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                           American Wrestling Alliance
                                 Proudly Presents
                         AWA Saturday Night Wrestling

                            Live from the Ford Arena
                                 Beaumont, Texas
                                    June 6, 2009
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[As we fade in, we hear the closing theme to the Andy Griffith show as
the shot starts to fade.  It is replaced by a shot of the Chairman of
the Championship Committee, Stephen Ross, as he stands against a black
backdrop with the AWA logo splashed on it.]

SR:  Good evening, AWA fans.  On behalf of the Championship Committee,
welcome to the AWA Saturday Night Wrestling.  By order of the Committee,
I am here to make the following announcements.

The Committee wishes to congratulate "Hotshot" Stevie Scott on his
victory in the second annual Rumble at Memorial Day Mayhem and to
officially announced that Mr. Scott WILL be challenging Kolya Sudakov
for the National Title on the 4th of July.

I would also like to announce that due to the inconclusive finish in the
match between the Bishop Boys and Rough And Ready at Memorial Day
Mayhem, the Committee has ruled that both teams will retain their two
points of title contention.  However, we have also ruled that due to the
violent and unpredictable nature of that matchup, we will NOT be
sanctioning a rematch at this time.

And finally, on behalf of EVERYONE here at the American Wrestling
Alliance, we would like to thank all the superstars who stepped up to
the plate in the Rumble using the Open Door policy.  It was an honor and
a pleasure to have such great competitors in our ring.

[The shot of Stephen Ross fades out and the sounds of "One More Saturday
Night" by the Grateful Dead start to play.

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

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

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

After a moment, we fade away from the cheaply done intro to inside the
Ford Arena where a near-capacity crowd of just under 7,000 fans are
screaming their heads off.  The camera pans over the roaring crowd as
the music continues to play.

We dissolve to the ringside area where a small table has been
strategically placed next to the ring.  In front of it, stand our two
announcers.

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

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

GM:  Good evening, fans, and welcome to another edition of AWA Saturday
Night Wrestling featuring all the stars of the American Wrestling
Alliance, _the_ major league of professional wrestling.  We are coming
off the heels of an amazing night of AWA action at Memorial Day Mayhem
where we saw "Hotshot" Stevie Scott become the second man to win the
Rumble and he has earned his shot at Kolya Sudakov and the National
Championship, Bucky!

BW:  He's won his shot at the title.  You can't deny that.  But is he
ready for it?  He's got less than one month to get ready for the
toughest night of his life on the 4th of July, Gordo.

GM:  The 4th of July is the next big night on the AWA calendar - an
event that we'll have some more information about later tonight but for
now - mark it in bold - Stevie Scott challenging Kolya Sudakov for the
National Title!  Does it get any bigger than that?  Fans, it was a wild
night at Memorial Day Mayhem and hopefully you were with us live in the
Arena Theatre or right here on WKIK but if you weren't, you missed some
of the greatest action in the AWA's history.  

BW:  That brutal match between Rhodes and Vasquez.  The return of Ron
Houston.  That bimbo Sarah Sharpe being knocked flatter than her chest.

GM:  Bucky!  We saw all of that and much, much more including... well,
take a look at this...

[We cut to footage marked "MEMORIAL DAY MAYHEM RUMBLE!"  Inside the
ring, wrestlers are skirmishing and from the footage, it appears to be
late in the match as Gordon's voice is heard.]

GM:  Eight men remain.  Freeman, Dufresne, Broussard, Rogers, Kentucky's
Pride, Ron Houston, and Stevie Scott... what a final eight!  

BW:  And right now, I almost have to give the edge to Kentucky's Pride! 
The tag champs working together might be able to run the table here,
Gordo.

GM:  You could be right.

[Sensing the same thing, Rust and City Jack move in on Ron Houston,
cornering him and laying in some heavy blows to the former National
Champion.  On the other side of the ring, Adrian Freeman DRIVES Rogers'
skull into the mat with a DDT!]

GM:  Ohh!  They took Rogers down!

[Sliding under the ropes, Calisto Dufresne snatches the ringbell away
from the timekeeper, rolling back into the ring.]

GM:  Dufresne's got the ringbell!  What in the- somebody stop him!

[The Ladykiller nods his head, waving for Freeman to pick Rogers back
up.  The Australian obliges, holding Rogers by the hair as Dufresne
measures him with the ringbell...

...and charges forward!]

GM:  Not like this!  Not like-

[Calisto Dufresne DRIVES the metal ring bell solidly into human skull
but not the skull of Adam Rogers.]

GM:  OHHH!

BW:  I don't believe it!

[The crowd gasps in collective shock as just before the bell hit the
skull of Adam Rogers, a blow certain to take him out of the match, the
San Jose Shark, Marcus Broussard threw himself in front of the blow,
taking the full force of the ring bell into the side of his head, a shot
that knocks the former National Champion over the ropes to the floor!]

