting up off the downed Ricky Royal, standing over
him, looking down on him.  For God's sake, get the stretcher in there
and end this thing.  This is getting difficult to watch.

[Tumaffi spreads his arms wide, again enjoying the booing crowd raining
insults and hatred down upon him...

...and slowly reaches down with both hands, wrapping them around the
throat of the Ragin' Rebel.]

GM:  A choke here by Tumaffi - no reason for it, just trying to- whoa!

[The crowd gasps as Tumaffi shows off his power, hoisting Royal up off
the mat in a double chokelift.]

GM:  Amazing power by Tumaffi!  Just picked him right up off the mat!

[And then throws him down like he's trash at his feet.]

GM:  Down goes Royal again.  Tumaffi just doesn't care.  He wants to
destroy Ricky Royal.  He wants to send a message to everyone who crosses
his path that Tumaffi will not be defeated.  He wants to send a message
that Tumaffi will not be denied.

[Outside the ring, Erik Reid slams his hands into the mat a few times,
trying to rally his friend who is lying in a heap on the canvas as
Tumaffi stomps towards him.]

GM:  Ever methodical, Tumaffi never wastes a single movement as he moves
in on Royal.  He reaches down, grabbing Royal by the wrist, tugging him
back to his feet.

[Royal falls to a knee and has to be yanked back up by Tumaffi.]

BW:  He can't even stand, Gordo.  He can't even stay on his feet on his
own.

GM:  Royal needs to- what in the world?

[Tumaffi yanks Royal into a standing headscissors, reaching underneath
him to cross Royal's arms across his own chest.]

GM:  What a sickening son of a- he's going to use Royal's own finisher! 
He's going for the Mississippi River Plunge!  

BW:  I love it!  The ultimate insult to injury!

GM:  He's got him hooked... he lifts!

[The big Samoan holds Royal high in the air for a moment...

...and then violently slams him down to the mat!]

GM:  MISSISSIPPI RIVER PLUNGE!  INCREDIBLE!

[Royal's head and neck hit the canvas hard as Tumaffi stands over him,
sneering at his motionless enemy...

...as a chant slowly starts up.]


"RICK-Y!"  

"RICK-Y!"

"RICK-Y!"

"RICK-Y!"

"RICK-Y!"

[An irate Tumaffi looks around the South Laredo Rodeogrounds, enraged at
the fans' reaction.  He shakes his head angrily before reaching down,
yanking Royal off the mat again...

...and tugging him into another standing headscissors.]

GM:  He's got Royal again!  Somebody needs to stop this!  The referee
should step in there and-

BW:  No DQ!  No countout!  No pinfall!  No submission!  The referee
can't do a damned thing here, Gordo!

GM:  You're right.  You're absolutely right, Bucky, but-

[Suddenly, Erik Reid is up on the apron, screaming at Tumaffi.]

GM:  Reid's on the apron!  Erik Reid is screaming at the big man,
drawing his focus.  Reid's got the referee shouting at him to get down
but-

[The crowd cheers as Tumaffi turns away from Royal, shoving him down to
the mat as he moves towards Erik Reid instead.]

GM:  Uh oh.

BW:  He's gonna put Reid right back in the hospital!

[The big Samoan draws closer, barking at the screaming Reid...

...and reaches out with one of his massive paws, grabbing Reid by the
hair.]

GM:  Oh!  Come on, referee!  You've got to at least stop this!  The man
just spent months in the hospital, rehabbing injuries at the hands of
Tumaffi!  You can't let Tumaffi do this to him again!  

BW:  See ya later, Reid!

[With the crowd jeering wildly, Tumaffi rears back a big right hand...

...and gets an Iron Claw for his efforts!]

GM:  IRON CLAW!

[The crowd erupts in cheers as Reid squeezes the massive skull of
Tumaffi, the fingers digging in tightly as Tumaffi struggles to escape.]

GM:  Reid's got the Claw locked in!  Tumaffi's fighting it!

BW:  DQ!  DQ!

GM:  Reid's got the Claw applied!  He's-

[Suddenly, Reid releases the Claw, shoving Tumaffi away who spirals in a
full circle...

...right into a waiting Ricky Royal who now has removed his boot and is
gripping it in his hands.]

GM:  ROYAL!  BOOT!

[The crowd roars as Royal swings the boot overhead, smashing the heel
down across the forehead of the massive Samoan, knocking him a step
back.]

GM:  What a shot from the boot!  This is how this war started and this
is how Ricky Royal intends to end it!

[The staggered Tumaffi steps back a half-step to steady himself as Royal
winds up again...

...and cracks Tumaffi over the head with the boot once more, causing
Tumaffi to fall back another couple steps.  Reid drops down to the
floor, yelling for Royal to do it again.]

GM:  Come on, Ricky!

[Royal shakes his head at Tumaffi's refusal to fall, grabbing his ribs
in pain as he winds up again...

...and uncorks another huge shot with the boot, this one causing Tumaffi
to fall through the ropes, dropping onto the ring apron!]

GM:  TO THE APRON!  Royal knocks him through the ropes to the apron with
that boot!

[Staggered and stunned, Tumaffi pulls himself to a knee, then drags
himself the rest of the way to his feet.  Inside the ring, Ricky Royal
is pumping the boot-covered fist in the air, drawing more cheers from
the crowd.]

GM:  Ricky's calling for the stretcher!  He's telling those weight
lifters to get the stretcher ready!

[The weightlifters quickly move to the metal stretcher, wheeling it
closer to the ring as Royal drives boot-covered fist after fist to the
forehead of the massive Samoan.]

GM:  Tumaffi's struggling to hang on!  Trying to stay on the apron!

[Royal pulls his fist out of the boot, grabbing it at full length...

...and whapping it down across the big skull again, causing Tumaffi to
cling to the top rope, trying to stay on his feet.]

GM:  It's like trying to chop down a mighty redwood tree!  Blow by blow,
swing by swing - Royal is slowly cutting down the big man but he doesn't
have him yet!

[Winding up again, Royal grits his teeth and lets it fly, smashing the
boot down on the forehead...

...but Tumaffi stays on the apron, dizzy and dazed but not down.]

GM:  He's hanging on!  Somehow, someway - Tumaffi is hanging on!

[Royal angrily spikes the boot down on the mat, shaking his head in
disbelief...

...and then starts running in place, pumping his fist back and forth to
rally the fans and then charging to the far ropes.]

GM:  What is he-

[Royal sprints across the ring as quickly as his body can carry him...

...and leaps into the air at the last moment, throwing his body at the
stunned Tumaffi with the Ragin' River Rapid shoulderblock that smashes
into the massive Samoan at top velocity.]

GM:  TIMMMMMBERRRRRR!

[The running shoulderblock connects with such impact, Tumaffi launches
off the ring apron, sailing backwards through the air...

...and right down onto the steel stretcher, crunching it underneath his
impressive girth as the back of his head slams down into the wooden
planks covering the floor!]

GM:  OHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

[The crowd roars at the impact of the fall, the screams echoing with the
sounds of steel crunching beneath four hundred pounds of Samoan flesh.]

GM:  GOOD LORD IN HEAVEN!

BW:  He... he destroyed the stretcher!  Tumaffi's body just mangled that
steel stretcher!  I can't believe it!

GM:  And he's- oh my God, look at his head...

[Tumaffi rolls off the mangled steel, revealing a horrific wound on the
back of his head that is pouring blood from it.]

GM:  He's busted open!  His head split open like a melon!  

[The crowd cheers as a fired-up Ricky Royal rolls out to the floor,
approaching the wrecked metal stretcher and burying his head in his
hands.]

GM:  What's wrong?

BW:  Are you serious?  That stretcher's destroyed!  There's no way
they're getting Tumaffi out of here on that.  And that leaves... 

[The camera quickly cuts, revealing the canvas and bamboo stretcher on
the floor several feet away.]

BW:  Hahaha! 

GM:  What's so funny?

BW:  There's no way they're getting Tumaffi out of here on a stretcher
like that!  I don't care how many weightlifters you've got out here to
help.

GM:  Royal's realized he needs to use the other stretcher - he's
grabbing it now.

[Royal throws the stretcher down on the floor, dropping down on his
knees to use all his strength to shove Tumaffi's dead weight onto it.]

GM:  Tumaffi's on the stretcher!  But can they get it out of here?

BW:  No way.  There's just no way!

[Royal waves for the weightlifters to get in position, each grabbing two
of the bamboo handles...

...and lifting!]

GM:  Come on!  Get 'im up!

[The camera zooms in, catching Royal screaming at the weightlifters to
get Tumaffi up.]

GM:  They're trying... they're...

[But the stretcher slumps back down to the wooden floor, the fans
jeering the weightlifters' lack of strength...

...but Ricky Royal has other ideas, shoving the weightlifters aside and
grabbing two of the handles himself.]

BW:  What in the- what is he trying to do?

GM:  He's getting Tumaffi out of here no matter what!

[Royal grits his teeth and starts pulling on the bamboo handles.]

GM:  He's going to drag Tumaffi out of here!

BW:  Are you serious?

GM:  Look at him!

[The crowd roars as Royal struggles and strains, pulling Tumaffi off the
wooden planks and onto the dirt floor where the friction eases a bit and
the dragging goes a little better.]

GM:  He's dragging Tumaffi out of here!  Royal's dragging Tumaffi's
unconscious body up the walkway... dragging him back towards the locker
room area... 

BW:  This can't be happening!  This just can't be happening!

GM:  He's dragging with all his might!  Look at the heart of Ricky Royal
on display here.  No one else could've done this tonight - absolutely no
one else!  Royal's getting closer!

[The camera cuts to the aisleway as Royal gets closer and closer to the
entryway.]

GM:  About ten feet away...

[Royal drops to a knee, breathing heavily, trying to keep his strength
up.]

GM:  Can you imagine the strength it takes to drag four hundred pounds
all the way up that aisle, Bucky?

BW:  No!  No, I can't!  I don't have any idea how he's doing this!

[With Royal kneeling, trying to find more strength, the chant starts up
once more.]


"RICK-Y!"

"RICK-Y!"

"RICK-Y!"

"RICK-Y!"

"RICK-Y!"

"RICK-Y!"


[Royal perks up his head, looking around at the roaring crowd chanting
his name, trying to inspire him to drag Tumaffi's bloodied carcass
another ten feet.

He pushes up to his feet and takes another step.]

GM:  He's trying!  He's getting closer!

[Another two steps, slumping to a knee again as the chants grow louder.]

GM:  Come on, Ricky!  You're almost there!

[Royal pushes himself up, trying for one final lunge, and with one last
Rebel Yell...

...he forces himself to walk the last few feet into the entry tunnel,
immediately collapsing to the dirt floor as the bell rings.]


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  HE DID IT!  RICKY DID IT!

[The crowd EXPLODES into perhaps the loudest roar heard in the short
history of the AWA as Melissa Cannon begins to speak.]

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

RICKY ROOOOOOOOOOOOYAL!

[The explosion of cheers starts up once more as a battered and weary
Ricky Royal staggers out of the entrance tunnel, both arms raised in the
air in victory.]

GM:  Unbelievable!  Listen to this crowd!  They are on their feet paying
tribute to Ricky Royal - an amazing victory for the Ragin' Rebel.  So
hard-fought, so inspiring.

BW:  I'm in shock, Gordo.  I still can't believe Tumaffi lost this
match.

GM:  Royal standing in the entryway, paying tribute to all these fans
who cheered so hard for him - that supported him for all these months
while he battled Tumaffi!

[The camera cuts to a shot from the aisleway, showing a pain-ravaged
Royal with one arm cradling his ribs and the other panning the crowd,
pointing at all the cheering fans.  We can see him saying "Thank you"
over and over again...

...until a massive blow from behind sends him sprawling into the dirt in
front of the entryway!]

GM:  What the-?!

[The crowd boos crazily as Royal lies on the dirt floor, one arm now on
the back of his head as a large figure emerges from the shadows of the
entryway.]

GM:  BRUNO VERHOEVEN?!

[The massive German steps into view, soaking up the jeers of the fans as
he stares coldly at the motionless Royal at his feet.]

GM:  I don't understand this at all!  What business does Bruno Verhoeven
have out here?  

BW:  It's gotta be Otto!  It's gotta be all that business with Otto and
Royal earlier tonight!

GM:  Of course.  Of course, you must be right but I don't- oh no.

[The crowd buzzes with concern as Bruno pulls a limp Royal off the dirt
floor by the back of the trunks, spinning him around to wrap a hand
around his throat.]

GM:  No, no... please.  Not after everything he's been through tonight!

BW:  Bruno's got him!  What's he saying to him, I wonder?  What could he
possibly be saying to him right now, Gordo?

[As the camera zooms in, we see Bruno's lips moving but don't hear the
words from his mouth...

...right before he hoists Royal high into the air.]

GM:  NOOOOO!

[And DRIVES Ricky Royal spinefirst into the solid dirt floor right in
front of the entryway to the arena!  The crowd goes silent as Royal's
spine smashes into the ground.  Verhoeven stays kneeling next to Royal,
his hand still on the Ragin' Rebel's throat as AWA officials flood out
of the locker room area, rushing to try and separate "The New Butcher"
and the "Ragin' Rebel."

The camera holds on Royal as he lies still on the floor...

