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                           American Wrestling Alliance
                                 Proudly Presents
                                  Death Or Glory

                       Live from the Mississippi Coliseum
                                Jackson, Mississippi
                                    July 4, 2009
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[As the sounds of the closing credits of "Good Times" are heard, we
slowly fade up to a slow-motion shot of the American flag blowing in the
breeze.  The voice of Gordon Myers is heard over the scene.]

"From every mountainside... let freedom ring."

[The shot of the flag fades to a footage marked "February 7, 2009 - AWA
Saturday Night Wrestling."  The footage shows Adam Rogers walking
towards the exit of the WKIK Studios.]

GM:  And now Marcus Broussard is at the mercy of the Russians!

[Rogers walks through the curtain...

...just as Stevie Scott and Sweet Daddy Williams come blowing through it
in the other direction!]

GM:  SWEET HEAT!  SWEET HEAT!

[The fan favorite tag team hits the ring, Sweet Daddy Williams
immediately assaulting Velikov with a barrage of right hands that bowl
the elder Russian through the ropes and out to the floor.  The hefty
heavyweight goes through the ropes after him as Stevie Scott and Kolya
Sudakov start trading blows in the middle of the ring.]

GM:  We've got a throwdown between the Hotshot and the Russian War
Machine!

[The crowd roars with each and every blow thrown by both men - but soon,
Sudakov starts to get an edge, using his superior striking skills to
batter Stevie back against the ropes.  Grabbing him by the wrist,
Sudakov fires him into the ropes...

...and gets tackled by a fired-up Broussard!]

GM:  Oh yeah!  The Shark is all over the Russian!

[Broussard throws right hands as quickly as he can at the former MMA
star who tries to turtle up to defend himself.  Across the ring, Stevie
Scott slides to the corner, leaning over the ropes to check on his
friend...

...and then starts stomping his foot on the mat.]

BW:  What is that idiot Stevie doing?

GM:  He's- 

[Sudakov suddenly turns Broussard over, throwing a few blows of his own
before getting up a bit staggered...

...and turning around into a waiting Stevie Scott who lashes out of the
corner, catching the National Champion RIGHT under the chin!]

GM:  HEATSEEKER!  HEATSEEKER!

[The impact of the superkick puts Sudakov flat on his back.  Almost
instinctively, Stevie Scott dives across the chest of the National
Champion, cradling both legs tightly.]

BW:  Look at that idiot.  This isn't a match - there's no ref!

[But there is a very willing Marcus Broussard who drops down to his
knees.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREEEEEEEEEE!!!

[Stevie Scott leaps to his feet as the crowd ERUPTS in one of the
loudest cheers in AWA history.  The nearby San Jose Shark gets to his
feet, glaring down at the barely-conscious Sudakov.  Soon, Sweet Daddy
Williams gets back in the ring, celebrating with his tag team partner as
the crowd continues to roar.]

GM:  STEVIE PINNED THE CHAMP!  STEVIE SCOTT PINNED THE NATIONAL
CHAMPION!

[The footage fades to the glories of live television with Jason Dane,
standing to the left of "Hotshot" Stevie Scott.  Tonight's challenger is
in his ring attire already, his full-length tights airbrushed in red,
white, and blue, with stars and stripes decorating both sides.]

JD: Good evening, AWA fans, and welcome to Death Or Glory!  I am here
with the challenger for the AWA National Title, "Hotshot" Stevie Scott. 
Stevie, we've heard you talk before about the long road you've taken to
get to this point.  What are your final thoughts before you go into
tonight's match?

[Stevie, who has been looking down at the floor for the entire time thus
far, hesitates to answer.  Then, a slow and deep breath inhaled and
exhaled before looking at Dane.]

HSS: It has been a long and winding road, Jason.  Not only here in the
AWA, but over the course of my entire career.  And tonight, it all comes
to a head.

I've held championships before.  I've been the top dog before.  But it's
never been like _this_.

[Stevie shakes his head.]

HSS: I've never been the guy people wanted to see win.  But tonight,
that's what I am.  I'm the guy that all these fine people in Jackson,
Mississippi, will be pulling for.  I am the guy that's going to go
nose-to-nose, toe-to-toe with the most brutal, sadistic force in the
AWA.

I'm the guy I never thought I'd be.

[Dramatic pause!]

HSS: So it makes me wonder...honestly wonder...if I will be able to
deliver from a role I'm just not used to.

Jason, you've seen Sudakov just like everyone else.  You know what kind
of machine that guy is.  Ruthless.  Brutal.  Powerful.  No one's been
able to stop him yet.  He put guys like Ron Houston and Mark Shaw out of
commission.

So how can I expect to compete with him, Jason?

[Dane stares blankly at Stevie, probably wondering if he's supposed to
answer or if the question is rhetorical.  No matter, because Stevie
breaks the awkward silence.]

HSS: I'll tell you how.

[And now, Stevie turns to face the camera, intensely and all that.]

HSS: February 7, 2009.

Remember that day, Kolya?  I do.  It was the day that I knew, for sure,
that the Hotshot wasn't dead...that my career wasn't going to be
relegated to making people laugh in the first 20 minutes of the show,
then packing up early to go grab a bite at the local diner.

It was the day that my boot connected with your chin and sent you
crashing to the canvas.  The day I pinned your shoulder to the mat for
three seconds, though it just as easily could have been for three
minutes.

So how can I expect to compete with Kolya Sudakov?

I already have, Jason Dane.  I already have.

[Stevie grins a li'l bit.]

HSS: Yes, there have been times I've been dropped...damaged...injured by
the Russians.  But the "s" on the end of that last word, that tells the
whole story.  It's _always_ been two-on-one.  Sneak attacks.  Never
man-to-man, face-to-face.  And even with those advantages...

...they _still_ haven't gotten the job done.

I'm still here.  Still kicking.  Still coming at 'em full steam ahead.

So let me ask _you_, Sudakov.

[Stevie raises his eyebrows.]

HSS: How do _you_ expect to compete with _me_?

Don't forget the time we spent running together last year, back when I
was your flunkie, your stooge.  I hope you don't forget it, because I
haven't.  More specifically, I haven't forgotten what I learned about
you during that time.  Your strategies.  Your approach.  Your strengths.

And your weaknesses.

Tell me...were you paying that much attention to _me_ back then?  Do
_you_ know what makes Stevie Scott go, what makes him tick, how he got
to the top of the pack so many times before?

[The Hotshot shakes his head, answering the question himself.]

HSS: No, because you and your uncle, you're too arrogant.  Too sure of
yourself.  And that's going to be your undoing tonight.

Jason Dane, I'm about to make a very bold prediction.  But if you and
all the fans of the AWA have never listened to and believed anything
else I've said, believe this.

Tonight, I _will_ walk out of Jackson, Mississippi, as the AWA National
Champion.  Call Vegas, place the bet, because it's going to happen,
Jase.

In fact...

[Steviegrin~!]

HSS: I've never been so sure of anything before in my life.

[And with that, the sounds of The Clash's "Death Or Glory" are heard as
we fade to the interior of the Mississippi Coliseum where over seven
thousand screaming AWA fans have jammed inside to spend their
Independence Day with the superstars of the American Wrestling Alliance.
 

The camera pans over the crowd, showing fans have all ages in the
t-shirts of their favorite AWA stars.  A quick cut shows the ring in the
middle of it all, sporting red, white, and blue ropes for this holiday
event.  We can spy metal barricades set up around the ringside area to
keep the fans at bay.

One more cut reveals a smiling Gordon Myers standing at ringside next to
a shockingly-subdued Bucky Wilde.  Bucky's clad in eye-scorching red,
white, and blue but he seems different as the camera falls upon him.]

GM:  Hello, fans, and welcome to the Mississippi Coliseum as the AWA
presents Death Or Glory!  We thank you all for spending your 4th of July
evening here with us on WKIK.  I'm Gordon Myers and by my side is...
well, a surprisingly-quiet Bucky Wilde.  Bucky, happy fourth of July!

BW:  Yeah, yeah, yeah.

GM:  What's wrong, Bucky?

BW:  You know EXACTLY what's wrong, Gordo.

GM:  Fans, in case you haven't heard, the results of the Mid Year Awards
came out this week and... well, things didn't go exactly as planned for
my broadcast colleague here.

BW:  That's an understatement!  Understatement of the Mid Year Award
goes to Gordon Myers!  I was robbed!  Hosed!  Royally scr-

GM:  Easy now.

BW:  YOU take it easy!  This was a miscarriage of justice... the largest
ripoff I've seen since the Junk Bond Era, daddy!  For a man of my
skill... my talent... to be beaten by... by... 

GM:  Some thing named Slush?

BW:  EXACTLY!  

GM:  Well, fans... I'm sure we'll hear a lot more about this throughout
the night but Bucky, let's try to focus.  We've got an outstanding
lineup set for tonight's show.  

BW:  I want to see people hurt.  I want to see people hurt as badly as
I'm hurting right now.  The American people have wounded me and I want
to see their heroes tortured in payback!

GM:  That's mature.  Fans, we've got some incredible action coming your
way throughout the night but there is no doubt why we're all here
tonight - why over seven thousand fans have jammed themselves into this
building on this holiday evening.  Stevie Scott.  Kolya Sudakov.  The
National Championship on the line.

BW:  That's absolutely perfect.  That dolt Stevie has been sucking up to
these fans for months and I can't wait to see them crying in the streets
of Mississippi when Kolya punts his skull into the sixteenth row. 
Someone's getting a special souvenir to take home tonight, daddy.

GM:  As we came on the air, we saw the superkick heard 'round the world.
 We know that Stevie Scott, if he hits that Heatseeker, COULD become the
new National Champion tonight.

BW:  He could... he could.  And those idiots over at Just The Facts
could declare a recount that restores MY award back to me!  

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

BW:  And I don't think it's likely that Stevie Scott survives the night.

GM:  We'll see about that.  We've got the National Tag Team Titles on
the line as well with Colt Patterson and Scott Pain challenging
Kentucky's Pride for the belts.  We've got The Bishop Boys and Rough N
Ready colliding in a singles match.  We've got Pure X starting to battle
his way through the Top 10 contenders list against Gary Bright.  And of
course, we've got the HUGE tag team showdown with Adrian Freeman and
Calisto Dufresne taking on Marcus Broussard and Adam Rogers!  What a
match that's gonna be and perhaps the thing that's most impressive about
this card tonight is the amount of star power that's not even on the
show!

BW:  Destiny, Tumaffi, Rhodes, Vasquez...

GM:  So many great competitors not on the show tonight and we STILL have
one of the most eagerly anticipated shows in AWA history.  And I think
we can all agree that here's a very notable absence from tonight's card
and that happens to be "The Athens Georgia Madman"... Ron Houston.

BW: Notable absence my rear. Tonight's a better night without ol' Ron
Houston coming out here and ruining it.

GM: Well prepare to have your night ruined then, Bucky. Because Ron
Houston is going to join us in just a few short min--

[As if on cue.. the twangy opening guitar chords of Beck's "Farewell
Ride" begin to reverberate throughout the arena, and the Mississippi
Coliseum roof practically blows to the heavens.]

BW: Jeez, will you people settle down!

GM: This arena just lit up like the Fourth of Ju.. well.. like
_today_!!!

[Out of the back steps a very happy Madman from Georgia.. Ron Houston,
with a smile on his face from ear to ear. The East Coast Terror stands
in the entrance for several moments, soaking in the adoration of the
crowd. He holds his arms out from his side and waves upwards
continuosly.. stoking the flames of delirium even higher. Ron's sans his
traditional wrestling garb and is instead dressed in a black t-shirt and
blue jeans. He stomps his big black boots into the ground and drags them
across it as he begins to march down towards Bucky and Gordon.]

BW: Here we go again.

GM: Will you stop, already?

BW: Never.

[Houston reaches up and pulls the black cowboy hat off his buzzed head
and tosses it into the crowd, a hundred hands go flying in the air in an
attempt to catch a Houston souvenir, but one lucky set of hands can be
seen pulling the hat in. Ron gives the audience a big ol' Athens thumbs
up before turning to Gordon who's stepped up to Ron to meet him. Houston
leans over into the mic that Gordon holds up. As per usual... Bucky
sulks in the corner avoiding Ron.]

RH: Jackson, Mississippi... ah must say it's _great_ ta be back here.

[Big Jackson pop!]

GM: Ron, for one reason or another... maybe you got back to the AWA too
late... maybe the AWA committee wants to keep you in good health since
you've had a couple of injuries in your past... but regardless of the
maybes, they decided _against_ putting you into competition tonight...

[Houston smiles.]

RH: Got a point comin' there, amigo?

GM: Well, what I'm trying to get at Ron, is what exactly brought you to
Jackson, Mississippi tonight?

RH: Ya mean 'sides it being a heckuva town, with a heckuva lot of good
people, and a heckuva good show?Ę

[Now it's Gordon's turn to smile.]

GM: Yeah, besides _all that_, Ron.

RH: Well... it's simple, Gordon.

[Houston holds up his right index finger.]

RH:  A _promise_.

[The index finger slowly traces it's way around the crowd as Houston
seems to point at each and every person in sight.]

RH:  Two weeks ago, ah made a promise that ah'd be here on the Fourth of
July. Ah told _ya'll_ that on the birth of our _great_ nation that Ron
Houston'd be in Jackson fer not just the people, the competition and the
fireworks.

[Houston wags a big ol' Athens index finger back and forth.]

RH:  No.

No.

No.

Ah'm here fer something that's bigger than me or ya, Gordon.

Ya see... ta me, this day doesn't just symbolize our freedom from some
great oppressor overseas. Ta me, it ain't all about the fancy fireworks,
and barbecuin' with the family in the ol' proverbial yard with a white
picket fence. Ta me, this day is about the _birth_ of our nation. It's a
symbol... an inspiration.. that each and every one of ya.. big or
small.. young or old.. can _change_ whatever the heck ya want ta.

We ain't stuck ta any set path.

We _can_ overcome any obstacles that're thrown our way.

We _can_ be reborn.

[Houston pauses... collecting himself.]

RH:  Ya see... ta put it quite simply, Gordon. Ah'm here ta _prove_ ta
each and every person here t'night... that ya can be reborn. That
destiny ain't decided by _anybody_ but you! Ya'll know the story of Ron
Houston and ya'll know that it's had it's share of peaks and valleys. Ah
climbed the highest mountain on _two_ occasions...

[Appreciation pop at the Rumble and National Title reference.]

RH:  ... and after _each_ of 'em there's been some kinda obstacle that's
crawled in the way of ol' Ron Houston. First it was Marcus Broussard, a
man that ah don't even _recognize_ anymore...

[Smile.]

RH:  ... which let me tell ya, is a _good_ thing.

[Broussard receives a warm pop.]

RH:  Then there's Kolya Sudakov...

[HUGE Boos!]

RH:  ... the man who took mah arm and snapped the dang thing in half.

The man who _stole_ mah title.

[Houston rubs his arm. The same arm that our Russian champion put
through the ringer oh-so-many months ago.]

RH:  And on the biggest night of his career.

Against a _very_ dangerous and deservin' opponent in Stevie Scott...

[Houston grins a big Athens grin.]

RH:  ... ah can think of _nothing_ better than ta sit front row and
_remind_ Sudakov that ya _can't_ break the American spirit... at least
not _this_ American spirit.

[USA! USA! USA!]

RH:  Ta _remind_ him of the _fact_ that win, lose or draw. Title or no
title. That Kolya Sudakov is a marked man. And through hell'er high
water he's got his _own_ destiny and he's already decided which way it's
goin'. He decided it _months_ ago when he snapped mah arm. When he took
mah belt. When he _tried_ ta take mah career.

Not this Georgian.

Not _this_ Madman.

Not then.

Not now.

Not _ever_.

[As Houston grows more and more riled up the crowd eats it up more and
more.]

RH:  So that's why ah've taken the liberty of purchasin' _this_.

[Houston reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tiny tab of paper. He
holds it up for all to see.]

RH:  Front.

Row.

Ticket.

[Pop!!]

RH:  So t'night... along with the rest of Jackson... ah'm gonna be
sitting ringside... watchin'... waitin'. Cause what ah've been sayin' is
true.

Ah'm comin' fer mah title.

But ah'm willin' ta make me a roadstop ta Fade out a Russian if ah
gotta. After all..

[Houston pauses and turns to Gordon, a big smile returning to his face.]

RH:  .. it's the day of our birth..

[One last pop!]

RH:  .. ain't it?

[Houston turns to walk away, before turning back to the mic one last
time, as if he forgot something.]

RH:  Oh.. one last thing.. good luck t'night Stevie Scott and God Bless
America!

[Oh, on the Fourth of July, with a line like that... do you really think
the last pop was it? HUGE POP!!! Houston walks quickly around the ring,
hopping the guardrail and taking his seat front row. Shaking hands with
the adoring "Madmen" who surround him.]

GM:  There you have it, fans.  The massive crowd here in Jackson,
Mississippi just got one man larger as Ron Houston will be sitting front
row center for Death Or Glory here tonight!  

BW:  Who'd he beat up to get that ticket?  You know he didn't buy it!

GM:  Would you stop?  Fans, tonight, we are also joined on our broadcast
team by two men who are currently standing by in the locker room area
with the participants in our opening matchup.  Let's go back there now!

[We cut back to the locker room area where Mark Stegglet is standing
next to the manager of Rough N Ready, Sarah Sharpe. Sarah is dressed in
a leather jacket, jeans and white shirt, her left arm in a sling.]

MS:  Thanks, Gordon!  I have been joined by Sarah Sharpe, the manager of
Rough N Ready. Sarah, I take it your men are preparing for tonight's
match, regardless of who it is that will wrestle tonight.

SS:  Mark, Dave and Eric are both here... and both are more than ready
for whichever of the Bishop Boys is selected to wrestle in tonight's
match. To be honest, I didn't expect it to be AWA officials picking
which team member would be wrestling tonight, but that's fair enough...
it's simply about a chance for a member of Rough N Ready to get their
hands on either Bishop Boy and prove a point to them.

MS:  Now, I don't wanna be startin' something but... well, Sarah, you
heard what Cousin Bo said... he was absolutely right about Eric Matthew
Somers putting his hands on Cousin Bo first...

SS: He may be right, Mark... but that being said, Cousin Bo was the one
who took it upon himself to jump on the apron. Had he just kept his nose
out of things, this whole mess wouldn't have started. But more
importantly, from all the talk about how he and his men understand how
Eric likes to beat people up... they apparently aren't getting the
message because Cousin Bo took it upon himself to antagonize Eric. I'll
say this... if Eric wanted to, he would have done more than just put his
hands on him.

MS: But then you got up on the apron... didn't you learn that night that
the wrestling ring is a dangerous place for a woman?

SS: First of all, I won't address another of your ignorant remarks about
whose place a wrestling ring is for... second, you can thank Cousin Bo
for my reaction. And as far as what happened next with Cletus Lee...
let's just say I don't buy for a minute the claims of it all being an
accident. I saw just enough of a look out of the corner of his eye to
believe it was no accident... but regardless, if those three thought
Dave and Eric were just going to shrug their shoulders regarding what
happened to me, they should have thought better.

MS: Still, Sarah, the Bishop Boys may be your biggest threat yet since
your men first came to AWA... you've seen what they've done to the
opposition since their arrival.

SS: Hey, I'm well aware of what the Bishop Boys have done to their
opponents... if you remember, my men were there to ensure they
understood the meaning of, when a match is over, it's over and things
better end there. Regardless of what people may think about the way Eric
approaches matches, my men generally understand that, when the final
bell sounds, the action is over... but that being said, tonight may be
an exception.

MS: And why would that be, Sarah?

SS: Because both Dave and Eric are not only none too happy about what
went down at Memorial Day Mayhem, they are also none too happy about
being denied the opportunity to get themselves that final point they
need to secure a shot at the tag team championship. You know, Mark, it's
funny how Cousin Bo last week was telling everybody how, all of a
sudden, he and his men care about the tag team titles because nobody
else is around who is good enough to challenge for them.

[She shakes her head.]

SS: I don't know what rock Bo crawled out from under, but my men have
been waiting patiently for a chance to secure another tag team title
shot, after the War Pigs cost us a chance to reach the finals of that
tournament. And as we waited patiently for AWA to find us another team
to face for that final point, we got it... and while we didn't get the
final point, we now find out that opportunity to earn it is going to be
denied to us, while folks who haven't teamed together regularly are
suddenly getting those chances first. No offense meant to those teams...
well, other than Dufresne and Freeman... but Dave and Eric are getting a
little impatient, not just for that final point, but for another shot
with both the Bishop Boys in the ring. 

I suggested the singles matches as a way to compromise for now, but
believe me... my men aren't going to be truly happy until they get that
chance. And believe me, we may not have gotten the win at Mayhem... but
the Bishop Boys know deep down, Rough N Ready is not only good enough to
challenge for the tag team titles, but certainly good enough to put the
Bishop Boys down for good. And tonight, they get a reminder of that.

MS: Well, thank you, Sarah, for taking some of your time tonight.

[Sarah nods before departing.]

MS:  Sarah Sharpe with some strong words aimed in the direction of
Cousin Bo and the Bishop Boys... but what will they have to say in
response?  Jason Dane is standing by with Cousin Bo.  Jason?

[Cut to another part of the locker room area where Jason stands with a
smiling Cousin Bo in front of the Bishop Boys' locker room. The sound of
crashing objects can be heard from within.]

JD: Thanks, Mark.

[Jason winces at the noise and turns to Bo.]

JD: Well, Mr. Allan, the time has come. Which of your cousins will be in
action tonight?

[Bo snickers.]

CB: Dane, you were right there interviewing us on the last Saturday
Night Wrestling, weren't you?

JD: Yes, I was.

CB: Did you not hear what Duane Henry had to say?

JD: Yes, I did. He basically called Eric Matthew Somers out, in his,
erm, own way.

CB: Alright, so you're all caught up. What more do you need to know?

JD: So you're saying we'll be seeing Duane Henry in action?

[Bo looks at Jason like he's from Mars.]

CB: Yes, Dane, that's exactly what I'm saying!  Keep up, will you?!

JD: I am! Don't you realize that the contract put forth by Sarah Sharpe
has Dave Cooper's name on it?

CB: Yeah, I heard what that frumpy Stepford had to say. And to that, I
say "No dice"!

[Bo points at the camera.]

CB: Guess what, toots? In case you haven't got it through your thick
skull yet, we're playing this game MY way! Cletus Lee isn't here and
Duane Henry wants that mongoloid Somers. Either you produce that
colossal moron or forfeit, the choice is yours. I really don't care
either way.

[Jason looks exasperated.]

JD: Wait a second, you can't just change things up like that! That's
not-

CB: The heck I can't, Dane! Don't you remember what I said when Rough N
Ready decided to pick a fight with us? They somehow got the impression
that you can't just get whatever you want in wrestling. And so far, I've
got 568 lbs. of Grade A Southern redneck on my side that's proving them
wrong! We WILL brush them aside. We WILL drive them right out of the
AWA. And we WILL be your next AWA National Tag Team Champions! That is a
guarantee from Mr. Bo Allan to you!

[CRASH! The locker room door comes flying open, narrowly missing a
dodging Jason. Duane Henry comes stomping out, red-faced and literally
frothing at the mouth. He wipes his mouth with his arm and looks at
Dane.]

DHB: 'NOUGH TALK! BRING ME EMF'S HEAD! NOW!

[Duane Henry shoves Jason out of the way and starts to head toward the
entrance.]

JD: Hey! That's EMS!

[Duane Henry stops, turns around, and gets right in Jason's face.]

DHB [barely containing his anger] Ah don't much care if'n his name's EMT
or JFK or FDR. Either way, he's a dead man walkin'.

[Duane Henry snarls and leaves for real this time. Bo watches him go
with a smile.]

CB: Is freedom great or what?

[Bo mockingly pats Jason on the head and walks away, whistling "The
Battle Hymn Of The Republic" all the way. Jason fixes his suit and
clears his throat.]

JD: I really don't get paid enough for this. 

[Jason drops the microphone and walks off set in a huff as we fade to
black...

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

"Have you ever dreamed of fame?"

[Cut a little closer.]

"Of glory?"

[A little closer.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Two young students are grappling on the canvas.]

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

You want to wrestle!"

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

...and then fade back to the ring where Melissa Cannon is standing.]

MC:  Ladies and gentlemen, it is now time for the opening matchup of
Death Or Glory!  

[Big cheer!]

MC:  The opening match is scheduled for one fall with a twenty minute
time limit.  The tag team partners of BOTH men are BANNED from ringside!
 Introducing first... from Kingsland, Arkansas... standing 6'2 and
weighing in at 240 pounds... he is accompanied to the ring by Cousin
Bo...

DUANE HENRY BISSSSSHOP!

["Trashville" by Hank Williams III plays as Duane Henry Bishop comes
stomping out of the entryway with a nasty snarl on his face.  Cousin Bo
follows with a big smile on his face.]

GM:  Duane Henry looks to be all business here tonight, Bucky.

BW:  If looks could kill, Gordo - we'd have to declare genocide here in
the Mississippi Coliseum here tonight.  

GM:  He does not like these fans... not a single one of them.  

[Duane Henry rolls under the ropes into the ring as Cousin Bo takes a
spot in the corner, giving a few words for his cousin as he paces back
and forth in the ring, eyes locked on the entryway.]

MC:  And his opponent...

[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
Eric Matthew Somers and Sarah Sharpe emerge from the entranceway.]

MC:  From Albuquerque, New Mexico... standing 6'9 and weighing in
tonight at 350 pounds... he is accompanied to the ring by his manager,
Sarah Sharpe... he is...

ERIC!  MATTHEWS!  SOOOOOMMMMMMERRRRS!

[Eric Matthew Somers wears a black singlet and white wrestling boots.
while Sarah Sharpe is dressed in black pants and matching jacket and a
white T-shirt.  The duo makes their way down the aisle, Sarah walking in
front with Eric close behind.]

GM:  And you've just got to wonder if Cousin Bo and Duane Henry had ANY
idea of what they were getting themselves into tonight.  Somers is seven
inches taller, 110 pounds heavier, and-

[The crowd bursts into a roar of warning as Duane Henry throws himself
through the ropes to the floor, breaking into a sprint up the aisle
towards his approaching opposition.]

GM:  Look out!

[Sarah Sharpe just narrowly gets out of the way as Duane Henry collides
head-on with Eric Matthew Somers, throwing crazy, sloppy blows all over
the upper body of Somers...

...who hooks a collar-and-elbow lockup and HURLS Henry down to the
concrete floor!]

GM:  Good grief!  Look at the power!

[Somers' expression is far from the usual mischievious grin that we're
used to as he pulls Duane Henry off the floor, blasting him with a right
hand that knocks Bishop back into the barricade.]

GM:  This is a brawl - pure and simple!  A straight-up fight!

[Somers throws repeated heavy forearm smashes up against the barricade,
knocking Duane Henry down to a knee on the floor.  With a nod of his
head, Somers raises both arms up in a double axehandle...

...and catches a hard right hand to the ample midsection that cuts off
the attack, causing Somers to double up.  Grabbing Somers by the head,
Duane Henry throws a powerful uppercut that causes Somers to stumble
backwards, falling into the barricade.]

GM:  Duane Henry is holding his own out there in the aisle right now.

[Referee Mickey Meekly comes charging down the aisle, shouting at both
men, trying to get them towards the ring.  A hard look from Duane Henry
backs him off though as he moves in on the stumbled Somers.]

GM:  Somers on the railing... big chop by Duane Henry!

[The crazed hillbilly lunges forward, wrapping his hands around the
throat of Somers, screaming with wild-eyed madness as the referee echoes
the yells, trying to get Duane Henry off of Somers.  Sarah Sharpe is a
few feet away, also screaming at Duane Henry.]

BW:  She'd better not get too close, Gordo.  She'll end up flat on her
back again.

GM:  Just like Memorial Day Mayhem.

BW:  Just like every night in the locker room if you ask me.

GM:  Give me a break, Bucky!

[Duane Henry pulls Somers off the railing, dragging him down the aisle
towards the ring...

...and then throws him by the head into the railing, smashing Somers'
shoulder into the steel, putting him down in a pile on the floor.  The
Bishop Boy takes the advantage to stomp and kick the upper body of the
downed Somers.]

GM:  Duane Henry is all over him... absolutely all over him...

[Dropping down to his knees, Duane Henry throws blow after blow to
Somers who is trying to cover up.  With a bellow, Duane Henry throws
hammerfists down on Somers, battering him relentlessly.]

GM:  Eric Matthew Somers is trying to cover up... 

[Henry gets to his feet, stomping the head of Somers relentlessly.  He
reaches down, dragging him off the floor...

...and pops him with a chop, spinning Somers around so that he drapes
chestfirst over the railing.  Duane Henry leans forward, pushing down on
the back of the neck.]

GM:  He's choking him!  He's choking the life out of Eric Matthew Somers
on that barricade!  On that steel railing!  