GM:  Broussard is down!  He's out to the floor!  He sacrificed himself
to save Rogers!  He sacrificed himself to-

[Dufresne shakes his head in disbelief, winding up with the bell
again...

...but this time, Adam Rogers ducks out of the way, causing Dufresne to
DRILL Freeman with the ring bell, a blow that causes Freeman to sail
over the ropes to the floor!]

GM:  OHHH!  FREEMAN'S GONE!

[A stunned Dufresne winds up with the bell again...

...and EATS a Metropill right on target that sends Dufresne flying over
the ropes to the floor!]

GM:  DUFRESNE AS WELL!

BW:  The three men who had lasted the longest in this match just got
eliminated one right after the other!  

GM:  We're down to five men!  Kentucky's Pride, Stevie Scott, Ron
Houston, and Adam Rogers are the final five men in this match, Bucky! 
Can you believe this?

[And with that, we fade away from the old footage and end up inside the
ring where Gordon and Bucky are standing.]

GM:  There you have it, fans.  After months and months of Marcus
Broussard trying to prove himself to his former friend... after that
grueling sixty minute draw they had not that long ago... after all the
words and accusations that they threw back and forth... after all that,
did Marcus Broussard FINALLY prove himself to the world?

BW:  Well, Gordo... I have a hard time imagining that the Marcus
Broussard that I once considered a close personal friend would EVER
sacrifice his shot at the National Title for anyone or anything... but
that's exactly what we saw.

GM:  It certainly is.  And at this time, please welcome to the ring the
man who made a lot of those accusations... "The Natural" Adam Rogers!

[Rogers was apparently standing in the ring just out of camera view as
the shot pulls back slightly to reveal the former World Champion walking
over towards Gordon and Bucky, looking quite solemn and stuff.]

GM: Adam, as we just saw on the replay, Marcus Broussard saved your neck
at the Memorial Day rumble.  Does that change anything about your trust
for him?

[Adam pauses, swiping his hand across his chin.]

AR: Gordon...I've seen that replayed in my head, over and over again. 
Marcus stepping in front that cheap shot, taking it for me and in turn
seeing himself get eliminated.

To be quite honest, I didn't deserve that.

[Mild pop.]

AR: I know I've caught a lot of heat lately for not trusting Marcus
Broussard.  Well, it's not as easy, not as simple as it might seem on
the surface.  But what that guy did at Memorial Day Mayhem...it showed
me a lot, Gordon.

It showed me that Marcus Broussard really _is_ who he says he is.

The old Broussard, he never would have sacrificed his shot at the
National Title for _anything_.  I said all along that Marcus would have
to earn my trust.

[Adam nods.]

AR: And that's what he did.

Marcus, I don't know where you are...haven't seen you since that
Rumble...but I know you're listening.  My hand is extended to you,
brother.  I hope you're willing to accept it.

[He nods again.  Yay.]

AR: Now let's talk a bit about the other part of that Memorial Day
equation.  Let's talk about Adrian Freeman and Calisto Dufresne.

[Rogers pauses, chuckling silently.]

AR: To be honest, I haven't thought a whole lot about these two punks
who are out to make a name at my expense.  And it's cost me, Gordon. 
It's cost me at least one match, because when I'm anywhere near my "A"
game, there is no way that someone with the skills of Adrian Freeman
could beat me.  But the truth of the matter is that my mind hasn't
exactly been into things.

Well, boys...now you've got my _direct_ attention.  My head's back on
straight, and I'm looking right at you two boys, ready to teach you a
lesson or two about what _real_ wrestling is all about...not what you're
used to in the minor leagues, kids.

[The crowd "oooohs" at the verbal cheap shot which quickly turns to boos
as Adrian Freeman and Calisto Dufresne emerge from the locker room area.
 Both men are absolutely fuming at the words of Rogers, making a beeline
for the ring as Rogers waves Bucky and Gordon into the clear as he
prepares to defend himself.

Freeman dives headfirst under the ropes without a second thought,
sprinting towards the at-the-ready Rogers while Dufresne peels off,
racing around the ringside area, nearly knocking Gordon Myers off his
feet en route.  Bucky Wilde is the first back to the broadcast table.]

BW:  Whoa!  Gordo, you okay?

[Inside the ring, Freeman and Rogers are trading haymakers while Gordon
Myers tries to get seated.]

GM:  I'm fine, fine.  No thanks to that Dufresne character.  Why isn't
he inside the ring with his partner anyways?

[A series of right hands by the Natural has the crowd roaring as Freeman
gets knocked back against the ropes where Rogers grabs him by the
wrist...]