...and 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 desk where Gordon Myers, Bucky
Wilde, and Stephen Ross are standing.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans, to The Last Stampede where we've just seen a
wild showdown between Ricky Royal and Tumaffi end in a tremendous
victory for the Ragin' Rebel...

BW:  Only to have Bruno Verhoeven completely clean his clock after that,
daddy!

GM:  That sounds about right.  Mr. Ross, I know you checked on the
condition of Ricky Royal before coming back to ringside.  What can you
tell us?

SR:  Honestly?  He's just mad.  He's hurt, yeah.  But he'll fight
another day and right now, we're having to keep him restrained in the
locker room area so he doesn't charge out here during our next match.

GM:  Well, thank goodness for that.  

[The camera cuts away from ringside to the ring where Bruno Verhoeven is
already standing.]

GM:  You can see that the New Butcher wasted no time in walking out here
to the ring after assaulting Ricky Royal.  His big tag team match is, of
course, up next - and I understand that you have something to say about
that match as well, Mr. Ross?

SR:  I do, I do.  But from what I understand, we've got some pre-taped
comments from both Mark Shaw and Adam Rogers.  Let's take a look at
those first.

GM:  You heard the man.  Roll the tape.

[We fade away from the shot of our announcers and the AWA Chairman of
the Championship Committee...

...and then fade back up as an old punching bag swings on a chain behind
him. The gym is empty, save for the man who stands with his arms crossed
looking at the camera. His fists are taped, and by the dents in the
punching back and the sweat pouring down his face and neck, its obvious
that hes taken out his aggression on the bag only moments ago. But
right now, Hellion Mark Shaw is staring straight ahead and into the
camera. He has violence on his mind, certainly, but violence against
other people, not inanimate objects.]

MS: At the Last Stampede, Im fightin three men.

Oh, I know its a tag team match. But as far as Im concerned, its me
against three men. And it all has to do with whats at stake. Winner
gets to be the number one contender. Winner gets the next shot at the
National Title.

Whoever takes the pin gets the shot. Way I see it, that means its four
men out for themselves, even if two of em are supposed to be on the
same side.

Everyone wants the shot. Everyone wants what is, by all rights, mine. I
earned being number one contender. And I didnt do it in no tag team
match either. I earned it by standing up, and beating guys one on one.

But if this is what it takes, then thats what Ill do.

[Shaw pauses, wiping sweat out of his eyes.]

MS: Adam Rogers. Former World Champion. All around good guy. Straight
laced, clean cut, kisses the babies and shakes the hands. A role model.
The guy you want your son to grow up to be. Everything youd want in a
champion. And my partner. Rogers, I respect ya, I do. But heres the
thing. Respect only earns ya one thing:

Ill give ya a handshake after Ive beaten you.

Youre my partner, and I gotta work with ya. Aint no choice in the
matter. Were on the same team. But heres the thing. Teams only work
when they got the same goal. So as I see it, the only option is for us
to have the same goal.

And thats me winning.

Ill tell ya the same thing I said to your face not too long ago. You do
have a guaranteed shot. And once I am the National Champion, Ill be
happy to give you the first shot. But at the Last Stampede, its all
about Mark Shaw.

And then, there are our opponents, the Goofball Express.

[Shaw pauses to smirk.]

MS: First, theres Bruno Verhoeven. Son of the Butcher. Maybe.
Congratulations Bruno, youre carrying on the legacy of a guy who hasnt
been relevant for half a decade or more. Youre following in the
footsteps of an irrelevant footnote.

How proud you must be.

Imitation may be the sincerest form of flattery. But it dont mean
anything to me. You want to act like your daddy? Then do us all a favor
and take a page out of his book and vanish.

Verhoeven aint nothing but a name. And from what Ive seen, all youre
doing is tarnishing it. You wanna run around and hit people from behind?
See how far that takes you? Actually, dont bother. Ill tell ya. Its
gonna lead ya right to my fist.

And when Im done with you, youll be the second Verhoeven that people
barely remember and dont care about.

And last but not least, theres Shadoe Rage.

They say hes unpredictable. They say hes dangerous. They say hes a
wild card. They sure say a whole lotta stuff that doesnt matter, dont
they?

I say youre an idiot Rage.

And when it all comes down to it, who you gonna believe?

[Another smirk from Shaw.]

MS: Rage, youre like a seagull. Ya swoop in, make a lot noise, crap all
over everything, and then fly away again. And like a seagull, youre
little more than a nuisance. You get attention because youre annoying.
But really, when was the last time anyone ever truly cared about a
seagull?

Same is true of you, Shadoe Rage.

And there wont be any flying away at the Last Stampede. When you got
vermin, you call the exterminator. And when you got someone like Shadoe
Rage. Someone who makes more noise than he does impact.

You call in Mark Shaw.

I am, right now, the number one contender. You three men, you can try
and get past me. But at the Last Stampede, therell be three men who
arent gonna get what they want.

And therell be Mark Shaw, earning himself the title shot he deserves.
Count on it.

[And with that, Shaw turns his back to the camera, and returns to his
workout as we fade away from the gym...

...and then back up to what we assume is backstage, at the WKIK
studios. It is a rather bland background; just an off-white cinderblock
wall provides the prop for "The Natural" Adam Rogers who stands in front
of the wall, microphone in hand. The blonde Floridian wastes no time in
getting to business.]

AR: So, the Last Stampede, coming up in just a few days. My wrestling
career is pretty clearly back on the fast track, and it's great to be
able to have that happen in front of all the fine people of Texas.
Honestly, things have gone a lot more quickly than I ever imagined, and
I find myself in a match that essentially carries a shot at the AWA
National Title.

Except for me, it's not about titles.

For the first time in a long time, it's not about titles. You see, I've
already been to the top, to the very pinnacle of the wrestling world.
There's no monkey on my back, no demons to exorcise, no ghosts haunting
me from my past about the big one I just couldn't win.

[Longish dramatic pause.]

AR: But it seems some people in the AWA may not be fully aware of that
fact.

First, it was Mr. Broussard letting his ego run wild, forgetting his
past and who helped him get to where he was. The end result? He's
disappeared, faded away, just like that. He was a title-holder, yes,
but a champion?

[Adam breathes out a one-time laugh and shakes his head.]

AR: Hardly.

So then we flash forward to Mark Shaw, my partner at the Last Stampede.
Heckuva competitor. A man with gold on his mind, but a man who perhaps
doesn't have the vision to see the challenge that stands directly before
him. Yes, Mark Shaw, you took me to the limit just a few short weeks
ago in the WKIK studios. But one more second...one more tick on the
clock left in that match...and this tag team match we've got coming up?
There'd be no need for it. You know it as well as I do. Don't let that
leave your mind or your sight.

Then we have Shadoe Rage. A man that's been just about everywhere.
He's been in arenas with the best in the history of the sport... usually
watching on a monitor in the back, but in the same arena nonetheless.
And Bruno Verhoeven, the son of one of the best in the history of the
sport. Together, they do seem to form a rather imposing pair for Mark
and myself.

[Dramatic pause #2!]

AR: But the reality is, they don't belong in a match against us.

Mark Shaw, despite our differences...I can say without reservation
thatMark Shaw has earned his spot. I've earned my spot. But what have
these two done to earn their spots in a match that will determine the
number one contendership to the AWA National Title? They've beaten a
couple of nobodies and interjected themselves into Mark's business and
mine, and their reward? A shot at the AWA National Title.

[Adam shakes his head.]

AR: Boys... you don't belong in this spot. You haven't earned it. And
when you try to take away something from two guys who _have_ earned it,
well...let's just say you're going to find out very quickly why you
don't belong in a match against us.

Rage, Verhoeven, and you too, Shaw...this can be about the titles for
you. This can be about making a name for yourself. This can be about
whatever you want. For me?

It's about making sure all three of you remember who I am.

[And finally, we fade back to the ringside area where Myers, Wilde, and
Ross are standing.]

GM:  Well, Mr. Ross, it's quite obvious that both of those men are very
focused on becoming the #1 contender to the National Title - despite
being on the same team.  And there's no doubt that Bruno Verhoeven and
Shadoe Rage feel the exact same way.  

SR:  There's a reason we picked these four men to compete in this match.
 We feel that all four of these men are deserving of this spot and all
four could give Ron Houston one heck of a fight.  But the question is...
when would that fight go down?

GM:  I'm guessing that's part of your announcement.

SR:  You're correct as usual, Gordon.  I'm out here to announce that
whoever scores the winning pinfall or submission in this match WILL
receive the very next shot at the National Champion - and that match
will happen on the very next AWA Saturday Night Wrestling!

GM:  Wow!  That's a huge announcement!  Ron Houston versus one of these
four men on the next Saturday Night Wrestling for the National
Championship!  

SR:  That's right, Gordon.  And I just received word that on the next
Saturday Night Wrestling that we also intend to make the official
announcement of how we will crown the first National Tag Team Champions.
 So, it's going to be a big night the next time we're in the WKIK
Studios. 

GM:  It certainly will.  And I understand you're going to stay out here
with us for this match as well.

SR:  Wouldn't miss it for the world, Gordon.

GM:  You heard it here, fans.  Let's go up to the ring!

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

MC:  The following match is a tag team contest scheduled for one fall
with a thirty minute time limit and the man who scores the winning
pinfall or submission will be declared the new #1 Contender to the
National Title.

Introducing first...

[Melissa casts a glance at the nearby New Butcher.]

MC:  Already in the ring at this time... he stands 6'8 and weighs in at
285 pounds... from Berlin, Germany...

BRUNO 
"THE BUTCHER"
VERRRRRHOOOOOEVEN!!

[Verhoeven throws up a fist to the jeers of the crowd.]

MC:  And his tag team partner... 

[Chopin's "The Death March" starts up to more jeers.]

MC:  From Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada... he stands 6'3 and weighs in at
248 pounds... 

SHAAAADOOOOE RAAAAAAGE!

[The curtains part and out sweeps the Angel of Death, Shadoe Rage. In
sharp contrast to the dirge, Rage is animated. He wears his sparkling
sequined cloak. He throws out his arms, flourishing to the dirge's heavy
beat.]

GM:  This guy... well, there's something that just isn't right about
him, Bucky.

BW:  A lot of people think it's just hype when we say it - but he really
is psychotic.  He really is unpredictable.  He really is not in control
of his mental state in there, in my opinion.

[Reaching the ring, Rage sprints up the steps and slingshots over the
ropes into the ring.  He immediately points an accusing finger in the
face of Bruno Verhoeven, the two partners going nose-to-nose before the
bell can even ring.]

GM:  This can't be a good sign for how they'll function tonight as a
team, Bucky.

BW:  Bruno's just ignoring Rage, staring down the aisle, waiting for
Adam Rogers and Mark Shaw.  But Rage is all over the place, screaming
and ranting like a maniac.

SR:  You know, Shadoe Rage is one-half of one of the greatest tag teams
in the history of our sport.  You would think that Bruno might want to
listen to him a little bit.

GM:  Bruno Verhoeven has shown just how much of a rookie he is in recent
weeks and many have speculated he's just flat out in over his head in
this match here tonight.

SR:  He might be young but with the raw potential this kid has, anyone
who doesn't take him seriously could be in a lot of trouble.

[With Rage leaping up to the middle rope to shout down at the announce
team, Melissa continues.]

MC:  And their opponents... first, from Naples, Florida...

[The heavy opening guitar chords of "Smoke on the Water" by Deep Purple
rip out over the PA system, signaling the entrance of former World
Champion "The Natural" Adam Rogers.]

MC:  Standing 6'3 and weighing in at 243 pounds... he is the Natural...

ADAM ROOOOOGERS!

[The blond-haired Floridian with an impressive physique steps into the
arena, all business as he walks to the ring, slapping the occasional
hand on the aisleway as he keeps his eyes on Verhoeven and Rage.  When
Rogers steps into the ringside area, Rage puts one foot on the top rope,
threatening Rogers from afar.]

GM:  Shadoe Rage is completely unstable.  He looks like he might jump
off the top onto Adam Rogers at any moment, Bucky.

BW:  He might.  Heck, Rage might even climb the old Crow's Nest lookout
point here in the Rodeogrounds and jump off that while he's at it!  Who
knows what he'll do?

GM:  Rage is no stranger to these Rodeogrounds as the Prophets of Rage
were former LWC Twin Pistol Tag Team Champions back in the day.  They
were actually the very first Twin Pistol champions if I recall
correctly.

[Rogers shakes his head, staying on the floor and waiting for his
partner's arrival as Rage continues to scream at him from his perch on
the ropes.]

MC:  And his opponent... 

["Go" by Powder blares over the loudspeakers to a pretty big reaction.]

MC:  From Los Angeles, California... standing 6'2 and weighing in
tonight at 270 pounds...

He is the Hellion...

MARRRRRK SHAAAAAW!

[The tall and well built Hellion pushes the curtain aside, stepping
forward.  He's dressed simply, wearing only a pair of long black
wrestling pants, which vanish into a pair of black boots.  He pauses
just inside the entrance, looking out over the capacity crowd, and then
starts the walk down the aisle.]

GM:  Mark Shaw, all business as usual, as he makes his way down the
aisle.

[Shaw walks with a purpose as he moves past the sea of outstretched
arms, eyes locked on the ring.]

GM:  Of course, it's Mark Shaw who I believe is most upset about having
to even compete in this match.  Shaw believes that he's already the
number one contender and that he should have met Ron Houston here
tonight for the National Title.