[The fans are up close and personal on Duane Henry Bishop, screaming at
him to back off their favorite...

...but a teased backhand from the Arkansas native causes the fans to
scatter!]

GM:  He just threatened the fans!  What a sick son of- 

BW:  Take it easy, Gordo!

GM:  He threatened to backhand an AWA fan!

BW:  But he didn't do it.  Give the man some credit for his
self-control.

[An irate Duane Henry drags Somers a few steps closer to the ring,
pulling him into a front facelock...]

GM:  He's going for a DDT!  He's going for a DDT on the floor!

[But with the threat of his skull smashing into concrete looming, Eric
Matthew Somers straightens up...

...and HURLS Duane Henry up and over him, sending him crashing down on
the barely-padded concrete with a backdrop!]

GM:  OHHHH!  What a counter by Eric Matthew Somers!  He countered the
DDT!

BW:  If he hadn't, he'd be spending the night in the hospital, Gordo! 
Duane Henry had some evil intentions right there.  He wanted to crack
that skull like a melon.

GM:  He almost did exactly that too!

[Eric Matthew Somers, still a little dazed, pulls Duane Henry off the
floor, chucking him under the ropes into the ring.  Somers rolls his 6'9
frame under the ropes as well as the referee calls for the bell to
officially start the match.]

GM:  And there we go!  Now this match is official!  

BW:  All that was before the bell?

GM:  Duane Henry Bishop is crawling away from Somers, trying to recover
for that backdrop on the floor...

[Somers stalks across the ring towards Duane Henry Bishop who reaches
the corner, pulling himself up to his feet, leaning back against the
buckles...

...which is the wrong part of town to be in as Somers lumbers across the
ring, throwing his 350 pounds into the buckles with a huge clothesline
in the corner!]

GM:  OHHH!  He smashed Duane Henry in the buckles!

[Somers steps back, grabbing Henry as he stumbles out...

...and HURLS Duane Henry back into the buckles, snapping his head back. 
Somers leans over, grabbing the middle rope, and smashing his shoulder
into the ribcage!]

GM:  Big shoulder to the ribs!

BW:  This isn't where Duane Henry wants to be - and you can hear Cousin
Bo screaming at his cousin to get the heck out of there, Gordo.  You
can't stay in the corner with a big man like Eric Matthew Somers leaning
in on you.  That'll wear you down in a hurry.

GM:  Somers pulls out of the corner... and goes right back in with a
second shoulder drive!

[Duane Henry exclaims in pain as Somers withdraws and slams the shoulder
into the body again, knocking the wind out of Duane Henry Bishop. 
Somers immediately straightens up, grabbing Bishop by the back of the
head, charging across the ring...

...and SLAMS Duane Henry's face into the turnbuckles!]

GM:  Good grief!

[Duane Henry crumples to the mat again, crawling away from Somers who is
again in stalking mode, slowly approaching as Cousin Bo screams words of
encouragement to his cousin.  A hard boot to the ribs knocks Duane Henry
under the ropes to the apron where Somers reaches over the ropes,
grabbing the Arkansas native by the hair, yanking him off the mat...

...and slinging Duane Henry's arm over his neck, hoisting him up into
the air.]

GM:  Suplex coming up!

[But Somers doesn't simply fall back with Duane Henry, instead holding
him high for one and all to see...]

GM:  He's holding him up!  Look at the power!

[The crowd starts to count...]

GM:  Five seconds...six... seven... eight... nine...

[Suddenly, Duane Henry rakes his fingers across the eyes, falling back
towards the apron with his hands around the back of Somers' head...

...and SLAMS Somers' windpipe down on the top rope!]

GM:  OHHHH!

BW:  Big time counter by Duane Henry Bishop!  Everyone thought that
suplex was coming but Duane Henry got him with that clothesline on the
ropes!

GM:  Not to mention to rake of the eyes!

BW:  I must've missed that one.

GM:  I bet.  I bet that Slush fella would've seen it.

BW:  Watch it, Gordo.

[With Somers gasping for wind, staggering around the ring, Duane Henry
rolls back under the bottom rope...

...and connects with a spinning leg lariat, knocking Somers off his feet
and down to the canvas!  Duane Henry immediately dives across the downed
Eric Matthew Somers, reaching back to hook a leg.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!! 

[Somers shows off his amazing power, pressing Duane Henry's 240 pound
frame off of him, throwing him down to the mat.  Somers tries to recover
quickly, pushing up to a knee...

...but Duane Henry charges forward, throwing himself into a clothesline
that topples Somers down to the mat again.  This time, there's no cover
as both hands wrap around the throat of the big man.]

GM:  Choke!  Another choke!

[The crowd jeers as a wild-eyed Duane Henry wrenches the windpipe of
Eric Matthew Somers as Mickey Meekly orders a break over and over.]

GM:  Duane Henry's gonna get disqualified!  He's gonna get- no, Cousin
Bo got his attention and yelled at him to break that choke before the
five count.  That was a close one.

BW:  He's a wild man, Gordo.  Pure and simple.

GM:  He just doesn't care.

[Back on his feet, Duane Henry looks at annoyance at the referee
reprimanding him...

...and then leaps high into the air, bringing his leg crashing down
across the throat of Somers!]

GM:  Goodness!  What elevation on that legdrop!

[Henry stays seated, leg across the throat, and gestures for the referee
to count.]

GM:  There's one... two... shoulder off the mat again!

BW:  That wasn't the smartest way to attempt a pin.  No weight across
the chest, no hook of the leg.  Duane Henry Bishop isn't the best ring
technician you'll run across, Gordo.

GM:  Obviously not.

[Duane Henry pushes up to his feet, backing to the nearest corner as he
pushes himself up to the middle rope, waiting for the dazed Somers to
rise to his feet.]

GM:  Duane Henry on the midbuckle... ready and waiting for Somers...

[And as the 6'8 big man climbs up, Duane Henry leaps off the middle rope
with a double axehandle...

...and gets snatched out of the sky!]

GM:  CAUGHT!  SOMERS CAUGHT HIM!

[Somers stumbles forward, smashing Duane Henry against the buckles!]

GM:  OHHH!  To the corner they go!

[Somers backs up, grabbing the arm of Duane Henry Bishop, firing him
across the ring...

...and then charges across the ring after him!]

GM:  Here comes Somers and...

[Duane Henry throws himself aside, causing Somers to slam chestfirst in
the corner!]

GM:  Ohh!  Duane Henry avoids the charge... boot to the gut...

[Hooking Somers in a front facelock and grabbing a handful of trunks,
Duane Henry lifts Somers just slightly off the mat, leaping up to SPIKE
Somers skullfirst into the canvas with an Implant DDT!]

GM:  DDT!  DDT ON SOMERS!

BW:  That's it, daddy!  This one's all over!

GM:  Duane Henry... what's he doing?

BW:  Cover him, Duane Henry!

[The crowd's jeers seem to have gotten under the skin of Duane Henry as
he gets to his feet.  Instead of making a cover, he steps up on the
middle buckle, screaming at the Jackson, Mississippi fans.]

GM:  He's yelling at the fans!  He's not making the cover!  I don't get
it!

BW:  We talked earlier about how he's a wild man, Gordo.  No one can
control this guy - not even Cousin Bo!  Cousin Bo is screaming at Duane
to make the cover but Duane Henry's shouting at these idiots in the
crowd!

GM:  The referee is telling Duane Henry to cover... and now Duane
Henry's yelling at the ref!  This guy really IS nuts, Bucky!  He's
wasting all this time.  He's wasting this fantastic opportunity to
perhaps pin Eric Matthew Somers.

[With Duane Henry distracted, Eric Matthew Somers slowly pushes himself
off the mat to his knees, shaking the cobwebs as he tries to get back to
his feet...

...and promptly eats a poke to the eyes that the referee is all over,
warning Duane Henry Bishop for the illegal action.]

GM:  A blatant eyegouge!  How is that not a DQ?!

BW:  You want a DQ for an eyepoke?  This place might riot!

GM:  That's the second time in this match that he's gone after the eyes
of Eric Matthew Somers and- oh boy, Sarah Sharpe is not happy about
that!

[The Rough N Ready manager lets the referee have an earful about the
illegal actions of Duane Henry Bishop, sending a stream of angry words
in his direction from her spot on the floor.  The referee leans over the
ropes, discussing the situation with Sharpe...

...which allows Duane Henry to blatantly choke Somers in the corner with
both hands again.]

GM:  Come on!

BW:  Look at this idiot wench Sarah Sharpe!  She doesn't even know what
she's causing in there!

[On the other side of the ring, Cousin Bo hops up on the apron, shouting
loudly...]


"Shut your mouth and get back in the kitchen, woman!  I want a
sandwich!"


[The crowd jeers as Cousin Bo smirks.  An angry Sarah Sharpe screams in
Cousin Bo's direction as the referee moves over, trying to get Cousin Bo
down off the apron.]

GM:  Now the referee is trying to get Cousin Bo under control but he's
missing Duane Henry choking Somers AGAIN!  Come on, referee!  This is
going too far!

BW:  Sarah Sharpe caused this, Gordo.  Don't forget that!

GM:  That's a debatable point but... and finally, the referee spots
Duane Henry!  He's ordering him to break that choke!  One!  Two!  Three!
 Four!  Fiv- ohhh!  So close!

BW:  Cousin Bo had to scream at him to get him to break the hold!

[Outside the ring, the camera catches Cousin Bo wiping his brow with a
sigh of relief as Duane Henry grabs Somers by the wrist, firing him
across the ring.]

GM:  The big man hits the buckles... and here comes Duane Henry!

[The hillbilly races from corner to corner...

...and gets hoisted off the mat, DRIVEN down with a thunderous
powerslam!]

GM:  350 POUND POWERSLAM!!  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR- SHOULDER UP!

[Somers slaps the mat in frustration as the referee repeats that it was
only a two count.  He pushes up off the mat...

...and holds up a balled-up fist to the cheers of the crowd.]

GM:  Duane Henry is rolling for the ropes... but Somers cut him off!

[Somers drags Duane Henry to his feet, pulling his left arm up over his
head...

...and DRIVES his fist into the exposed heart of Duane Henry, sending
him falling back into the ropes where he stumbles back.]

GM:  CHOKE!

[The crowd roars as Somers holds Duane Henry around the throat, hoisting
him into the air...

...and DRIVING him down to the canvas with a thunderous chokeslam!]

GM:  ONE!!!  TWO!!!  THREEEEE- OHHHHHHH!

[The crowd gasps in disbelief as Duane Henry fires a shoulder off the
mat just before the three count could come down.]

GM:  So close!  So very close!

[Somers climbs back to his feet, again questioning the official as he
drags Duane Henry to his feet...

...and catches yet another rake of the eyes, this time unseen by the
official who was explaining to Cousin Bo that it was only a two count as
well.]

GM:  The referee missed another eyegouge!  Come on!

[Duane Henry grabs the blinded Somers, hooking him in a front facelock,
slinging Somers massive arm over his neck.]

GM:  The gourdbuster!  He's going for the gourdbuster!

[But the 240 pounder just can't get the 350 pounder off the mat.  Somers
shoves Duane Henry off to the ropes, rearing back with a right hand...

...but Duane Henry Bishop baseball slides between the legs of Somers,
popping up to his feet behind him.  As Somers turns around, Duane Henry
buries a boot into the gut, hooking in a gutwrench.]

GM:  What in the world?

BW:  There's no way!

[And there certainly is no way as Somers rises up, backdropping Bishop
down to the mat again...

...and promptly leaping into the air, dropping all 350 pounds down in a
splash on Bishop!]

GM:  SPLASH!  SPLASH!  ONE!!  TWO!!!  THREEEEEEE!!!!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


[The crowd explodes in cheers as Eric Matthew Somers pushes up to his
knees, throwing his arms up in the air in triumph.]

MC:  Your winner of the match... 

ERIC MATTHEW SOMMMMMERRRRRRRS!

[The cheers are even louder as Sarah Sharpe climbs into the ring,
raising her charge's hand in the air in victory.  The two celebrate the
big win as Cousin Bo drags Duane Henry under the ropes to the floor.]

GM:  Eric Matthew Somers is your winner in the first of two singles
matches between Rough N Ready and The Bishop Boys!  

BW:  Luck.  Pure and simple luck, Gordo.  Duane Henry should've won this
thing.

GM:  I guess the fans aren't suffering like you.

BW:  Not yet.  

GM:  Well, that's just the first match of the night so there's still
time, Bucky.  But Duane Henry Bishop's time just ran out as Cousin Bo is
trying to help him down the aisle.  350 pounds down on those ribs?  He
could have a cracked or broken rib cage right now, Bucky.

BW:  He certainly could.  Somers is a nutjob who is no better than the
Bishops but he sure likes to think he is, daddy!  

[The camera cuts from the celebration in the ring to the aisleway where
Cousin Bo is trying to help Duane Henry to the back.  Spotting the
camera, Cousin Bo shouts in its direction.]


"This isn't over.  You tell your old man to pick out the nicest grave he
can find. Cletus Lee's gonna bury him, I swear it. You hear me?! BURY
HIM!"


[Cousin Bo shoves the cameraman aside as he drags Duane Henry back
towards the locker room area.]

GM:  Well, the war between Rough N Ready and the Bishop Boys definitely
isn't over, Bucky, but the match between Eric Matthew Somers and Duane
Henry Bishop is over for sure.  Somers is your winner and we'll be right
back after the break!

[We fade away from the celebrating Somers and Sharpe to black.

After a moment, we fade back up on a shot of Jason Dane and Mark
Stegglet in an apparently moving car.]

JD:  Hey, AWA fans - so much of our lives are now spent on-the-go,
wouldn't you love to be able to keep track of your favorite AWA
superstars when you're away from home?

MS:  I know I would, Jason!  And I'd also love to have a place to put
out all those rumors we hear during the week that never make AWA
Saturday Night Wrestling.

JD:  You've got that right.  Wouldn't it be great if we could combine
both of those ideas into one?

[Suddenly, a giant graphic of an iPhone appears between them!]

JD & MS:  NOW WE CAN!

[A voiceover takes over - thank God.]

VO:  Starting today, you can download AWA Access - a great new
application for your iPhone where you can get all the AWA news, rumors,
and happenings before the rest of the world.  And don't forget to check
out the "exclusive" section for matches that never aired!  AWA Access -
coming to an iPhone near you!

[Fade back to black...

...and then back up to live action where we see some obviously pre-taped
footage in a bar somewhere.  Lady Victoria Pembroke-Burton does not look
happy.  No, not one bit.  The lovely punk manager of the Right Proper
Thugs sits at a table with a bottle of beer in front of her, and quite a
few empty bottles strewn about the table.  She taps her not-so-manicured
nails on the table top and looks about to speak, but then stops ...
starts to speak again... then stops.

She picks up the bottle of lager and takes a long, deep swig, letting
some of the beer dribble down along her chin.  She wipes her face with
the back of her hand and lets out a very unproper, very unladylike
belch.]

VPB:  Oh I suppose all you bleedin' wankers are lookin' for a bleedin'
explanation about what happened, eh?  Those two tossers Colt Patterson
and Scott Pain!, they didn't even have the good graces to wait for the
bloody bell to ring did they?  My mates, they were just waitin' for the
bell like real athletes would, but Patterson and Pain, what did they do?
 They acted like bloody Americans, that's what.

[Lady Victoria leans forward, glaring at the camera, pointing a finger
directly at the audience.]

VPB:  Bloody Americans, all the same.  I guarantee you, in England that
match would never have even been called an official bleedin' match to
start with.  But you yanks, you all have each other's backs don't you. 
Bunch of bloody xenophobic gits, can't stand the idea that you're not
the best can you?  So you all conspire against everyone else, trying to
keep us out.  Well guess what mates, you can't keep the Right Proper
Thugs out, no matter how much you try to stack the deck against us.

[Victoria settles back in her chair and runs her fingertip along the
mouth of the bottle, a slight smirk playing across her lips.]

VPB:  Of course I shouldn't expect much sportsmanship from the likes of
yanks like Colt Patterson and Scott Pain, should I.  The entire bloody
States were formed by backstabbers and layabouts, a bunch of tossers we
didn't want back in England to start with.  I promise you, rotters like
Colt Patterson and Scott Pain would have been the first put on the boat
for transportation.  You see, that's what the bloody colonies were.  A
punishment.  You messed up right and proper in Mother England and you
got the choice:  hang from the neck until dead, or take transportation
to the new country.  That's right... people had to choose which was
worse.. death or America.  Obviously the smart ones chose death.  So
it's a whole country made up for criminals, upstarts, and cowards.

[Victoria allows a little bit of a laugh... a harsh, cruel sound as she
pushes the bottle in front of her, letting it tip over, spilling it's
contents on to the table top.]

VPB:  Too bad for all you wankers that the Right Proper Thugs have
arrived, and I promise you this... you will all regret the cowardly
actions of Colt Patterson and Scott Pain, because each and every bloody
American git are going to get exactly what's bloody comin' to you. 

[Victoria takes the bottle up and smashes it against the table, breaking
glass.  She shakes the jagged bottle warningly at the camera.]

VPB:  Now piss off, 'fore I glass you.

[Our cameraman quickly (and wisely) makes a dash for it allowing us to
fade from there to the ringside area where Bucky and Gordon are
standing.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans, to Death Or Glory.  Some downright distasteful
comments made right there by Lady Victoria, Bucky.

BW:  Was she wrong?  I mean, did Patterson and Pain not jumpstart that
match against the Right Proper Thugs to earn their third point?  Can you
can say "earn" with a straight face?

GM:  You trying to tell me those two wouldn't have done the same thing?

BW:  They weren't the ones who did it, Gordo.

GM:  Regardless, Scott Pain and Colt Patterson did beat the Right Proper
Thugs on the last Saturday Night Wrestling to earn their shot at the
National Tag Team Titles currently held by Kentucky's Pride - a match
we'll be seeing later tonight.

BW:  A match that I'm not happy about.

GM:  Why is that?

BW:  Because I don't care who wins.  

GM:  Great analysis there.  Fans, earlier tonight, we talked about how
great this show is despite the lack of several of the top members of the
AWA roster on the show.  

[The camera cuts to reveal Ron Houston sitting in the front row, making
a fist for the fans at hom with a grin.]

GM:  Ron Houston isn't on the card but he's front row center to check
out all the great AWA action.  He looks like he likes what he's seeing
so far, Bucky.

BW:  He's the only one.

GM:  I doubt that.  But some people not on the show couldn't even be in
the building tonight.  Of course, I'm referring to the two men who were
barred from the building because of what happened two weeks ago in the
parking lot - Juan Vasquez and the man who right now is joining us via
satellite - the "Catch Thug" Raphael Rhodes!

[We go to a split screen, where Raphael Rhodes is sitting in a studio in
front of a black backdrop, smiling.  His mohawk has been dyed royal
blue, and he seems very satisfied with himself.]

RR: Cheers, mate!

[Rhodes pulls up an unspecified alcoholic beverage to take a sip.]

GM: I don't see how you can be so happy, Mr. Rhodes.  You've been barred
from the building tonight, and you committed yet another disgusting
action... on television, no less.

RR: Disgustin' for who, mate?  For you?  For the colonists there?  For
all the people sittin' at home, mouths dropped?  I've been sayin' it for
months now... I get _results_.  Juan Vasquez thought he was somethin' by
givin' me a concussion... eye for an eye, isn't it?

GM: You had a concussion because of a chair _you_ introduced into the
match, Mr. Rhodes.  It's hardly fair to blame Jua-...

RR: I see how it is.  I see what's goin' on here.  If I didn't grab that
chair, he definitely would've, mate.  It's so easy for you to sit there
in that booth, in your precious little palace, and tell _me_ how to run
_my_ life.  And because your precious little Latino got his head caved
in, you want to make excuses.

GM: That's not what... 

RR: You shut your gob, or the next time I see you, I'll slap the fillin'
out your nasty rotted-out teeth.  Everyone wants to make excuses for
Juan Vasquez.  It's all _my_ fault he got himself disqualified at
Memorial Day Mayhem?  It's all _my_ fault he's banned from the building?
 When you've got a stark-raved lunatic runnin' around lookin' to beat me
beyond all recognition because he's too daft to work with me in a team,
I have to do what I have to do.  So you know what?  Just for makin' me
mad, Gordon?  Just for protectin' your little golden child?

[Rhodes stares into the camera, pure hatred in his eyes.]

RR: I'll bleedin' kill him.  

GM:  Mr. Rhodes, I have some breaking news for you.  I was just told
that Juan Vasquez is on his way to the Mississippi Coliseum as we speak.
 

[Rhodes looks annoyed.]

RR:  He's goin' there?

GM:  Right here.  He'll be here soon enough.

[Rhodes rips off his clip-on microphone and throws it at the camera,
before storming off.

We cut away back to a single shot of the ringside area.]

GM:  Well then, I guess Raphael Rhodes was finished talking to us,
Bucky.

BW:  Sure looks that way.  And if Vasquez is on his way here, I'd
imagine Rhodes won't be too far behind him, Gordo.

GM:  Probably not.  Fans, we're going to take another quick break and
we'll be right back with more AWA action!

[We fade away from the shot of Gordon and Bucky...

...and then back up.  It's a shot of a few kids standing outside of a
classroom.  A fourth kid walks up to them, carrying his backpack over
his shoulder.]

4th Kid:  Hey guys... wait til you see what I got from AWAShop.com!

[He whips open the backpack and produces...

...a JUAN VASQUEZ BOBBLEHEAD!]

"Whoa!"

"Wow!"

"That rocks!"

"I want one... now!"

[The 4th kid looks pleased with himself...

...until a fifth kid walks up.]

5th Kid:  Juan Vasquez, huh?  That's not bad... but check this out!

[The 5th kid opens his backpack and reveals...

...a CITY JACK BOBBLEHEAD!]

"WHOA!"

"WOWER!"

"THAT ROCKS MORE!"

"I WANT ONE... NOW!"

[The fifth kid looks proud as the fourth kid looks sad at his Vasquez
bobblehead and we fade to black.

And then back up on live action where the ring of cash registers back be
heard over the PA as clinging slowly gives way to the throbbing bass
beat of ŌMoneyĶ by Pink Floyd. Emerging from the back, with a slight wry
smile thatÕs wriggled itÕs way onto his face.. is the Billionaire
Extraordinaire..]

GM:  Welcome back, fans, and it looks like weÕre being joined by Lucius
Sole! We havenÕt seen him since the Rumble.

BW: Oh... you must be referring to his gloorrrioousss debut!

GM: Sole was a hot commodity not just in this business but on Wall
Street where heÕs _very_ well known for his financial prowess.

BW: You mean for being a bazillionaire!

[Sole is dressed in only the finest of apparel. A beautiful black suit
with a gold tie knotted perfectly atop his white dress shirt. In his
hand he twirls a 24 karat gold cane. The white marble circular handle is
occasionally seen as he twirls it carelessly about him as he strolls
down towards our announcing duo. Smiling through his pearly whites at
the jeers that accompany his arrogance.]

GM: This man is so in love with himself, it makes me sick.

BW: Sick with joy.. or envy? Or a little of both?

[Sole reaches Gordon and Buck. His eyes scan up and down Gordon..
apparently unimpressed his face contorts into a look bordering on
disgust. This, however, is short lived as he sees Bucky a man who he
obviously takes an immediate liking to. Sole reaches out and takes the
mic from GordonÕs hand with nary a Ōthank youĶ.. the nerve of some
people!]

LS: When they said weÕd be in Mississippi tonight..

[Hometown pop!!!]

LS:  .. I thought they must be joking.

[Woah! Boos immediately meet our own billionario!]

LS:  I mean, to ask, to request, to _beg_ for a man of _my_ stature to
attend and support this carnival sideshow...

[SoleÕs face scowls.]

LS:  ... well, letÕs just say that somebody somewhere has some _nerve_
to have the moxy to ask that of me. Presidents.. dictators.. _kings_..
pay hundreds of _thousands_ of dollars just to sit in the same room as
me. Just to pick my brain. To, in some cases, hang on to the fleeting
notion that perhaps a smidgeon of my greatness could rub off on them.

But instead of waltzing with the _finest_ of women, and discussing the
most modern of affairs with the _greatest_ of men.. instead of building
up _another_ of my _many_ empires.. instead of all that..

[Sole peruses the arena. His pearly whites once again shown, except not
through a smile this time... a contorted look of digust.]

LS:  ... IÕm _here_.

In god forsaken Jackson, Mississippi.

[Boo!]

LS:  Rubbing elbows with the ŌbackboneĶ of civilization..

[There it is! That fancy smile returns.]

LS:  .. the _peasants_!

[Another round of cheap shot boos!]

LS:  I eliminated.. NAY.. _VANQUISHED_ Juan Vasquez from the AWA in my
last appearance for crying out loud!

[Gordon tries to interject since itÕs abundantly clear that Lucius Sole
has _not_ rid the AWA of anyone.. let alone Juan Vasquez.]

LS:  Oh, Gordon.. we could argue semantics until weÕre blue in the face.
But time is money, and my hourly rate is too high for us to banter back
and forth. So just let the important people speak, try to _learn_
something, and sit the next few plays out.

[Aside over. Gordon sits down, annoyed at our new found friend. Sole
returns to smiling.]

LS:  So.. like I _was_ saying.. on my _first_ night here I took one of
the kings of this sport, and reduced him to nothing.. no wait.. _less_
than nothing..

[The words roll off his lips slower than molasses.]

LS:  ... irrelevance!

[Sole cackles over the cheap boos heÕs generating.]

LS:  And yet.. since then, nary a word has been heard from yours truly.
Not a single, solitary, pitiful opponent has been placed in front of me
for certain failure. Not _one_ person in this god forsaken company has
had the foresight to take the blessing of my arrival and ride it to
obviously greener pastures.

So since it seems that nobody around here has the initiative to do what
_should_ have been done in the first place.

Since all these short sighted neanderthals and hicks seem to be lacking
in the area of what I like to call..

[Air quotes come flying out of nowhere!]

LS:  .. ŌintelligenceĶ.

IÕve decided to take it upon myself to give the people.. NAY.. the
_world.. what it truly needs.

[Big grin.]

LS:  Which is more of me.

So out of the kindness of my heart! Out of the goodness of my soul!
IÕve, out of my _own_ pocket nonetheless, hired a wrestling _great_ to
fight me.. one on one.. in this very ring..

Right.

_Now_.

And IÕm _so_ confident in myself. In my abilities. So confident that
IÕll mop the floor with this certified legend.. that heck.. IÕll do it
in my suit thatÕs worth more than the combined net worth of this entire
arena.

Allow me to introduce you all to a returning wrestling legend. Paid by
_me_ to put on an exhibition for the ages! Even your pea sized brains
might remember...


Caleb.


[Oh my god, no he didnÕt! Did he?!]


LS:  Stanton.


[What?! Who?! Huh?! The crowd immediately jeers at the tease of such a
huge wrestling great, followed immediately by disappointment. And as
this is all going on, a man slowly walks down towards the ring. Dressed
in black wrestling trunks and blue wrestling boots. HeÕs an ordinary
looking man, nothing special about him. Except for the fact that heÕs
still counting the Sole riches in his hand, flipping through the cash
heÕs been provided.]

LS:  What? You thought it was going to be somebody else?

[Scoffs.]

LS:  IÕll have you know that this man was a Division _three_ fourth
place finisher in the 2002 DIII tournament. And while, sure! He might
work at the local Mobil station as a cashier now.. he is still to _this
day_ remembered the world over for that _gallant_ finish in the Õ02
games.

[The crowd continues to boo in disappointment.]

LS:  Well, forget these ingrates.

Ring the bell.

IÕve got an exhibition to win.

And kid..

[Points a rich finger at the man in the ring, who tucks the wads of
100Õs into his tights.]

LS:  .. donÕt you _dare_ wrinkle this suit.

[Lucius tosses the mic back to Gordon before climbing into the ring. He
approaches Caleb Stanton in the middle of the ring. Adjusting his tie on
the way towards him.]

GM: Well.. ah.. I guess weÕre going to have an exhibition match here
between Lucius Sole and an *ahem* ŌlegendĶ in Caleb Stanton.

BW: I canÕt wait! What a matchup!

GM: You gotta be kidding me, Buck.

[Ding! Ding! Ding!]

[Stanton and Sole circle each other before locking up in the middle of
the ring. Sole quickly slips Stanton into a side headlock before tossing
him over with a side headlock takedown.]

BW: What a takedown by Sole! Man, this gold cane is heavy, Gordo. Ya
think Lucius wants me to, ya know, keep it?

GM: I doubt that man would _ever_ give anybody anything for free.

BW: DonÕt underestimate his generosity, Gordo!

GM: IÕm just going off of what IÕve seen.

[Stanton reverses the headlock into a head scissors that Sole escapes by
kipping up to his feet. He turns and Stanton meets him with a fist to
those pearly whites.]

BW: StantonÕs gonna die! Or get wacked, lord knows SoleÕs got the money
to do it!