GM:  Irish whi- reversed by Freeman...

[And as Rogers gets hurled towards the ropes, the ever-dastardly Calisto
Dufresne, ringbell in hand...

...DRILLS Rogers in the middle of the spine with it, knocking Rogers
down to his knees.  The crowd jeers wildly as Freeman delivers a hard
boot to the chest that knocks the Natural down to the mat while Dufresne
rolls under the ropes, clutching the ringbell to his chest.]

GM:  A cheapshot!  Cheapshot with that ringbell again!  He got Broussard
with it at Memorial Day Mayhem and tonight he gets- oh, come on!

[The jeers grow louder as Dufresne and Freeman repeatedly stomp the
downed Rogers on the mat.  After a few moments, Dufresne waves his
partner to hoist Rogers up.]

GM:  Freeman's dragging Rogers up... pulling the Natural to his feet...

BW:  They're gonna END Adam Rogers right here and now, Gordo!  This is
gonna be it!

GM:  Freeman grabs the arms, holding them behind Rogers... Dufresne's
got that ring bell and he's- 

[The crowd ERUPTS in cheers as the San Jose Shark, Marcus Broussard,
comes charging down the aisle.]

GM:  BROUSSARD!  BROUSSARD!

[The former National Champion dives headfirst under the bottom rope,
immediately ducking under a wild swing with the ring bell by Dufresne. 
As Dufresne spins around, he gets caught in a bearhug by the San Jose
Shark who quickly pops the hips, DRIVING Dufresne down to the mat!]

GM:  BELLY TO BELLY!  BELLY TO BELLY ON DUFRESNE!  OH YEAH!

[Broussard pulls himself off the mat, catching Freeman in the midsection
with a right hand as the Australian storms towards him.  Back on his
feet, the Shark grabs Freeman by the hair...

...and HURLS him over the ropes and down onto the barely-padded concrete
floor below!]

GM:  OHHHH!  DOWN THE FLOOR GOES FREEMAN!

[The crowd EXPLODES for Broussard as he climbs up on the midbuckle,
screaming for the two rulebreakers to get back inside the squared
circle, waving for them to re-join the fray.]

GM:  Broussard wants them back in!  He's had enough of these two guys
and I can't blame him one bit.  They cost him a shot at the National
Title two weeks ago, Bucky!

BW:  They did, they did.  But if I were Marcus, I'd just walk away from
these two.  We've seen them put people OUT of the AWA, Gordo.  You think
they couldn't do the same thing to Broussard?

GM:  It's certainly a possibility but the San Jose Shark isn't about to
back down from a fight, Bucky.  You know that's true.

[With Freeman and Dufresne fleeing the scene, Broussard hops down off
the midbuckle, moving towards the now kneeling Adam Rogers.  The
Natural, shaking his head, slowly looks up and spots his savior looking
down at him.]

GM:  This is your chance, Adam!  You said it yourself... you said
there'd be a handshake waiting for him!  Give it to him, Adam!  Give it
to all of the fans here in Beaumont, Texas!

[Rogers slowly gets back to his feet, staring across the ring at the San
Jose Shark, his former friend.]

BW:  The moment of truth, Gordo.  Did Rogers actually mean what he said
or...?

[With the crowd buzzing in anticipation, Rogers looks around at the
fans...

...and with a nod, he extends his hand in the direction of Marcus
Broussard who looks a little surprised at the gesture.  The crowd cheers
wildly, trying to encourage the San Jose Shark to accept it.]

GM:  Rogers offers his hand but after everything he's done to
Broussard... after all they've been through, can Marcus possibly accept
it?

[The former National Champion looks back and forth, side to side at the
roaring crowd, almost as if he's searching for advice...

...and then returns the gesture, shaking the hand of the Natural!]

GM:  Oh yeah!  I love it!

BW:  Great.  Another pair of baby-kissin' suckups to these fans.  Just
what we needed.

GM:  And let's see Freeman and Dufresne try to take a cheap shot on
EITHER of these guys now!  After all these months of conflict, Adam
Rogers and Marcus Broussard are friends and allies once more!  Fans,
don't you dare go away - we'll be right back!

[The shot holds on Rogers and Marcus, sharing a few words with one
another as they shake hands once more before 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 live action to the ringside announce area where
Gordon and Bucky are once again standing in front of their makeshift
announce desk.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans, to AWA Saturday Night Wrestling and we're off
and runnin' here tonight in Beaumont, Texas, Bucky.  Just moments into
this show and finally... FINALLY... we've seen Adam Rogers and Marcus
Broussard reconcile!

BW:  Well, these fans sure loved that moment but me?  I wish Marcus
would reconcile with the man who was the first AWA National Champion -
the REAL Marcus Broussard.

GM:  I believe this IS the real Marcus Broussard, Bucky.