SR:  The Championship Committee's opinion differed though - we believed
that there was significant controversy over who earned that spot to have
one more match to make the final decision.

[Shaw enters the ringside area where Adam Rogers moves to discuss some
last moment strategy with him...

...and gets shoved aside by Shaw who dives under the bottom rope,
springing up to his feet where he pops Bruno Verhoeven in the chin with
a right hand!]

GM:  Here we go!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  Shaw's unloading on the Butcher - and Verhoeven's firing right
back!

[An irate Shadoe Rage and Adam Rogers take their respective corners as
their two partners square off in the middle of the ring, each throwing
haymakers as quickly as they can.]

GM:  Shaw and Bruno!  Shaw and Bruno!

[The boxing skills of Verhoeven give him the advantage though as he
snaps off a few jabs and a body shot that leaves Shaw falling back
towards the ropes.  Shaw slips an arm over the top rope to keep his
balance as Bruno moves in once more.]

GM:  Verhoeven on the attack against the ropes.  Another shot to the
body... and another... and a third!  Verhoeven's just showing off that
boxing skill, rocking the body of Mark Shaw with those blows to the
ribcage.

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

GM:  Clothesli- ducked by Shaw!  Shaw off the far side and-

[The Hellion explodes off his feet, connecting with a flying shoulder
tackle that knocks Verhoeven down to the mat.]

GM:  He telegraphed the clothesline there.  Another one of those rookie
mistakes we've talked about before.

[Verhoeven rolls under the ropes to the floor, shaking his head as Shaw
stands leaning over the same ropes, screaming and waving for the new
Butcher to get back into the fray.]

GM:  Bruno's out there on the floor and- uh oh, look at this.

[After a few steps, Bruno Verhoeven turns slightly and finds himself
staring directly at the man he has claimed is his father.  The two men
stare at one another for a moment, neither changing their expressions
one bit...

...until Mark Shaw leaps off the apron with a double axehandle blow to
the back of the neck that breaks up the family reunion.]

GM:  Ohh!  Shaw coming out after Bruno the hard way!

[Shaw casts a warning look in the direction of Otto Verhoeven as he
drags Bruno back to his feet and slams his head into the ring barrier
right in front of Verhoeven.  From inside the ring, Mickey Meekly can be
heard ordering Shaw to get the big German back inside the squared
circle.]

GM:  Shaw rolls Bruno back inside the ring, climbing up the ringsteps
now...

[And with the referee momentarily distracted by Verhoeven, Shadoe Rage
runs down the apron, blasting Shaw with a running forearm that knocks
him off the steps and down to the floor!]

GM:  Ohh!  Shadoe Rage takes Shaw off the steps out of nowhere!

BW:  And he's not done there.

[Rage immediately leaps down off the apron, dragging Shaw off the wooden
floor by the head...

...and HURLS him into the wooden ringsteps!]

GM:  Ohhh!  Into the steps!  And I guess the feeling out process is
over.

BW:  I'm not sure it ever started, to be honest.  But with Shadoe Rage
in there, all expectations of what should happen are out the window.

[Rage begs off, pleading innocent when the referee confronts him for his
assault on Mark Shaw.  Rage offers to help Shaw up, rolling him under
the ropes to "prove himself" to the referee.]

GM:  Rage puts Shaw back into the ring.  Bruno's a little worse for wear
thanks to Mark Shaw thought - I don't know if he'll be able to take
advantage of this situation that Shadoe Rage has created for his team.

[Verhoeven slowly gets back to his feet, rubbing his head as he reaches
down to drag Shaw off the mat.]

GM:  Both men back to their feet.  Verhoeven is pushing Shaw back into
the buckles, bullying him to the corner.

[Setting his feet like a boxer, Verhoeven snaps off a hooking blow to
the ear that knocks Shaw down to a knee.  Holding Shaw by the head,
Verhoeven drives a pair of knees into the chin of Shaw, causing him to
slump down to the mat.]

GM:  Ohh!  Down goes Shaw... and a hard boot to the ribs knocks him back
under the ropes to the floor.  Verhoeven puts him right back outside the
ring.

[The New Butcher casts another glance at his father at this point.]

GM:  And he keeps looking to Otto... I don't know why exactly.

BW:  It's almost like he's looking for his approval, Gordo.

GM:  You may be right, Bucky.  That's exactly what it looks like.

[Verhoeven steps through the ropes, dropping down to the floor right in
front of his father's seat, and reaches down to drag Shaw to his feet
off the floor again.]

GM:  He drags Shaw up, shoving him over the railing... Mark Shaw is
basically in Otto Verhoeven's lap right now, Bucky.

BW:  Not a safe place to be - especially after the words Shaw had for
Otto in that video clip we saw earlier.  I can't believe he had the gall
to say something like that about a legend like Otto Verhoeven.

[With Shaw over the railing, Bruno slams home a fist into the kidneys,
causing Shaw to straighten up in pain - but a clubbing blow to the back
of the head knocks Shaw back over the railing where Verhoeven hits
another kidney punch that causes Shaw to slump back down on the wooden
floor.]

GM:  A pair of hard kidney punches to Shaw puts him back on the floor -
and now he's looking to Otto again.  

BW:  Bruno needs to keep his focus on Shaw and Rogers and not on his
estranged father, Gordo.  We don't have time for him to play This Is
Your Life, daddy.

GM:  Verhoeven pulls Shaw off the floor by the hair, showing his face to
Otto - now he chucks him back under the ropes into the ring.  The German
climbs up on the apron, starting to get back-

[The crowd roars as Shaw explodes towards Verhoeven, popping him with a
right hand as he stands on the apron.]

GM:  And Shaw fires back!  A big haymaker finds the mark on Verhoeven
and- look at this!

[Shaw quickly hooks a front facelock on Verhoeven, hoisting him up into
the air.]

GM:  Suplex!  Are you kidding me?

[The barrel-chested powerhouse hoists the German straight up and down,
holding for a moment...

...and then dropping back into a hard vertical suplex!]

GM:  Oh my!  He brings Bruno Verhoeven back into the ring the hard way
and there's our first cover of the match!  One!  Two!  Nope.  Not enough
to keep the big German down for a three count.

BW:  No way that's enough.  You think a simple vertical suplex would
finish off the son of Bruno Verhoeven?

GM:  Verhoeven rolls towards the ropes, pulling himself off the mat and-

[Before the German Juggernaut can charge back into the fray, Shadoe Rage
slaps him hard on the shoulder, tagging himself into the match for the
first time.]

GM:  Blind tag by Shadoe Rage - he'll be coming into the match now.

[And as soon as Rage steps into the ring, he points a finger right at
Adam Rogers.]

GM:  Rage wants the former World Champion in there with him!

[The fans cheer as Rogers nods his head, extending his hand to Mark Shaw
who looks at Rage - then at Rogers - then back at Rage.]

SR:  Rage has battled for World Titles before but never won one that
mattered.  You can bet that if he could get his hands on Rogers, he'd
feel like he was back in that World Title picture again.

GM:  Rogers wants the tag - he's asking for it.

[Shaw slowly walks towards the corner where Rogers has his hand
outstretched.  The Hellion looks at his partner, then looks down at the
hand...

...and turns away from the Natural, walking back out to the middle of
the ring to the jeers of the crowd.]

GM:  Oh, come on!  Make the tag!

BW:  Mark Shaw with the smart move there in my opinion.  You can't win
the #1 contendership if you're not in the match.  Why should he tag in
Rogers?  Why should he?

GM:  It's the right thing to do.  It's what the fans want to see.

BW:  The fans won't get you the National Title.

GM:  We could argue that all day.  Adam Rogers is obviously very upset
at his partner - can't say that I blame him either.

[Rogers pulls his hand back, glaring at the back of his partner who is
now lunging into a collar and elbow tieup with Shadoe Rage, muscling him
back into the buckles.]

GM:  Backed into the corner... wooo!  Big chop by Shaw!

[The Hellion drives a few more chops home on Rage before whipping him
from corner to corner.]

GM:  Whip by Shaw... here he comes!

[A running clothesline comes up empty as Rage sidesteps the charge,
dropping down into a schoolboy rollup.]

GM:  ONE!  TWO!  

[Shaw powers out at two despite a trunk pull by Rage.]

GM:  Shadoe Rage pulled the tights but he couldn't keep him down for a
three count.

[The big brawler starts to get back to his feet...

...but a running double axehandle blow by Rage knocks Shaw back down to
the mat.]

GM:  Shaw down again - and look at Rage!  Like a wild animal!

[Screaming and howling, Rage throws himself on top of Shaw, wrapping his
hand around the windpipe.]

GM:  He's choking the life out of Shaw!  Mickey Meekly's screaming at
him to break the hold - come on, get in there, Mickey!

[Rage breaks the chokehold at four, popping up to his feet...

...and spitting at Adam Rogers, an offense that brings the Natural
through the ropes and into the ring!]

GM:  Here we go!

[But Mickey Meekly throws himself between Rogers and Rage, blocking the
former World Champion's path.]

GM:  Cut off!  The fans want Adam Rogers inside that ring so badly.

BW:  And look at Rage, stomping and kicking Mark Shaw like he's on fire
and Rage wants to put him out.  Stomping the head and neck over and over
again.

GM:  Rage drags Shaw to his feet off the mat... 

[Winding up, Rage snaps a left hand into the jaw of Shaw.]

GM:  Snapping left jab by Shadoe Rage!  And another!  And another!  He's
rockin' Mark Shaw with a series of jabs.

[Grabbing Shaw by the hair, Rage hurls him through the ropes and out to
the floor once again...

...and promptly moves to the corner where he starts to climb.]

GM:  Rage is going up top!  

BW:  Look out, Gordo!  I told ya this guy was nutty!

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

[But before he can jump, Adam Rogers comes charging down the apron,
causing Rage to drop back off the ropes, pointing at Rogers.]

GM:  Adam Rogers just bailed out his partner, Mark Shaw, by preventing
Rage from jumping off the top rope on him.  Maybe that'll earn Rogers a
tag into the match.

BW:  I wouldn't count on it.

[A dazed Mark Shaw rolls under the ropes...

...and gets greeted by a diving forearm across the back of the head by
Shadoe Rage, keeping him down on the mat.]

GM:  Rage is really working over Shaw - stomps and kicks again. 
Dragging him off the mat now... big whip to the corner... and a running
back elbow catches Shaw right under the jaw!

[It also gets Rage too close to his corner and allows Bruno Verhoeven to
make a blind tag to bring himself back into the ring.]

GM:  Bruno makes the exchange - back into the ring.  And he immediately
hits a big clothesline in the corner on Mark Shaw!  Shaw is in trouble
and he really needs to get to his corner.

BW:  He didn't want to make the tag before - what makes you think he'll
do it now?

GM:  He doesn't have a choice if he wants to win this match.

SR:  Do you think Mark Shaw believes that if he can't win this match,
he'd rather have anyone other than Rogers win it?

GM:  A very good question.  Verhoeven dragging Shaw out of the
buckles... and into a standing headscissors!

BW:  Uh oh!  Here comes the Bolt Shot, Gordo!

GM:  He's going for that powerbomb into the buckles.  If he hits this,
it might be over, Bucky.

[Verhoeven starts to lift...

...but Shaw drops down to his knee, avoiding the move.]

GM:  Blocked by Shaw!  He's trying to fight it!

[The Butcher backs off, driving a hard right hand into the ear of Shaw
that knocks him down to the mat again.]

GM:  Not the Bolt Shot but it was a powerful blow to the side of the
head just the same.  Verhoeven reaches down, dragging Shaw off the- 

[The crowd laughs as Verhoeven is the recipient of another blind tag.]

GM:  Uh oh.

BW:  Shadoe Rage just tagged himself back into the match much to Bruno
Verhoeven's dismay.

GM:  Rage is in, ignoring the protests of Verhoeven, dragging Shaw to
his feet...

[Rage ducks down, hoisting Shaw up in a fireman's carry.]

GM:  Uh oh - what do we have here?

[Rage does a full spin or two, showing off Shaw to everyone before
shoving Shaw up and off his shoulders...

...bringing his knee squarely up into the face of the Hellion!]

GM:  OHHH!  He caught him square in the face with that!

[The Canadian dives atop Shaw, hooking his leg.]

GM:  ONE!  TWO!  THR-

[The crowd roars as Bruno Verhoeven steps into the ring, yanking Shadoe
Rage off of the downed Shaw.]

GM:  I don't know if Rage would have gotten the pin there - but I know
thanks to Bruno Verhoeven, we'll never know.  Verhoeven broke up his own
teammate's pin and- here we go...

[The buzz of the fans grows louder as Shadoe Rage squares off with
Verhoeven, pointing an accusatory finger right in his face...

...a finger that Bruno slaps aside, wrapping his hand around the throat
of Shadoe Rage instead.]

GM:  CHOKE!

[A wide-eyed Rage tries to escape but instead, Bruno Verhoeven hoists
him into the air...

...and brings him down hard across a bent knee!]

GM:  SLAUGHTERSLAM!  HE SLAUGHTERSLAMMED HIS OWN PARTNER!

[Verhoeven spins away from the now-fallen Rage, walking out of the ring
as Mark Shaw slowly crawls across the ring...]

BW:  Wait a second!  I don't think Shaw realizes that Bruno is walking
out of here!  He doesn't know that Bruno took out Rage and is leaving!  