GM: Lucius is seemingly _livid_ that Stanton laid a finger on him.


ŌSSSMMMMMAAAAAAAACCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKĶ


BW: Sole with an opened palm smack across the face of Caleb Stanton!

[Stanton recoils, clenching his cheek in pain as Lucius approaches
swiftly and drives a fist into the jaw of Caleb. He follows it up with a
well placed kick to the gut.]

GM: Sole hooks the head and cranks it around onto his shoulders.

BW: He calls that the Neckbroker cause.. haha.. weÕre all broker than
him!

GM: What an arrogant jerk!

[Sole lifts his free left hands and rubs his thumb and index finger
together in the universal signal for money. Before hooking the head with
both hands and driving StantonÕs neck into his shoulder.]

BW: NECKBROKER!

GM: This match is a _joke_.. what a self serving waste of our time! The
cover!

BW: One! Two! Three! He did it! He did it! What a hard fought _war_!!!

GM: You got to be kidding me.


MC: The winner of this match...


LLUUUCCCIIIUUSSSSS SSOOOOOLLLLEEEEEE !!!

[Lucius rolls out of the ring to a chorus of boos and quickly walks
towards Gordon and Bucky. He grabs his cane from an eager Bucky Wilde
before leaning in and grabbing the mic again from Gordon.]

LS: Jackson, Mississippi..

[Lucius smiles a self serving smile.]

LS:  .. youÕre _welcome_!

[Boo! Lucius drops the mic back onto the table. Quickly adjusts his tie,
and walks away twirling his golden cane. Oblivious to the ŌpeasantsĶ
around him as we cut back to ringside where Gordon and Bucky are
standing once more.]

GM:  Well, that was a big waste of our time.  We've got high profile
matches all night long with some of the top talent in the entire
industry and Lucius Sole decides to take up our TV time with a joke of a
matchup?

BW:  That man may have BOUGHT his own time on TV tonight.  He's got the
money to do it.

GM:  I suppose he does... but moving on, speaking of the top talent in
the entire industry, at this time will you please welcome... Shane
Destiny!

[Shane Destiny emerges from the entrance portal, dressed in a black
sports coat, powder blue T-shirt, and black slacks.  He smiles as he
offers a hand to both commentators.]

SD: Pleased to see both of you, gentlemen.  Absolutely thrilled.

GM: Well, I know a man that may not be too thrilled to see you, and that
would be Tumaffi.

[Destiny smirks after a slight scoff.]

SD: Figures.  He's probably still mad that he lost that match to Ron
Houston and he blames me for it all.  I've heard all the accusations,
I've heard all the cheap talk, Tumaffi.  I didn't pull your leg!  Why
would I do such a thing?

GM: There's video evidence that doesn't exactly support your theory.

SD: And I don't care about what doctored footage you may have, Gordon.
Tumaffi, let me talk nice and plain and simple to you.  First of all, I
am simply overjoyed by the fact that you found a calendar and can shake
it vigorously.  It means a lot to me.  But let me discuss what hypocrisy
you have, Tumaffi.

[Destiny extends his index finger.]

SD: You claim that I ran from your challenge.  This couldn't be further
from the truth, you ignorant slob.  And yes, I made that challenge to
you a few weeks prior, but correct me if I'm wrong... who denied that
challenge, exactly?  Who waited two weeks to come out on television to
boldly accept?  Nothing stopped you from coming out and accepting right
then and there, so you had to think about it, didn't you?  And, since
you're stupid, it took you two weeks to muster up the courage and the
wherewithal to actually accept.  And by that time, Tumaffi?  You ceased
to be relevant to me.  You ceased being worth my time and effort.

[Destiny now extends his middle finger.]

SD: Your second bit of hypocrisy, Tumaffi?  You tell me I'm not relevant
to today's wrestling, all because I took two years away from the ring to
rest my injuries and deal with my... female dog of an ex-wife's
neurosis.  But you beat your chest and roar about all the people you've
beaten up, which happened, I don't know... two years ago?  So if I'm no
longer relevant, then by God, you're even less relevant than me.  You
_brag_ about beating Michael Keening?  Michael Keening couldn't lace my
boots six years ago, Tumaffi.  You beating him up is supposed to impress
_me_?

[Destiny extends his ring finger.]

SD: And for all your talk about being a future world champion... the
wrestling landscape is littered with people that said they would be a
future world champion.  See, you talk about _eventually_ being a
champion, like that's supposed to mean something.  I've done it, and
you're jealous because you're never going to do it.  You don't have the
brains to do it, and you don't have the talent to do it.  All you can do
is rip and snort and make bold claims that mean absolutely _nothing_
from a wrestler with my level of talent.

[Destiny puts his hand on Gordon's shoulder.]

SD: But he wants me in that ring so bad, doesn't he?  He wants to talk
about respect.  Look, pineapple-for-brains, I can't take respect to the
bank and cash it.  I don't care if you respect me.  But you want to keep
talking big... I'll tell you what we can do.

[Destiny reaches into his sports coat, and pulls out five bound stacks
of cash.]

SD: Cameraman, you can zoom in on this, but don't get too close.  This
is twenty-five thousand dollars.  This is more money than ninety percent
of the people watching this show make in a year.  If you want me in the
ring so bad, if you want to try and create a legacy and try to use me as
a springboard... then you take out a mortgage on your hut back in Samoa,
and you put up twenty-five thousand dollars of your own, I'm sure we can
figure something out.

[Destiny puts the money back into his sports coat.]

SD: Better put that up before my ex-wife calls her lawyers.  So Tumaffi,
you want me so bad? Put your money where your mouth is.

[Destiny smiles, and walks away from the podium.]

GM:  A $25,000 dollar challenge from Shane Destiny to Tumaffi?  I can't
wait to hear the big Samoan's answer to that.  Fans, let's go backstage
to Jason Dane who is standing by with one of the participants in our
next matchup!

[Shot cuts to the backstage area where Jason Dane stands beside the man
facing Gary Bright on his own journey to a title shot, Pure X. The young
technician's dressed in his ring wear of a black T-shirt and baggy
wrestling pants. X's hair is tied back at the moment as he looks on to
the camera.]

JD: Jason Dane here with Pure X. Tonight you face Gary Bright - the Gold
Bomber - as the first step in your self-imposed journey to the National
Title.  You heard what Bright had to say two weeks ago and -

PX: And yeah, Dane, I heard. I watched it. I sat through the whole
thing... It was kind of sad, Dane. Really pathetic. Big talker... See,
this is what I'm talking about in the sport today: you have these people
who have no concept of what this sport's about. Your bodybuilders, your
circus acts, your cheats. Where are the wrestlers? Where's the people
who can give me a true challenge?

[Pure X shakes his head.]

PX: See, what Mr. Bright fails to see? Is that I've put out match of the
year quality bouts all over this country. I've fought and beaten some of
the best WRESTLERS in this sport today. Even at my young age? I've
already paid my time in proving myself... And Gary Bright?

[X chuckles to himself.]

PX: "Ripped arms", "chiseled abs", and nothing at the top of the
elevator.

JD: But aren't you worried at all about the man's power?

PX: His power? Look, Dane, I can tell you exactly what Bright's gameplan
will be tonight. He's going to try to use his strength to barrel right
through me. He'll use his might and -

[X snaps his fingers.]

PX: Just like that obliterate me, right? He's... he's just going to over
power me... All through... All throughout the match...

[Pure X feigns concern for a moment.]

PX: Maybe even... powerbomb me?

[Pure X shakes his head again.]

PX: Dane, do you think this is my first match? Think this is the first
time I've faced some guy talked about cause he's got "the look"? If
anyone should be worried, it should be Gary Bright. How much power can a
guy generate when he's had his legs taken out from under him within the
first minute? How can a guy do any lifting when his arms have been
locked and twisted so long that even moving them hurts?

[X pauses as he looks straight into the camera.]

PX: So go ahread, Bright, bring out cannons. Try to throw your power
around in the ring with me. You'll be doing me a favor since I've seen
it and beaten it before. So let me just lay this out straight, right
here and now, Bright... I don't care whatsoever how big or strong you
are. Tonight?

[Pure nods.]

PX: You ARE a stepping stone. You're MY stepping stone. Tonight? I'll
prove that superior training, superior skills, and superior technical
ability can trump any run of the mill athlete. I WILL win and I WILL be
one step closer to my goal - the AWA National Title.

[With that, Pure X steps out of the shot, leaving Jason Dane.]

JD: Pure X certainly seems confident as he prepares to step into the
ring with the #9 contender to the National Title - the man right ahead
of him in the Top 10 rankings, this man - "Gold Bomber" Gary Bright -
take a look!

[We fade to footage marked "EARLIER TODAY" where Gary Bright stands in
front of a generic AWA backdrop. Today he is wearing a red, white and
blue tye dyed muscle shirt and matching wrestling tights. His boots, red
patent leather with white laces and his red aviator sunglasses finish
off his festive look. His hair is slicked back and his tan skin just
glistens in the light of the camera. Bright looks off to the leftÉ]

GB: Oh say can you see, by the dawnÕs early light. On July 4th 2009,
Pure X will be beat by the Gold BomberÉ. Gary Bright.

[Bright cocks his head back towards the camera.]

GB: There are so many dates on the calendarÉ.so many dates that people
cherish just by their mere mention. December 25th 1984, little Bobby
Kearing got his first model train set. June 8th 1997, Karen Wax
graduated from high school.

Dates. Dates are important. They help to record events which stay etched
deeply in the minds of all people. Since the Gold Bomber was a lil boy,
he always knew July 4th was a day on which liberty and peace was forever
linked with greatest nation under the Gold Bomber in the skyÕs watch.

[Bright strikes a single side bicep pose.]

GB: ThereÕs nothing more that goes along with July 4thÉ then Gold
Bomber. ThereÕs nothing more that goes along with tradition, goes along
with pride and goes along with fireworksÉ than THE GOLD BOMBER.

Pure X?

[Bright chuckles as he shifts his entire body to face the camera.]

GB: What is so Pure? Where does X mark the spot? You better believe
brother that you are walking into a hornetÕs nest. Do you know what
these hands can do Pure X? These hands can move mountains. These hands
can crush diamonds. You see these arms??

[Double bicep pose]

GB These arms are going to rain down on you like the biblical hail. They
are going to pound away on that little old head of yours, Pure X. IÕm
going to end your dreams of being a champion before they even begin. IÕm
going to use these arms to bury you underneath a pile of dirt. The
heavens will open up; the sun will shine down and in a moment of gloryÉ
I will lead the congregation in a solemn prayerÉ here lies the career of
Pure X. He lived and then he ran in to the Gold Bomber. He fell like a
tree in the woods and for all his nonsensical banterÉ he was not heard.

[Bright points to the camera]

GB: Pure XÉ today will be a night of fireworks and celebrations. Tonight
will be a night of pain and suffering. I know which way IÕm going. But
do you? Have you really thought this through? As you sit there in your
locker room getting ready Pure X, are your hands trembling? Do your
knees rattle boy? Does the mere thought of your impending doom shake
down at your very soul? The Gold Bomber doesnÕt easily get aggravated.
He doesnÕt normally get upset. The Gold Bomber is a warrior. He is an
athlete. How do you expect to get through 8 men after facing 1 Gold
Bomber?

[Bright turns his back to the camera and pops another double bicep
pose.]

GB: The fireworks are coming Pure X...

[And with that, we fade to black.

After a moment, we fade back up on a shot of Jason Dane and Mark
Stegglet in an apparently moving car.]

JD:  Hey, AWA fans - so much of our lives are now spent on-the-go,
wouldn't you love to be able to keep track of your favorite AWA
superstars when you're away from home?

MS:  I know I would, Jason!  And I'd also love to have a place to put
out all those rumors we hear during the week that never make AWA
Saturday Night Wrestling.

JD:  You've got that right.  Wouldn't it be great if we could combine
both of those ideas into one?

[Suddenly, a giant graphic of an iPhone appears between them!]

JD & MS:  NOW WE CAN!

[A voiceover takes over - thank God.]

VO:  Starting today, you can download AWA Access - a great new
application for your iPhone where you can get all the AWA news, rumors,
and happenings before the rest of the world.  And don't forget to check
out the "exclusive" section for matches that never aired!  AWA Access -
coming to an iPhone near you!

[Fade back to black...

...and then back up on the ring where Melissa Cannon is standing all
alone.  ŌPomp and CircumstanceĶ begins to play over the PA and the crowd
scurries from their seat, before letting out a large chorus of boos.]

GM:  And here comes Gary Bright and heÕs... heÕs... carrying _sparklers_
in each hand!

BW: Celebrating the 4th like a _good_ American, Gordo. WouldnÕt expect
you to know what thatÕs like.

GM: Some might call that a fire hazard.

BM: And some might call that awesome instead.

[Gary Bright emerges from the back, sure enough, toting two sparklers
that are extended out in each of his chiseled arms. Bright is wearing a
Red, White, and Blue tye dyed muscle shirt and matching wrestling
tights. His boots, red patent leather with white laces and red aviator
sunglasses finish off his festive attire.]

GM: Gary Bright spared no Independence Day expense.

BW: He looks _good_, Gordo.


MC: Introducing first... standing 6Õ4 and weighing in at two hundred and
eighty five pounds... he hails from Paradise Valley, Arizona... he is..


ŌThe Gold BomberĶ


... GGGARRRRRRYYYYYYY BRRRRIIIGGHHHTTTTTTT !!!


[Bright reaches the ring and slides underneath the bottom rope before
rising and dusting himself off, tossing the now defused sparklers out of
his ring.]

MC: AND HIS OPPONENT...

["The Thing I Hate" by Stabbing Westward hits the PA as the crowd sounds
out a mixed pop for the man stepping through the entrance way. Pure X -
wearing his usual ring gear of a black T-shirt, baggy dark green pants
with the image of two swords crossed on both legs - confidently walks
down to the ring, looking at the audience as he passes by but otherwise
not really interacting much with them. After walking up the ring steps,
X turns towards his ring corner and does some stretching exercises for a
moment to get ready for the match and Gary Bright.]

MC: ... standing 6Õ2 and weighing in at two hundred and twenty seven
pounds... he hails from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania... please welcome...


PPPPPUUUURRRRRRREEEEEE XXXXXX!!!


[Mixed pop!]

GM: Between these two men, IÕd have to say that Pure X has to be the one
the fans are behind, Bucky.

BW: Popularity doesnÕt dictate taste... or class for that matter.

GM: I know I say this often, but I think weÕre in for a real treat here
tonight, Bucky.


[Ding! Ding Ding!]


BW: Time to find out!

GM: Pure X seems tentative as Gary Bright _immediately_ challenges him
to a test of strength.

BW: X doesnÕt want _any_ of that with the Gold Bomber.

[Sure enough, Pure X errs on the side of caution and keeps his eyes
focused on Bright, whose plans immediately change as he charges at Pure
X.]

GM: Bright with a clothesline.. no! Ducked by X! Bright turns and eats a
hard right hand from Pure X. And another! And another! Three stiff shots
that stagger Gary Bright but donÕt topple him.

BW: Pure X grabs the right arm of Gary Bright and torques it around hard
with a standing arm wringer. Annnddd... I think weÕve found this manÕs
strategy.

GM: ItÕs quite clear Bucky that perhaps the most effective method of
action for Pure X is going to be to wear down those powerful arms of
Gary Bright here in the early going.

[X yanks the arm in and out, BrightÕs face grimacing in instant pain.]

BW: X with an irish wh-- reversed by Bright!

GM: Bright with a _huge_ backbody drop.

BW: Huge is an understatement, if we had fireworks he wouldÕve went
right into Ôem, Gordo!

[Bright quickly yanks X off the mat and grabs him around the throat by
two hands and tosses him into the corner like a ragdoll.]

GM: And _this_ is why you have to take out the arms of Gary Bright... if
you donÕt... heÕll club you to death with them, just ask Pure X.

[Sure enough, Gary Bright stuffs rights and lefts into the chest and
head of Pure X. A flurry of powerful shots.. each staggering X more than
the last. He grabs a stunned X by his arm and yanks him out of the
corner.]

BW: Gary Bright just irish whipped Pure X practically _through_ the
opposite turnbuckles!

GM: X hit sternum first and _collapsed_ out of the corner immediately to
the mat.

BW: StarinÕ at da stars already!

[Bright wastes little time and charges over, leaping into the air and
dropping a huge elbow across the chest of Pure X. Right where a red welt
has formed from the turnbuckles.]

BW: X marks the spot! Haha! Get it, Gordo?!

GM: And look at this egotism! Gary Bright is doing _push ups_ next to a
very dazed Pure X!

[Sure enough, the crowd jeers the arrogance of Gary Bright thoroughly as
Bright smiles as he rises to his feet.. pulling Pure X up after him.]

BW: The Gary Bright show is underway and it looks like Pure XÕs little
Ōrun to the topĶ is going to be very very short lived.

GM: This match has a long way to go, Bucky. I donÕt think this is over
by any means. But Pure X _does_ need to find a way to turn this match
around.

BW: Bright throws a nasty right hand into the forehead of Pure X. HeÕs
_smothering_ him here in the early going. Errr... perhaps ending.

GM: Bright grabs Pure X around the waist and lifts him off the mat.

BW: Bear hug city!

[Sure enough, Pure X writhes in pain as Gary Bright cinches the bear hug
in tighter and tighter, throttling X around in his arms as he attempts
to suck the air out of him with his massive arms.]

GM: Gary Bright has that bear hug locked on tight and thereÕs nowhere
for Pure X to go. ItÕs going to take some smart thinking of Pure X to
get out of that bear hug.

BW: Or a miracle from above.

[X reaches up with his left arm and twists it across his body.. and
around the head of Gary Bright. He pulls his legs up and wraps them
around the body of the Gold Bomber as Bright continues to squeeze.]

GM: Pure X locks a standing guillotine on Gary Bright _while_ Bright has
that bear hug locked in! Both men are trying to submit each other at the
same time!

BW: IÕve never seen this before in my life!

[And neither have the fans who pop at the two men who are both trying to
suck the air out of each othersÕ lungs. However, with his newfound
position atop BrightÕs head, Pure X has the hold locked on a little bit
tighter and after several moments Bright begins to fade.]

GM: Pure XÕs guillotine was able to break the bear hug and Bright drops
to his knees!

BW: X still has that guillotine locked on...

[But standing with BrightÕs head under his arm isnÕt in Pure XÕs plan as
he drives him skull first into the mat with a snap DDT on a kneeling
Gary Bright.]

GM: What an impressive counter _and_ shift in momentum weÕve had here,
Buck.

BW: Short lived to say the least.

[X takes a moment to collect himself and recover before driving a series
of boots into the right arm of Bright. Five, six, seven kicks.. itÕs
hard to tell as theyÕre raining down in flurries. After a few more kicks
he pulls Bright off the mat.]

GM: Pure X scoops up Bright for a powerslam.. no.. he turned it into a
shoulderbreaker!

BW: On the right arm again. Like him or not, Pure X obviously has a plan
out here and itÕs showing now that heÕs taken the advantage from the
Gold Bomber.

GM: Pure X wants to keep the momentum so he wastes little time in
pulling Bright back off the mat. The quicker he gets through this the
quicker he moves up the ladder towards the next man in the top 10.

BW: _IF_ he gets through this, Gordo!

GM: Good point, partner.

[X hooks Bright around the head and drives him into the mat with a big
vertical suplex that shakes the ring slightly. He sits up and rolls over
on top.]

BW: Pure X with the cover... One! Two! Thr-- HAYUGE kickout by Gary
Bright. You donÕt take out da Bomber with a suplex... _SIR_!

GM: X again quickly up to his feet and he pulls Gary Bright with him. He
hooks his leg inside of Brights..

[X yanks back and drives both men back with a modified side russian
legsweep. Modified in the fact that he twists as BrightÕs falling and
drives him shoulder first into the mat. The same shoulder from before.]

BW: That looked _nasty_, Gordo.

GM: Brilliant modification by Pure X to once again work over that arm of
the Gold Bomber. Gary Bright is in trouble tonight in Jackson,
Mississippi!

[Relentlessly, Pure X once again pulls Gary Bright off the mat and sends
him for the proverbial ride, dropping his head just a fraction of a
second too soon.]

BW: Miscalculation by X! Bright stopped short and grabbed the back of
Pure XÕs head and _drove_ it into his knee.

GM: Bright grabs Pure X by the head to keep him from falling and drives
a vicious forearm into the back of his skull.


ŌSLAPĶ


BW: HeÕs got him by the throat!


ŌBBBOOOOOOOOOMMMMM!!!Ķ


GM: GARY BRIGHT PRACTICALLY CHOKESLAMMED PURE X THROUGH THE MAT!

BW: He nailed him with that one handed chokeslam!

[Bright takes a moment to shake his right arm, trying to get some
feeling back in it from the beating heÕs taken.]

GM: You could see the effects of the assault on that right arm, Bucky.
He got him with that chokeslam, but at what cost? HeÕs stopped dead in
his tracks trying to regain some of the feeling in it that he lost from
that assault by Pure X.

BW: Maybe heÕs just loosening up for a few more pushups.

[Bright isnÕt doing any such thing though. He yanks X off the mat and
lifts him up, body slamming him square in the middle of the ring before
hitting the ropes and returning with a big leg drop across his throat.]

GM: This match is about _two_ things, Buck. The power of Gary Bright and
the smarts and technique of Pure X.

BW: How poignant, Gordo.

GM: Bright with the cover.. One! Two! Thr-- kickout at the last second
by Pure X.

BW: And Bright doesnÕt appear too happy with that count.

[Sure enough, an incredulous Gary Bright can be seen holding up three
fingers in frustration. After a moment he pulls X off the ground and
hooks him in a full nelson.]

GM: Bright with a full nelson!

BW: And X is squirming like crazy trying to get out of that vice grip of
Gary Bright!

[And perhaps thatÕs it, perhaps itÕs the squirming. Perhaps itÕs the
effects of the abuse to the arm... perhaps itÕs just sheer tenacity. But
whatever it may be, it works and Pure X drops out of the full nelson,
right into a drop toe hold.]

GM: Pure X countered! He countered!

BW: HeÕs going for The X!

[Finisher pop as Pure X tries to lock in his Standing Ankle Lock.
However, Bright rolls over onto his back and pulls his powerful legs in
before shooting them out.]

GM: Gary Bright just showed us the full effects of his power by kicking
Pure X _through_ the ropes and to the arena below!

BW: X hit the ground _hard_, Gordon.

[Bright shakes the cobwebs before rolling out of the ring himself. The
count begins.]

ŌOne!Ķ

GM: Bright pulls Pure X off the mat and slams his head into the ring.

BW: That oughta wake X back up!

ŌTwo!Ķ

GM: Bright pushes X up back first against the ring and takes a few steps
back before charging in...


ŌTTTHHWWWAAAAPPPPPĶ


... and The Gold Bomber with a darn nasty lariat on Pure X who had
_nowhere_ to go.

ŌThree!Ķ

BW: The pressure that would put on a manÕs back is ridiculous, Gordo. He
just took the full weight of that lariat on his lower back which was
_propped_ against the ring.

ŌFour!Ķ

[A very satisfied Gary Bright pulls Pure X off the ground and rolls him
back into the ring as the ŌFiveĶ count comes down. He slides in after
him and hooks his leg.]

GM: That, right there, oughta do it. ThereÕs no way that Pure X can
kickout after that!

BW: One! Two! Three!

GM: NO! PURE X KICKED OUT AT THE _VERY_ LAST SECOND!!!

[Bright shoots another look around, before grabbing the long brown locks
of Pure X and using them to pull him off the mat. He irish whips him
hard into the opposite corner and comes barreling in.]

BW: Nobody home!

GM: Gary Bright when shoulder first into that already beat up right arm
and comes staggering back out of the corner... right into... whoa!  I
don't even know what you call that!  

BW:  It's called a lung blower, Gordo!  Please learn some moves created
in the 21st century!  I'm beggin' ya!  And I don't know how these two
men can still counter each other after the ringer theyÕve put each other
through?!

GM: ThatÕs an excellent question, partner, one I find IÕm asking myself
as this match continues on.

[Pure X slowly crawls back to his feet and trudges over towards the legs
of Gary Bright.]

BW: Huh... I thought he was focusing on the arms.

GM: ThatÕs one of the reasons Pure X is so hard to figure out, you never
know what heÕs going to do next.

BW: Well, in this case, I do now! HeÕs wrapping BrightÕs legs up for a
figure four leg lock!

[X knots the legs of Bright and twists around, locking a figure four leg
lock in the middle of the ring. Bright lets out a slight grunt as he
props himself up by his aching arms.]

GM: He already focused on the arms, now heÕs focusing on the legs. Pure
X is trying to take Gary Bright apart limb by limb!

BW: The Gold Bomber is in trouble here, Gordo!

[Pure X leans back to exert maximum pain on the twisted legs of Gary
Bright, as Gary uses his arms to try to slowly work his way towards the
ropes.]

GM: ThatÕs a long trek across the ring to get himself to the safe haven
of the ropes, Bucky. One has to wonder if BrightÕs still got enough gas
left in the tank to make it there.

BW: Have you seen those chiseled biceps?! Pain or not, Gary Bright _is_
making those ropes, Gordo!

[Bright continues to pull himself back against the force of Pure X. Inch
by inch tugging both menÕs weight towards the ropes.. before finally
reaching back.. and coming up with air.]

GM: Bright missed the ropes! He wasnÕt close enough and he appears
_exhausted_ his shoulders are on the mat.

BW: One! Two! Thr--!

GM: Bright lunged back one last time and got the ropes before he could
be pinned!

[Pure X is a little taken aback that The Gold Bomber found the ropes but
reluctantly releases the figure four. He climbs to his feet, with Bright
slowly lumbering behind.]

BW: Shoulder tackle to the back of BrightÕs left leg!

GM: BrightÕs leg buckled but he was against the ropes and he used them
to keep himself propped up. X quickly to his feet and he drives one boot
after another to the left leg of Gary Bright.

BW: X reaches down and pulls the left leg of Bright off the mat. HeÕs
trying to pull him free from the ropes.

[Gary Bright holds on with everything he has left within him. He fights
through the pain and torment of an already long night and realizes heÕs
not going to hold the ropes with his position being dominated. So he
decides the best defense is a good offense and plunges his fist through
the air towards Pure XÕs face. X leans back and twists just fractions of
a second before the fist can connect.]


ŌTTTTTHHHHUUUUUDDDDDDDDĶ


GM: PURE X WITH A LEG WHIP!!! BRIGHT IS WRITHING ON THE MAT IN PAIN!!!

BW: He got him over just a millisecond before BrightÕs fist could
connect with his skull, Gordo!

[Big appreciative pop from the crowd.]

GM: And these fans are loving the back and forth action weÕve seen thus
far in this match. Power versus technique at itÕs finest here tonight in
Mississippi!

BW: Pure X with the cover.. One! Two! Thre-- how in the world did Gary
Bright kick out?!

GM: This man, like so many other AWA superstars just does _not_ know the
meaning of the word quit.

BW: Are you calling Gary Bright stupid, Gordo? Careful, sir!

GM: I didnÕt mean it like tha..

BW: Whatever! IÕm telling him once heÕs done in there!

[Pure X decides to stick with the injured leg and swiftly hooks the left
leg and twists.]

GM: Pure X with a single leg boston crab. HeÕs going to continue to
focus on that leg until Gary Bright has zero choice but to tap out!

BW: A cold day in you-know-where itÕll be before _that_ happens, old
friend.

[X leans back as Bright grits his teeth in pain. Reaching down, one last
time, into his reserves and using his massive power to free himself.]

GM: BRIGHT JUST KICKED OUT OF THAT BOSTON CRAB!! PURE X WENT FACE FIRST
INTO THE TOP TURNBUCKLE!!

BW: WHAT POWAHHH!

[X remains slumped over the corner turnbuckle, his arms propping him up
from the other side of the top ropes. Bright slowly manages to pull
himself to his feet and he hooks Pure X around the waist.]


ŌBBBBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMĶ


GM: Belly to back suplex! The momentum has shifted once again!

BW: This man is a beast!

[Bright yanks Pure X back up by his hair. Obviously realizing the end is
in sight. He irish whips him across the ring, where X hits the ropes and
comes charging back.]

GM: Powerslam! Gary Bright is a _force_ out there. And after the
punishment heÕs come back from, IÕm not sure thereÕs a man in this arena
who has what it takes to finish him off!

BW: BrightÕs signaling for it! This is it! HeÕs calling for The Golden
Drop!

[Finisher pop!]

GM: If he hits this itÕs over! He lifts...

[And Pure X remains high in the air in a vertical suplex for a moment..
the moment seems to linger for a second or two as he swivels around and
lands behind Bright... he grabs him around the waist and charges towards
the ropes, allowing BrightÕs weight to bounce back off them and for
inertia to do itÕs job.]

BW: PURE X REVERSED THE GOLDEN DROP INTO A ROLLUP!

GM: THE COVER... ONE! TWO! THREE!!!

BW: HOW IN THE WORLD...

GM: HE DID IT! HE DID IT! PURE X MADE IT PAST GARY BRIGHT BY THE SKIN OF
HIS TEETH!!!

BW:  I can't believe it!

GM:  Believe it or not, Pure X is walkin' on air and he defeats the #9
contender to the National Title.  Who will be next?  Who will be #8 for
Pure X?  Fans, we'll find out in the weeks to come.  But for now, we've
got to take a quick break - don't you dare go away!

[We fade away from the shot of a celebrating Pure X.

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 to live action outside the Mississippi Coliseum.
There, we see Jason Dane already standing by with an unhappy-looking
Juan Vasquez. Vasquez's head is wrapped in guaze, the result of Raphael
Rhode's brutal attack upon him on the last edition of AWA Saturday
Night. He's dressed in a wifebeater undershirt, jeans and a pair of
steel-toe boots, looking every bit ready for a fight.]

JD: Juan Vasquez, last week yo-

[Juan yanks the microphone from Dane's hands. The backstage interviewer
would say something, but the look on Vasquez's face indicates that now
isn't the best time to tick him off.] 

JV: Last week...I was attacked from behind without warning, pummeled by
a crazed and out of control thug, and had my head damn near crushed by a
car door. I was left lying in a pool of my own blood and hospitalized.
And after all that, the AWA board of directors gathered together and
came to the most logical conclusion of dealing with an obviously violent
and increasingly volatile situation.

[Juan lowers his head in dejection.]

JV: They banned me from the building. 

[He raises his head slightly and rolls his eyes at the camera.]

JV: _Again._

[He shakes his head in disbelief.]

JV: Yeah...real fair, right?

[The look on his face pretty much shows how ridiculous he thinks the
ruling was.]

JV: But seriously, I can respect that. Really! I mean, ya' gotta' take
the safety of the fans into consideration. One missed punch, one outta'
control chairshot, one bloodied Englishman tossed ten feet across the
arena into a crowd of people? And BOOM! 

You got yourself a lawsuit. 

[Juan looks around and shrugs his shoulders.]

JV: So I completely understand why they'd want to keep me and Raphael
Rhodes from entering the building. I mean, I'm sorry that we gotta'
disappoint everyone like that, but when you start injuring fans and
making them scared for their lives every time you step into the
ring...well, that's when you know you're doing something seriously
wrong. And since I got no desire to lose my job or a steady paycheck,
I'll kindly stay out of the building tonight like they told me to. 

[As the crowd inside can be heard audibly voicing their displeasure,
Juan holds up a finger, almost as if to say, "Not so fast!"]

JV: BUT...

["But?"]

JV: ...they didn't say anything about the parking lot.

[Big pop! A mischevious smile appears on Juan's face. Jason Dane appears
shocked.]

JD: You don't mean...

JV: I think you know exactly what I mean, Dane. 

[The smile grows ever larger.]

JV: I think _everybody_ knows exactly what I mean.

[Juan turns to Dane.]

JV: I mean, you didn't think I was just going to let this go, did you?
Seriously, you didn't think I was gonna' sit at some bar quietly tonight
watching the show and let Rhodes keep on pattin' himself on the back for
getting the jump on me again, right? 

I mean...just who the hell do you think I am? 

JD: Well, Juan, I...hey! Wait! Where are you...

[Juan then proceeds to climb atop the hood of a nearby car and then onto
the roof. Standing straight up, he stares down into the camera and
shouts...]

JV: I'M CALLIN' YOU OUT, RHODES!!! I'LL FIGHT YOU ANYTIME AND ANYWHERE!
WE DON'T NEED A RING! WE DON'T NEED A REFEREE! IF YA' GOT THE GUTS...IF
YA' GOT THE COURAGE...IF YOU'RE ANYTHING MORE THAN A BIG TALKIN',
CHEAPSHOT DEALIN' COWARD...

[He stops and composes himself, before looking back at the camera with a
cocky grin.]

JV: Well...you know where to find me. 

[We fade away from Vasquez to the ringside area where Gordon Myers and
Bucky Wilde are standing.  Myers is shaking his head as the camera comes
up on him.]

GM:  Ohhh, brother.  Well, fans, just when we thought this night
couldn't get any more interesting, now we've got Juan Vasquez standing
OUTSIDE the building - standing out in the parking lot, challenging
Raphael Rhodes to show up and fight!  

BW:  We talked to Rhodes earlier - ya think he's on his way here?

GM:  I just don't know, Bucky, but if he is... well, we'll keep a camera
out there so we can cut away to it if he shows up, that's for sure.  But
we have, you know, actual matches to talk about here tonight as well. 
Later tonight, don't forget that we've got a National Tag Team Title
match with Kentucky's Pride defending the titles that they've had for
just over seven months against the team of Colt Patterson and Scott
Pain.  This should be a very interesting challenge for the champions and
our own Mark Stegglet caught up with them earlier tonight to get their
comments.  Let's look at that now...

[We cut to footage marked "EARLIER TONIGHT" where Mark Stegglet is
standing with the National Tag Team Champions.]

MS: Backstage here with the AWA National Tag Team champions, City Jack
and Tin Can Rust. Tonight, you face Colt Patterson and Scott Pain with
your titles on the line. You've held the titles for all of 2009 so far -
are you concerned going into this title defense tonight?

CJ: Well, Mr. Stegglet, them two are a pair of heavy hitters, I'll give
'em that for sure. You got some guys in that there Patterson and Pain
that can really bring it in the ring. And I ain't gonna bring up nothin'
about them's ages cause me and Can Crusher here? We ain't no springing
chicken, neither! So... sure, got always have some concern, no matter
who's occupyin' that there opposite corner.

[Tin Can Rust looks on, rolling his eyes.]

CJ: Thinking about these two guys, why they reminded me of a pair back
when both and me and Rust were up there in Kentucky. Tin Can was the
champ and I was kind of tryin' to get my footing back after an injury.
But anyhow, these two guys, why they had some miles on 'em. They had
their success early on and all, but by then they were those circuit
travelers, taking matches any time they could. Shoot... What were their
names... Mend... Mender -

TCR: Mendry. Pat Mendry and Fred Galt.

[City Jack slaps his knee.]

CJ: That's them! That's the two! Yeah, those two guys, they'd fight any
where they could just to get in a fight. They were always tryin' to
recapture the times they had, you know? But funny thing is about them
two was that they always brought it all on to the ring. When they took a
fight, they took a FIGHT. Well, anyway, Mendry and Galt, they done
traveled in to Louisville that night and figured to step up to the plate
against us two. Phew!

[City Jack shakes his head as he rubs his jaw.]

CJ: Shoot, them two old snots hit up this here chin of mine so much I
still feel the pain of them meethooks flying into my face! Them two,
they could HIT. I didn't know it at the time, Mr. Stegglet, but
afterwards I realized why no one really ever wanted to step foot in the
ring with 'em - no matter the outcome, they'd sure take the toll on ya.
Now we beat 'em -

[Jack, a little unsure, looks back to Rust who simply gives an affirming
nod.]

CJ: We beat 'em, but damn did they wreck me for a good month! I couldn't
barely move one muscle after that there bout. So with these two guys
we're facin' tonight, well... I ain't looking forward none to facin'
them cause I sure do know what to expect - a big ol' war with fists
flyin'. Now, I ain't sayin' none we're not going to step out of them
ropes without our titles...

[Rust quickly steps in to cut off Jack.]

TCR: We WILL retain our titles, Stegglet. There's no doubt about that.

[City Jack looks back at his partner dismissively.]

CJ: Well... "No doubt", I can say - that's just discounting what
Patterson and Pain can bring to the table. I mean, I've see that there
Pain fellow shoot that rock he calls a fist. All it takes is one lucky
punch.

TCR: But -

CJ: BUT, yeah, I'm confident we'll keep our titles. I'm confident it'll
be a war and they'll be some blood shed... But... Well, I've got all the
best notions, Mr. Stegglet, of keepin' these here AWA National Tag
titles.

MS: Well, it sounds like you're ready for your match tonight. Bucky, Go-

[Before Mark can end his wrap up, City Jack interrupts by pulling Dane's
arm back for the microphone.]

CJ: Hey, now, Mr. Stegglet! We ain't done yet! See, here today's the
Fourth! The Fourth of July, In-De-Pen-Dence Day! I ain't about to leave
here without wishin' all ya'll a great big happy birthday! Today's a day
for fireworks, grillin', and celebratin' our freedom. And, from the
bottom of this ol' sobs heart, I just want make sure to thank all those
who done sacrifice all they got to keep us all free.

[Tin Can Rust nods along as City Jack flashes a smile.]

CJ: Now... Back to you, Bucky and Gordon!

[City Jack pats the back of Mark Stegglet as Kentucky's Pride walks off,
leaving Mark Stegglet without anything to say as we cut back to
ringside.]

GM:  Thanks for that, Mark.  Well, it seems that Kentucky's Pride is
ready for a battle and at least one of them seems to be close to
guaranteeing victory here tonight.  But that match is still to come. 
Tag team action IS coming up next though in the form of Adrian Freeman
and Calisto Dufresne taking on Adam Rogers and Marcus Broussard.  Jason
Dane is back in the locker room area with the former team... Jason?

[We cut to the locker room area to find Jason Dane standing next to
"Subzero" Adrian Freeman and "Ladykiller" Calisto Dufresne - the former
looking focused while the latter looking arrogant as can be.]

JD:  Fans, at this time, I've been joined by Adrian Freeman and Callisto
Dufrense, the team who goes for their third point against Adam Rogers
and Marcus Broussard in just a short while.

CD:  ThatÕs right.  The fantastic team of Dufrense and Freeman is
re-united and ready to take the AWA by storm once again.

JD: Wait, re-united?

AF: DidnÕt you hear?  We like, totally had a break up.

CD: Yeah.  Adrian forgot to tape one of my soap operas and we got in a
fight.

AF: Then Callisto called me a poopyhead!  We can say that in the AWA,
right?

CD: So we just kind of talked about how we couldnÕt trust each other
over and over again for a couple weeks.

AF: And then I took enough shots to the head for him that Callisto
forgave me.  Yay!

CD: I put this all up on my Twitter, Jason.  You really should be
following it.

[Dane looks confused and a slight bit irritated.]

JD: IÕm not sure I understand what youÕre getting at.

AF: WhatÕs wrong?  You donÕt care about the complex emotional
relationship of two grown men who dance around each other and pretend to
hate each other like two eight-year-olds crushing on each other?

[Freeman grabs the mic and holds it in close to his face.]

AF: WELCOME TO THE CLUB.

CD: What weÕre driving at here is that I'm a former champion, I'm the
future of this business, IÕm gorgeous, the be- *looks at Adrian* - one
of the best wrestlers here, and IÕve been constantly overshadowed by
losers like Adam Rogers and Marcus Broussard.  What do they have that we
donÕt?  Title runs from a decade ago?  Loads of personal baggage?

AF: Calm down.  We only need to beat them today and it doesnÕt matter
how many fans they have or how much hype this promotion gives to them...
weÕre the number one contenders and nothing can change that.  IÕve
already beat Adam Rogers and I can do the same to Marcus Broussard.

Boys, the legend dies tonight.

[Freeman turns to walk away while Dufresne has one final word.]

CD:  Now, if you'll excuse us, Jason... we've got some pre-match
preparation to do...

[Dufresne smirks as he walks away from a puzzled Jason Dane.]

JD:  The most hated tag team in the AWA is on their way to the ring but
they've got a tall challenge ahead of them tonight.  Mark Stegglet is
standing by with one-half of the team they'll be facing... let's hear
from Marcus Broussard!

[We cut to another part of the backstage area where the former National
Champion, the San Jose Shark, Marcus Broussard is standing by with Mark
Stegglet.]

MS:  Thanks, Jason!  Well, Marcus, you heard what Freeman and Dufresne
had to say right there.  Your thoughts?

[Broussard chuckles.]

MB:  They're funny guys.

[The Shark leaves it at that as Stegglet looks puzzled.]

MS:  Really?

MB:  Sure.  I mean... they're making fun of me and Adam having trouble
getting on the same page, right?  I can see how that's kinda funny from
the outside.  It must have looked pretty insane to see us at each others
throats.  It must have looked pretty goofy to see me throw myself in
front of shot after shot to try to earn his trust.  In fact, it must
have looked down right stupid to those guys to see me try to win my
friend back.

[Marcus looks serious.]

MC:  But it wasn't funny to me.  It was my career.  It was my life.  You
see, for my entire career, I've wanted to be Adam Rogers.  I wanted to
be the mat wrestler that everyone thought was the best in the world.  I
wanted to be the hero of the fans.  The guy that every single person in
the locker room respected.  And yeah, I wanted to be the big dog - the
top guy - the champ.

And honestly, the last part of that mattered so much to me, I didn't
care how I got it.  So, I broke the rules, I betrayed friendships, I
spit on the fans.

And what did it get me?  A Fade To Black, a "Former champion" to stick
in front of my name, and a suspension.

[The San Jose Shark shakes his head.]

MB:  So, when I came back, I wanted to make things right.  And I did
everything I could to do exactly that.  

Everything.

[Broussard glares at the camera.]

MB:  So, Dufresne... Freeman... if that's funny to you, than I'm glad. 
I'm glad I could amuse you guys... make you laugh.  Because in just a
little while, I'm going to do the exact opposite.

I'm going to make you cry.  I'm going to make you hurt.  I'm gonna make
you scream for mercy.

And the best thing about it?  I'm going to do it all with my friend by
my side.  

[The former National Champ cracks a grin.]

MC:  See you out- 

MS:  HEY!

[The interview is cut short as Calisto Dufresne and Adrian Freeman rush
in from off-camera, barreling over the San Jose Shark as they knock him
down to the floor.  The camera pulls back as Mark Stegglet tries to get
out of the way of the sea of stomps and kicks to the downed Broussard.]

MS:  Cut that out!  We need to get some hel- agh!

[Stegglet grunts as he's shoved down to the floor by Dufresne who kicks
the ribs of the rising Broussard, knocking him back down to the floor. 
Freeman grabs the left arm of Broussard, pinning the wrist down with his
boot as Dufresne stomps and kicks the arm before dropping a knee down on
the bicep.]

MS:  Come on!  Someone get some help back-

[Dufresne kneels down on the arm while Freeman walks off camera.]

MS:  Hey now... put that down!  Put that thing-

[The Australian walks back into view holding a piece of metal piping in
his hands.  Dufresne edges over, exposing the arm while still pinning it
down...

...and Freeman takes a full force overhead swing, smashing the steel
down on the arm and causing Broussard to cry out in pain!]

MS:  NO!

[Freeman takes another full swing before suddenly Adam Rogers is on the
scene and with a flurry of right hands, he manages to send Freeman and
Dufresne running off like thieves in the night.  Rogers drops down to
check on his friend who is screaming in pain.  A medical team quickly is
on the scene as well, checking on the injured San Jose Shark.  The
camera zooms in, catching a glimpse of an anguished Broussard...

...before fading to black.

...and then back up on a white screen.  The voice of Gordon Myers is
heard.]

"The AWA took 2008 by storm - breaking the mold of a modern wrestling
promotion.  And now, in 2009, we look to be hotter than ever.

But what if... you missed the beginning?"

[Red text appears on the screen.]

"AWA: YEAR ONE!"

[The text spins out of view to be replaced by a series of still photos
showing action from the first year of AWA action.]

"Witness highlights from the first AWA Saturday Night Wrestling.

See the very first AWA Rumble.

Highlights from Memorial Day Mayhem, The Last Stampede, Thanksgiving
weekend, and much, much more.

Plus, full matches including the 2008 Match of the Year - WarGames!

All of this fantastic AWA action will be available exclusively on DVD
and iTunes!  Check your local stores for details!"

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

...and then back up to the locker room area where Mark Stegglet is
standing with Championship Committee Chairman Stephen Ross.]

MS:  Welcome back, fans... I'm here with... well, Mr. Ross... what is
the condition of Marcus Broussard?

SR:  We're not sure, Mark.  He's under examination right now in a locker
room here at the Coliseum.  He's being checked out by a doctor but... it
looked pretty bad.

MS:  What about Dufresne and Freeman?

[Ross looks agitated at the mention of their names.]

SR:  Apparently, those two didn't learn anything by being suspended
until tonight.  So, this time, we'll try and force them to learn
something.  Effective immediately, those two are going to be suspended
for-

[Suddenly, the door opens behind the two men and Adam Rogers walks out.]

AR:  No.

[Ross looks puzzled.]

MS:  Adam, did you-

AR:  No.

SR:  What do you mean "no"?

[Rogers shakes his head.]

AR:  There will be no suspension.  There will be no fine.  We're
settling this tonight.

SR:  But what about-

AR:  I don't give a damn about your rules right now, Ross.  All I care
about is getting those two punks inside that ring once and for all so we
can end this thing.

[Ross looks annoyed but nods his head.]

SR:  Fine.  But you'll need a partner.  I'm not letting you go out there
alone to face those two-

AR:  I've got a partner.

SR:  Who?

AR:  The only partner I've ever needed.

[Rogers jerks his thumb towards the locker room door and then goes back
through it.]

MS:  Mr. Ross... is Marcus Broussard going to wrestle here tonight?

SR:  I don't... I don't know.  But I'm postponing that match until later
in the night so we can find out exactly what's going on!  Put the next
match on... right now!

MS:  But that means...

[Stegglet looks confused as Stephen Ross goes into the locker room.]

MS:  Gordon, Bucky... the tag title match is right now!  Back to you!

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

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a sixty minute
time limit and is for the AWA National Tag Team Titles!

[Big cheer!]

MC:  Introducing first... they are the challengers... at a total
combined weight of 580 pounds...

They are Scott Pain and Colt Patterson...

UNFINISHED BUSINESS!

[The two veteran grapplers emerge from the locker room area to a pretty
solid reaction from the crowd.  But living up to their new name, Pain
and Patterson appear to be all business as they make their way down the
aisle, ignoring the outstretched hands all along the aisleway.]

GM:  Unfinished Business, huh?  That's new.

BW:  I kinda like it, I think.

GM:  It fits them.  They both feel like they've got some unfinished
business to take care of in this industry before they retire - and that
business is golden.  

BW:  Tonight, they get a chance that they've been waiting years for,
Gordo.  Colt Patterson, you heard him say it two weeks ago, he's been
trying to get back to a title shot for 13 years.  That's a long time
between shots at a championship.

[Pain steps over the ropes while his partner slingshots over the top
rope, hopping up to the midbuckle to look out over the crowd.  There is
no salute to the fans, no posing, nothing of sorts to show that they're
anything other than focused on becoming the National Tag Team
Champions.]

MC:  And their opponents...

["My Old Kentucky Home" by Stephen C. Foster starts up to a HUGE
reaction from the AWA faithful.]

MC:  They are the AWA National Tag Team Champions... at a total combined
weight of 583 pounds...

City Jack... Tin Can Rust...

KENTUCKY'S PRIIIIIIIIDE!

[The cheers grow louder as City Jack and Tin Can Rust emerge from the
locker room area, title belts slung over their shoulders.  City Jack is
all smiles at the reaction of the Mississippi crowd, slapping hands with
everyone in sight.  His partner is a little more serious, pretty much
ignoring the crowd as he keeps his eyes locked on the ring where Scott
Pain is waiting alongside his best friend, Colt Patterson.]

GM:  And here come the champions, Bucky.

BW:  Something just occurred to me.  The champions are in a little bit
of an odd position here.  They've been a tag team off and on for about a
decade, right?

GM:  Correct.

BW:  Well, Pain and Patterson have been friends for almost fifteen
years!  And they were partners way back then as well.  Now, it may be a
long time since they teamed on a regular basis but there is a
possibility that this is the first time that Kentucky's Pride has ever
faced a tag team that know each other better than they do.

GM:  An excellent observation, Bucky.

[City Jack is the first up the ringsteps, climbing up to the middle rope
and saluting the massive crowd cheering on the tag team champions.  Tin
Can Rust follows closely behind, stepping through the ropes...

...and getting rushed by Unfinished Business!]

GM:  What the-?!

[The crowd explodes in a mixed reaction as referee Mickey Meekly calls
for the bell to start the match, Tin Can Rust immediately pinned against
the ropes being battered by Pain and Patterson.]

GM:  The match is underway!  Pain and Patterson taking it right to them,
just like they did to The Right Proper Thugs two weeks ago... 

[A panicked City Jack drops down off the middle rope, stepping through
the ropes...

...and catching a big boot to the side of the head by Scott Pain,
knocking Jack down to a seated position on the mat.  Pain continues to
batter him from a standing position, slamming down double axehandles to
the skull.]

GM:  Pain's all over City Jack... Patterson's got Rust on the ropes...

BW:  This is how they took it to the Thugs!  They're starting off
incredibly fast!

[Pain peels away from Jack, moving over to drill Rust with a double
axehandle across the back of the head.  They each grab an arm of TCR,
firing him off to the ropes...

...and joining hands, they take Rust down with a running double
clothesline!]

GM:  Ohhh!  Down goes TCR!

[Patterson turns away from Rust, connecting with a running clothesline
on a rising City Jack, knocking him back down to the mat.  A few stomps
knocks Jack under the ropes, putting him out on the floor.  Patterson
steps out on the apron, pumping an arm to a mixed reaction from the
corner...

...and then barrels down the apron, leaping off with a flying
shoulderblock off the apron onto a standing City Jack, knocking the big
man off his feet!]

GM:  OHHHH! 

BW:  What a move by Patterson!  A daredevil move but it worked and now
City Jack is in some big trouble outside the ring out on the floor.  His
partner is all alone inside the ring with the #1 contenders and that
can't be a good place to be.

GM:  Pain's got Rust in the corner... big forearm shot across the
chest...

[Back up on the apron, Patterson shouts an instruction to Scott Pain who
nods, dragging Rust from the buckles.]

GM:  Wait a second!  We saw this two weeks ago against the Thugs!

BW:  If they hit this, we've got new tag team champions, Gordo!

GM:  Pain ducks down... he's got Rust up on his shoulders...

[Patterson starts to scale the ropes as a desperate Rust starts pounding
the skull of Pain, trying to break out of his grip.]

GM:  Rust is fighting it!  He's trying to get free!

[A hard elbowsmash to the top of the skull causes Pain to stumble,
allowing Rust to slip down, landing on his feet behind Scott Pain where
he delivers a hard shove...

...which sends Pain crashing into the ropes, causing Patterson to crotch
himself on the top rope!]

GM:  OHHHHHHH!

BW:  Patterson got caught!

GM:  Pain just cost his partner in a big way and-

[The crowd cheers as Rust connects with a running clothesline in the
turnbuckles.  He quickly hooks a side headlock on Pain, charging out of
the corner...

...and SLAMS his face down to the canvas with a bulldog!]

GM:  Rust flips him over... one!  Two!  

[Pain fires a shoulder up at the two count.  Rust snaps a bit at that
point, grabbing Pain by the hair, driving hard right hands into the side
of Pain's head.  With his partner in trouble, Patterson pulls himself
down off the top rope...

...and gets grabbed by the ankle by City Jack who is still on the floor.
 Jack pulls hard, yanking Patterson under the bottom rope.]

GM:  Jack's got Patterson!

[The crowd roars as Jack throws a series of punches to the side of
Patterson's jaw before grabbing him behind the head...

...and HURLING him into the steel barricade!]

GM:  Good grief!

BW:  Pain and Patterson wanted a fight?  Well, they're getting it now!

[Rust pulls Pain off the mat, catching him with a hooking right hand
that knocks Pain back into the corner again.  With a bellow, Rust hops
up on the middle rope, holding his clinched fist high...]

GM:  He's got Pain cornered... here we go!

"ONE!"
"TWO!"
"THREE!"
"FOUR!"
"FIVE!"
"SIX!"
"SEVEN!"
"EIGHT!"
"NINE!"
"TEN!"

[The crowd roars as Rust hops down off the buckles.  He grabs Pain by
the wrist again, firing him across the ring.]

GM:  Ohhh!  Pain hits the corner hard... staggers out...

[Pain staggers out into the waiting arms of Rust who hoists the 6'10 man
up, spinning him around...

...and DRIVING him down to the canvas!]

GM:  CAN CRUSHER!  HE GOT HIM!!!

[Rust applies the lateral press, reaching back to hook a leg.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR- OHHHH!  PATTERSON PULLS RUST OFF PAIN!

[City Jack, who had taken a spot on the apron, shouts at the referee who
moves over to reprimand Patterson.  Patterson begs off, taking his own
spot on the apron while an agitated Rust tries to get him, only to be
held back by the official.]

GM:  Rust is trying to get at Patterson!  Colt Patterson just... well,
he just saved his team right there.  Scott Pain was done for after the
Can Crusher - guaranteed!

BW:  Patterson showed all those years of experience though and saved his
partner.  But now he needs to get inside that ring and keep the fight
going.  Pain is still hurt and hurt badly.

[A furious Rust turns away from Patterson, moving back in on Pain.  He
drags Pain off the mat, connecting with a right hand that knocks him
back into the corner where he slaps the hand of City Jack.]

GM:  The champions make the exchange and in comes Jack.

[Jack immediately gets the fans going with a series of snapping jabs to
the jaw of Scott Pain that has the 6'10 monster hanging onto the ropes
to stay on his feet.  Jack grabs him by the wrist, firing him into the
Unfinished Business corner...

...and with a bellyslap, he charges across the ring!]

GM:  AAAAAVAAAALAAAANNNNCH- OHHHHHH!

[The crowd reacts - more boos than cheers this time - as Colt Patterson
shoves Scott Pain out of the way, causing Jack to slam chestfirst into
the corner.  Patterson leans over the ropes, slapping the hand of Scott
Pain to bring himself into the match.]

GM:  In comes Patterson.  The former World Champion is all over City
Jack, stomps and kicks to the upper body.

[Patterson drops down in a mounted position, throwing right hands as
quickly as he can on the beefy tag team champion.]

GM:  Those are closed fists, ref!

[The former World Champion nods at the referee's demands, getting back
to his feet.  He delivers a few more stomps to the upper body, leaning
over to pull Jack off the mat.]

GM:  He's got Jack up... hooked...

[Patterson takes the big man over, snapping him down to the mat hard
with a suplex, floating over into a cover.]

GM:  One!  Two!  Not enough to keep City Jack down.

BW:  Impressive power display though to even manage to get him over,
Gordo.

GM:  That's for sure.  

[Patterson gets back to his feet, leaping sky high to drop an elbow down
into the chest of Jack.  Patterson quickly applies another lateral
press.]

GM:  One!  Two!  Another kickout!

[Looking over to the corner, Patterson gestures to his partner who puts
his massive boot up on the top rope.  Patterson pulls Jack up, charging
towards the corner...

...and SLAMS Jack's face into the boot!  Pain extends his hand for a tag
but Patterson waves him off.]

GM:  That's a little odd.  Colt Patterson just refused a tag from his
partner.

BW:  Well, Pain DID just get out of there.

GM:  He did but... ohh!  A hard right hand to the side of Jack's head,
knocking him back into the corner.

[Patterson gives up a whoop as he steps up on the midbuckle, raining
down blows to the side of City Jack's head.]

GM:  There's a handful of fans counting along this time but the fans
have thrown their support behind Kentucky's Pride here tonight in
Jackson, Mississippi.

BW:  Who cares?  Patterson is all over Jack.  He doesn't need the fans
to become a tag team champion.  

GM:  You can bet he'd like their support, Bucky.

[Patterson hops down off the ropes after the tenth blow lands, tossing
Jack down to the mat.  The tag team champion immediately reaches up to
the left side of his face, grasping at his eye area.]

GM:  Bucky, I- did City Jack hurt his eye?

BW:  It appears like he may have.  He immediately grabbed at that eye.

GM:  The referee noticed it too - he's right in there to check...

[Colt Patterson protests as the official holds him back from attacking. 
Patterson looks puzzled as the referee checks the condition of City
Jack.]

GM:  The ref is... he's saying the match can continue and-

[The crowd jeers as Patterson promptly drops a fistdrop right down in
the area the referee was checking.  The referee reprimands him as he
backs him away, checking on City Jack again.]

GM:  I'm a little surprised to see Colt Patterson do something like
that, Bucky.

BW:  I'm not.  A referee stoppage would give Unfinished Business the
gold.  Why not go after anything that you can to get the job done?

[Patterson backs off, begging off at the referee...

...and then lunges forward again, driving the point of his elbow down
into the eye area!]

GM:  Come on, referee!

[An irate Tin Can Rust rushes into the ring, swinging like a madman at
Colt Patterson, overwhelming the veteran and knocking him back into the
corner.  Rust tees off on him there, throwing rights and lefts to the
body as the referee protests.]

BW:  Get him out of there!  He's got no business being in-

[Suddenly, Scott Pain slings a leg over the ropes, stepping into the
ring.  He grabs Rust from behind by the head, throwing him down to the
mat...

...and connects with a huge running kick that knocks Rust back into the
corner.]