GM:  Bruno Verhoeven has abandoned the ring and- 

[The crowd roars as Shaw slaps the extended hand of Adam Rogers, tagging
the Natural into the match for the first time.]

GM:  Rogers is in!  Cover!  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE-

[But just before the three count falls, a desperate Mark Shaw throws
himself the other direction, breaking the pin attempt just in time. 
Rogers quickly gets to his feet, tossing Shaw out to the apron.]

GM:  Rogers clears out his partner!  He's got Shadoe Rage all alone!

[Rogers quickly pulls Rage into a front facelock, snapping him over in a
suplex before floating into another pin attempt.]

GM:  Another pin attempt!  One!  Two!  Thre- shoulder up again!  Rage is
fighting to hang on!

BW:  This is a two-on-one!  It's not fair!

GM:  The Natural pulls Rage off the mat again, hooking a rear
waistlock...

[With a nice show of strength, Rogers hoists Rage into the air, dumping
him down on his head and neck in a suplex!]

GM:  Waistlock suplex!  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE-

[The crowd explodes in a mixed reaction as Mark Shaw reaches under the
ropes, ripping Rogers' planted foot out from under him to break the pin
attempt.]

GM:  Shaw broke it up again!  Mark Shaw broke his partner's pin attempt
again!

[The Hellion slowly pulls himself up on the ring apron as Rogers drags
Rage off the mat again, re-applying the rear waistlock.]

GM:  Rogers hooks him again.  Another suplex?

BW:  I don't think so.

GM:  Adam Rogers is as fresh as a daisy, having just gotten into the
ring.  He's got Rage hooked...

[The former World Champion races towards the ropes, smashing Rage's
upper body into them as they rebound back, Rogers rolling Rage into a
reverse cradle.]

GM:  ROLLING REVERSE CRADLE!

[But before Rogers can throw his body back into the Natural Bridge, Mark
Shaw steps into the ring, hooking his own partner in a side waistlock.]

GM:  No!  NO!  NOOOOOOO!

[Shaw hoists Rogers into the air, driving the Natural down right on the
back of his head and neck!]

GM:  BACKDROP DRIIIIIVER!

[The crowd goes silent at the sight of the move, not even reacting as
Shaw drags Rogers to the corner, stepping outside the ring to reach back
in and slap Rogers' hand.]

GM:  Mark Shaw just... did he do what I think he did?

BW:  He's the legal man now, daddy!

GM:  Shaw pulls Rage up, gutwrench!

[Shaw gutwrenches Rage up into the air...

...and sits out in a powerbomb!]

GM:  ONE!  TWO!  THREEEEE!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


MC:  Your winners of the match in a time of ten minutes and twenty
seconds... the team of Adam Rogers and Mark Shaw!

[A mild cheer goes up for the announcement.]

MC:  And per the stipulations of the match, the new #1 Contender to the
National Title is Mark Shaw!

[Another mixed reaction is heard for that announcement.  Shaw raises his
arms triumphantly before rolling from the ring, stomping from the ring
and making his way quickly back up the aisle.]

GM:  Mark Shaw scores the winning pinfall for his team - and quite
frankly, I'm in shock at what we just saw.  We knew Mark Shaw wanted to
win this thing, we knew how badly he wanted it.  But I never would have
imagined he'd go this far to win it.  To betray his own teammate in the
match in such a brutal, violent fashion... unbelievable.

[Shaw reaches the entryway, turning around towards the ring and making
the "I want the belt" gesture to the cameraman zoomed in on him.]

GM:  Is that the next National Champion?  We'll find out very, very
soon.  Fans, don't go away - the Main Event is next!

[The shot holds on Mark Shaw 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 desk where Gordon and Bucky are
standing.  In the background, we can see the double-caged terror known
as WarGames: The Match Beyond being assembled.]

GM:  You can see the construction going on behind us, fans.  Two rings
wrapped in a hellish double roofed cage.  No escape.  No way out. 
Earlier this week, we caught up with Team USA - let's hear what was on
their minds just days before the biggest fight of their careers!

[The scene opens on a dimly lit gym...possibly in Laredo...possibly one
of half a hundred small towns scattered throughout Texas like
tumbleweeds.It's a typical small-town gym -well-worn weight benches
with free weights piled carefully close at hand.Various pieces of
equipment line the walls, standing silent vigil on the five men gathered
under the faintly flickering florescent bulbs - the AWA's own Tin Can
Rust, City Jack, "Showtime" Rick Marley, Werewolf Gregorson,and
Despair.]

CJ: Now guys, I ain't goin' be up here tellin' this or that about those
five guys we'll be a'facing at War Games. All I'm gonna say here is that
each one of them yellow-tailed people have been tryin' to pick us off,
one by one, week after week. But we? We still all here, all right as
rain!

[Jack points over to Marley, who offers a slightly sarcastic bow and a
lopsided smile.]

CJ: Them Russian boys done tried to snap your neck back in an ain't
right position. And that Freeman's done nothin' but tried to take
advantage. He sees you as a threat, ya hear? He sees you his biggest
threat to doin' anything around here. And you know why? Cause you can do
anything that Aussie can, just five to ten times better! Count this ol'
sob impressed everytime you enter that there ring! And Werewolf?
Despair? Phew...

[Jack shakes his head.]

CJ: You two are some of the toughest men I done seen in a while,
battling those two Russian boys. Now I know, probably? After this here
War Games? Rust and myself ain't gonna be workin' with you two none as
we both'll looking for some golden opportunities...

[Jack flashes a good natured smile.]

CJ: But that's then and this is now. Now? I want to make sure to shut
that trap of Mr. Calisto Dufresne for good. I wantmake sure Mr. Scott
gets what's coming to him. I want make sure Freeman finally gets a taste
of what he's been dolin' out there to Marley. And I certainly want to
see you two men take those two Russian boys to task!

[Marley nods in agreement with the big veteran.]

RM: One way or another all of their excuses are over.Locked in that
cage the five of them are gonna be called to answer for all of the hell
they've put each and every guy in this room through.Not to sound overly
melodramatic, but this match is about more than just evening our
personal scores.It's a fight for the soul of AWA itself.If that flock
of vultures is allowed to get away with what they've been pulling...if
they walk out of that cage with their hands held high...what's that
telling anybody in the locker room?What's that telling anyone that
might JOIN that locker room?

[Marley shakes his head.]

RM: That's the reason they're going down.We can't let it go down any
other way. Period.And with who we've got in this room right now...hell,
we've got the game to back that kinda talk up.

[Rust nods]

TCR: Look, we can all pat our backs and say what a great job we've done,
but point is? They're still standing. Everytime they've taken a swipe at
us, I've gotten more and more angry. Still seeing that coward, that
complete fraud Stevie Scott...still seeing him run around here...

[Rust shakes his head.]

TCR: The man has no right being here. He has no right in that ring and
certainly has no right carrying another nation's flag. We all have our
own points for being here, for being in this War Games match. We all
want something... want someone to hurt in there. But I can tell you this
- they're going to work as a team. They're going to make sure to single
us out, keep using their gang tactics. Most important of anything here
is that we can't allow them to do that!

CJ: Marley? Rust? You two sure are on point here! What's it goin' look
like if we all can't get this here thing done? For all the deed they
done pulled, we got to make them pay ten times over. Now I know them
fans down there in Laredo - I know them fans won't take any bull them
boys'll pull. It'll be lucky for them to be in a cage with us cause them
LWC fans? Shoot, they'd tear them up too. But it's up to us to keep that
LWC tradition for them fans here and make each and every one of them
boys on the other side a bleedin' mess!

D (nodding his head): You guys couldn't be more right. We've been
listening to The Russians run their mouths for months now and, yet,
every time we get our hands on them, they find some way to cheat
themselves to an easy win. Now I've been around this business for a
while and I've done some things in my life that I'm not proud of but
Werewolf and me...we've played this game by the rules 'cause that's what
the good guys do. Trouble is,I'm sick and tired of being made to look
like a chump by these guys and I'm about to show 'em a side of Despair
they won't enjoy seeing.

WG: And that, my friends, is what it all comes down to. For months now,
we've all been made to look like fools by our respective rivals here in
the AWA and War Games is our last chance to do something about it. The
Russians, Stevie Scott, Adrian Freeman, and Callisto Dufresne? If they
win this match, we might as well all go home because the AWA will be
completely intolerable for us if those five men walk out of the ring
victorious. And, Despair? If you think you're sick and tired, just
imagine how Clayton Shaw must feel, stuck at home under a doctor's care
because of what The Russians did to him in OUR names. The time has come,
my friend, for you, me, and all three of our partners here to show our
opponents a side of ourselves they won't enjoy.

And, if that means you have to dig deep down inside yourself and unleash
the Despair that ran roughshod over RAW with The Suicide Kings and I
have to resurrect the bloodthirsty bastard I used to be in Kill Devil
Hills Jisatsu, then so be it.

Because The Hunt is coming to an end, my friends, and the five of us?
Together we hunt...and together we survive!!

[And, with that, we fade back to ringside.]

GM:  Those five men definitely seem ready for war, Bucky.

BW:  Blah, blah, blah. 

GM:  Huh?

BW:  They all talk a good game, that's for sure.  But they're in for
war, daddy.  They're in for war!  And they stand around and pat each
other on the backs like they already won something.  "Oh, you're a great
highflyer!"  "Oh, you're big and tough!"  Makes me sick.

GM:  And you think the other side is more prepared for this fight than
Team USA is?

BW:  Absolutely.  Roll the tape.

[We fade away from the announce team to a shot of an empty desert.  In
the distance, we can see a fence.  As the cameraman pans back around, we
find Stevie Scott, Kolya Sudakov, and Vladimir Velikov sitting in the
back of a rusted-out pickup truck.  Calisto Dufresne is leaning against
the side of the truck, pointing something out to Adrian Freeman.  With
his trademark gravelly voice, Velikov begins to speak.]

VV:  This... is America's battleground now.  This is where the Americans
fight day after day, week after week - to try to save their country from
an invading force.  It is not in the oil fields of Iraq or the mountains
of Afghanistan.  It is here - the border they share with Mexico.

[Velikov coughs sharply - perhaps a laugh?]

VV:  But just like WarGames this weekend, it's a fight they can not win.
 How much money, how many men, how many guns do you throw at this war,
trying to stem the tide of an invading force that knows no fear. 

They are not afraid to be caught.  They are not afraid to be beaten. 
They are not even afraid to die.

It is a war you cannot win, America.

[Velikov stands up in the truck.]

VV:  And just like the army from the South who knows no fear, this army
stands here ready to complete our final invasion of the AWA.  We have
fought for months, striking here and there.  There has been bruises. 
There has been blood.  There has been injuries.

[A chuckle.]

VV:  And there will be more.  Because for one more night, the AWA's...

[A cackle.]

VV:  "Finest"... they draw the line in the sand.  They stand up as one
and say, "Not on my watch!"  They tell us that no matter how hard we
fight, no matter how many of them we hurt, no matter how many bodies
pile to the sky...

They say we will lose.

[Velikov smirks.]

VV:  It is... how you say... a difference of opinion.

Your team is old.  Your team is fat.  Your team is lazy and weak.  You
rely on the cheers of these ignorant Americans to push you to victory.

We rely on ourselves.  

We rely on Adrian Freeman - who will break a man apart on the mat,
torturing him, bending him, snapping his bones and ligaments until he
screams for mercy.

[Freeman nods his head, rubbing his hands together.]

VV:  We rely on Calisto Dufresne - who has the instinct of a champion,
who has the intelligence to outwit you at every turn.  He will get
chance after chance to show why City Jack has been chasing him for years
- and has yet to catch him.

[Dufresne smirks at the thought of it.]

VV:  We rely on Stevie Scott - the true patriot.  The man who saw the
error of the American spirit and sought to embrace the true Soviet
strength.  The man who has shown the world that it is not too late to
realize your mistakes.

[Stevie looks puzzled - but nods anyways!]

VV:  We rely on the Russian War Machine, Kolya Sudakov, my nephew, my
blood.  He was born for this.  He was bred for this.  He has fought in
cages around the world for years, preparing for a night like this where
we can restore the glory of Mother Russia for the entire world to see.

[Sudakov stands stoic - arms crossed in front of him.]

VV:  We rely on the years of experience that I have gained fighting for
Mother Russia - the men I have vanquished, the careers I have ended, the
bones I have broken, the blood I have drawn.  

[He holds up the Russian steel chain in one hand and a wooden flagpole
with the Soviet flag in the other.]

VV:  We rely on this.

[Velikov smirks as the camera pans, revealing a group of people racing
from the far-away fence.]

VV:  And we rely on America's total failure to stop any of it.

War is coming for you, AWA.   We are coming for you.

Try to stop us.

[And with that, we fade from the desert scene to one inside the South
Laredo Rodeogrounds where the massive double cage has been erected,
surrounding the two rings that have been center stage all night.  The
lights have been brought down, spotlights circling to hit the cage from
all sides

And suddenly, a voice erupts from the darkness.]

MC:  American Wrestling Alliance... PREPARE FOR WAR!

[The crowd ERUPTS into cheers!]

MC:  The following contest is WARGAMES: THE MATCH BEYOND!

[More deafening cheers!]