GM:  Ohhh!  Hard to the corner!

[Rust staggers back out of the corner right into a boot to the gut by
Pain.  The protesting official is ignores as Pain steps forward into a
standing headscissors...]

GM:  He's going for the powerbomb!  He's gonna put Tin Can Rust THROUGH
the mat!

[Pain reaches down, ready to hoist Rust into the air...

...but Rust straightens up and backdrops Pain OVER the ropes and down to
the floor!]

GM:  OHHHH!

BW:  Pain's down!  

[Tin Can Rust shakes off the effects of the big boot, moving in as
Patterson pulls City Jack up off the mat.]

GM:  Jack's back on his feet, still covering up that eye...

[Patterson clenches his fist, rearing back...

...where Tin Can Rust spins him around, catching him squarely with a
windup punch.]

GM:  TIN JAW ROCKER!

[The impact of the punch spins Patterson around...

...RIGHT into a blindly-thrown Metropill!]

GM:  OHHHHH!

[With Patterson dazed, Jack hooks a bearhug, powering Patterson into the
air...

...and DRIVING him down to the mat!]

GM:  METROBOOM!  METROBOOM!  ONE!!!  TWO!!!  THREEEEEE!!!!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


MC:  Your winners of the match... and STILL AWA National Tag Team
Champions...

KENTUCKY'S PRIIIIIIIIIIDE!!!

[Rust helps his partner off the mat, moving back to the corner where he
can rest.  The two veterans converse, the referee standing closely
nearby as Jack tries to rub his eye, attempting to clear his vision as
we fade to black.

...and then back up.  It's a shot of a few kids standing outside of a
classroom.  A fourth kid walks up to them, carrying his backpack over
his shoulder.]

4th Kid:  Hey guys... wait til you see what I got from AWAShop.com!

[He whips open the backpack and produces...

...a JUAN VASQUEZ BOBBLEHEAD!]

"Whoa!"

"Wow!"

"That rocks!"

"I want one... now!"

[The 4th kid looks pleased with himself...

...until a fifth kid walks up.]

5th Kid:  Juan Vasquez, huh?  That's not bad... but check this out!

[The 5th kid opens his backpack and reveals...

...a CITY JACK BOBBLEHEAD!]

"WHOA!"

"WOWER!"

"THAT ROCKS MORE!"

"I WANT ONE... NOW!"

[The fifth kid looks proud as the fourth kid looks sad at his Vasquez
bobblehead and we fade to black.

And then back up on live action where Melissa Cannon is standing.]

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

[ZZ Top's "Sharp Dressed Man" starts up to a monstrous tsunami of jeers
as the cocky duo of Calisto Dufresne and Adrian Freeman step into the
Mississippi Coliseum.  Dufresne struts a bit as he starts to walk down
the aisle while a very serious Freeman brings up the rear.]

MC:  At a total combined weight of 435 pounds...

"SUBZERO" ADRIAN FREEMAN AND "THE LADYKILLER" CALISTO DUFRESNE!

[The boos grow louder for the AWA's most hated duo as they make their
way to the ring, climbing the steps before entering through the ropes. 
Dufresne leaps to the middle ropes, arms spread open to soak up the
reaction as Freeman stands nearby, tugging the ropes to loosen up.]

GM:  These two are despicable, Bucky.  Absolutely sickening.

BW:  The best tag team in the wrestling world if you ask me!  Kentucky's
Pride oughta thank the Lord every day that they haven't had to defend
the titles against these two yet.

GM:  That'll all change if Dufresne and Freeman can defeat Adam Rogers
and who we can only presume will be an injured Marcus Broussard, Bucky. 
They'll have their three points and their shot at the champions.

BW:  A well-deserved shot, I might add.  

GM:  We'll see about that.  After the brutal assault with that pipe on
Broussard earlier, who knows what condition he'll be in for this match. 
He probably shouldn't even be in the thing, Bucky.

BW:  Pride is a hell of a thing, Gordo.  It makes a man do things he
shouldn't some times.

[Dufresne hops down off the middle rope, meeting up with his partner to
exchange strategy as the music changes to Deep Purple's "Smoke On the
Water" to a roar from the crowd.]

MC:  And their opponents... at a total combined weight of 495 pounds...

The team of...

[The first man to step through the curtain is a former World Champion
and all around superstar in the wrestling world, lifting an arm to
salute the cheering fans.]

MC:  "THE NATURAL" AAAAADAM ROOOOGERRRS!

[Rogers stops just inside the curtain, turning back...]

MC:  And...

[The curtain parts again to reveal the former National Champion, his
left arm heavily taped as he walks into view.]

MC:  "THE SAN JOSE SHARK" MAAAARRRCUS BROUUUUSSSARRRRD!

[The duo exchange a high-five before starting to walk down the aisle
towards the ring.  Broussard wears an anguished expression on his face,
seemingly cringing with every movement as he heads towards the ring
where a smirking Calisto Dufresne is holding one arm behind his back,
waving them on.]

GM:  Broussard's gonna fight!  I can't believe this.  

BW:  You act like it's Daniel LaRusso at the end of Karate Kid or
something, Gordo.

GM:  It's like... huh?

BW:  Well, I'll tell you something... if it IS like that, I'm gonna be
the one shoutin' "get 'im a body bag, yeaaaaah!"

GM:  What in the world are you talking about?

BW:  You know they're making movies with talking in them now, Gordo?

[Rogers rolls under the ropes into the ring as Broussard gingerly climbs
up on the apron, waving to the roaring fans before stepping through the
ropes into the ring.]

GM:  This is gonna be something else.  I've been looking forward to this
one for weeks now, Bucky.

BW:  Me too.  It's not every day you get to see a former World Champion
humiliated and put out to pasture while two future superstars stake
their claim to being the next big thing in this industry.

[The referee immediately leaps into the fray, trying to keep Rogers back
as he moves towards the two rulebreakers.]

GM:  AWA official Marty Meekly is trying to keep these two teams apart. 
Rogers just wants to get right in there in the worst possible way as
does the San Jose Shark who probably should've even be inside the ring
right now.

BW:  The ref should let 'em go.  Let's get this thing goin'!  We've
waited long enough!

GM:  And somewhere in this building, the National Tag Team Champions,
Kentucky's Pride have gotta be watching and waiting to see who comes out
on top of this one.  We talked about Freeman and Dufresne going for
their third point but Rogers and Broussard are going for their second. 
Both of these teams could be just weeks away from challenging for the
tag team titles.

BW:  Wouldn't that be something?  With the Bishops and Rough N Ready
tusslin' for the third point, one of these two teams slip in the back
door and get the job done?  

GM:  It could happen.  It certainly could.

[The referee exchanges words with both teams.  On one side of the ring,
Adrian Freeman nods his head, shaking hands with his partner before
stepping out to the apron, leaving the Ladykiller to start the match. 
On the other side, a persistent Marcus Broussard is talking to the
Natural.]

GM:  Wait a second.  Is Marcus trying to start the match?

BW:  It sure looks like it.

GM:  Marcus Broussard is demanding that he start the match!  He wants
some payback against these clowns right now!

BW:  Who's a clown when you've got a guy with a bad wing trying to fly
solo?

[Reluctantly, Rogers nods his head and gives his partner a high-five
before stepping out to the apron.  Marty Meekly checks that both men are
ready...

...and calls for the bell!]

GM:  Here we go!  A sixty minute time limit grudge match between these
two teams that have been trading shots for months now.  This should be
something else to see, Bucky.

BW:  Or it could be over in about thirty seconds when Dufresne cranks
down on that arm.  One or the other.

GM:  We're about to find out - that's for sure.

[As the bell sounds, the arrogant Dufresne strides out to the middle of
the ring, striking an awkward martial arts style pose, waving Broussard
to "bring it on."]

GM:  Look at this guy... no shame at all for what he helped perpertrate
back there in the locker room.  No shame.

BW:  Why should he be ashamed?  He may have just guaranteed them a shot
at the tag team titles.  He should be honored for having such a sound
strategy.  I mean, he did say they had some pre-match preparations to
do, Gordo.

GM:  Unbelievable.

[Mockingly, Dufresne sticks his right hand out for a handshake that
Broussard wastes no time in slapping away.  With a smirk, Dufresne
lunges forward, trying to grab the left arm.  Broussard moves his left
side backwards in a circle, trying to keep it out of reach.]

GM:  He's already going for the arm!

BW:  Of course he is.  You think they went after it so he could target
the leg instead?  Don't be an idiot.

[The Ladykiller reaches for the arm again, again causing Broussard to
spin away from the attack.  He leans in again, extending his hand to
grab the Shark...

...and catches a balled-up right hand to the forehead that causes
Dufresne to stumble back, complaing about a clenched fist to the
official as the fans cheer.]

GM:  That'll straighten Dufresne up!  He might not be so quick to try
and grab that left arm if he's gonna catch a haymaker to the melon,
Bucky!

[An irate Dufresne rushes forward, right into a loose side headlock
applied by Broussard.  The San Jose Shark is immediately backed into the
ropes where Dufresne throws him off.]

GM:  To the ropes goes the Shark... 

[Dufresne drops down, causing Broussard to leap over him and keep on
running to the far ropes where he hits again.  Charging back across,
Broussard shockingly leaves his feet, taking Dufresne down with a cross
body!]

GM:  Whoa!  He caught him there!  One!  No!  Broussard right back to his
feet!

BW:  He knew he wouldn't get him alread-

[The San Jose Shark pulls back, arms in a defensive posture as an angry
Dufresne climbs up off the mat, glaring at Broussard.]

GM:  And I think Dufresne just got a little bit embarrassed by the
former National Champion!

BW:  A cross body?  By Broussard?  Who does he think he is?

GM:  Broussard is ready for him!  Broussard is ready for a fight!

[Dufresne stands back, continuing to glare at Broussard who shouts out,
"You want it?  Come and get it!" to even more cheers from the Jackson
crowd.]

GM:  Dufresne edging towards him... 

BW:  And you can see Broussard positioning himself so that the injured
arm is behind his torso.  It's a smart move considering the
circumstances.

[The Ladykiller lunges forward suddenly, hooking in a collar and elbow
where he uses his height to push Broussard back into the corner.  Marty
Meekly is immediately on the scene to call for a break...

...which results in Dufresne throwing a right hand into the jaw of
Broussard, knocking him back against the buckles.  Dufresne yanks
Broussard's arm over the ropes, exposing his chest for a skin-blistering
knife-edge chop across the pectorals!]

GM:  Goodness - what a chop by Dufresne!

[Grabbing the injured limb, Dufresne moves to execute an Irish whip that
Broussard manages to counter, sending Dufresne to the neutral corner
where he leaps up to the middle rope, spinning to leap off...

...and catching a big time European uppercut under the chin that knocks
Dufresne down to the mat!  The Ladykiller quickly scampers up, moving
in...

...only to find Broussard backpedaled into his corner where he and
Rogers await the rulebreaker!]

GM:  Oh yeah!  The European uppercut put to good use there and
Dufresne's checking to make sure he's still got all his teeth after that
one, Bucky.

BW:  It was a nice shot but it's still early, Gordo.  Don't get so
excited.

[An irritated Dufresne kicks the nearby bottom rope, pacing back and
forth a bit as he eyes Broussard in the corner.]

GM:  Dufresne over to his own corner... Freeman with a few words for him
but Dufresne is hot under the collar, Bucky!  He's fired up!

BW:  This isn't going the way he planned it.  I'm sure he'd admit that.

[Dufresne marches to the middle of the ring where Broussard meets him,
both men trashtalking the whole time.]

GM:  Dufresne just threatened to break his face.  

BW:  Oh, I'd pay to see that one.

GM:  Look at this - both men eye to eye in the middle of the ring,
running each other down with their words... this is intense, Bucky!

[Broussard nods his head, backing away... 

...and then pops Dufresne under the chin with an elbowsmash, knocking
him a couple steps back.  The Ladykiller dashes back in...

...and gets hiptossed down to the mat!]

GM:  Broussard is having his way with Dufresne!

[The Ladykiller scampers back to his feet, rushing in again...

...and gets taken right back down to the mat with a backdrop throw!]

GM:  Down goes Dufresne again!

[But the arrogant Dufresne will not stay down, popping back up with a
bit of a stagger, catching a right hand on the chin before Broussard
spins away...

...and drills Freeman with a right hand as well to the cheers of the
crowd!]

GM:  The San Jose Shark is on fire!

[With the crowd roaring, Freeman steps through the ropes to help his
partner...

...who is quickly joined by Adam Rogers.  Marty Meekly throws himself
between the two teams, keeping them at bay from one another as they get
ready to throw down!]

GM:  This one is threatening to break down early but Marty Meekly is
immediately out there to try to regain some control.  Trying to keep
things under control.

BW:  Good luck with that.  If Broussard keeps cheating like-

GM:  Cheating?!

BW:  What would you call it when he illegally strikes the man out on the
apron?

GM:  Payback!

[With the referee trying to settle things down, both teams make the
exchange leaving Adrian Freeman and Adam Rogers inside the squared
circle.]

GM:  Both sides make the tag - getting Broussard and his injured arm out
of the ring has gotta be a good thing for the chances of the Shark and
the Natural.

BW:  He wasn't doing too badly so far.

GM:  Rogers is glaring at Freeman.  These two had quite the singles
match on Saturday Night Wrestling not long ago that Freeman actually
ended up victorious in - a result that has driven Rogers as of late.

BW:  Rogers says he never should've lost to someone like Freeman but
what will he say if he loses to him twice, Gordo?

GM:  We may find out later tonight.

[Freeman and Rogers square off, the intense Freeman quickly hooking a
collar-and-elbow that he spins around, using the momentum to walk Rogers
back into the buckles.]

GM:  Freeman backs down Rogers...

[The Australian explodes with a barrage of forearms to the side of the
face of the Natural before delivering a hard kick to the midsection.  He
grabs the wrist of Rogers, attempting a whip but the Natural reverses
it, sending Freeman into the corner where he staggers out...

...and leapfrogs over an attempt at a backdrop.  Landing on his feet,
Freeman straightens up, spinning with a clothesline attempt that Rogers
ducks, causing Freeman to smash into the buckles again where Rogers
hiptosses him halfway across the ring!]

GM:  Ohh!  Big throw by the Natural!

[Freeman quickly scampers to his feet...

...and gets DRILLED with a running clothesline that knocks him flat.]

GM:  He caught him with the clothesline!  

BW:  Freeman's dazed but he's getting back-

GM:  Another clothesline!

[The crowd cheers at Rogers knocking Freeman flat, then buzzes with
warning as Dufresne comes charging in...

...and gets taken down to the mat with a hiptoss throw!  More cheers! 
Dufresne quickly gets up, catching a hard right hand from Broussard that
sends him staggering towards Rogers who grabs the Ladykiller's arm,
whipping him across the ring...

...and right into a rising Freeman, knocking both men down, sending them
rolling under the ropes and out to the floor to the roar of the crowd!]

GM:  Oh yeah!  These fans are on their feet, Bucky!

BW:  What do they know?  Let me answer that - absolutely nothing!

GM:  Freeman and Dufresne are on their heels, they're on the defensive
and they need to figure out what's going wrong in a hurry.

[The two rulebreakers huddle up on the floor, exchanging strategies as
Adam Rogers stands on the middle rope, waving them back into battle. 
They ignore his cries and the referee's count which reaches six before
Freeman climbs up on the apron, slowly stepping through the ropes back
into the ring.]

GM:  Freeman's back in... Rogers is waiting for him...

[The two technicians lunge at one another, tying up in a
collar-and-elbow that Rogers quickly turns into a side headlock,
cranking down on the head and neck of the Australian who reaches up to
grab a handful of hair, backing Rogers towards the ropes.]

GM:  Handful of hair puts Rogers on the ropes... fires him off...

[Freeman drops down immediately, looking for a backdrop but a
well-placed boot from the Natural straightens him up.  Freeman lunges in
immediately...

...and gets taken down to the mat with an armdrag, staying on the arm to
quickly turn it into an armbar.]

GM:  And Adrian Freeman goes down to the mat again.  You know, Freeman
and Dufresne have really got Rogers fired up lately.  He wants to prove
to these two in the worst way that he's still got plenty left in the gas
tank.  I expect to see him try to outwrestle Freeman on the mat at every
chance tonight.

[Kneeling on the mat, Rogers keeps his grip on the arm, torquing it as
Freeman looks for an escape.  Freeman sits up, causing Rogers to change
his grip as the Australian works his way to his feet, backing Rogers
towards the corner where Broussard tags himself in unknowingly.]

GM:  Rogers in the buckles...

[Freeman breaks the armbar, rearing back with a right hand...

...and gets his arms caught by Broussard who holds him open for a right
hand from Rogers before spinning him around and connecting with a right
hand of his own before grabbing the wrist of Freeman, spinning him into
an armtwist.]

GM:  Armtwist applied on Freeman - Broussard might be looking for some
symbolic payback here.  An arm for an arm perhaps?

BW:  Perhaps you're a bigger idiot that I thought.

GM:  Freeman back up, turning his back on Broussard...

[Using his leverage, Freeman counters the armdrag with one of his own...

...but Broussard maintains the hold on the armbar!]

GM:  He keeps the armbar on!  Nicely done by- uh oh!

BW:  Alright!  Now we're talking!

GM:  Fans, you can see Broussard shaking out that arm.  That injured
left arm may have just gotten hurt when Broussard tried to keep the
armbar applied during the counter.  He's shaking the arm, backing to his
own corner...

[Backing to the corner, still clinging to the arm of Freeman, Broussard
slaps the hand of Adam Rogers who quickly comes in, hooking the arm of
Freeman.]

GM:  Broussard out to the apron and look at his face, Bucky.  He's
hurting badly right now.  He's clutching that arm like he's done some
serious damage to it.

[Rogers is walked across the ring by Freeman towards Dufresne.]

GM:  Dufresne just shouted at Broussard that he's gonna get that arm. 
There's no secret what the gameplan is here tonight for Dufresne and
Freeman.  There's a tag by Dufresne...

[Dufresne rushes into the ring as Rogers releases Freeman...

...and takes Dufresne down in an armdrag as well, hooking an armbar on
the Ladykiller.]

GM:  You can see Adam Rogers keeping an eye on his corner.  He's
obviously concerned about his partner.  He's checking on-

[Using Rogers' distracted state, Dufresne connects with a headbutt to
the side of the face that frees him from the armbar, knocking Rogers a
few steps back.]

GM:  Dufresne hooks him... snap mare down to the mat... where's he going
now?

[Perhaps looking for a quick kill, Dufresne hops up on the middle rope,
strikes a quick double bicep pose...

...and then hurls himself off, elbow aimed for the skull of Rogers!]

GM:  ELLLLBOOO- NO!

[The crowd roars as the point of Dufresne's left elbow hits the canvas! 
The Ladykiller comes up to his knees, clutching the left arm as Rogers
quickly grabs hold of it, twisting and pulling into armbar once again. 
He cranks on the arm before slamming an elbow down across the bicep,
dragging him back towards the corner where Broussard is calling for a
tag.]

GM:  You've gotta admire the heart of Broussard, continuing to fight
with that injured arm.

BW:  He's an idiot, Gordo.  Plain and simple.

GM:  There's a tag to Marcus... up to the middle rope...

[Broussard leaps off the buckles, smashing the torqued bicep of Dufresne
with a forearm smash across it.  Grabbing the wrist, Broussard executes
an armtwist before tripping the legs out from under Dufresne, shoving
him back down on the mat before reapplying an armbar.]

GM:  And Marcus needs to be careful here.  He just tagged out of the
match and Dufresne's been saying he's going after the arm.  He needs to
watch it.

[Dufresne gets his feet under him, pushing up to his feet and shoving
the Shark back against the ropes where a hard headbutt catches him in
the ear.  Grabbing the Shark by the wrist, Dufresne fires him to the
ropes.]

GM:  Whip by Dufresne... backdr- ohh!  Broussard kicked him in the face!

[The kick straightens up Dufresne and allows the Shark to take him right
back down with another armdrag...

...and again, he comes up wincing and shaking the left arm.]

GM:  Look at that, Bucky.  He hurt the arm again.

BW:  And now we're seeing how bad of a situation this is for Broussard. 
He can barely do anything right now without hurting the arm, Gordo.  He
thought he could compete in this match but I think we're seeing right
now that he made the wrong decision.  Now he just has to hope he can get
out of this without shortening his career.

GM:  Broussard's back up, heading for the corner.  He's gotta get out of
there again.

[Making the tag, Rogers steps in and lashes out with a hard kick to the
arm that knocks Dufresne down to a knee.  Rogers sweeps the legs out
from under him, dropping down to a seated position with one foot on the
side of Dufresne's head and one under his armpit, pulling the left arm
out at full extension.]

GM:  Oh my... he's gonna put some pressure on the arm of Dufresne now,
pulling it out as far as he can.

BW:  It's an easy way to dislocate someone's shoulder.

GM:  Dufresne's struggling against it... trying to find a way out...

BW:  And in this position, Dufresne has to be careful about keeping his
shoulders off the mat as well...

[Proving Bucky right, the referee makes a two count before Dufresne
fires his right shoulder off the mat.  Grimacing, he settles back down
on the mat and again has to beat a two count.  Sucking up the pain,
Dufresne rolls to his knees, forcing up to his feet while still in the
arm hold.  The action causes Rogers' shoulders to push down on the mat,
the referee dropping down to count.]

GM:  One!  Two!  

[The crowd cheers as Broussard reaches over the ropes with a right hand
that knocks Dufresne off his feet, flat on his back where Rogers
readjusts and keeps the arm hold on.]

GM:  Hehehe.

BW:  You liked that?  You hypocrite!

GM:  Rogers keeps the arm stretched out... and there's a tag to
Broussard...

[The San Jose Shark charges back in, stomping down hard on the
outstretched bicep.]

GM:  Oof!  Hard stomp by Marcus!  And back to an armbar he goes!

[Broussard nods his head confidently as he pulls back on the arm,
stretching the muscles and ligaments in the arm of the Ladykiller. 
Dufresne struggles against the armbar, getting to his knees, and slowly
working up to his feet...

...where his free hand grabs the injured arm of Broussard, causing the
Shark to break his grip.]

GM:  He's got the arm!  He's got the arm!

[The Shark quickly makes the tag to Rogers, bringing the Natural back
into apply a side headlock on Dufresne who quickly backs him to the
ropes, throwing him off.]

GM:  Rogers to the ropes...

[A big running tackle takes Dufresne off his feet to the cheers of the
crowd.  Rogers promptly hits the ropes again, missing a second tackle
when Dufresne sidesteps it...

...but ducking a clothesline attempt by the Ladykiller, grabbing him as
he turns around, and taking him down with another hiptoss!]

GM:  Rogers is outclassing both of these men on the mat right now,
Bucky!

[Pulling Dufresne up, Rogers fires him to the ropes while making the
tag...

...and Dufresne runs headlong right into a double back elbow that knocks
him off his feet.  Adrian Freeman charges into the fray, looking to help
his partner.]

GM:  In comes Freeman...

[Rogers and Broussard drop down to a knee, driving the back elbows into
the midsection of the incoming Australian, causing him to fall back into
his own corner.  Dufresne crawls over to join his partner in the corner,
attempting to regroup as the fan favorites exchange a high-five to the
cheers of the crowd.]

GM:  The Shark and the Natural are rockin' and rollin' all over Dufresne
and Freeman, fans!  We've got to take a quick break - if the match were
to end during the break, we'll be sure to show you the finish on instant
replay so don't you dare go away!

[With Broussard standing in the middle of the ring, fists balled up and
ready for a fight, we fade to black.

...and then back up on a white screen.  The voice of Gordon Myers is
heard.]

"The AWA took 2008 by storm - breaking the mold of a modern wrestling
promotion.  And now, in 2009, we look to be hotter than ever.

But what if... you missed the beginning?"

[Red text appears on the screen.]

"AWA: YEAR ONE!"

[The text spins out of view to be replaced by a series of still photos
showing action from the first year of AWA action.]

"Witness highlights from the first AWA Saturday Night Wrestling.

See the very first AWA Rumble.

Highlights from Memorial Day Mayhem, The Last Stampede, Thanksgiving
weekend, and much, much more.

Plus, full matches including the 2008 Match of the Year - WarGames!

All of this fantastic AWA action will be available exclusively on DVD
and iTunes!  Check your local stores for details!"

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

...and then back up on live action where a pain-ravaged Marcus Broussard
is backing into the ropes, Dufresne on the offensive.  Up against the
ropes, Dufresne snaps off a picture-perfect chop across the chest to the
jeers of the crowd.]

GM:  We are back - and during the break, Calisto Dufresne managed to get
the edge on Marcus Broussard with some underhanded tactics, fans.

BW:  Prove it.

GM:  We have it on video.

BW:  Video that no one will ever see, daddy!

GM:  You may be right about that and- ohh!  Another hard chop by
Dufresne!  The Ladykiller's got Broussard on the ropes... Irish whip by
the injured arm... ducks a clothesline by Dufresne... flying forearm on
the button!

[Dufresne falls back from the forearm smash, falling towards his
corner...

...but Broussard rushes to grab him, snapping him over in a deep armbar,
reapplying an armbar and jamming his knee into the ribcage for
leverage.]

GM:  Deep armbar applied by Broussard... regaining the edge in this
one...

BW:  But he's still shaking that arm.  He's still hurting that injured
arm with each and every move - especially that armdrag.  It's doing so
much damage to him.

GM:  Broussard immediately to his feet, he knows he's hurting...

[He backs to the corner, slapping the hand of Rogers who slips into the
ring...

...and takes down Dufresne in a schoolboy rollup!]

GM:  We've got one!  Two!  He's out at two...

[Dufresne quickly gets to his feet, beating Rogers to a vertical base,
and delivers a hard kick to the gut.  With the Natural doubled up, the
Ladykiller smashes down with an elbow just behind the ear of the former
World Champion.]

GM:  That one puts him back in the corner...

[Moving in, Dufresne lashes out with a kick to the left kneecap that
knocks Rogers down to his right knee.  Grabbing a handful of hair, he
drags him across the ring, making the tag to Freeman who immediately
drives two kicks of his own into the knee of Rogers, causing him to fall
back against the ropes.]

GM:  And I'm not sure where this strategy is coming from but suddenly,
they're going after the left knee of Adam Rogers!

BW:  How many limbs can Rogers and Broussard survive without, daddy?

GM:  We may be about to find out.

[Freeman muscles Rogers back into the corner, delivering a hard forearm
smash to the jaw before snapmaring him out of the buckles where Dufresne
now stands.]

GM:  Back in their own corner now...

[With Rogers down, Freeman leaps up and drops a knee down on the
midsection of the Natural before hooking the left leg and twisting the
ankle.]

GM:  He's going after the leg again...

[A desperate Rogers kicks off with both feet, knocking Freeman down...

...but the Australian is right back up, taking Rogers back down with a
single leg takedown.  He quickly reaches out, slapping the hand of
Dufresne as he pins the ankle to the mat.]

GM:  Oh no!  Oh no!  Not a...

[Dufresne quickly scales the second rope, leaping off with a kneedrop
across the pinned leg, sending cries of agony into the air from the
Natural.]

GM:  Ohhh!

BW:  The arm of Broussard.  The leg of Rogers.  Something's gotta give,
daddy!

GM:  Dufresne rolls Rogers to his back, scissoring the ankle between his
own, twisting that knee underneath his own body.

[Rogers tries to fight it, hooking his arm around the throat of Dufresne
but as the Ladykiller increases the pressure of the vise-like hold,
Rogers releases the grip and lets out a moan of pain.  Balling up his
fist, Dufresne rains down hammerfist blows on the kneecap of Rogers.]

GM:  Look at him!  He's all over the knee like a wild animal!

BW:  You know a lot of wild animals that throw punches like that?

GM:  He's pounding the knee relentlessly!  Get in there, referee!

BW:  For what?  What do you want the referee to do about it, Gordo? 
He's doing nothing illegal!

[Rogers wraps his hands around the face of Dufresne, pulling back in a
quasi-chinlock...

...but another trio of hard hammerfists to the knee cause him to break
his grip, smacking his arms against the mat in frustration.]

GM:  Dufresne's got this hold on tight and he's doing some tremendous
damage to the left knee of Adam Rogers at this stage of the matchup. 
Outside the ring, Broussard is trying to rally his partner to make the
tag.

BW:  The one-legged man tagging the one-armed man.  Not exactly an
improvement.

GM:  At this stage of the match, it would be, Bucky, because Rogers is
in some serious trouble right now.  Dufresne's leaning on the knee,
punching it on occasion... trying to increase the pressure...

[The crowd slowly begins a chant of "ROG-ERS!"  "ROG-GERS!" which allows
Adam a little more energy to hammer away at the upper body of Dufresne
with forearm smashes...

...enough to cause Dufresne to break the hold and make the tag to
Freeman.]

GM:  The tag's made... Rogers is crawling for a tag!