MC:  There are no pinfalls, no countouts, no disqualifications, and has
no time limit.  The rules are as follows:  Two teams of five will come
to the ring shortly.  One man from each team will enter the ring for a
five minute period.  At the end of that period, there will be a coin
flip to determine which team will send a man into the cage next.  The
winner of the flip will have a two-on-one edge for a two minute period. 
After those two minutes, the other team will send in a man to even the
odds.  This will continue until ALL TEN MEN ARE IN THE CAGE at which
point THE MATCH BEYOND will begin.  Once it has begun, the only way to
win the match is to make one member of the other team SUBMIT OR
SURRENDER!

[MASSIVE ROAR!]

MC:  And now... it's time.  Introducing first... 

[The Soviet National Anthem starts up to a huge outpouring of boos from
the South Laredo crowd, many of whom are waving American flags that
range from toothpick size to giant flags that entire sections of fans
have to hold up together.]

MC:  They are the team of "Subzero" Adrian Freeman, "Ladykiller" Calisto
Dufresne, "Hotshot" Stevie Scott, Kolya Sudakov, and Vladimir Velikov!

[The rulebreaking quintet steps into view to even more boos as security
flanks the team on both sides of the aisle to accompany them to the
ring.  The hostile crowd rains garbage down upon the entire fivesome as
they quickly get down to ringside - especially aiming as Stevie Scott
who has seen fit to carry the Soviet flag down the aisle on a wooden
flagpole.]

GM:  And there's absolutely no secret of how these fans feel about this
group of men, Bucky.

BW:  They're just jealous.

GM:  Jealous?

BW:  They live in a backwater, brokedown town that's only good for
trafficking people across the border.  They're jealous that the AWA came
to town to show them what the USED to get all the time with the LWC. 
Except the LWC never had these five men.  Maybe if they did, the joint
would still be alive.

GM:  Would you stop?  Give me a break!

[The boos remain deafening as Melissa shouts to be heard over them.]

MC:  And their opponents...

[The Marine Corps anthem starts up to an ENORMOUS roar from the capacity
crowd.]

MC:  It is the team of "Showtime" Rick Marley, Despair, Werewolf
Gregorson, Tin Can Rust, and City Jack!

[Another huge roar is heard as the fan favorite team bursts through the
curtain, slapping hands with anyone they can as they make their way down
the aisle towards the ring.]

GM:  Heeeeere they come, Bucky.  For six months, we've been waiting to
see this ten men collide in some fashion, some way to end all their
rivalries - tonight should be that night.

BW:  Bodies will be bruised and battered, blood will spill, and careers
will likely be shortened - all within the confines of the most dangerous
structure in professional wrestling - the steel cage!

[At ringside, AWA Director of Officiating Max "Moldy" Meekly calls the
two squads together to go over the rules one final time.  AWA officials
and security stand in the middle of the two teams, keeping the ten men
at bay as they get their final instructions.]

GM:  We've got enough security out here tonight to invade Mexico, Bucky.

BW:  A Boy Scout troop has enough manpower to invade Mexico, Gordo.

GM:  Would you stop?  What has gotten into you?

BW:  I'm just giddy.  I hate all five of the guys climbing in there for
the so-called Team USA so I'm loving the chance to see all of them
ripped to shreds by this unforgiving steel.

GM:  So-called Team USA?

BW:  They don't represent any America I'm a part of, daddy.

[With the instructions complete, the two teams break off to discuss some
strategy which ends with "Showtime" Rick Marley climbing inside the cage
to the roars of the crowd.]

GM:  It's going to be Rick Marley starting things off for Team USA.  A
smart move, wouldn't you say?

BW:  I would.  Of all the men on their team, Marley or Despair probably
have the most stamina and endurance so I think this is a wise choice to
have the high flyer start things off for his squad.

GM:  Marley's in there, waiting to see who- and we've got some arguing
going on outside the ring already.

[As the camera moves closer, we can catch Vladimir Velikov barking at
Calisto Dufresne in his harsh voice.]

GM:  It sounds like Velikov wants Dufresne to start things off but the
Ladykiller doesn't sound too happy with that decision.  He's arguing
with Velikov.

[But after the other team members join in, a dejected Dufresne starts
climbing the wooden ringsteps slowly...

...and then steps into the cage, the door slamming shut behind him as
the bell rings to officially start the match.  A digital clock reading
"5:00" pops up on the screen and starts ticking down.]

GM:  And we are underway!  Five minutes for this first period which will
see Calisto Dufresne one-on-one with "Showtime" Rick Marley.

BW:  Quite a bit of history between these two.  Of course, it was
Dufresne who helped Marley beat City Jack way back at Memorial Day
Mayhem and then that ungrateful punk kicked Calisto's teeth down his
throat for it.

GM:  He never asked for Dufresne's help, Bucky.

BW:  So you say.

[Outside the cage, we catch a shot of City Jack gripping the steel mesh,
looking on with intensity at Dufresne.]

GM:  City Jack wants in there in the worst way but this is Dufresne and
Marley's moment.  Remember, the match cannot end here - this is plain
and simply a fight.

[Marley steps into the second ring, moving in on a cornered Dufresne who
is looking back and forth quickly, trying to find an escape route.]

GM:  There's nowhere to run and nowhere to hide for Calisto Dufresne
tonight, Bucky.

BW:  Which strikes me as incredibly unfair, Gordo.

[Dufresne suddenly turns around, grabbing and pulling at the cage door
that he just entered through.  Marley races forward as a frustrated
Dufresne turns around...

...and leaps up onto Dufresne, promptly monkey flipping him out of the
corner to the cheers of the crowd!]

GM:  Oh yeah!  Rick Marley already with that offense that has made him
so popular here in the AWA over the past six months... he charges right
in again...

[And pops a rising Dufresne with a right hand that knocks the Ladykiller
back to the buckles as the clock reads "4:01"]

GM:  Marley with another right!  And another!  He's rocking Dufresne
with those big right hands.

BW:  And this will be an interesting test for Rick Marley.  He's used to
flip flop flying around the ring like some kind of a circus performer -
can he adjust to a ring where that's not an option for him?  He's going
to have to throw these right hands all night and I'm going to guess his
right hands aren't as potent as someone like Kolya Sudakov.

[The camera catches a shot of Sudakov, looking on with an icy stare as
his partner drops down to a knee, Marley throwing knees of his own up
into the chest of the downed Dufresne.]

GM:  Speaking of the Russian War Machine, he doesn't look too happy at
this point in the contest.  His partner isn't putting up much of a fight
in the first minute plus of this one.

BW:  This isn't Dufresne's environment either.  To the best of my
knowledge, he has never been inside of a steel cage match and WarGames
is far from the easiest for your first time.

[A hard stomp to the chest punctuates the assault of Rick Marley as he
dashes across the ring, leaving Dufresne seated against the
turnbuckles.]

GM:  Dufresne down in the corner... here comes Marley!

[The man known as "Showtime" barrels across the ring at top speed,
leaping into the air with some amazing hangtime...

...and then DRIVES both feet squarely into the face of his downed
opponent!  The crowd roars in response as Marley pops back to his fist,
pumping a fist in triumph.]

BW:  Look at this goof Marley celebrating.  You haven't won anything
yet, kid.

GM:  No one's claiming that they have.  And Rick Marley stays on the
attack, dragging Dufresne to his feet in the corner... whooo!  Big chop
to the chest by Marley!

[The blow knows Dufresne back against the buckles again, wrapping his
arms over the top rope to stay on his feet as the clock hits "2:48"]

GM:  We're almost to the halfway point in this first period between
Calisto Dufresne and Rick Marley.  Thusfar in the match, Dufresne has
taken a beating at the hands of Marley and that can't be what his team
was hoping for.

[Outside the cage, Stevie Scott waves the Soviet flag back and forth to
a showering of boos while screaming, "COME ON, CALISTO!"]

GM:  Stevie Scott cheering on his... well, we might as well say comrade,
I suppose.

BW:  Oh, that's real clever, Gordo.

GM:  It's true!  He's a traitorous snake in the grass and I can't wait
to see Tin Can Rust get his hands on that sonuvagun tonight - finally.

BW:  I'm not so sure you'll see that.  Stevie told me had a plan.

GM:  What plan?

BW:  I guess we'll find out soon enough.

[A few more right hands find the mark for Marley as he grabs the wrist
of his opponent.]

GM:  Irish whi- reversed by Dufresne...

[Marley gets thrown towards the corner where he promptly runs up to the
top...

...and leaps off the ropes, twisting in mid-air into a cross body on a
stunned Dufresne!]

GM:  Oh yeah!  Down goes Dufresne again!

["Showtime" quickly takes the mount position, firing clenched fists into
the head of the downed "Ladykiller" as the clock hits the two minute
mark.]

GM:  Two minutes left in the first period and both of these teams are
just chomping at the bit to get inside this giant double cage and do
some world-class damage to their enemies.

[Marley throws one more right hand to the skull before climbing back to
his feet, his fist still clenched to the cheers of the fans.]

GM:  Marley drags Dufresne off the mat by the hair... what's he gonna do
with him?

[The crowd roars as Marley points towards the cage wall.]

GM:  He's gonna put him into the steel!  He's gonna split his head wide
open!

BW:  Already?!

[But before he can deliver on his promise, Marley is cut off by Dufresne
slipping a knee into his midsection to break up the move.  A boot to the
gut follows up, doubling up Marley and making him an easy target as
Dufresne drives home a double axehandle blow across the back of the neck
to knock Marley down to the mat.]

GM:  Ohh!  Hard shot there by the Ladykiller.  He's showing that
resourcefulness that made him such an excellent champion back in the Pro
Wrestling Revolution days.

[A shot of City Jack shows his knuckles turning white as he grips the
steel harder, shouting for Marley to get off the mat and fight.]

GM:  Just over a minute remaining, Marley needs to hang on and see if
his team can win the toss to send the next man into the fray.  Who do
you think it'll be next, Bucky?

BW:  If I'm on Marley's team, I send Despair in next.  Get the guys with
lots of gas in the tank in there first and save the heavy hitters for
the big impact.  If I'm on Dufresne's team, I think I send in Freeman to
see if he can bust up Marley a little bit.  He's been dying to do it for
months so I'd give him the chance right now.  That little bit of steam
in his sails might be enough to turn the tide in their favor for good.

[Dufresne stomps the downed Marley a few times as the clock hits the 60
second mark.]

GM:  One minute remaining in the first period - Dufresne keeping things
simple, just stomping and kicking Rick Marley, keeping him on the mat.

BW:  A smart move as well.  Marley's at his best when he's running
around.  Keep him grounded and you limit his offense severly.

[With Marley downed, Dufresne leaps into the air...

...and drives his knee down onto the back of Marley's head, smashing his
face into the canvas.]

GM:  Ohhh!

[Dufresne shows a bit of fire as he rolls Marley onto his back, slamming
a few clenched fists into the face before pressing his forearm bone
against the nose, grinding it back and forth, screaming at the fan
favorite.]

"WHO'S PRETTY NOW?!  WHO?!"

[A hard forearm shot across the nose punctuates the sentence as Dufresne
climbs to his feet, looking up at the clock.]

GM:  Dufresne takes a peek at the clock - about thirty seconds left now
as the officials draw both teams over for the coin toss.  

BW:  This is crucial, Gordo.  Whoever wins the coin toss gets the edge
for the rest of the match and immediately becomes the favorite in this
thing.

[With eight men surrounding Max Meekly on the floor, he tosses the coin
into the air...

...and then holds a black flag up in the air towards the rulebreaking
squad, sending jeers throughout the Rodeogrounds.]

GM:  Uh oh.  

BW:  Uh oh is right, daddy!  Lady luck is smiling on the heads of
Freeman, Stevie, and the Russians tonight.  They win the toss - they
send in the next man.

GM:  Who's it going to be?  We're about to find out.

[The crowd starts to count down with the clock.]

"FIVE!"

"FOUR!"

"THREE!"

"TWO!"

"ONE!"

"BZZZZZZZ!"

[The buzzer sounds as the cage door opens...

...and "Subzero" Adrian Freeman comes dashing up the steps, joining the
match officially.]

GM:  And it looks like they took your advice, Bucky.  Adrian Freeman is
into the double cage and that puts Freeman and Dufresne in a two on one
advantage for the next two minutes.

BW:  Look at Freeman go!

[The Australian immediately goes to work on his rival, stomping and
kicking the face of the downed Marley.  He leans over, dragging Marley
off the mat by the hair...

...and drills him with a forearm shot that knocks Marley into the
ropes.]

GM:  Marley on the ropes - double team coming up...

[The rulebreaking duo fires Marley into the far ropes where he rebounds
back into a Freeman drop toehold.]

GM:  Drop toehold by Freeman... Calisto off the ropes... and drives home
an elbowdrop to the lower back of Rick Marley.

[Freeman is quickly to his feet, directing traffic at Dufresne who seems
a little annoyed but follows along with it, pulling Marley into a front
facelock.]

GM:  Double hook... ohhh!  Double suplex right there!

BW:  And this is no shock to me at all.  They're going after the back of
Rick Marley.  I knew that Adrian Freeman would want to go after the
back.

GM:  Why?

BW:  Conventional wisdom says to take out Marley's legs so he can't fly.
 Or maybe go after the throat that the Russians and Stevie injured to
knock him out of the National Title Tournament.  But I knew that Freeman
would be looking to make Marley submit to the Deep Freeze - and to do
that, that back has to be hanging on by a thin, thin thread when The
Match Beyond begins.

[A shot outside the ring shows Tin Can Rust wince as Calisto Dufresne
drops a knee into the lower back of Marley, pulling his head back by the
hair to turn up the pressure.]

GM:  Oh, come on!

BW:  What?  There's no ref.  There's no rules.  If they want to pull
Marley's hair out by the roots, it's all legal in this one, daddy!

GM:  You are absolutely right.

[Freeman leans over, slapping Marley across the face as Dufresne holds
his head back.]

GM:  These two are loving every second of this.

BW:  They are - and I can't blame them for it.  But they really need to
be doing more damage right now.  Taunt him when you've won but for now,
it's just wasted time of this two-on-one edge.  They need to inflict
more punishment before anyone else joins the match.

GM:  And you have to wonder who that someone will be.

[Outside the ring, we catch a shot of Tin Can Rust slapping Despair on
the shoulder, the fiery young man stepping up on the wooden ringsteps as
the clock draws closer.]

GM:  It looks like it'll be Despair.  He's just got to hang on for a
little while longer though.

[Inside the cage, Dufresne and Freeman drag Marley to his feet off the
mat.  Dufresne quickly drops down to a knee as Freeman hoists Marley
into the air in a belly to back suplex lift...

...and then drops Marley down on Dufresne's bent knee!]

GM:  OHHHH!

BW:  Now we're talkin', daddy!  That's exactly what I wanted to see!

GM:  The clock has almost run out - but the damage may have already been
done.  

[Cackling and sharing a high five, Dufresne and Freeman stand over the
writhing Marley.  Dufresne spits on the downed Marley, kicking him hard
in the small of the back while ignoring the loudly jeering capacity
crowd in the South Laredo Rodeogrounds.]

GM:  What a couple of jerks these two are, Bucky.

BW:  Jerks or not - what they are is effective, Gordo.


"FIVE!"

"FOUR!"

"THREE!"

"TWO!"

"ONE!"

"BZZZZZZZ!"

[The crowd roars to life as the cage door opens...

...and then roars again as burly veteran City Jack shoves Despair off
the steps, rushing past him into the cage despite the screams of protest
from Tin Can Rust.]

GM:  Uh oh!

BW:  Hahaha!  I love it!  I love it, Gordo!

[City Jack charges into the cage as quickly as his old legs will carry
his bulky frame.  Both Freeman and Dufresne are waiting for him,
throwing haymakers as quickly as their bodies will allow it.]

GM:  City Jack may have just made an absolutely crucial error at this
point in the match.  Despair was ready to come in - he'd obviously been
selected by his teammates to do so.  But City Jack just couldn't stand
it anymore.  He wanted to get at Calisto Dufresne so badly, he threw the
gameplan aside and pushed his way past Despair into the cage.

BW:  What a goof!  Of all the people on that team, City Jack is the LAST
one you want in there this early.  He's fat.  He's old.  He's out of
shape.  He'll be sucking wind in thirty seconds and be easy prey for
everyone else all night long.  This is fantastic!

GM:  He's taking quite the pounding from Freeman and Dufresne already,
being knocked back into the ropes.  Double whip...

[The Australian and the Ladykiller set for a double clothesline as City
Jack rebounds...

...and ducks right underneath their attempt, hitting the far ropes.]

GM:  City Jack off the far side and...

[The crowd ERUPTS as City Jack bowls over both men with a running double
clothesline of his own that send both men scattering!]

GM:  City Jack picks up the spare with that big double clothesline!

[Freeman is the first to his feet, coming at Jack who cranks back his
big right hand...

...and pops Adrian Freeman right under the jaw with a Metropill that
knocks Freeman back into the ropes.  He bounces back in one motion to
where Jack is waiting to grab him by the hair.]

GM:  Look out!

[The crowd roars again as City Jack charges a few steps and HURLS
Freeman up and over both sets of ropes and into the other ring!]

GM:  Oh my!  There goes Freeman!

BW:  Uh oh.

[The crowd absolutely loses their collective minds as a juke-and-jivin'
City Jack spins around...

...and points a finger at Calisto Dufresne who has pulled himself up to
his feet in the corner.  Outside the cage, instructional screams from
Stevie Scott and the Russians fill the air as a panicked Dufresne looks
around for a way out.]

GM:  Oh, there's no way out tonight, Calisto Dufresne!  Tonight, you
reap what you sow, my friend!

[Jack slowly approaches the cornered Dufresne, a big grin on his face as
he inches closer and closer...

...which puts him in perfect position when Dufresne sprints out of the
corner, right into a stiff jab to the jaw by City Jack!]

GM:  Ohh!  Jack caught him with a right hand... and now it's Dufresne's
turn!

[Grabbing the Ladykiller by the hair, Jack HURLS him over both sets of
ropes and down to the mat where Freeman is lying.  The veteran turns to
help Rick Marley up off the mat and then points to their opponents.  A
quick nod from Marley is seen before he hits the closest ropes,
sprinting towards the set of double ropes...]

GM:  ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!

[Marley throws himself into the air, clearing both sets of ropes and
crashing down onto a recovering Freeman and Dufresne, knocking both men
off their feet and down to the mat to an enormous crowd roar!]

GM:  MARLEY TAKES THEM BOTH OUT!  OH YEAH!

"FIVE!"

"FOUR!"

"THREE!"

"TWO!"

"ONE!"

"BZZZZZZZ!"

[The cage door opens again, allowing the Russian War Machine, Kolya
Sudakov, to charge up the ringsteps and into the ring...

...and immediately flatten a turning City Jack with a running
clothesline that causes Jack to spin in the air before being dumped down
to the mat.]

GM:  OHHH!  Sudakov levels City Jack!

[Outside the cage, Werewolf Gregorson grips the steel, slapping his free
hand against it a few times to try to rally Jack.]

GM:  We've got a three-on-two now.  Sudakov, Freeman, and Dufresne are
in there for their squad against City Jack and Rick Marley for theirs.

[In the other ring, Marley pulls Adrian Freeman off the mat and drags
him over to the corner where a hard backhand chop deposits him against
the buckles.]

GM:  Marley's got Freeman in the corner, working on him right there.

[Seizing the moment to rest, Calisto Dufresne drags himself into a free
corner, breathing heavily while sitting on the canvas.]

GM:  Dufresne taking a breather while his teammates do his dirty work. 
No real surprise  there, I guess.

BW:  It's a smart move.

GM:  It's a cowardly move if you ask me.

[In the other cage, Kolya Sudakov has dragged City Jack into the corner,
lashing out with snapping kicks to the hefty belly of the big man from
Kentucky.  From outside the ring, we can hear Tin Can Rust shouting
words of encouragement to his partner.]

GM:  Rust trying to cheer City Jack on - but Sudakov is doing a number
on him right now.

[Dragging City Jack out of the corner, Sudakov decides to put on a power
display by scooping the big man up and slamming him down in the center
of the cage with a bodyslam.]

GM:  Wow!  Big show of power by Kolya Sudakov, the Russian War Machine,
as he puts City Jack down hard on the canvas.  

[The big Russian drops down into a kneeling position, driving his
clenched fist over and over into the skull of the downed City Jack.  On
the other side of the double cage structure, Marley has whipped Freeman
from corner to corner before turning his attention to the resting
Calisto Dufresne.]

GM:  Marley's moving in on Dufresne, pulling him off the mat by the
hair.  Irish whip...

[But as soon as Dufresne hits the ropes, he uses his regained stamina to
cling to them, avoiding the rebound...

...which allows Adrian Freeman to bury a knee into the lower back of a
distracted Marley.]

GM:  Ohh!  Freeman caught Marley from behind!

[The Australian quickly turns Marley around, hoisting him up in an
inverted atomic drop and then bailing out of the way as a rampaging
Dufresne hits a spear tackle from behind to the small of the back of
"Showtime!"]

GM:  Aaaah... right to the back of Marley.  Again, Dufresne and Freeman
showing some nice double teamwork to go right back after that
softened-up back.

[Back in the cage with the door, Sudakov has pulled City Jack off the
mat...]

GM:  The Russian's got City Jack on his feet - what's he doing here? 
NO!

[The crowd groans as Sudakov slams City Jack's head into the steel mesh
wall of the cage, sending Jack staggering out to the middle of the ring
where he collapses facefirst on the canvas.]

GM:  Sudakov sends him hard into the steel - that unforgiving steel
mesh.  

[Sudakov kicks Jack hard in the ribs, forcing him to roll to his back.]

GM:  Ohhh - and City Jack has been busted open!

BW:  Sudakov split Jack's head wide open by sending him into that steel
cage.  That cage can be as sharp as a razor sometimes, Gordo.  I was
backstage looking at it earlier today and cut my finger open on it.

GM:  It can tear flesh very easily and that's what we've just witnessed.
 A steady flow of crimson starting to escape the head of the big man
from Kentucky and that can't be a good sign for his team.

[Sudakov once again kneels over his victim, driving clenched fist after
fist into the open wound to try and split it even more.]

GM:  Sudakov's trying to draw more blood and-

"FIVE!"

"FOUR!"

GM:  Just in time.

"THREE!"

"TWO!"

"ONE!"

"BZZZZZZZ!"

[The cage door opens and this time, it is Despair who rushes into the
ring looking to help his allies.]

GM:  Despair is into the match - a few minutes later than he had
intended to be but he's in there now.  

[Despair quickly leaves his feet, scoring with a low dropkick that
knocks Sudakov away from the bloodied City Jack.  Despair takes a quick
look to make sure Jack's okay before moving into the second ring where
Adrian Freeman steps up to meet him.]

GM:  Freeman's trying to cut off Despair's attack.

[A wild haymaker by Freeman is slapped aside by Despair who lashes out
with a kick to the ribcage of the Australian.  He quickly hooks Freeman
around the head and throws three lightning quick elbows that sends
Freeman spinning away as Despair moves on to Dufresne.]

GM:  Despair dispatches of Freeman...

[A rushing Dufresne is sidestepped by Despair who drops down into a
dropkick to the knee that takes one knee out from under Dufresne...

...and then dumps Dufresne on the canvas courtesy of a fast Shining
Wizard!]

GM:  OHHH!  Knee to the face of Dufresne!

[Despair peels off of Dufresne, moving back towards Freeman...

...but a wily Dufresne grabs Despair by the ankle, absorbing a few hard
stomps from the free leg before Freeman is able to hit Despair from
behind with a knee to the kidneys.]

GM:  Dufresne and Freeman are working together over there like a
well-oiled machine, Bucky.

BW:  You sound surprised.  Two of the best technicians in the AWA and of
course they are-

GM:  Freeman's holding Despair up, holding the arms back.

[Dufresne tees off with a trio of chops across the exposed chest of
Despair...

...and then waves for the big recovering Russian to join them in the
second ring.]

GM:  Uh oh.  We've got a three-on-one on Despair!

[Dufresne throws a chop, Sudakov throws a kick to the body, and then
Freeman slams an elbowsmash into the back of the neck to knock Despair
down on the canvas.]

GM:  Despair was able to throw together a flurry of offense to help his
teammates but now he finds himself a victim of the numbers game right
now.

[Staggered, Rick Marley hobbles towards the trio assaulting Despair,
throwing his attack into the fray with a right hand for Dufresne, one
for Freeman, and a third for the Russian.]

GM:  Marley's back in there, trying to get some breathing room for
Despair...

[Marley throws another right hand that knocks Dufresne flat but when he
turns back to the Russian...]

GM:  OHH!  Sudakov drills him with a front kick to the body that
crumpled him up like an accordian!

[With Marley down on the mat, Freeman quickly flips him to his back,
grabbing the legs.]

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

[As the Australian struggles to apply his submission hold, Sudakov turns
his focus back on Despair, physically throwing him into the corner where
he throws knees into the body of the much smaller man.]

GM:  Sudakov's just a big bully in there!

[Outside the ring, we catch a shot of a grinning Vladimir Velikov
cheering on his nephew, encouraging him to do even more damage to the
cornered Despair

On the other side of the ring, Werewolf Gregorson is fit to be tied,
yanking at the steel cage with both hands as he screams for his partner
to fight back.]

GM:  The Russians' war with Gregorson and Despair is one of the major
reasons we got to this point - to where we needed a battleground like
this horrific double cage to settle this issue.  And already, we can see
Sudakov taking out some of his rage on Despair.  Gregorson wants in
there so badly.

BW:  That's a shame because it's going to be a long two minutes plus
before he gets in there.  And it looks like Velikov's going in next -
I'll bet you your salary for the year that he's going straight after
Despair too, daddy!

GM:  No thanks.

"FIVE!"

"FOUR!"

"THREE!"

"TWO!"

"ONE!"

"BZZZZZZ!"

[The crowd jeers as Vladimir Velikov swings the cage door open, stepping
onto the battlefield.  He smirks at the jeers and makes a beeline
towards the second ring where his nephew continues to pummel Despair in
the buckles...

...but City Jack throws himself at Velikov, knocking him back towards
one of the corners where he starts throwing haymakers at the bald skull
of the bigger Russian.]

GM:  Oh my!  Jack cut him off!

BW:  He had to.  If he hadn't, Despair would have been finished for
sure.

GM:  Jack's firing right hands!  Now left hands!  Now right hands again!

[Jack backs off, blood streaming down his face, and does a little jig as
Velikov staggers out...

...and gets levelled with a big Metropill forearm smash to the roar of
the crowd!]

GM:  And down goes the big Russian!

[Seeing his Uncle in trouble, Sudakov peels off of Despair, moving
through the ropes to the first ring...