[But Freeman cuts it off with an elbowdrop to the back of the head,
stopping Rogers dead in the middle of the ring before delivering a few
stomps to the upper thigh.  Smirking, Freeman leaves his feet, dropping
a knee down on the back of Rogers' injured knee, causing him to wail in
pain.]

GM:  Good grief!

BW:  This isn't gonna be for the faint of heart, Gordo.  These two men
mean to do serious damage to Broussard and Rogers here tonight.  They
potentially could take them out of this sport tonight.  Can you imagine
that?  The #3 and #5 contenders to the National Title taken out in one
match?  What a glorious night it'd be for Kolya Sudakov!

GM:  That's another story altogether, Bucky.  But for now, what in the
world is Freeman...

[With Rogers on his stomach, Freeman grabs the injured leg, hooking the
lower leg under his armpit and applies a half Boston Crab on it.]

GM:  Half crab applied by Freeman!

BW:  And if there is one man inside that ring you do NOT want applying a
hold on you, it's Adrian Freeman.  The man is brutal, he's ruthless, and
he's brilliant.  He knows how to hurt someone with a hold like this and
hurt them very, very badly.

GM:  He's leaning back, applying more pressure to that knee.

BW:  Look at the torque on the knee...


"LET'S GO A-DAM, LET'S GO!"
"LET'S GO A-DAM, LET'S GO!"
"LET'S GO A-DAM, LET'S GO!"


GM:  The fans are rallying behind him... trying to get him to the
corner...

[With the hold still applied, Freeman suddenly lets go, spinning around,
and shouting in the direction of Marcus Broussard, an action that brings
the San Jose Shark into the ring...

...where Marty Meekly cuts him off.]

GM:  The Shark wants in there in the worst way...

[With Meekly's back turned, Dufresne rushes in, stomping and kicking the
leg of Rogers.  He leaps up, dropping a knee on the injured knee...

...and then slips out of the ring, leaving Freeman to reapply the half
Crab with the puzzled referee looking on.]

GM:  Illegal doublete-

BW:  Hold on a second!  It was Broussard that caused that to happen!

GM:  He forced Dufresne to get in the ring?

BW:  Obviously not but he fell for the suckerjob.  You're gonna blame
Dufresne and Freeman for taking advantage of it?

GM:  Give me a break!

[Broussard is barking at the referee, trying to rally the fans as he
paces on the apron, dying to get back into the ring where Freeman is
stretching the leg of his partner.  Rogers is bellycrawling across the
ring, trying to drag his body and Freeman's body across the ring.]

GM:  The leg isn't supposed to be bent like that, Bucky.

BW:  No, no it's not.

GM:  Rogers is trying to get across the ring... just dragging himself. 
Come on, Adam.  You've gotta get out of there... gotta get out of
there...

[Broussard reaches out his hand as far as he can, ready to slap the hand
of his approaching partner...

...but Freeman breaks the Crab again, swinging around to drill Broussard
with a right hand.]

GM:  Ohh!  He caught Marcus with a- no!  Marcus, don't!

[The San Jose Shark, not used to tag team wrestling, storms into the
ring again and again gets stopped by the official...

...which allows Dufresne to slide in again without a tag.  Freeman slips
out to the apron while Dufresne drops down on the mat, just grabbing the
ankle of Rogers and yanking back as hard as he can on it.]

GM:  Come on, referee!

[The referee turns around, confused by the change of people in the ring
but allows it while the fans and Marcus Broussard protest vehemately. 
Dufresne grits his teeth, pulling back with all his strength on the leg
of Rogers, screaming "ASK HIM!" at the referee...

...but Dufresne leans too far back, allowing Rogers to catch him with a
hard side elbow smash to the side of the face, breaking the hold.]

GM:  He's out!  He's out!

BW:  But Dufresne's still got him by the leg!

GM:  Both men are up on their feet and-

[Rogers leaps into the air, lashing out with his other foot to catch
Dufresne in the temple, knocking him flat!]

GM:  DUFRESNE IS DOWN!   COME ON, ADAM!  MAKE THAT TAG!

[Down on the mat on his belly, Rogers begins crawling towards a
corner...

...but it's the wrong corrner.]

GM:  He's going the wrong way!

BW:  Rogers is so addled right now, he doesn't have a clue which way
he's going.  He's in so much pain from the beating that his knee has
been taking, he has no idea which way to...

GM:  OHHH!

[The crowd jeers as Freeman steps in, drops a knee on the back of
Rogers' head, and then steps right back out as a dazed Dufresne grabs
the foot again.]

GM:  Dufresne's got the leg...

[He shouts out "figure four" to the jeers of the crowd and then attempts
to execute it, spinning through the spinning toehold but when he reaches
down to grab the other leg...

...he eats a right hand from Rogers!]

GM:  Ohh!  Rogers caught him!

[With the crowd cheering him on, Rogers throws right hand after right
hand after right hand, breaking Dufresne's grip on the leg and causing
him to stagger away...

...where he falls into a tag to Adrian Freeman who rushes into the ring
while Dufresne grabs the injured leg of Rogers, preventing him from
getting across the ring.]

GM:  He cut off the tag!  I thought Rogers was gonna make it that time
but Dufresne managed to...

[A hard forearm smash by Freeman knocks the off-balance Rogers back down
to the mat where the technician grabs the Natural by the ankle yet
again.  Placing his foot on the upper thigh of Rogers, Freeman throws
his body backwards, yanking the leg against the grain and causing Rogers
to cry out in pain again.]

GM:  Good grief!

BW:  Torn hamstring, anyone?

GM:  You're loving this, aren't you?

BW:  I told you I was going to enjoy any suffering the fans had to go
through tonight and on a night where two of their heroes are being
physically destroyed, I'm loving every second of it.

GM:  You're sick.  You're completely sick.

[Back on his feet, Freeman drops a knee down on the leg, shoving Rogers
back to his stomach again and just grabbing ahold of the ankle, pulling
back on the leg, forcing Rogers to stare across the ring where his
partner is waiting with an outstretched hand.]

GM:  Freeman's pulling with all his might... trying to get...

[Rogers works himself to his side, grabbing Freeman as he gets too close
and drives fist after fist after fist to the side of the jaw, breaking
the hold.]

GM:  He's out!  Go, go, go! 

[But as Rogers gets to his feet, Freeman swoops him, picking the injured
leg up, and then executing a back heel trip to knock Rogers back down
before dropping an elbow down on the injured knee joint.]

GM:  Aggh.

BW:  I've never seen you so biased before, Gordo.

GM:  I've never wanted to see a team lose so badly before.  Fans, we're
about twenty minutes into this one and we've seen Freeman and Dufresne
just physically dismantle Rogers and Broussard so far.

[Freeman scissors the leg between his own, pulling back on the ankle as
the referee continues to check to see if Adam Rogers wants to submit.]

GM:  Rogers refuses to give up... refuses!

BW:  He may be risking his career doing that.

[With the leg trapped, Rogers throws a few forearms to break the hold,
allowing himself room to move.  Both men scamper to their feet, Freeman
cutting him off with a knee to the gut, just narrowly preventing the
tag.]

GM:  Freeman's got him against the ropes... whip- reversed by Rogers!

[The Australian rebounds off the far ropes as a desperate Rogers ducks
his head...

...and sends Freeman SAILING across the ring with a backdrop!]

GM:  BACKDROP!  BACKDROP!

BW:  No!

GM:  Rogers is up!  Come on, Adam!  Come ON!

[A dazed Freeman slaps the hand of Dufresne, causing the Ladykiller to
rush in just as...]

GM:  LET'S GO!  LET'S GO!  LET'S GO!

[The crowd ERUPTS!]

GM:  TAG!

[Marcus Broussard comes charging into the ring, connecting with right
hand after right hand after right hand on the incoming Dufresne.]

GM:  Whip by Broussard...

[The crowd ERUPTS for another sky high backdrop!]

GM:  He nearly put him through the roof with that one!  Broussard is on
fire and-

[As Dufresne staggers to his feet, Broussard wraps him up in a bearhug.]

GM:  BELLY TO BEL- NO!

BW:  THE ARM!  THE ARM!

[Dufresne grabs the arm, promptly leaping into the air, and DRIVING
Broussard down to the mat with a single arm DDT.  Broussard lets loose
an ear-piercing yelp of pain, immediately cradling the arm and shoulder
as Dufresne climbs atop him, grabbing the wrist and kicking at the
outstretched arm.]

GM:  Come on!  

BW:  Broussard got cocky and it may have cost him everything!

GM:  Dufresne's all over the arm of Broussard - that arm they attacked
and injured with a steel pipe earlier tonight!  He's pounding away at
the arm!  Broussard's trying to rip it free and cover it up but he's
just being pummeled by Dufresne!

[Dufresne quickly applies an armtwist, pounding with overhand forearms
onto the bicep, then switching to uppercut blows as well.]

GM:  This is horrible!  This is awful!  We've got to take another break!
 We'll be right back!

[With Dufresne hooking on an armbar, we fade to black.

...and then back up.  It's a shot of a few kids standing outside of a
classroom.  A fourth kid walks up to them, carrying his backpack over
his shoulder.]

4th Kid:  Hey guys... wait til you see what I got from AWAShop.com!

[He whips open the backpack and produces...

...a JUAN VASQUEZ BOBBLEHEAD!]

"Whoa!"

"Wow!"

"That rocks!"

"I want one... now!"

[The 4th kid looks pleased with himself...

...until a fifth kid walks up.]

5th Kid:  Juan Vasquez, huh?  That's not bad... but check this out!

[The 5th kid opens his backpack and reveals...

...a CITY JACK BOBBLEHEAD!]

"WHOA!"

"WOWER!"

"THAT ROCKS MORE!"

"I WANT ONE... NOW!"

[The fifth kid looks proud as the fourth kid looks sad at his Vasquez
bobblehead and we fade to black.

And then back up on live action where Adrian Freeman is driving elbows
down on the shoulder of a kneeling Broussard.  He grabs the wrist of
Broussard, jerking hard on the arm with the crowd chanting "LET'S GO
MAR-CUS, LET'S GO!" in the background.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans - and during the break, Dufresne and Freeman
absolutely worked over the arm of Marcus Broussard!  Adam Rogers is out
on the apron, barely able to put weight on that knee but inside the
ring, his partner is being decimated by Adrian Freeman.

[Holding an armbar, Freeman slaps the hand of Dufresne who scales to the
middle rope, leaping off with a forearm smash down across the
outstretched arm, knocking Broussard down to his knees where Dufresne
quickly grabs for the arm again.]

GM:  You have to think that Rogers and Broussard were not ready for
this.  They have have been ready for the cheating, for the brawling, for
the out-and-out fight... but they couldn't have been ready for this. 
Like them or not, Dufresne and Freeman are putting on an absolute clinic
on how to destroy an opponent's body part right now in this one.

[With Broussard on his knees, Dufresne hooks a hammerlock, pushing up
hard on the arm...

...and then switching position, where he can pull on the arm instead.]

GM:  Hammerlock... back to the armtwist...

[Dufresne smirks as he throws another uppercutting forearm into the
injured arm, causing Broussard to grimace in pain.  The blow knocks
Broussard back down to a knee where Dufresne simply shoves him down to
the mat, pinning the left wrist to the canvas.]

GM:  Dufresne's holding down the arm... you've gotta be careful here...

[Pushing up off the mat, Dufresne drives a knee down on the bicep... and
another... and another... and another... and another... and another...
and another.]

GM:  Good grief!  Somebody stop this!

BW:  Marty Meekly can stop it, Gordo.  Marty Meekly can make this all go
away with a referee stoppage.  Do it, Marty.  Tell all these idiots in
the crowd that their heroes can't defend themselves anymore.  Tell them
that if you let the match go on, their careers are gonna die tonight in
Mississippi.  Death or glory, huh?  I didn't know we were talking about
the careers of Rogers and Broussard when we named the event.

GM:  Would you stop?

[With the arm pinned, the referee counts.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  

[But Broussard rolls a shoulder off the mat just in time...

...and then eats three more knees to the arm before Dufresne shoves the
arm down, yelling "COUNT HIM!" again.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR- shoulder rolls up in time!

[An irate Dufresne pulls him off the mat, dragging him back to the
corner where Adrian Freeman tags in and drives an elbowsmash down on the
outstretched arm.]

GM:  Freeman's back in now...

[With Broussard doubled up, Freeman drives an elbow down into the back
of the neck.  Broussard staggers back, falling into a neutral corner...

...and springing out with a right hand as Freeman approaches!  A second
one hits the mark as well, putting some daylight between Broussard and
his tag team partner.  The San Jose Shark makes his move towards the
corner...

...and gets his eyes raked by Freeman!]

GM:  Ohh!  Come on!

[An angry Freeman hammerlocks the arm before hoisting Broussard off the
mat, slamming him down onto his own arm.]

GM:  OHHHH!

BW:  That'll do it.  Ring the bell right there.

[With an irate gaze, Freeman backs to the corner, popping up on the
middle rope.]

BW:  And you know how badly these two want this win now, Gordo.  Freeman
HATES highflying moves.

GM:  He's on the middle rope...

[Leaping off the second rope, he drops a knee down on the shoulder area
of Broussard, throwing himself into a lateral press.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  TH- shoulder up!  Broussard refuses to stay down...
and right back to the armbar goes Freeman!

[Freeman stands behind the kneeling Broussard, sneering at the cheers of
the crowd trying to rally the San Jose Shark.  A shout of "Give it up!"
is heard from the Australian as he jerks up hard on the arm.  Broussard
shakes his head, refusing to quit.  Freeman grabs the wrist of the
Shark, executing an armtwist as he makes another tag.]

GM:  Dufresne back in...

[The crowd groans as Dufresne delivers a full force kick to the twisted
arm of the former National Champion, putting him back down on the mat.]

GM:  Holding the armbar... kneeling on the arm to bend the arm against
it...

[Dufresne laughs at the downed Broussard trying to fight back and then
drives the knee down on the bicep again.  The crowd jeers as Dufresne
kicks the arm again.  Dufresne struts away from the downed Broussard...

...and then flips off Adam Rogers who steps through the ropes, moving
towards the Ladykiller.]

GM:  In comes Rog- aaaagh.

BW:  Meekly cuts him off again - like he's supposed to, I might add.

GM:  Marty Meekly prevents Adam Rogers from- the switch!  Another
switch!

[The crowd jeers as Freeman applies an armbar while Dufresne steps back
out to the apron, his arrogant grin growing wider with each passing
moment of the match.]

GM:  Freeman's got him on his feet, cranking on that arm...

[Broussard somehow manages to push him back to the corner, slipping out
of the armbar and stepping up to the middle rope.]

GM:  Right hand!  Right hand!

[The crowd roars as the former National Champion throws weary right
hands from the midbuckle at the skull of the Australian.]

GM:  He's not giving up!  He'll never give up!

[Hopping down from the middle rope, Broussard executes a weak
corner-to-corner Irish whip that puts Freeman in the opposite corner.]

GM:  Here comes Broussard!

[But Freeman dives out of the way, causing Marcus to slam shoulderfirst
into the turnbuckles, staggering out of the buckles and falling down to
the mat...

...which allows Freeman to drive an elbow down on the back of the
injured shoulder!]

GM:  I thought he was out of that one... thought he was clear...

[With the arm pinned, Freeman drives knee after knee after knee again
before switching to a straddle armbar from the back.  The Australian
again barks "ASK HIM!" at the official who drops down to ask Broussard
if he wants to submit.]

GM:  The ref's asking if he wants to quit...

[We get a closeup of Marcus vehemately shaking his head, getting fired
up as he works back to his feet, uncorking a pair of right hands that
causes Freeman to stumble backwards, slapping the hand of Dufresne who
comes in.  For a brief moment, both men open fire, just pummeling
Broussard with any blow that'll connect, knocking him back down to the
mat.]

GM:  Broussard is fighting so hard... with so much fire, Bucky.  I've
never seen this kind of fight out of this kid before.  He went the sixty
minutes with Rogers earlier this year but it wasn't something like this
where his arm is just barely hanging onto his body.

BW:  The kid's a hell of a talent.  Too bad his attitude is in the wrong
place.

GM:  The San Jose Shark is fighting back... right hand to the body...
another right... make it three...

[With Dufresne falling backwards, he spins around and spits squarely in
the face of the Natural who moves in...

...and gets cut off, allowing Freeman to slip into the ring behind the
ref's back, bracing his knee against the shoulder of Broussard and
falling forward, smashing it into the mat.]

GM:  This is one of the most frustrating, most exasperating matches I've
ever seen.

BW:  This is textbook tag team wrestling and Rogers and Broussard aren't
part of that world.  This just shows that a good tag team will beat two
good singles wrestlers every time, daddy.  

GM:  And that's coming from a man who knows a world about tag team
wrestling.

BW:  You got that right, jack!

GM:  The armbar is reapplied... we've got to take another break!  The
tape machines are running!  Don't you dare move a muscle, fans!

[We fade out on the shot of Freeman yanking back on the arm.

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 to live action where Calisto Dufresne has the arm
hammerlocked, walking around the ring with Broussard.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans, to Death Or Glory where Marcus Broussard's arm
has GOT to be hanging on by a very thin thread after the amount of
punishment it's taken here tonight both in AND OUT of the ring.

[Switching to a wristlock, Dufresne executes the armtwist...

...and eats a right hand from Broussard.]

GM:  Ohh!  He caught him with that one!

[Dufresne does the wristlock again...

...and catches another haymaker!]

GM:  Broussard is fighting back again!

[But a hairpull puts Broussard back down on the mat with a knee pressed
up against his skull as Dufresne pushes his wrist against the grain.]

GM:  Look at that... that wrist is not supposed to-

BW:  We know.  We know.

GM:  Dufresne's back up... there's the tag to Freeman...

[Freeman takes to the middle rope again, smashing down with an elbow
across the arm before applying his own armbar, forcing Broussard down to
his knees.]

BW:  I think he'd better quit right now.  In fact, I think he'd like to
quit but his mouth just can't form the words.  Meekly oughta do him a
favor and stop this thing before-


"NO!  I WON'T QUIT!"


[The words from Broussard in response to Marty Meekly get a big cheer
from the fans.]

GM:  Well, I guess that settles that, Bucky.

BW:  The guy's dumber than I ever gave him credit for.

GM:  He just told Freeman that he'll have to break it!

BW:  Freeman would love to oblige.  You think Adrian Freeman wouldn't
love to leave here tonight having broken Marcus Broussard's arm inside
this ring?

GM:  He may have already done it.  They've just pummeled that arm all
night!  He just told the ref again that they'll have to break it!

BW:  He's nuts!  There's not even a title at stake tonight.  Take the
loss and go home.  Live to fight another night.

GM:  This is pride!  This is guts!  This is Death Or Glory!

[Broussard works back to his feet, slapping Freeman across the face who
replies by cranking up the pressure on the arm...

...and eating one right hand!]

GM:  Marcus fighting back again!

[And a second right hand!]

GM:  The crowd's going nuts and...

[A knee to the gut cuts off the attack.  Freeman grabs Broussard by the
hair, hurling him through the ropes to the floor!]

GM:  Ohh!  Out to the floor he goes!

[Out on the floor with Freeman distracting the referee, Dufresne pulls
up Broussard, pinning his arm behind him...

...and DRIVES him shoulderfirst to the steel ringpost!]

GM:  OHHHHHHH!

BW:  That's it.  Take the countout, kid.

GM:  Marcus Broussard just had his shoulder slammed into solid steel. 
There's no give.  There's no cushion.  That's solid steel that just did
some serious damage to the shoulder of the San Jose Shark.

[Dufresne steps back up on the apron, looking down at the motionless
Broussard.  Freeman rolls from the ring, shoving Broussard back up on
the apron before rolling himself back in.]

GM:  The Shark's on the apron, Freeman's back inside the ring...

[Reaching over the ropes, Freeman hauls Broussard back to his feet,
stretching out his injured arm over the top rope...

...and then drops down to the mat, snapping the arm over the steel cable
that makes up the top rope strand.  Broussard collapses in a heap back
on the apron while Freeman glares at the protesting official.]

GM:  Freeman drags him under the ropes by the arm, there's a cover! 
One!  Two!  Thre- SHOULDER UP!

[The crowd roars at the near fall as Freeman slaps the canvas in rage. 
The technician quickly gets back to his feet, looking down at Broussard
as the Shark slowly rolls to his knees.]

GM:  Freeman's got Broussard on his knees... at his mercy... 

[Freeman joins his hands together in a double axehandle and rears
waaaaaaaay back...]


"THIRTY MINUTES HAVE GONE BY!  THIRTY MINUTES REMAIN!"


[The announcement seems to distract the Australian for a split second -
just enough for Broussard to throw a right hand to the body.  Freeman
rears back again...

...and a second blow connects!]

GM:  Come on, Shark!  Fight through this!  Focus on these fans - not on
the pain!

BW:  What're you a cheerleader now?!

[Freeman rears back again...

...and a pair of right hands connect.  Broussard pushes up to his feet
as Freeman staggers back before slowly moving back in.]

GM:  Freeman back on top of- ohh!  What a right by Marcus!  A big
haymaker out of left field!  And another!  And another!

[The crowd roars as the blows from the former National Champion stun the
Australian on his feet, making him very wobbly...

...which causes the Shark to LUNNNNNNNNGE!]

GM:  HE GOES FOR IT!

[But the crowd deflates in unison as Freeman manages to cut him off just
before the tag is made, Rogers' hand just inches away from the
outstretched palm of Marcus Broussard.  A few knees to the body cut off
the rally, allowing Freeman to pull Broussard up into a front facelock.]

GM:  Hammerlock applied again... what's this?

[The crowd jeers as Freeman signals to Dufresne - the Ladykiller
responding by lifting a knee in the corner...

...and allowing Freeman to throw Broussard shoulderfirst into the knee
before tagging Dufresne back into the match.]

GM:  Another exchange made by Freeman and Dufresne!

[Dufresne throws Broussard facefirst to the mat, laying on the mat with
a forearm pressed into the shoulder joint.  Pinning the wrist, Dufresne
kicks up and drops a knee down on the arm.  He smirks at the jeering
crowd as he pulls up on the wrist, bending the elbow backwards as he
screams at Broussard to "give it up!."]

GM:  Marcus has no way to defend the arm right now.  No way to protect
it.  Dufresne and Freeman are doing what they want to do to that injured
limb completely at will.  Fans, we've got to take another break.   Don't
go away!

[We fade out on the sight of the sickening armbar.

After a moment, we fade back up on a shot of Jason Dane and Mark
Stegglet in an apparently moving car.]

JD:  Hey, AWA fans - so much of our lives are now spent on-the-go,
wouldn't you love to be able to keep track of your favorite AWA
superstars when you're away from home?

MS:  I know I would, Jason!  And I'd also love to have a place to put
out all those rumors we hear during the week that never make AWA
Saturday Night Wrestling.

JD:  You've got that right.  Wouldn't it be great if we could combine
both of those ideas into one?

[Suddenly, a giant graphic of an iPhone appears between them!]

JD & MS:  NOW WE CAN!

[A voiceover takes over - thank God.]

VO:  Starting today, you can download AWA Access - a great new
application for your iPhone where you can get all the AWA news, rumors,
and happenings before the rest of the world.  And don't forget to check
out the "exclusive" section for matches that never aired!  AWA Access -
coming to an iPhone near you!

[Fade back to black...

...and then back up to live action where Freeman has the arm
outstretched, driving repeated elbows down on the bicep and tricep.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans - and we've seen more of the same during the
break.  Just an out-and-out abuse of the injured left arm of Marcus
Broussard... this is getting hard to watch...

BW:  And during the break, I could've sworn that he said he couldn't
feel his arm.

GM:  I think you're right.  He took a hard kick to the arm and I think
that's exactly what he said.  

[With a "MAR-CUS!"  "MAR-CUS!" chant echoing through the building,
Broussard gets the "eye of the tiger" going, shaking his head back and
forth at the referee's queries if he wants to submit, battling back to
his feet where Freeman is still holding the armbar.]

GM:  Come on, Marcus!  You can do it!  You can fight out of this thing!

[Freeman breaks the hold, delivering an elbowsmash to the skull.  A hard
forearm follows right behind it, knocking Broussard down to a knee. 
Freeman approaches, hooking a front facelock.  He drags the Shark up,
firing him to the ropes...]

GM:  Backdr- 

[The crowd ERUPTS as Broussard hooks the head of the doubled-up Freeman,
SNAPPING him down to the mat with a DDT!]

GM:  DDT!  DDT!  BROUSSARD CAUGHT HIM!

BW:  What?!  Get in there, Calisto!

GM:  Come on, Marcus!  Come on!  This is your shot!

[With both men down and the crowd roaring, Broussard rolls to his
stomach and starts crawling across the ring to where Adam Rogers is
waiting with his arm outstretched...]

GM:  Rogers is ready for the tag!  Rogers is begging for the tag!

BW:  No way... no way...

GM:  Freeman's crawling towards his own corner... come on, Marcus...
please...

[The crowd jeers as Freeman slaps the hand of Dufresne...

...and then loses their collective minds as Broussard HURLS himself
through the air, slapping the hand of Adam Rogers to FINALLY bring him
back into the match!]

GM:  TAG!  TAG!  TAG!

[Rogers charges through the ropes, catching the incoming Dufresne with a
right hand.  As the Ladykiller gets up, Rogers hurls him to the
ropes...]

GM:  Dufresne off the ropes...

[Catching the incoming Dufresne around the upper thighs, Rogers hoists
him up, pivoting...

...and DRIVING him down with a spinebuster!]

GM:  SPINEBUSTER SLAM BY ROGERS!!

[Rogers springs to his feet, pumping his fists in the air to the roar of
the crowd as he takes an incoming Freeman down with a right hand!]

GM:  Down goes Freeman!  Listen to these fans!

BW:  This can't happen.  This absolutely can't-

[With the fans roaring, Rogers hooks a waistlock on a stunned Dufresne. 
Freeman moves in again...

...but gets caught with a right hand by Broussard, the blow catching the
referee's attention as he tries to regain control.]

GM:  Here it comes!

[Holding the waistlock, Rogers charges towards the ropes, smashing
Dufresne into them, and rolling back into a rolling reverse cradle.]

GM:  ROGERS ROLL!  

BW:  THE REF'S TIED UP WITH DUFRESNE AND BROUSSARD!

[With the count at one, and with him ending up on top of the cradle,
Rogers is about to go for the match-ending bridge when Dufresne shoves
aside the official and steps forward, hooking a front facelock...]

GM:  THE REF'S DOWN TO COUNT!

BW:  WHAM BAM THANK YO-

[But Broussard yanks Dufresne away, Rogers still holding the cradle as
the count hits one.]

GM:  TWO!

[The San Jose Shark uncorks the biggest clothesline of his life...

...one that Calisto Dufresne sees coming a mile away, ducking and
causing Broussard to DRILL his own partner with the left-handed
clothesline, causing Rogers to fall backwards and causing Broussard to
fall to the canvas, screaming in pain at his injured arm clothesline.]

GM:  OHHHHH!

BW:  FREEMAN'S GOT THE CRADLE!!

[With Rogers stunned from the clothesline, Adrian Freeman does indeed
have the cradle... and a two hands full of tights.]

GM:  NO!!  NO!!!

BW:  ONE!!!  TWO!!!  THREEEEEEEEE!!!!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


MC:  Ladies and gentlemen... your winners of the match...

ADRIAN FREEMAN AND CALISTO DUFREEEEESNE!

[The crowd jeers wildly as Freeman and Dufresne exit the ring, fleeing
up the aisle.]

GM:  Look at those two - running away like thieves in the night!  They
stole this one, Bucky!  They literally stole it!

BW:  Haha!  Like the result or not, Gordo - those two just became the #1
contenders to the National Tag Team Titles!  They earned their third
point and now... Kentucky's Pride against Freeman and Dufresne!  I'll
buy a ticket to that one right now!

GM:  Earned?  What a joke!  Fans, don't you dare go away, we'll be right
back!

[The camera holds on the ring where a dejected Adam Rogers is sitting on
the mat a few feet away from Marcus Broussard who is clinging to his arm
while AWA medical staff stand over him before we fade to black...

...and then back up on a white screen.  The voice of Gordon Myers is
heard.]

"The AWA took 2008 by storm - breaking the mold of a modern wrestling
promotion.  And now, in 2009, we look to be hotter than ever.

But what if... you missed the beginning?"

[Red text appears on the screen.]

"AWA: YEAR ONE!"

[The text spins out of view to be replaced by a series of still photos
showing action from the first year of AWA action.]

"Witness highlights from the first AWA Saturday Night Wrestling.

See the very first AWA Rumble.

Highlights from Memorial Day Mayhem, The Last Stampede, Thanksgiving
weekend, and much, much more.

Plus, full matches including the 2008 Match of the Year - WarGames!

All of this fantastic AWA action will be available exclusively on DVD
and iTunes!  Check your local stores for details!"