...where a snapping jab to the jaw greets him.  Jack trails off a series
of snapping jabs, winds way back, and pops Sudakov with a Metropill as
well, knocking him down to the mat.]

GM:  Both the Russians are down!  Both Russians have been floored by
City Jack!

[In the other cage, Freeman gets tired of Marley fighting the Deep
Freeze and drops back into a catapult, swinging Marley up and into the
steel mesh!]

GM:  OHHH!  MARLEY TO THE CAGE WALL!

[Marley falls back on the canvas, arms over his head as Freeman smirks
at his downed opponent.  Nearby, Calisto Dufresne and Despair trade
chops against the ropes.]

GM:  Despair's trying to get into the second ring to help City Jack but
Dufresne cut him off - always trying to hurt the big man from Kentucky.

[The chop exchange is fairly even for a bit but a series of hard chops
by Despair rallies the crowd and starts to back down Dufresne...

...who promptly drops to his knees and buries a right hand into the
groin of Despair, crumpling him down to the canvas and allowing Dufresne
to step into the second ring where City Jack has Vladimir Velikov tossed
into the corner and has mounted the middle rope.]

GM:  Jack's got Velikov in trouble!  Right hands!

[The crowd counts along with the punches.]

"ONE!"

"TWO!"

"THREE!"

"FOUR!"

[But on the other side of the ring, Calisto Dufresne has managed to
receive the Russian chain, threaded through the cage into the
Ladykiller's waiting hands.]

GM:  DUFRESNE'S GOT THE CHAIN!

[With the crowd still counting, Dufresne wraps the steel chain around
his fist.  City Jack hits the ten count, dropping down off the middle
rope.]

GM:  He just spotted Dufresne and he's coming in after him!

[But as Jack spins him around, Dufresne predictably swings for the
fences and levels City Jack with a steel-chain wrapped fist right
between the eyes that drops Jack like a bad habit!]

GM:  OHHHH!

BW:  That's it, Gordo!  They should finish off City Jack right now.

GM:  They can't do it though.  We still have three more men to put
inside this demonic double cage structure.  Werewolf Gregorson and Tin
Can Rust on one side, Stevie Scott on the other.

[Outside the ring, Rust and Gregorson are huddled up, discussing
strategy as the clock continues to tick down towards zero.  Dufresne and
Velikov drag City Jack up to his knees, holding his arms back and
leaving him defenseless as Kolya Sudakov slowly wraps the steel chain
around his fist.]

GM:  Kolya Sudakov has some bad intentions as the clock counts down.

"FIVE!"

"FOUR!"

"THREE!"

"TWO!"

"ONE!"

"BZZZZZZ!"

[The door swings open once more and the former Marine, Werewolf
Gregorson, charges into the cage as the crowd erupts in cheers.]

GM:  GREGORSON IS IN!

[Wheeling to face him, Sudakov winds up...

...but eats a Silver Bullet that knocks him off his feet!]

GM:  SPEAR!  HE TAKES DOWN SUDAKOV!

[Gregorson throws himself on top of the former MMA star, battering him
with right hands on the canvas as Velikov tosses City Jack aside where
Dufresne continues to stomp him.]

GM:  Velikov's moving in on Gregorson!  I don't even think he knows!

[Outside the ring, Tin Can Rust presses his face against the steel mesh,
SCREAMING at Gregorson to turn around.]

GM:  Velikov's got the chain!

[Wrapping the chain around his arm, Velikov winds the arm up high over
his head...

...and at the last moment, Gregorson spins around and buries a right
hand in the gut of Velikov, doubling him up.]

GM:  Yeah!  Gregorson must've heard Rust shouting at him from the
outside!

[With Velikov doubled up, Gregorson steps forward, hooking him in a
standing headscissors.]

GM:  Are you kidding me?!  There's no way!

[Gregorson spreads his arms, soaking up the cheers and the "USA" chants
from the roaring crowd...

...and then hooks them around the waist of the near 300 pound Vladimir
Velikov.]

GM:  He's gonna powerbomb Velikov?!  Are you serious?!

[Cheers echoing throughout the Rodeogrounds, Gregorson digs down deep...

...and powers Vladimir Velikov high up into the air before bringing him
CRASHING down to the canvas!]

GM:  POWWWWERBOMB!!!  OHHHH MY STARS!

[The crowd ERUPTS as Gregorson gets back to his feet, pumping a fist in
triumph at his show of power!]

BW:  I can't believe it.  I just can't believe it!

[And with both Russians prone at his feet, Werewolf Gregorson unwraps
the steel chain from Vladimir Velikov's arm...

...and waves for his tag team partner to join him in the other ring.]

GM:  Gregorson and Despair have the chain.  They're dragging Sudakov off
the mat... we know what this it!

[Outside the ring, Stevie Scott has huddled up with a referee, our
camera creeping closer to listen in...]

Official: When you go in there, you-

HSS: Wait, I have to go in there?

Official: You have to go in there.

HSS: Damn!  There's no way I'm going in there!

Official:  Yes you are!  The Championship Committee will BAN you for
life if you don't!

[An irate Stevie Scott storms away as the clock ticks down.  He looks
nervously at the clock as Gregorson and Despair fire Sudakov to the
ropes, stretching the chain out between them...

...and clothesline the big Russian War Machine with the chain, leaving
Sudakov clutching his throat down on the mat!  The crowd erupts into
cheers again!]  

GM:  Down goes Sudakov!

[In the other ring, Rick Marley and Adrian Freeman are tangling once
again, Marley having been split open somewhere along the way.  Freeman
is raking Marley's head back and forth across the steel mesh, worsening
the cut.]

GM:  Look at the number Adrian Freeman is doing on Marley!

[Spinning Marley away from the steel, Freeman slings him to the middle
of the ring before charging at him...

...a charge that Marley somehow sidesteps, hooking a side waistlock
where he hoists Freeman off the mat, sitting out into a powerbomb with
him!]

GM:  Showbomb!  He plants Freeman!

[The bloodied Marley quickly pushes up to his feet, wiping his brow
before charging towards the ropes, leaping up to the middle rope and
springing back with a moonsault...

...that Freeman rolls to avoid.]

GM:  BACKFLI--

[The crowd cheers as Marley lands on his feet, poised for when Freeman
gets up...

...and gets CAUGHT right under the chin with a Casting Call superkick
that causes both men to collapse to the canvas from a mixture of
exhaustion and blood loss.]

GM:  Marley's down!  Freeman's down!  And what in the world is Stevie
Scott doing?!

[Staring at the clock with a panicked expression, Stevie has somehow
managed to push the Russian flagpole through the steel mesh and into a
quiet corner of the cage.  He has no sooner finished doing this when a
sea of AWA officials grab him, shoving him towards the cage door as the
crowd counts down.]

"FIVE!"

"FOUR!"

"THREE!"

"TWO!"

"ONE!"

"BZZZZZZZ!"

[The crowd EXPLODES into cheers as the AWA officials swing open the door
and Max "Moldy" Meekly himself shoves Stevie Scott into the utter hell
known as WarGames.  Stevie spins around, trying to race back through the
cage door, only to find it closed shut.  He grabs at the mesh, pulling
and tugging, trying to free himself...

...only to turn around to find his allies down with Werewolf Gregorson,
Despair, and City Jack waiting for him.]

GM:  OH YEAH!

[Outside the ring, Tin Can Rust is overjoyed at the sight inside the
ring, whooping and hollering for his boys to do a number on the
"Hotshot."]

GM:  Stevie Scott is all alone!  The Russians are down!  Freeman and
Dufresne are down!  It's Stevie Scott versus the World!

[Scott backs to the corner, raising his arms to beg off, pleading for
mercy from the fan favorites being urged on by the capacity crowd to
finish Stevie Scott once and for all.]

GM:  Stevie Scott is a man without a country - just the way it should
be!

BW:  This isn't fair!  This isn't right!  Someone get up and help
Stevie!

[With the trio moving in, Stevie takes a deep breath and charges out of
the corner...

...right into a right hand from Gregorson that sends Stevie spiraling
away into a shotei palm strike to the jaw from Despair.  Stevie pauses
in his tracks, his eyes rolling back.]

GM:  That might have knocked him out right there!

[And if that didn't...?]

GM:  METROPILL!

[The big forearm from City Jack causes Stevie to sail up into the air,
his face smashing down on the top turnbuckle before staggering out...

...and getting caught with another Metropill that levels him on the
canvas!]

GM:  STEVIE'S DOWN!  Stevie Scott is down and at the mercy of the men he
has terrorized for months!

BW:  And the worst is still coming.  The man he has terrorized the MOST
isn't even in the cage yet!

[Tin Can Rust is on the top step at ringside, grinning at the action
unfolding in the ring with just over 60 seconds remaining before he gets
to join the fray.]

GM:  Rust can't wait!  He's just a minute away!

[Down on the mat, Stevie Scott crawls towards the corner, back to the
ring...

...and dips into the front of his tights as Werewolf Gregorson
approaches him from behind.]

GM:  What's he got?  What does Stevie have in his-

[But as the former Marine spins him around...]

GM:  POWDER!

[A burst of powder flies forth from Stevie Scott's hand, completely
blinding the former Marine who staggers back and forth, swinging wildly
as he tries to clear his vision.  A stunned Despair looks on, trying to
help his partner...

...and eating a Heatseeker superkick for his efforts!]

GM:  OHHHH!

[Stevie Scott seizes the moment to make a run for it, trying to escape
the ring where a badly bloodied City Jack is still standing...

...but Jack catches him by the back of the trunks, yanking him back
towards the ring.]

GM:  City Jack's got him!  He's got Stevie- bearhug!  Here comes the
Metroboom!

[But before he can hoist Stevie up for the big belly-to-belly slam,
Calisto Dufresne strikes...

...in a most uncomfortable place.]

GM:  OHHHHH!  LOW BLOW!  DUFRESNE GOES LOW!

"FIVE!"

"FOUR!"

[At the sound of the fans counting, Stevie Scott sprints across the ring
to where Tin Can Rust is waiting to enter.  The "Hotshot" grabs the
steel, pulling backwards on it with all of his strength.]

GM:  He's trying to hold Rust out of the cage!

[Stevie pulls back hard, Rust staring a hole right through him as the
count reaches one and the buzzer sounds.]


"BZZZZZZ!"


GM:  Rust is trying to pull the cage door out of Stevie's hands!  He's
trying to get into the cage but Stevie Scott won't let him in! 

BW:  This is Stevie's plan?!  To not let Rust into the cage?!

[The crowd roars at Melissa Cannon's announcement that The Match Beyond
has begun but boos as the "Hotshot" continues to prevent Tin Can Rust
from entering the massive double cage structure.]

GM:  I can't believe what we're seeing!  I've never seen anyone try to
do this!  He's trying to prevent Tin Can Rust from getting into the
double cage!

BW:  The Match Beyond has begun - it's Submit Or Surrender time but
Stevie Scott's got other ideas!  

GM:  The Match Beyond is not supposed to start until all ten men are in
the cage but... well, I guess the referees decided that all ten men had
been introduced?  I don't understand the ruling but-

[Gritting his teeth and letting loose a primal scream, Tin Can Rust
yanks hard on the cage door...

...and rips it open, sending a stunned Stevie Scott sprawling onto the
canvas!  The crowd ERUPTS into a roar!]

GM:  RUST IS IN!  TIN CAN RUST IS IN!

BW:  Run for it, Stevie!

[And that's exactly what the "Hotshot" does, scampering through the
ropes, tripping over them in the process as he falls into the second
ring...

...where "Showtime" Rick Marley drills him with a right hand, knocking
him flat!]

GM:  Marley got Stevie!  A little bit of payback for what Stevie did to
him back at Memorial Day Mayhem!  

[The crowd explodes into cheers as Marley grabs a wriggling Stevie Scott
by the hair, dragging him to his feet in anticipation of Tin Can Rust
joining them in the second ring...

...but Rust gets cut off by the Russians, a sea of fists and arms
burying him against the ropes.]

GM:  The Russians are working over Rust!  They're pummeling him against
the ropes.  Double whip...

[The Russians join hands, racing towards the veteran who ducks under
their attempt...

...and levels them with a double clothesline of his own on the rebound!]

GM:  RUST DROPS THE RUSSIANS!

[And spinning away from them, he creams Calisto Dufresne with a right
hands that sends him sprawling away from the cornered City Jack. 
Helping his bloodied partner from the corner, Rust fires Dufresne into
the ropes...]

GM:  Jack up on the middle rope... 

[Rust scoops the rebounding Dufresne up in a bearhug lift...

...which allows City Jack to hurl himself off the middle rope with an
elevated Metropill that dumps Dufresne down to the canvas in a heap!]

GM:  OHHHHHHH!

[Leaving Jack behind to stomp on Dufresne, Rust steps into the second
ring...

...and immediately pops an incoming Adrian Freeman with a Tin Jaw Rocker
up under the chin that knocks Freeman over the ropes, crashing down
between the two rings!]

GM:  FREEMAN GETS CLEARED OUT!

[Which leaves a struggling Stevie Scott, trapped in a full nelson by
Rick Marley...

...who promptly shoves him at Tin Can Rust who floors the Hotshot with a
right hand to the roars of the crowd!]

GM:  He finally got him, Bucky!  Rust finally gets his hands on Stevie
Scott!

[With Freeman now in the first ring and the Russians getting back to
their feet, Rust gestures to Marley.]