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

...and then back up to a shot in the parking lot, where we see Juan
Vasquez still standing atop the roof of a car. By now, a fairly large
crowd has gathered around Vasquez, cheering him on. In the distance, we
can see an angry and determined looking Raphael Rhodes shouting
obscenities at Vasquez as he approaches the scene.]

GM:  Look, Bucky!  They said he was here and here he comes!  Rhodes
wasn't going to let this go without a fight and this can get ugly quick.
These two have been apart some of the bloodiest and most violent brawls
in AWA history. Who knows what they might do to each other out there!

BW: Whatever it is, it better be entertaining!

GM: Oh, would you-...VASQUEZ!!!

[Vasquez doesn't even wait for Rhodes to make his way towards him,
taking a running start and leaping off the car roof and tackling Rhodes
to the ground! The two adversaries roll around on the pavement for a few
seconds throwing wild punches, before getting back to their feet. They
both waste no time before reengaging, each grabbing a hold of the other
and firing off rapid right hands!]

GM: This is crazy! There's no security! There's no officials out there!
There's nothing stopping them from seriously hurting each other!

BW: Big deal! Nothing's stopped them from seriously hurting each other
before! 

[The two circle around the lot, their hands a literal blur as countless
punches are exchanged. The fans that have gathered around to witness
this brawl quickly scatter, wanting no part of this chaotic dance.
Vasquez muscles Rhodes over and slams him into the side of a mini-van.
He grabs Rhodes by the head and slams it repeatedly back-first into the
door, leaving Rhodes slumped against the vehicle. With the fans cheering
him on, Juan backs up and makes a running charge...]




*SMMMMMAAAACCCCKKKKKK!!!!*




[...leaving an impressive dent on the side of the mini-van as his boot
misses Rhodes by mere inches.]

BW: I hope these fans got their car insurance paid up, because these
guys are gonna be doing some serious damage tonight, daddy!

GM: If we're lucky, the only thing that'll have any serious damage
tonight are those cars!

[Juan turns around, only to be tackle around the waist by Rhodes, who
shoves him back and slams him right into the side of another vehicle. He
works over Vasquez's ribs, laying in some heavy shots to the side, as
Vasquez slams forearm after forearm into Rhodes' back. Finally, he
pivots around and manages to shove Rhodes off him, knocking over a few
fans in the process as Rhodes stumbles right into the crowd.]

BW: That might be a couple of lawsuits right there! 

GM: Don't even joke about that!

BW: Who's joking? We're a couple of broken windshields and an accidental
fist to the head away from litigation!

[Undeterred, Rhodes runs back at Vasquez, who's there to meet him
head-on with a MASSIVE right hand!]

BW and GM: OHHH!!!

[He grabs Rhodes by scruff of his neck and drags him across the hood of
another car, slamming elbows and forearms across his chest, before
climbing atop the hood, himself! He drags Rhodes up onto the roof of the
car, where he pulls the Englishman up into a standing headscissors, but
is quickly slowed by a low blow!]

BW: That'll put an end to your night in a hurry!

GM:  I don't even WANT to know what Vasquez was thinking about right
there, Bucky.  

[Placing Vasquez into a standing headscissors of his own, Rhodes sets up
for a piledriver. However, Vasquez fights it off, powering himself up
and tossing Rhodes over with a backdrop...]






*THHHHHUUUUDDDDD!!!!



*CRRRRRAAAASSSSSHHHH!!!!





[...that sends Rhodes through the canvas roof of the convertible next to
them...]




Crowd: OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!



[...along with Vasquez!!!]

BW: DEAR GOD!!! 

GM: Holy... 

[The camera cuts to a shot of Rhodes and Vasquez, both sprawled out in
the front seat of the convertible. By this time, security and AWA
officials have finally made it onto the scene. They swarm the two men
and pull them from the wreckage as we cut back to a shot inside the
arena.]

GM:  My... I don't know what to say.

BW:  This issue between Rhodes and Vasquez... this needs to be settled,
Gordo.  And it needs to be settled soon.

GM:  Too much blood, too much violence, and too many people put in
danger.  You're right, Bucky.  This needs to end.  Fans, it's just about
time for our Main Event.  But earlier this week, Vladimir Velikov told
us that he was taking his nephew on a special trip - returning to the -
how you say - scene of the crime, I believe were his exact words.

BW:  Are you mocking Vladimir Velikov?

GM:  Not one bit.  Our cameras went with Velikov and the National
Champion as they paid a special visit... to remember one of the darkest
nights they've had in the AWA... take a look...

[We cut to footage marked "EARLIER THIS WEEK - SOUTH LAREDO
RODEOGROUNDS."  The cameraman is following Vladimir Velikov and Kolya
Sudakov as they walk through the Rodeogrounds.  Sudakov is stripped to
the waist, wearing a pair of tracksuit pants.  Velikov is in an AWA
t-shirt and slacks.]

VV:  This is it, nephew.  This is the place.

[The two Russians look around at the empty building - a distinct
expression of loathing on their faces.]

VV:  Nearly one year ago... this is the place where we suffered our
greatest embarassment.  I will NOT say defeat... I will NOT!

[Velikov's gravely voice echoes in the empty Rodeogrounds.]

VV:  Embarassment?  Yes.  Failure?  Yes.  But defeat?  It was not OUR
defeat, nephew.  

But it stung.  It hurt.  It humiliated.

Do you remember, Kolya?

[Sudakov nods slowly.]

VV:  Always remember it, Kolya.  ALWAYS!  Never forget that night when
we were so embarassed... so humiliated... so... how you say... ridden by
failure...

And always remember who caused it.

[Velikov glares at his nephew, then points to the ground.]

VV:  It was right here where that traitor Stevie Scott allowed himself
to be made into a victim... to be made into a coward... and to take us
down with him.  He was the one who quit that night... not us.  He was
the one who surrendered his pride and his dignity... not us.  He was the
one who gave up everything... not us.

Do not forget, Kolya.  Do not forget the pain he caused us.

Take the pain, Kolya.

[Velikov looks up at his nephew with cold eyes... 

...and then violently slaps him across the face!  Kolya's eyes go wide,
snapping his head to glare at his uncle.]

VV:  Good!  GOOD!

[Velikov chuckles.]

VV:  Take the pain... and turn it around towards Stevie Scott.  Make him
be embarassed, make him be humiliated, make him be a failure to his
people.

For one more night, make him the victim... make him the coward...

Make him submit... make him give up... make him quit.

[Velikov nods.]

VV:  Make him remember last August as strongly as we remember it every
single day.

Make him remember, Kolya.

[Sudakov nods.]

VV:  On the 4th of July... make sure no one... no one... ever forgets.

[And with that, we fade back to ringside where Gordon and Bucky are
standing.]

GM:  And there we have it.  All roads have led to this night in Jackson,
Mississippi, Bucky.

BW:  It's been over a year leading up to this night.  Stevie Scott
working with the Russians when he first arrived in the AWA... then there
was WarGames last August, Stevie being forced to submit to cost his team
the match.  

GM:  It was at that point that everything changed for Stevie - and it
was all thanks to Sweet Daddy Williams who took Stevie Scott under his
wing and showed him to enjoy wrestling again.  Sweet Heat was formed and
they have become one of the most popular teams in the wrestling
business.  And then there was that night back in February... when Stevie
hit the Heatseeker on Kolya... and scored a pinfall in the middle of the
ring...

BW:  A sneak attack superkick leading to an illegal, unsanctioned
pinfall.

GM:  Call it what you want but ever since then, we've all known that on
any given night, Stevie Scott can defeat Kolya Sudakov.  And don't
forget Memorial Day Mayhem when Stevie outlasted 29 other men to earn
this shot at the title here tonight.  Like we said, all roads led to
this night and I, for one, am honored and privileged to have the chance
to call this match which I believe is the most anticipated National
Title match in AWA history.  In honor of that, WKIK has given us special
permission to present this match WITHOUT commercial interruption!  Our
thanks to them for that.  

[Gordon looks at Bucky who nods.]

BW:  I'll take this one, Gordo.  Fans, without anything further... let's
go up to Melissa for the introductions!

[We cut to the ring where Melissa Cannon is standing.  There's a buzz
throughout the arena - a buzz of anticipation for this huge title match
Main Event.  Melissa stands silent for a moment, absorbing the scene...]

MC:  Ladies and gentlemen, it is now time for your MAIN EVENT of the
evening!

[Big cheer!]

MC:  This match is set for one fall with a sixty minute time limit and
is for the AWA National Championship!

[Bigger cheer!]

MC:  Introducing first... he is the challenger...

[The sounds of "Stars And Stripes Forever" starts up to a DEAFENING roar
from the Jackson, Mississippi crowd.  And that crazed amount of cheers
somehow gets louder as "Hotshot" Stevie Scott and Sweet Daddy Williams
burst through the curtain and start making their way down the aisle,
slapping hands with all their adoring fans lining the aisleway.]

MC:  Hailing from St. Louis, Missouri... weighing in at 228 pounds...
accompanied to the ring by Sweet Daddy Williams... 

"HOTSHOT"
STEEEEEEEEEEEEEVIE SCOTT!

[The roar goes even nuttier!  Scott is clad in red, white, and blue
trunks, slapping every fan's hand that he can.  His partner is all grins
on the other side of the aisle, doing the same thing as they work their
way towards the squared circle.]

GM:  Listen to these fans - they love them some Stevie Scott!

BW:  It's more than a little sickening, isn't it?

GM:  I love it!  And he loves them right back!

[The camera catches an overzealous fan hugging Stevie as he tries to get
to the ring.  Still grinning, he works his way through, quickly climbing
the ringsteps, and thrusting a fist into the air to the cheers of the
crowd.  He slingshots over the ropes into the ring as Sweet Daddy
Williams steps in as well, grabbing an American flag from a ringside
fan.]

GM:  Ha ha!  On America's birthday, there's nothing better than seeing
Stevie Scott and Sweet Daddy Williams standing in the middle of the ring
waving that flag.  And in just a short while, we may see the exact same
scene but with the Hotshot holding that National Title belt over his
head.

BW:  Fat chance of that happening.  More likely is the Soviet national
anthem blasting over the PA with the Russians standing over a motionless
Stevie Scott - and if that fat goof Williams gets too close, he'll be
laid out right next to him.

[The music starts to die down as it is replaced by the Soviet national
anthem.  The cheers turn to a roaring shower of boos that echo
throughout the Mississippi Coliseum.]

MC:  And his opponent...

[The curtain parts as Vladimir Velikov walks into view, clad in black
slacks and a red and gold jacket with the Soviet Union flag across the
back of it.]

MC:  He is accompanied to the ring by Vladimir Velikov... weighing in
tonight at 267 pounds... he fights out of Moscow, Russia... 

He is the AWA National Champion...

THE RUSSIAN WAR MACHINE...

KOLLLLLLLLLYAAAAAA SUUUUUUUUDAKOV!

[Sudakov walks through the curtain to stand behind his uncle, hands on
his hips as he looks around at the rabidly jeering crowd.  The title
belt is secured around his waist.  He wears nothing but his wrestling
trunks that go to mid-thigh.  No shirt, no shoes, but an expression
dripping with attitude.]

GM:  And here comes the champion.

BW:  Look at that man.  What a magnificent physical specimen he is. 
Chiseled out of stone, born and bred to be a warrior.  There's a reason
they call him the Russian War Machine and it's not because it's looks
good in the headlines.

GM:  Sudakov has held that title since October 24th when he defeated Ron
Houston - who is still sitting in the front row, watching every moment
of action here tonight.  He's going on nine months as the champion - the
longest title reign in AWA history - so Stevie Scott definitely has the
odds stacked against him here tonight in Jackson.

[Velikov walks up the ringsteps, standing on the apron.  He points at
Sweet Daddy Williams who immediately balls up his fist, ready for a
fight whenever the elder Russian wants to bring one.  His nephew, Kolya,
brings up the rear, stepping into the ring.  He stands in the corner,
glaring across the ring at his opponent who bounces back and forth from
foot to foot, trying to stay loose for battle.]

GM:  AWA senior official Michael Meekly is the referee of record here
tonight.  He's trying to keep things calm for the moment - standing
between the four men.  Now, he's trying to get the cornermen out of the
ring.

[Meekly speaks first to Velikov, then to Sweet Daddy Williams.  Both men
eye each other, ready to race back in at a moment's notice as they shake
the hands one last time of their allies before stepping through the
ropes and dropping down to the floor.]

GM:  Meekly gets both of the cornermen out - now calling both men to the
middle of the ring...

[The two warriors stride to the middle of the ring, staring right at one
another.  Meekly gives the last second instructions to both men as they
stand toe-to-toe and eye-to-eye.]

GM:  This is it, Bucky.  This is the match we've waited months for!  The
most eagerly anticipated National Title match in AWA history!

BW:  I've got a lot of money riding on this one too.

GM:  I'm sure you do.

[Meekly tries to edge between the two men as they continue to stare one
another down, Stevie Scott talking a mile a minute in the direction of
the big Russian.]

GM:  Stevie Scott's talking up a storm and I'd love to be a fly on the
ropes of that ring right now.  What could he possibly be saying to
Sudakov at this point?  What could anyone possibly say?

BW:  "Please, Mr. Russian.  Don't hurt me."

GM:  Somehow I doubt that.

[Meekly fails at separating the two and simply spins around, calling for
the bell to start the match to a huge cheer from the crowd.]

GM:  And here we go!

[The staredown continues - Stevie Scott speaking while Sudakov stands
silent, glaring a hole straight through the #1 contender to the National
Title.]

GM:  Listen to these fans - the electricity in the air could be cut with
a knife.  These fans are ready, we're ready, and you can bet that Stevie
and Sudakov are ready as well!

[Without warning, Kolya Sudakov lunges forward, engaging in a
collar-and-elbow tieup with his top challenger.  The two men struggle
against one another, trying to gain an edge.  The smaller man, Stevie
Scott, fights hard, pushing and straining with all his strength...

...but failing as the powerful Sudakov simply throws Stevie Scott across
the ring and down to the mat with ease.  The fans boo the move, Sudakov
motionless as he stares at Stevie Scott down on the canvas.]

GM:  What a show of power by Sudakov!  He wastes no time in letting
Stevie Scott know that he's definitely the stronger man in this match.

BW:  Kolya Sudakov is where the power lies, Gordo.  If Stevie Scott
thought he was gonna outmuscle the Russian tonight, he's dumber than I
thought.

[The challenger slowly gets to a knee on the mat, returning the stare at
the National Champion.  He gets back to his feet, one hand on the ropes
as he gazes across the ring.]

GM:  You can almost see the wheels spinning in Stevie's head, trying to
figure out what he can do to get an edge.  

BW:  He'd better not be trying to figure it out now.  If Scott didn't
come into this match with a strategy already in mind, Sudakov's going to
eat his lunch in record time.

GM:  I'm sure that the Hotshot has a very good gameplan in mind here
tonight, Bucky.

BW:  He's gonna need it.  I've been in the business of looking for
weaknesses for a long, long time and I don't see very many when I look
at the Russian War Machine.

GM:  Stevie back up... circling a bit... looking for an opening...

[The two combatants lunge at one another again, going for another
collar-and-elbow tieup.  They hold it for a moment before Stevie ducks
out of it, moving behind the big Russian into a rear waistlock.  Scott
grips hard, trying to control the movement of the champion.]

GM:  Waistlock applied by Stevie... trying to take the big man off his
feet perhaps...

BW:  That's probably a good strategy.  Sudakov is one of the most feared
strikers on his feet in the business so putting him down where it's hard
for him to get power behind his punches and kicks is a good idea in my
estimation.

GM:  Stevie's not having any luck muscling him down though... Sudakov's
blocking his every attempt...

[The Russian reaches down with both hands, grabbing the wrists of Stevie
Scott...

...and simply overpowers the Hotshot, pulling his hands apart with
relative ease.  Still holding the wrists, he spins around to face
Scott.]

GM:  He reverses the waistlock and- ohh!  He shoves Stevie down again!

BW:  Did you see how easily he got out of the waistlock?  The sheer
power on display from Kolya Sudakov has got to impress everyone in the
building - even you, Gordo.

GM:  He's a powerful man.  I'll give him that.

[Outside the ring, Velikov claps his hands at what he's seeing in the
ring, barking words of encouragement in Russian to his nephew.  Sweet
Daddy Williams is across the ring, slapping his hands on the canvas,
trying to cheer on his friend and partner.]

GM:  The cornermen are trying to root their partners on.  Remember, no
matter the outcome here tonight, Sweet Heat will be taking on the
Russians in tag team action on the next edition of Saturday Night
Wrestling in what should be an awesome matchup.

BW:  So, no matter what happens here tonight, the National Champion will
be in action in two weeks' time.

GM:  You've got that right.

[The Hotshot slowly makes his way up off the canvas again, taking his
time as he keeps an eye on Sudakov who doesn't make a single move
towards him.  The Russian's gaze follows Scott's every move as he
gestures for him to get up and back into the fight.  The Hotshot finally
reaches his feet, looking across the ring.]

BW:  The tieups don't seem to be going so well for Scott.  I think he'd
better try something else.  He's just not strong enough to survive one
of those with Kolya.

GM:  You may be right but it looks like he's going for another one,
Bucky.

[Scott slowly edges out of the corner, arms raised as he looks for
another tieup...]

GM:  You seem to be very critical of Stevie's strategy tonight - what
should he be doing, Bucky?

BW:  He can't outfight Kolya, he can't outpower him.  He needs to use
his speed, his quickness, his agility... any high flying that he's got. 
He also needs to take advantage of his experience.  Remember, Kolya's
only been in pro wrestling for a few years.  He's a former Mixed Martial
Artist now in the pro wrestling rings so Stevie needs to do the kinds of
things he wouldn't have had happen in MMA.

GM:  Very interesting... and back to the tieup they go...

[Sudakov again takes immediate control of the tieup, this time walking
Stevie Scott all the way back to the turnbuckles, pushing him back in
the corner.]

GM:  Back to the corner... the referee calls for a break...

[And break Sudakov does, just giving enough daylight to lash out with a
hooking right hand...

...that Stevie Scott ducks, dashing out of the corner where he spins
around and throws a handful of right hands of his own, battering Sudakov
repeatedly.]

GM:  He's all over Sudakov!

[The Russian blocks a right from Stevie, throwing another punch of his
own...

...but the looping blow gets ducked again, Stevie staying crouched as he
throws rights and lefts to the midsection of Sudakov, knocking Sudakov
back towards the buckles.]

GM:  Stevie with a whip... he charges...

[Sudakov steps from the buckles, lashing out with a swinging high
roundhouse kick...

...that Stevie Scott baseball slides under, popping back to his feet,
and snapping off a chop across the chest of Sudakov!]

GM:  Chop by Scott!  And another chop!  And another!

[Grabbing Sudakov by the upper body, Stevie throws him into the nearest
corner, promptly leaping up with his feet on the torso of Sudakov,
grabbing him behind the head...

...and tossing him halfway across the ring with a monkeyflip!  Big
cheer!]

GM:  Oh yeah!  What a monkeyflip by Scott!

BW:  And that's exactly the kind of offense I'm talking about.  It won't
do a lot of damage but you can bet that Kolya Sudakov has never seen a
monkeyflip inside the world of MMA.

GM:  Sudakov looks stunned!  He couldn't connect with his trademark
striking skills there, Stevie kept avoiding them all...

BW:  Lucky for Scott.  That high kick was a match ender, I tell ya.

GM:  Both of these men are well-known for their kicking power.  Sudakov
has finished countless foes with that high kick and also with that
penalty kick to the skull.  Stevie Scott, of course, has one of the most
feared finishing moves in the business with that Heatseeker superkick. 
This match could come down to whoever is the first one to land that
move, Bucky.

BW:  It certainly could.  Both of those kicks are lethal in their
knockout power.

[Sudakov quickly gets back to his feet, staring coldly at a fired-up
Scott who has his fist balled, ready for a fight.  Outside the ring,
Vladimir Velikov is barking instructions to his nephew, trying to get
him back on track.  Velikov actually waves Kolya over, whispering
something to the National Champion.]

GM:  And Vladimir Velikov has something to say to the champ - maybe some
bit of strategy... something he noticed inside the ring.  

BW:  It's like having a Hall of Fame coach outside the ring to give you
insight during the match.  Sudakov has a huge advantage there.

GM:  Sweet Daddy Williams is outside the ring for Stevie, Bucky.

BW:  Yeah, but the only insight he has is on which Waffle House is open
latest after the match.

[Sudakov nods his head at his uncle, moving back across the ring at a
fast pace, heading straight towards Stevie Scott who lunges back into a
tieup...

...and gets powered right back into the corner.]

GM:  Back to the corner again - we need a break here...

[Sudakov releases Scott, rearing back his right hand.  Just as he did
moments ago, Scott ducks the punch... 

...which is exactly what Sudakov was hoping for, quickly raising a knee
up into the skull of his challenger!]

GM:  Ohhh!

BW:  Well, I guess we know what Velikov just told him.  Vladimir saw the
duck of the right hand earlier and now Kolya just faked that same punch,
catching Stevie with a knee when he tried to avoid it.  Brilliant!

GM:  Sudakov's got Stevie dazed off that knee to the head - the kind of
MMA style striking that the Hotshot needs to desperately avoid if he
wants to stand a chance in this matchup.

[Wrapping his hands behind the head of the challenger in a Muay Thai
style clinch, Sudakov starts throwing his powerful knees into the body
of Stevie Scott, smashing into the ribcage time and time again as the
challenger struggles to free himself from Sudakov's powerful grip.]

GM:  To the body... and again... and again...

BW:  Scott's taking all those shots to the body because he's got his
arms up over his face, trying to avoid the blows to the head that could
knock him flat.

GM:  But how much more can he- ohhh!

[The crowd gasps as Scott drops his arms to protect the body and
promptly eats a knee right to the face.  Two more follow before Sudakov
uses the clinch to throw the Hotshot down to the canvas in a heap.  The
challenger immediately covers up while on the mat, trying to protect
himself from further assault...

...but the attack doesn't come as the Russian War Machine simply stares
down the challenger, taunting him to get back to his feet.]

GM:  You can hear the Russian yelling, "Up!" at Scott, daring him to get
back to his feet and continue the fight.  Outside the ring, Sweet Daddy
Williams is screaming for his partner to get up.

BW:  Some friend he is.  He should tell Stevie to stay down and save
himself.

GM:  Stevie Scott has got to use his speed, got to use his quickness,
got to use his smarts to avoid a situation like that again.  He can not
take many of those knees to the face like that.

[The Hotshot pushes up to a knee, shaking his head back and forth to try
and clear the cobwebs.  A trickle of blood is already escaping his
nose.]

GM:  You can see a small amount of blood under the nose of Scott.

BW:  He might have a broken nose, Gordo!

GM:  I don't think it's that bad but the knee obviously did some damage
to the face of Scott.  

BW:  Don't forget the ribs.  He took a handful of knees to the ribs and
if those knees do that kind of damage to the face, imagine what they do
to the ribcage.  If he takes more of those, he may find himself having
trouble breathing and that'll be the ballgame right there.

GM:  Scott back to his feet... he is moving a little gingerly...

[Sudakov rushes towards him, arms raised for a tieup...

...but Stevie ducks under it, dropping down to the mat as he reaches up
to pull Sudakov down in a schoolboy!]

GM:  CRADLE!  ONE!  TWO!  

[But the powerful Russian kicks out hard, sending Stevie sailing away.]

GM:  That's the kind of offense we need to see from the Hotshot.  Stevie
back to his feet...

[And as the Russian rises, Scott drills him with a picture perfect
dropkick under the chin that knocks Sudakov back down to the mat.  Both
men scramble, trying to get back to their feet first.  Scott immediately
goes back to the air, lashing out with both feet...

...and having them swatted aside, crashing down to the mat without
connecting.]

GM:  Ohhh!  Stevie Scott went to the well on the dropkick and came up
empty on that one.

BW:  Let's go back to the schoolboy rollup though.  Typically, I'd say
Stevie Scott's conditioning would make a long match in his favor but the
sheer strength and brutality of Kolya Sudakov makes me think going for
the quick win should be Scott's goal here tonight.  That cradle makes me
think the challenger believes the same thing, Gordo.

GM:  You may be right on that one.

[Sudakov immediately goes on the attack, delivering a trio of hard
stomps to the ribs of Scott, causing the challenger to roll away from
the blows, getting close to the ropes...

...where a penalty kick to the ribcage causes Scott to roll under the
ropes, crashing down in the barely-padded concrete floor to the jeers of
the crowd.]

GM:  And down to the floor goes the challenger!  Sudakov with a vicious
kick to the ribcage, just like we were talking about and that puts Scott
out on the floor.

BW:  Look at Sudakov's face - would you get in there with a guy looking
like that?

GM:  Not a chance.

BW:  Stevie Scott should just stay out there on the floor.

[Sweet Daddy Williams rushes to his partner's side, leaning down next to
him to try and counsel him.]

GM:  Sweet Daddy Williams is right there to check on Stevie.

BW:  Awww, how cute.

GM:  He's trying to help the challenger up off the floor.

BW:  What?  There's no call for that!  That's illegal help!

[Vladimir Velikov is on the other side of the ring, barking something
similar in the direction of Michael Meekly who agrees, reprimanding
Sweet Daddy Williams for his aid to his partner.]

GM:  Meekly telling Sweet Daddy to back off - you happy now?

BW:  I guess but Scott's already up so what's the point in warning him
now?

[The referee starts a ten count as Sweet Daddy Williams and Stevie Scott
discuss the action inside the ring.  The challenger is visibly hurting,
clutching his ribs as he talks to his partner.  As the count reaches
six, the Hotshot climbs up on the ring apron and then steps through the
ropes.]

GM:  Stevie in at the count of seven... took some time to recover and
regroup out there on the floor.  And the Russian wastes no time, right
into a tieup...

[Stevie uses the incoming Russian's momentum against him, securing a
side headlock but the powerful Russian is having none of that, throwing
Stevie off to the ropes.]

GM:  Stevie off the ropes... backdr-

[But the approaching Stevie hooks Kolya's head, pulling him down and
reaching back to grab the legs in a small package.]

GM:  Small package for one!  Two!  T- no!  

[Both men quickly scramble back to their feet after the two count, Scott
again connecting with a perfect dropkick, this one knocking Sudakov back
to the corner where he slams into the buckles.  With the fans roaring,
Stevie pumps a fist, grabbing the wrist of Sudakov and firing him across
from corner to corner.]

GM:  Big whip to the corner by the challenger... Kolya staggers
OUUUUUUUT... BIIIIIG BACK BODYDROP BY THE CHALLENGER!

[The crowd roars as Scott slaps the canvas with both hands, fire in his
eyes as he balls up his fist and waves for Sudakov to bring the fight...

...but the champion wisely scoots back towards the corner where Vladimir
Velikov is waiting for him.]

GM:  And now it's the Russians' turn to confer.

[The fans boo wildly as Sudakov sits and listens to his uncle's words of
advice.]

BW:  These fans are such hypocrites.  They had no problem at all when
Stevie Scott was out there milking the count to try and get time to
recover.  But when Kolya does it, they boo.  Unbelievable.

GM:  The support of the people is so important.  It drives you, it
motivates you.  Stevie Scott is so lucky to have these people in
Jackson, Mississippi behind him here tonight.

BW:  A lot of good it'll do him when Kolya kicks his head off his
shoulders.

[Tiring of waiting, Stevie Scott moves to the corner where Sudakov is
down on a knee...

...and the Russian reaches up, grabbing the front of the trunks and
YANKING Scott chestfirst into the turnbuckles!]

GM:  Ohh!  Illegal leverage move by Sudakov!

BW:  I didn't see anything wrong.

GM:  You didn't see him pull the trunks?

BW:  Nope - and neither did the referee apparently.

[The fans jeer the official who looks confused at what happened but was
shielded by Stevie Scott's body.  Sudakov gets back to his feet,
spinning the Hotshot around, pushing him back into the buckles. 
Squaring up, Sudakov throws rights and lefts to the body of Scott,
causing the Hotshot to cringe with every blow.]

GM:  He's all over the challenger!

[Grabbing the top rope, Sudakov snaps off a kick to the body.]

GM:  Ohh!  Side kick to the body!  What a shot that was!

BW:  You can feel the ribs cracking and snapping right there.

GM:  Another one!  He's working the body of Stevie Scott and you were
right, Bucky.  It looks like Stevie is starting to have some trouble
catching his breath.

[Sudakov yanks Scott out of the corner, wrapping both hands around the
challenger's throat.]

BW:  Well, this isn't going to make it easier to catch his breath.

[The crowd jeers as Sudakov powers Scott up into the air, holding him
high by the throat for one and all to see...

...and then throws him down to the mat in a heap as the crowd boos even
louder.]

GM:  A blatant choke by the National Champion and these fans didn't like
that, Bucky.

BW:  Who cares what the fans like?  You try to please the fans and they
let you down!  

GM:  You sound like you're speaking from exper-

BW:  Shut up, Gordo.  I'm not talkin' 'bout it.

[With Scott down on the mat, gasping for air, Sudakov approaches slowly,
leaping high into the air...

...and bringing all his weight down in a crushing kneedrop on the
midsection of the challenger!]

GM:  Ohhh!  What a kneedrop!

[Sudakov applies a lateral press, reaching back to hook the leg.]

GM:  We have one!  We have two!  And that's all - Stevie lifts the
shoulder before the three count.

BW:  Hey Gordo, do you think Scott's regretting wearing those stars and
stripes trunks?

GM:  Why is that?  He's a proud American on America's birthday!

BW:  He's a proud American gettin' his tail kicked in every time the
champ sees those trunks.  He's just rubbing the Russian's face in them
and it's not going well for him.

[Sudakov gets back to his feet, looking over to his uncle who continues
to bark instructions in Russian.  The Russian War Machine nods as he
drags Scott off the mat by the hair, throwing him back into the
turnbuckles again, causing his head to snap back as he does so.]

GM:  Goodness.  The challenger's head snapped - almost like whiplash -
as he hits the buckles.  Sudakov's moving in on him again...

[Grabbing the ropes, Sudakov throws another roundhouse kick to the body,
the sound of the smack of flesh on flesh filling the air to the jeers of
the crowd.]

GM:  The ref needs to back him out of there... those corner kicks are
illegal!

[Another kick lands, this one causing Scott to cry out in pain before
slumping down to his knees in the corner...

...but Sudakov violently yanks him back to his feet.]

BW:  I love it!  Scott's not gonna get any rest on Kolya's watch! 
Finish him off, champ.

GM:  What kind of an American are you, Bucky?  To root for this
dastardly, America-hating Russian on the 4th of July!  What kind of an
American are you?

BW:  One who just got robbed by the American public and will support
anyone who makes them suffer for it.  Kick him again, Kolya.  Make the
hero bleed.

GM:  Sudakov grabs him by the arm... whip to the corner- ohh!  He hit
the corner hard!

[The challenger staggers out of the corner, one arm back grabbing at his
back...

...and stumbles right into Sudakov's waiting arms as he scoops him up,
pressing him high into the air.]

GM:  Good heavens!  Look at the power!

[With the challenger pressed high overhead, Sudakov does a full 360
turn, showing him off to every AWA fan jammed into the Mississippi
Coliseum...

...and then throwing him down to the mat like a piece of meat.]

GM:  Ohhhh!  What a slam!

BW:  And again, it's work on the body.  Kicks to the ribs, slams to the
back.  Stevie Scott's body is getting the beating of a lifetime here
tonight and pretty soon, he won't be able to breathe... then he won't be
able to stand... and as a wise man once again, if a man can't breathe...
or stand... he damn sure can't fight, daddy!

GM:  Look at Sudakov!  Just taunting Stevie!  Standing over the
challenger, ordering him to get up... begging him to get off the mat...
ohhh!  Another kick to the ribs!

[A second penalty kick to the body rolls Stevie onto his back, clutching
at his ribcage...

...which exposes his body for Sudakov to leap high into the air again,
dropping down with another crushing kneedrop!]

GM:  Ohhh!

BW:  That's almost 270 pounds of muscle crashing down on the chest of
Stevie Scott!  Look at Sweet Daddy out there - that fat goof - I think
he's gonna cry!

[Outside the ring, an emotional Sweet Daddy Williams is leaning on the
apron, head in his hands as he watches his partner and friend just be
abused by the Russian War Machine.]

GM:  Sudakov doesn't even attempt a cover off that kneedrop, getting
back to his feet... and he's dragging Stevie Scott off the mat by the
hair, pulling him back to his feet too...

[The crowd roars as Stevie throws a haymaker, bouncing off the skull of
Sudakov...

...who retaliates with another body kick that causes Stevie to fall back
into the ropes, his arms draped over the top rope to stay on his feet.]

GM:  Stevie tried to fire back there but to no avail.

[Grabbing the top rope, Sudakov delivers another hard body kick to
Scott, causing him to slump down to a knee.  The champion shakes his
head, lifting him off the mat.]

GM:  Irish whip by the champ...

[Suddenly, Sudakov sets, arm at the ready...]

GM:  SICKLE!

[The Russian barrels across the ring towards the rebounding challenger,
ready to deliver the clothesline that will almost certainly end the
mat...

...but Scott ducks under the clothesline just barely, dropping down to a
baseball slide that takes him under the ropes to the relative safety of
the floor.  Big cheer!]

GM:  Whew.  Close one there for Stevie.

BW:  He was a few inches away from having his head forcibly removed from
his body.  We almost saw the Sickle and that means we almost saw Sudakov
retain the title right there.

[The Russian War Machine turns around to face Scott but there's not a
trace of disappointment or frustration... merely amusement as he looks
outside the ring towards his challenger who is joined quickly by Sweet
Daddy Williams who has plenty of words of encouragement for his friend.]

GM:  Another strategy session out on the floor.  A good time for it as
Stevie needs to recover from that work to the body.  His ribs have gotta
be killing him right now.

BW:  Look at Kolya - just waving him back into the ring.  He doesn't
even make a move to go after him on the floor.  It's a smart move too. 
You can't trust that fat goof on the floor to play by the rules.  He'd
probably sneak attack Kolya with a chair or something.

GM:  He would not!

[The referee's count hits four... five... six... as Stevie Scott leans
on the apron, pulling air into his lungs.  Across the ring, Vladimir
Velikov can be heard shouting at the challenger, calling him every name
in the book as the Hotshot pulls himself up on the apron at the count of
eight to break it.]

GM:  Stevie breaks the count... what's he doing now?

[Stevie points a finger at Velikov and lets loose with a, "Can someone
shut that piece of trash up?" to a roar from the crowd...

...and an irate Sudakov comes storming over towards the challenger,
ready to act.]

GM:  Sudakov moves in on Stevie and-

[Suddenly, the Hotshot executes his strategy, reaching out to stick a
finger in the eye of the approaching Russian...

...and gets cheered for it!]

BW:  Hypocrites!

[Stevie looks around at the cheering crowd, shrugs his shoulders, and
sticks a finger in the eye again!  Big cheer!]

BW:  Stop him, Meekly!

[The Hotshot looks around at the fans again, breaking into a
STEVIEGRIN~! before grabbing the back of the blinded Russian's head...

...and dropping off the apron, smashing Sudakov's windpipe into the top
rope!]

GM:  OHHHH!

[Scott dives under the ropes, quickly crawling to apply a lateral
press.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  NO!  Shoulder up before the three!

[Still blinded and gasping for air, Sudakov is easy prey for the
attacking Scott who yanks him back to his feet, connecting with a huge
chop across the chest.]

GM:  Big chop by the challenger!

[The blinded Russian throws a wild right hand, catching nothing but air
as Stevie easily avoids it and connects with another hard chop across
the chest!]

GM:  Chops him back to the corner... 

BW:  The man can't even see! 

GM:  Stevie Scott's taking advantage of the blinded state of Sudakov...
big whip across the ring...

[The Hotshot sprints across the ring at top speed, leaving his feet with
a spinning heel kick...

...driving his leg into the throat and face of the champion!]

GM:  OHHH!  SPIN KICK IN THE CORNER!

[Scott quickly gets up, clutching his ribs as he hooks the dazed Russian
around the waist...

...and takes him over with a Northern Light suplex, complete with a
bridge!]

GM:  Suplex by the challenger!  ONE!!  TWO!!  

[But the injured ribs won't sustain the bridge, forcing Scott to release
the pin attempt.  The challenger comes up slowly, cradling his ribs as
he gets up, wincing with every movement...

...and dives atop the downed Sudakov, taking the mount position, and
throwing right hands as quickly as his body will let him!]

GM:  Oh yeah!  He's all over the Russian!  He's all over the Russian!

[The crowd roars for each and every blow catching Sudakov on the side of
the head...

...but the Russian has been in this position many times, easily bucking
up and sweeping Scott over onto his own back, putting the National
Champion in the dominant mount position.]

GM:  Uh oh!

BW:  Scott made a critical error right there!

[Sudakov measures Stevie Scott who has his hands up over his face and
promptly throws a hooking right hand that catches him right in the side
of the head.  The blow dazes Scott, forcing him to drop his guard, and
allowing Sudakov to throw fist after fist after fist into the face of
the challenger.]

GM:  Those are clenched fists!

[The referee says the same thing, getting right into the face of Sudakov
who promptly switches to a hammerfist, smashing it down on the eye area
of the challenger.]

GM:  Come on, referee!

[After a few more well-placed hammerfists, the referee literally wraps
his arms around the upper body of the Russian, falling backwards and
pulling him off the downed Scott.]

BW:  What the-?!  What right does Meekly have to pull a stunt like
that?!

GM:  The man was using illegal blows to the face!

BW:  So?  Count the man then!  He's got no right to put his hands on
Kolya Sudakov!  No right at all!

[An irate Sudakov sweeps the referee onto his back, raising back a right
hand...

...but a screaming Velikov manages to stop his nephew from striking the
official.  Sudakov is steaming as he gets back to his feet, glaring at
the referee who is reading him the riot act as he gets back to his
feet.]

GM:  Stevie Scott just took a pounding in the mount... Sudakov was right
back home in that mount position and he just did some serious damage to
the challenger...

[While Sudakov argues with the referee, we spot Stevie Scott on his
belly, crawling across the ring towards the corner, barely able to
move.]

GM:  Sudakov just did tremendous damage but he's not following up,
Bucky.

BW:  He needs to stay focused.  He needs to stay in control of his
emotions.  The referee got under his skin there and- okay, here we go...

GM:  The fired-up Sudakov is heading towards the corner, Stevie's
leaning against the buckles, trying to get away from the champion.

BW:  No chance of that.  And if you look closely, Gordo - cameraman,
zoom in there...

[As Sudakov approaches, the cameraman zooms in to reveal a cut on the
left eyebrow of Stevie Scott.]

GM:  Good eyes there, Bucky.  Stevie Scott was split open by one of
those punches in the mount and he's got a cut on that left eyebrow.

BW:  And that cut's above the eye which means any moment now, he's gonna
have blood running into that eye, completely blinding him.  This is a
bad, bad spot for Scott to be in.  If he's going to stand a chance in
this one, he needs to end it quickly.

GM:  Sudakov moving in... ohhh!  Lunging knee to the head of Scott!

[The challenger's head snaps back, limply lying on the turnbuckles as
Sudakov throws kick after kick to the sternum of the seated Hotshot.]

GM:  Come on, ref!  Get the man out of the corner!

[After a couple more kicks land, the referee steps in again, warning
Sudakov as he backs the Russian champion away from the buckles...

...and the jeers somehow grow louder as someone slowly starts to make
their way down the aisle.]

GM:  What's HE doing here?

[The crowd boos as "Agent To The Stars" Ben Waterson, dressed in a
stylish suit and carrying his ever-present metal briefcase, makes his
way down the aisle towards the ringside area.]

BW:  I knew he'd be here, Gordo.  I knew it.

GM:  Why?

BW:  This match is perhaps as important to Waterson as it is to either
Sudakov or Scott.  That briefcase is worth a lot of money to Waterson
and either Scott's gonna buy it or Waterson's gonna make sure that case
is still worth something tomorrow morning, daddy!

GM:  He has no business being out here!

[And both cornermen seem to agree, immediately stepping into his path
with their fists balled up.  Inside the ring, Kolya Sudakov points out
the new arrival to the referee who slides to the floor, trying to
restore order.]

GM:  This may be the first and only thing you'll ever see Vladimir
Velikov and Sweet Daddy Williams agree on, Bucky, but neither of these
men want Waterson out here.

BW:  Waterson's got a manager's license.  He's got every right to-

GM:  He doesn't represent either of these men!

[The referee is arguing with Waterson out on the floor...

...and completely misses a desperate Stevie Scott pulling the distracted
Sudakov down in another schoolboy rollup!]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREE!!  FOUR!!  COME ON, REFEREE!

[The referee spins away at the roar of the crowd, diving headfirst under
the bottom rope.]

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

[The crowd jeers the referee wildly who looks apologetic at everyone in
sight as he yells a few last words in the direction of Ben Waterson who
ignores them, taking a seat at ringside while patting the steel
briefcase in his hands.]

GM:  Stevie Scott had this match won!  Stevie Scott should be the new
National Champion!

BW:  Seriously?  You think Kolya didn't know there wasn't a ref?  He was
saving his energy.  He had no reason to kick out quickly without a ref
making a count.

GM:  You've got an answer for everything, don't you?

[Sudakov beats the hurting Stevie Scott to his feet, grabbing him by the
arm and firing him to the ropes.]

GM:  To the ropes... SICKL-

[But again, Scott has the move well scouted, throwing himself into the
air and hooking one arm with his arms while hooking the other with his
legs, pulling the champion down to the mat.]

GM:  CRUCIFIX!!  ONE!!  TWO!!!  THR- OHHHHHH!

[The crowd utters a collective groan as Sudakov just barely gets his
shoulder up before the three count.  A disappointed Stevie Scott
scrambles to his feet, clutching his ribs as he moves to the corner...

...and stomps his foot.]

GM:  He's calling for the Heatseeker!  He's looking for the killshot!

[With the superkick primed, Sudakov scampers up to his feet...

...and dives out of the way as Scott unleashes the kick that once
knocked the Russian out cold.]

GM:  OHHHH!  Sudakov avoids the superkick!  He avoids the Heatseeker...
rolling all the way out to the floor where Velikov is waiting for him. 
Uncle Vladimir with some words for Kolya and- where's Stevie going?

[The crowd cheers as Scott exits the ring, quickly moving over where the
Russians are standing...

...and with a handful of Russian skull in each hand, he SLAMS their
heads together to the roar of the crowd.]

GM:  DOUBLE NOGGIN KNOCKER!

[With Velikov down from the blow, Scott hurls Sudakov back under the
ropes into the ring.  He steps back up on the apron, ready to continue
the fight...

...but has his leg grabbed by a dazed Vladimir Velikov.  The crowd jeers
as Velikov prevents Stevie from getting back inside the ring.]

GM:  Come on, referee!  Look at that guy!

[But the referee is busy with Sudakov who has distracted him.]

BW:  Velikov is trying to help Stevie back into the ring - it's obvious.

GM:  He is not!  He's trying to-

[Big cheer!]

GM:  SWEET DADDY WILLIAMS CLEARS OUT VELIKOV!

[With a grin, Scott high-fives his friend as he steps through the
ropes...

...and gets grabbed by the incoming Sudakov, shoved back into the
corner.]

GM:  Look out!  Stevie's back in the corner!

[A barrage of blows come firing away from the Russian - three hooking
blows to the head start it off, knocking Scott to a knee.  Sudakov
quickly reapplies the Thai clinch, throwing knees to the body again,
lifting Scott off the canvas with the impact of them.  With a hard
shove, Scott hits the buckles again where Sudakov throws rights and
lefts to the ribcage before snapping off a trio of body kicks.]

GM:  COME ON, REFEREE!  GET IN THERE!

[Michael Meekly finally does, pushing Sudakov back out of the corner
with a reprimand.  Scott staggers out of the buckles, dazed, barely able
to walk, and takes a wild swing at nothing but air before falling flat
on his back on the mat.  Sudakov smirks as he applies a lateral press,
ordering the referee to count.]

GM:  This could do it - one!  Two!  THR- OHH!  Shoulder up!  Just in
time!

[Sudakov sneers at the official who reiterates a two count as the
Russian climbs back to his feet.  Reaching down, he grabs Scott by the
hair, pulling him up to reveal a more steady flow of crimson coming from
the corner of the mouth.  Holding him by the hair, Sudakov delivers a
hard headbutt to the left eyebrow.  A side headlock is quickly locked in
with three stiff shots to the wound, causing the blood to flow a little
more before Sudakov throws him into the buckles, his arms draped over
the ropes to stay on his feet.]

BW:  Stevie Scott is out on his feet, Gordo - it's only a matter of time
now!

GM:  You could be right.  The challenger is in bad, bad shape.  Bleeding
from the eye, bleeding from the mouth - he may have fractured ribs and
Kolya Sudakov just keeps on coming!

[The Russian War Machine backs across the ring to the opposite corner,
pointing a finger of warning at Scott...

...and then barrels across the ring!]

GM:  HERE!  COMES!  THE!  CHAAAAAAMMMMP!!

[But at the last possible moment, Scott leans back, throwing both feet
up into the air...

...and CATCHING the rampaging Russian right on the chin with his feet,
knocking the champion backwards!]

GM:  OHHH!  Stevie got the feet up!

BW:  Lucky move.  Sudakov was looking to finish him off!

GM:  Stevie got the feet up and the champion is dazed!

[Seizing the moment, the Hotshot quickly exits the ring, climbing the
ropes as fast as his injured body will allow...

...and promptly HURLS himself off the top, crashing down on the stunned
Russian with a high cross body press!]

GM:  CROSS BODY OFF THE TOP!!  ONE!!  TWO!!!  THRE- OHHHHHHH!

[The crowd echoes the disappointment of Gordon Myers as the referee says
it was only a two count.  Stevie Scott kneels on the canvas, head in his
hands, shaking his head in disbelief as Kolya Sudakov rolls to his
stomach, trying to get back to his feet.]

GM:  Stevie can't believe it!  He thought he had him there!

[The Hotshot gets up to his feet again, this time backing to the corner
where he hops up to the middle rope, waiting for Sudakov to stir.]

GM:  The Russian is rising... the Russian is up...

BW:  AXEHANDLE!

[The challenger leaps off the middle rope with a double axehandle blow
aimed for the skull of the Russian War Machine...

...but in a scene that looked like it was filmed in slow motion, Sudakov
lashes out with his deadly high kick, slamming it at full velocity into
the chest of the challenger, sending him down to the mat in a heap where
the champion collapses upon him!]

GM:  ONE!!!  TWO!!!  THRE- NO!  NO!  SHOULDER UP!

[The crowd breathes a sigh of relief as the referee holds up two
fingers.]

BW:  Stevie Scott is the luckiest man alive, Gordon Myers.  That high
kick has put people out cold.  It's put people in the hospital.  In MMA,
it ended careers!  But on this night, Sudakov's high kick caught Stevie
in the chest instead of the head.  If he'd caught him in the head, this
match would be over!

GM:  You may be right but the fates may be smiling on Stevie Scott
tonight, Bucky!  This may be the challenger's night with all of America
watching and cheering him on!

BW:  They can watch and cheer all the want but Kolya Sudakov is still
the National Champion and right now, he's still in control of this
match, Gordo!

[Sudakov reaches down, dragging Scott off the mat by the hair.  The
Russian War Machine ducks down, scooping the Hotshot up...]

GM:  Scoop slam coming up...

[But as the Russian attempts the slam, Scott hooks the legs, rolling him
into a cradle.]

GM:  INSIDE CRADLE!!  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE-  OHHHHH!

[The crowd goes nuts for the near fall, almost pleading with the referee
to say it was a three count.  The referee shakes his head, holding up
two fingers to the competitors as well as the fans.]

GM:  Only a two but again, it was so close... so very close.

[Sudakov pops back to his feet, delivering a hard kick to the ribcage as
Stevie pushes up to all fours, knocking him back down to his back.  The
Russian War Machine stares down at the motionless Hotshot, listening as
Vladimir Velikov shouts instructions from outside the ring.]

GM:  What in the world is Velikov saying to him?  Makes you wish you
spoke Russian, doesn't it?

BW:  I'm fluent in Russian actually.

GM:  Oh?  What is he saying then?

BW:  He said to break Stevie Scott's neck and put him in the hospital.

GM:  Really?

BW:  Nah, that's just what I'm hoping for.

GM:  Give me a break.

[Sudakov pulls the injured challenger off the mat, throwing him hard
back into the corner.]

GM:  Look at Sudakov... stalking his prey... cornering the weakened
challenger...

[Scott tries to lunge out of the corner but Sudakov cuts him, throwing
him back to the buckles.  The Russian War Machine throws a hooking right
hand to the eye area, knocking Scott down to a knee.  Sudakov yanks him
back up, throwing his arms back over the ropes to expose the body.]

GM:  The Russian - exposing that body again... ohhh!  Kick to the body!

[Sudakov nods at the reaction of the jeering crowd, snapping another
kick to the ribcage, causing Scott to fall down to the mat, cradling his
midsection.]

GM:  Stevie Scott can't even stand on his own power... can't even-

[The National Champion leans over, pulling Scott off the mat again,
immediately firing Scott to the ropes.]

GM:  Irish whip... backdr- leapfrog by Stevie...

[And as soon as Sudakov turns around, Stevie CONNECTS with the
Heatseeker, catching the National Champion under the jaw with the
superkick.  The blow brings the fans to their feet as Sudakov spirals
away, collapsing to the canvas near the ropes.]

GM:  HEATSEEKER!  HEATSEEKER!  COVER HIM, STEVIE!

[The Hotshot crumples to his knees, still cradling his body and slowly
starts edging towards the Russian.  The fans are roaring, trying to
cheer him forward, edge him on, get him to the fallen National
Champion.]

GM:  Stevie's crawling on his hands and knees - desperately trying to
make the cover... come on, Stevie!  Get there, kid!

[The challenger creeps closer... and closer...]

GM:  Almost... come on!

[And throws an arm across the chest of the Russian.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE- 

[The crowd ERUPTS in jeers as Vladimir Velikov grabs his nephew's foot,
placing on the bottom rope so the referee breaks the pin count.  The
referee points to the foot, shouting at the Hotshot that it's only a two
count.]

GM:  Only two thanks to that... that...

BW:  Vladimir Velikov saw the title slipping out of his hands and he did
the only thing he could.  Velikov just saved the National Title for his
nephew... for his country, daddy!

GM:  Stevie can't believe it.  He can't-

[The crowd ROARS as Sweet Daddy Williams flies around the corner,
blasting Velikov with a right hand, knocking him down to the floor.  The
rotund fan favorite drops down on Velikov, pounding him repeatedly with
right hands!]

GM:  SWEET DADDY WILLIAMS IS ALL OVER VELIKOV!

[With the cheering crowd rooting him on, the big man continues to pummel
the elder Russian.  Velikov starts to fight back from his back, trying
to tangle up the Atlanta native.]

GM:  We've got a fight outside on the floor!  Sweet Daddy Williams and
Vladimir Velikov are all over each other out on the floor!  They're
taking it right to one another and- wait a second!  Where is HE going?

[The crowd buzzes with confusion as Michael Meekly leaves the ring,
trying to restore some order out on the floor.]

GM:  Kolya is down, Stevie is barely moving... why in the world did the
referee just leave the ring?  Why is he- OHHHH!

[The fans echo Gordon's response as Michael Meekly accidentally catches
an elbow from Sweet Daddy Williams, knocking the official down on the
floor.]

GM:  Ohh!  The ref is down! 

BW:  He's just stunned though.  Williams didn't catch him full-on the
jaw!

GM:  Stevie's down... the Russian's down... wait a second!

[The jeers grow louder as "Agent To The Stars" Ben Waterson climbs to
his feet from his ringside seat, metal briefcase in hand.  He rushes
towards the ring, looking around to make sure the referee is still
down...

...and shouts something into the ring.]

GM:  What's Waterson doing?  What in the world is he-

[A dazed Stevie Scott pushes up off the mat, looking down to the floor
where the referee is shaking his head, trying to regroup...

...and nods in Waterson's direction.  The well-dressed Agent throws the
case into the air, landing in the hands of Stevie Scott just as a
stunned Sudakov gets up, clutching his chin.]

GM:  What the- wait... wait... NOOOOOOO!!

[The Hotshot winds up with the metal case, rearing back as far as he
can...

...and SMASHES it down over the skull of the National Champion, bringing
him down to the mat in a heap!]

GM:  OHHHHHHHHHH!

[Scott throws the case to the floor, still clutching his body as he
staggers towards Sudakov's prone body, throwing himself into a lateral
press.  Outside the ring, Ben Waterson grabs Michael Meekly, throwing
him under the ropes into the ring.  Still dazed, Michael Meekly spots
the downed shoulders and raises his hand.]

GM:  ONE!!!  TWO!!!!   THREEEEEEEEE!!!!!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  What... what did we just see, Bucky Wilde?  What in the world did
we just see?

[The crowd is buzzing with concern and confusion as an exhausted Stevie
Scott pushes up off the unconscious Kolya Sudakov, throwing his arms up
into the air as a still-dazed Michael Meekly raises his hand in
triumph.]

MC:  Your winner of the match... and NEEEEEEEEEWWWWWW AWA NATIONAL
CHAMPION...

"HOTSHOT" STEEEEEEEEEVIE SCOTT!

[The crowd, still stunned, responds with a mixed reaction for the
announcement of the new champion as Scott pumps his fists in triumph. 
After a moment though, Scott's expression changes drastically as Sweet
Daddy Williams joins his friend inside the ring.]

GM:  Sweet Daddy is in the ring...

[The hefty fan favorite grabs Scott by the arm, yanking him up to his
feet, and backing him towards the ropes.]

GM:  Sweet Daddy Williams can't believe what he just saw!  He's shouting
at Stevie... begging him for an explanation... pleading with him for an
answer...

[Stevie tries to ignore his partner, throwing his arms up in the air in
victory again...

...but Sweet Daddy Williams yanks the arms back down, shoving an
accusatory finger into the face of the Hotshot.]

GM:  Stevie Scott - explain yourself!  You owe the fans... your friend,
Sweet Daddy Williams... we all deserve an explanation!  

[Scott shakes his head at his partner, his face lighting up again as 
the referee hands the National Title belt to Scott who immediately holds
it high in the air...

...but has it ripped out of his hands by Sweet Daddy Williams who throws
it down to the mat.]


"WHAT DID YOU DO?  WHAT DID YOU DO, MAN?!"


[The words of Sweet Daddy Williams fill the air as the crowd seems to
wonder the exact same thing.  Stevie Scott looks down at his new title
belt on the mat, shaking his head in disbelief.]

GM:  And would you look at this?

[The crowd jeers as Ben Waterson steps through the ropes into the ring,
his arms wide as he stares across at Stevie Scott.  Waterson is all
grins as he walks across the ring towards the celebrating Stevie
Scott...

...and the new champion shoves past Sweet Daddy Williams, grabbing
Waterson in a huge embrace to an enormous jeer from the crowd.]

GM:  Unbelievable!  I can't believe it, Bucky... I just can't believe
what I'm seeing.

BW:  This is amazing.  Did Stevie Scott... for a year?  Did he just play
us all for almost a year?  

GM:  That's a good question.  Stevie Scott is...

[A stunned Sweet Daddy Williams grabs Stevie by the arm, pulling him
away from Waterson.  He's absolutely red with rage, pointing at Stevie
and causing the new champion to backpedal away from him, raising his
hands in a concillatory gesture.]

GM:  Sweet Daddy Williams is stunned and who can blame him?  He's also
fired up... he's angry as... well, fans, excuse my language but Sweet
Daddy Williams is mad as hell just like the rest of us!  Stevie Scott
has fooled us all!

[Ben Waterson tries to intervene, grabbing Williams by the shoulder...

...and gets DRILLED with a right hand from Williams, knocking him down
to a knee!]

GM:  Oh yeah!  Let 'im have it, Sweet Daddy!  Let 'im both have it!

[The crowd is growing excited now as Sweet Daddy backs down Stevie
Scott, a finger pointed in his face.]


"WAS IT ALL A LIE?  DID YOU PLAY ME FOR A FOOL?  WAS IT AN ACT, STEVIE?!
 WAS IT?!"


[Scott continues to back away, shaking his head, offering a hand in
friendship.]

GM:  Stevie Scott is trying to shake Sweet Daddy Williams' hand but
right now, the Sweet Daddy isn't having any of it, Bucky.

BW:  Well, I... for once, I think I agree with the Sweet Daddy.  I don't
know if I'd trust Stevie Scott right now either.

[An angry Waterson gets up off the mat, grabbing the dented briefcase
off the canvas...

...and SMASHES it down across the back of Sweet Daddy Williams' head,
knocking the fan favorite down to a knee.]

GM:  OHHH!  COME ON!

[Stevie Scott, rage in his eyes, snatching the briefcase away from
Waterson, pointing a threatening finger in the direction of the
super-agent...

...and spins around on his heels, DRIVING the case down over the skull
of the kneeling Sweet Daddy Williams to a shocked reaction from the
Mississippi Coliseum audience!]

GM:  OHHHHHHHHHH!

[The new National Champion stands over the motionless Sweet Daddy
Williams, the title belt in one hand and the dented briefcase in the
other, looking down at the man we'd have to believe is now his former
friend and partner.]

GM:  Stevie Scott... that damned Stevie Scott.  Stevie Scott, fans, is
your new AWA National Champion... but you have to wonder... was the
price he paid worth it?  Stevie Scott has sold his soul for championship
gold.

[Waterson re-joins Scott, standing by his side as they both look down on
Williams...

...and he raises the new champion's arm in the air, pointing at the
Hotshot, the world's biggest Steviegrin on his face as we fade to black.]