GM:  What's gonna happen here?

[Rust suddenly hoists Rick Marley up in a gorilla press...

...and marches towards the ropes, HURLING Marley over the ropes onto
both Russians and Adrian Freeman!]

GM:  OHHHHHHHHH!

BW:  NO!  NO!  NO!

GM:  TIN CAN RUST AND RICK MARLEY ARE CLEANING HOUSE!

[And with eight men in the first caged ring, that leaves only two men in
Ring #2...

...the two men that thousands of fans around the world have been wanting
to see collide for months!]

GM:  And after all these weeks and months, Tin Can Rust and Stevie Scott
are all alone in the second ring!

[A stunned Stevie Scott backpedals to the corner, hands up as he begs
Tin Can Rust for mercy.]

GM:  It's all about Submit or Surrender and Stevie Scott looks like he'd
glady call it a night right now if it'll keep Tin Can Rust from putting
the boots to him, Bucky.

BW:  I think you're right.  Where the heck is everyone else?!

GM:  Rust is moving in on him - moving in on the Hotshot...

[Stevie suddenly rushes forward, jabbing a thumb into the eye of Tin Can
Rust.]

GM:  Ohh!  He caught Rust in the eye!

[Grabbing Rust by the hair, he swings him around and tries to drive his
head into the steel mesh...

...but Rust brings up both hands, blocking the slam.]

GM:  Blocked!  Rust blocks it!

[He promptly drives an elbow back into the gut of Stevie Scott, grabbing
him by the hair...

...and SLAMS his head into the steel mesh!]

GM:  OHHHHH!

[Scott rebounds hard from the blow, bouncing down to the canvas in the
middle of the ring.

In the other ring, Rick Marley has regained his feet and is stomping
Calisto Dufresne repeatedly in the corner.  Nearby, Adrian Freeman and
Despair are trading European Uppercuts while Werewolf Gregorson and City
Jack are tangled up with the Russians.]

GM:  We've got a Pier Sixer ragin' in one ring and Tin Can Rust beating
the tar out of Stevie Scott in the other!

[Dragging Stevie off the mat, Rust holds him by the hair...

...and sends him crashing headfirst into the steel again!  Stevie again
bounces back, collapsing in a heap on the canvas as the capacity crowd
roars.]

GM:  Rust is taking it to Stevie Scott in every way possible!  He's-

[The crowd EXPLODES as Stevie Scott rolls over, revealing a big cut on
his forehead!]

GM:  Stevie's been busted wide open - and Tin Can Rust isn't done with
him!

[Rust pulls a dazed and bleeding Stevie off the mat, scooping him up
over his shoulder for a powerslam...

...and then with a big yell, charges forward, DRIVING Stevie's head into
the steel mesh again!]

GM:  TO THE STEEL AGAIN!  STEVIE SCOTT'S HEAD MEETS THE STEEL AGAIN!

[Scott crumples to the mat, crawling away from Tin Can Rust who is
soaking up the cheers of the crowd.  A heavy stream of blood is now
pouring from the face of Stevie Scott as he drags himself to his feet in
the corner...

...which prompts Tin Can Rust to mount the midbuckle.]

GM:  Here we go!

[TCR begins raining right hands down as the crowd counts along.]

"ONE!"

"TWO!"

"THREE!"

"FOUR!"

[With Rust pounding Stevie repeatedly, the Hotshot somehow finds the
presence of mind to stomp his right foot on the canvas a few times.]

GM:  What the- what is he doing?

BW:  His foot is falling asleep!  That's all!

GM:  He's loading up the boot!  Just like he did at The Battle Of
Dallas!

[As the fans reach the ten count, Tin Can Rust drops down, backing away
to soak up the cheers and as he turns...

...Stevie sprints out of the corner, lashing out with his Heatseeker
superkick.]

GM:  HEATSEEK-

[The crowd ERUPTS as Rust catches the thrown kick, holding it in one
hand as a stunned Stevie tries to hold his balance.]

GM:  He caught the foot!  Rust caught the loaded foot and-

[Rust swings the foot down hard, cocking back his right hand...

...but Stevie is a step quicker, slamming his loaded boot right up into
the nether regions of his arch-nemesis.]

GM:  OHHHHH!  CHEAP SHOT!

BW:  Stevie Scott may have just saved this match for his team!

[Staggering away from his downed rival, the Hotshot approaches the
corner...

...and reaches down to grab a well-placed Russian flagpole.]

GM:  Son of a- he's got the damned flagpole, Bucky!

BW:  Brilliant!  Brilliant!  I told you he had a plan, Gordo!  I told
you!

[Winding up with the flagpole, Stevie holds it high...

...and then slams the end of it down into the midsection of Tin Can
Rust!]

GM:  OHHH!

[In the other ring, Werewolf Gregorson and Despair have Kolya Sudakov
cornered while Adrian Freeman is choking a horribly bloodied City Jack
over the top rope.  Nearby, Calisto Dufresne is stomping the lower back
of a downed Rick Marley...

...all of which allows Vladimir Velikov to step through the ropes into
the other ring, bringing the Russian chain with him.]

GM:  No!  Not like this!

[Velikov barks an order at Stevie Scott who drags Rust off the mat,
allowing Velikov to loop the Russian chain around the throat of his
rival.]

GM:  They've got the chain- they're strangling Tin Can Rust!

[Rust attempts to get his fingers between his throat and the chain,
trying to break the choke...

...but has no success when Velikov turns so that they are back-to-back
and hoists Rust into the air.]

GM:  HANGMAN!  Hangman with the chain!

[Rust's face rapidly turns red as he fights off the effects of
strangulation.]

GM:  Look at Stevie!  Stevie's mocking Rust - taunting him!

[Stevie Scott is cackling at the helpless Tin Can Rust, pretending to be
choking himself.  He leans closer, screaming at Rust.]

"YOU THOUGHT YOU HAD ME?!  DID YOU?!"

[A hard slap across the red face of Rust can be heard throughout the
Rodeogrounds.]

GM:  Oh, come on!  That's enough of this!

BW:  All he has to do is quit!  All he has to do is submit or surrender
and this can all be over for him, Gordo.  All he has to do is-

[Rust suddenly swings his legs up, driving both feet into Stevie Scott,
kicking him away.  The sudden shift in balance causes Velikov to lose
his grip on the chain, allowing Rust to fall to the mat...

...but Velikov does not release the choke hold, holding the chain,
pulling back on it to strangle Rust further.]

GM:  Rust didn't get out of it!  He got Stevie out of the way but he
didn't get out of the chokehold!

BW:  Say goodnight, you old fossil!

[In the other ring, City Jack has managed to free himself from Adrian
Freeman but also finds himself gasping for air near the ropes.  Lifting
his head slightly and wiping the blood from his eyes, he spots his
partner being strangled as well...

...and in a shocking move, starts climbing the ropes.]

GM:  What the- where is City Jack going?

BW:  I must be seeing things, Gordo.  Is that fat slob actually climbing
the ropes?

GM:  City Jack is climbing the ropes - but why?!

[Fighting the effects of blood loss, Jack is slow to get to the top rope
but with some effort, he makes it.]

GM:  City Jack is hanging onto the cage with one hand but he's on the
top rope!  He's on the top rope and-  HE LEAPS!

[Throwing his hefty body from its perch, Jack sails through the air...

...and wipes out an unsuspecting Vladimir Velikov with a cross body
block that lays him out completely, freeing Tin Can Rust from the
strangle!]

GM:  RUST IS LOOSE!  VELIKOV AND JACK ARE DOWN!

[An irate Stevie Scott grabs the flagpole again, slamming it down a few
times into the ribs of City Jack for his interference before turning his
attention back to Tin Can Rust.]

GM:  Stevie's got the flagpole again - now what's he doing?

[Furious at Rust's escape, Stevie turns to his next weapon...

...the Russian flag itself.]

GM:  Stevie's got the flag!  Stevie tore the flag from the flagpole and-

[The crowd gasps as Stevie loops the flag around the throat of Tin Can
Rust, forming a makeshift noose with it and dragging Rust around the
ring with it.]

GM:  Oh, this is awful - just terrible!  He's strangling Rust with the
flag!  He's choking him out with that damned Russian flag!

BW:  I don't know what the Russians will think of that but it's very
effective so far.

[Stevie drags Rust off the mat, pulling back on the flag, causing Rust's
face to turn purple from the pressure and lack of oxygen...

...when suddenly Rust spins around into the pressure, freeing himself
from the chokehold and ripping the flag out of Stevie's hands.]

GM:  RUST HAS GOT THE FLAG!

[An irate Rust rips the flag from around his neck, pointing a finger at
Stevie Scott...

...and then tears the flag in half to the roaring cheers of the South
Laredo fans!]

GM:  HE TORE THE FLAG!  RUST TORE THE FLAG IN HALF!

BW:  What disrespect!  What did the Russians ever do to him?

GM:  Give me a break!

[Stevie backpedals again, not liking the look of the fire in the eyes of
Tin Can Rust...

...and then snaps off another attempt at the Heatseeker, this time
having it ducked by Rust who hoists Stevie off the mat as he turns
around.]

GM:  He's got Stevie up... and DOWN WITH THE CAN CRUSHER!!

[Tin Can Rust slowly gets up, looking down at his bloodied and fallen
rival...

...and promptly wads up the Russian flag, leaning over and stuffing it
into the mouth of Stevie Scott!]

GM:  He's shoved the flag in Stevie's mouth!  You like that flag so
much, Mr. Scott - choke on it!

BW:  What's gotten into you, Gordo?

GM:  RUST HAS GOT THE FLAGPOLE!

[Standing alone with his rival in the middle of the WarGames hell, Tin
Can Rust holds up the wooden flagpole...

...and snaps it across his knee to the cheers of the crowd.]

GM:  He broke the flagpole in half!  Alright!  

BW:  Gordo, what's he doing with-  AHHHHH!

[The crowd ROARS as Tin Can Rust props Stevie Scott into a seated
position...

...and DRIVES the sharp edge of the broken wooden flagpole into the cut
forehead of his hated rival!]

GM:  OH MY STARS!  WHAT IS HE DOING?!

[The screams of Stevie Scott fill the air as blood spurts from the
already-open wound, the fans roaring their support for Tin Can Rust as
he struggles to push the flagpole harder into the skull of his enemy.]

GM:  Tin Can Rust is pushing that flagpole into the cut - driving that
splintered wood into the open wound on the forehead of Stevie Scott! 
Stevie is begging for mercy!  Screaming for help!

[But there is no help to be found.  No mercy to be had.

Nothing but two words.]


"AHHHHHHH - I QUIT!  I QUIT!"


"DING!  DING!  DING!"

[The crowd EXPLODES into cheers as Tin Can Rust stands tall, allowing
the bloodied Stevie Scott to slump down to the mat in a crimson-soaked
heap.  Rust throws the flagpole aside, almost with disgust as he stands
over his fallen rival.

The other ring's battles slowly die and the cage doors open.  Rick
Marley gives up on stomping Calisto Dufresne, stepping into the other
ring to embrace the man who came to his aid after Memorial Day Mayhem. 
Werewolf Gregorson and Despair withdraw from their battle with the
Russians, shaking hands with a victorious Tin Can Rust.

And finally, City Jack - horrifically bloodied and battered, staggers
into the embrace of his long-time friend and tag team partner, two
veterans who just withstood the best that younger and stronger men could
give them.  

The announcers are silent during the celebration, allowing the roars of
the capacity crowd - pushed back into the glory days long thought gone
for this wreslting town for one more night - to do the speaking for
them.  The fans pay their tribute for the emotional men inside the ring
who return the love of the crowd in turn.  Slowly, the fan favorites
make their way from the ring, leaving as the heroic victors - soaking of
the adulation of those who paid their hard-earned money in hopes of
seeing such a moment end this night.

As the victors fade into the night, the losers are all that remains. 
First, it's Adrian Freeman who looks down at Stevie Scott in total
disgust before shaking his head and exiting the cage.

Calisto Dufresne is next, looking at the man who he allied himself with
so many months ago, watching as he pushes his blood-covered form up to
his knees, looking up in disbelief at the man known as the Ladykiller. 
Dufresne eyes Stevie for a moment, looking him up and down, and then
simply shrugs his shoulders, also leaving the cage.  Stevie looks down
at the mat, seemingly stunned by his former partner's abandonment.

And that leaves the Russians, an irate Vladimir Velikov and a stoic
Kolya Sudakov.  Velikov retrieves the remains of the Russian flag,
shoving them angrily towards Stevie Scott, screaming at him for his
"lack of warrior spirit."  Sudakov picks up the steel Russian chain,
looking menacing at Stevie for a moment before simply walking past him
and out of the cage.  Velikov shakes his head at his former flagbearer
before dropping the torn flag in front of Stevie, barking a final word
in Russian at the Hotshot before walking away.

In the end, Stevie Scott kneels alone in the middle of what was moments
ago a battlefield of carnage, chaos, and crimson-soaked canvas.  Still
surrounded by screaming fans, it feels like the loneliest place in the
world.  After months of being surrounded by allies, Stevie Scott now
stands alone.

Blood-covered, injured, embarrassed.

Alone.

The Hotshot pushes up to his feet, looking out at the mocking crowd, and
slowly rubs a lone hand across his crimson mask.  He looks at his now
bloody hand, staring intently at it...

...as we fade to black.]