BW:  Wouldn't be the first time you're wrong.

GM:  Fans, we talked about what an exciting night it was at Memorial Day
Mayhem especially in that big Rumble match so at this time, let me bring
in a man who was once again DOMINANT in that match...

BW: See ya, Gordo.

GM: ...but once again came up empty.  I'm talking about the Samoan Beast
himself, Tumaffi.

[As per usual when Tumaffi enters the broadcast area, Bucky stands well
away.  Tumaffi's massive body soon fills the screen, as he enters from
off camera on the left side.  It is difficult to gauge his present
demeanor by looking at him, as his dark blue silk robe obscures his
body, and his wild mane of black hair obscures his face.  His hands,
however, are in view; they are taped up for battle, and are being wrung
expectantly.]

GM: Tumaffi, we all saw what transpired between yourself and Shane
Destiny at Memorial Day Mayhem.  You eliminated Destiny from the
matchup, but he came back in later in the match and returned the favor.

Tumaffi: A recurring theme, is it not?

[Gordon seems a little taken aback by how calm Tumaffi is.  Ordinarily,
he'd probably chokeslam the broadcast booth and attempt to eat a fan or
something.  But not today.  He's remarkably composed.]

GM: By that, you mean...?

Tumaffi: By this, Tumaffi refers to Memorial Day of 2008, when an
insignificant man named Ricky Royal re-entered the ring after being
hurled to the floor by Tumaffi, removed his boot, and struck me with it
in order to eliminate me.  The major difference here seems to be Shane
Destiny's understanding that it is more effective to strike with a boot
when one's foot is still in it.  Nonetheless, one sees the pattern, yes?
 It is a cycle.  And the cycle is repeating.

GM: You're comparing what Destiny did to what Ricky Royal did?  To be
fair, Tumaffi, Royal was defending the helpless people that you had been
sending out of this arena on stretchers.

Tumaffi: And who is performing that same act now?  Was it not Shane
Destiny who injured a man several weeks ago, and proclaimed that the
blood was on Tumaffi's hands?  Look at these hands, Gordon Myers!

[Tumaffi lifts his large, calloused hands to the camera.]

Tumaffi: There is very much blood on these hands, Shane Destiny.  No
amount of cleansing, no amount of scrubbing will ever remove the blood
from these hands.  And this blood is not all from the weak.  

Michael Keening, Raya Oscura, Miguel Quesada, Erik Reid, Ricky Royal...
the litany of the fallen and destroyed is long indeed.  Tumaffi has
ended many careers, and many of these careers are of prominent fighters.
 Men who were lauded, who were champions, who were promising.  Tell me,
Shane Destiny. 

Do you think it matters greatly to Tumaffi that you would smear more
blood on my hands?  Is this not what Tumaffi said to Ricky Royal, every
time I annihilated another pitiful challenge?  Tumaffi cast the blame on
him.  Here, in this very spot.  

GM: I remember that very well.

Tumaffi: This cycle will repeat.  Shane Destiny now has a convienient
scapegoat on which to blame his actions.  And he will do such harm to
all those he encounters who are not strong enough to match him.  There
will be many more stretchers and many more victims.  Understand that
Tumaffi is unconcerned about the fates of any who choose to sign their
name on a contract.  They have chosen their lot.  

But these men have families.  They did not sign any contract to have
their family destroyed.  No wife signed an agreement to witness the
destruction of their husband, no child signed a contract to be raised by
a father who is unable to walk.  Tumaffi learned this great lesson in
the past few months; far too late, but a lesson learned nonetheless. 
The Fa'a Samoa is clear; the family must be preserved.  Therefore, the
cycle must break.

Shane Destiny... HEAR ME!

[And with that, the volume goes up to eleven.  Tumaffi's deep voice
suddenly booms, as he shouts his challenge.]

Tumaffi: DESTINY!  TUMAFFI CHALLENGES YOU!  IF YOU WISH TO SMEAR BLOOD
ON THE HANDS OF TUMAFFI, LET IT BE YOUR OWN!  IF YOU WILL MAKE A FAMILY
WEEP, LET IT BE YOUR OWN, AND THEN THE WEEPING WILL END!  FACE ME, SHANE
DESTINY!  FACE ME... _TONIGHT_!

[The crowd cheers, as the idea of Tumaffi versus Shane Destiny here
tonight is a highly popular one.  Gordon jumps right on this.]

GM: Tumaffi is challenging Shane Destiny to fight him tonight!  That
would be a main event anywhere in the world!

[Tumaffi enters the ring.  There was an unknown wrestler there, waiting
for his match (presumably with Tumaffi), but Tumaffi orders him away and
he does not hesitate.  The gargantuan Samoan stomps about the ring,
calling for Destiny.  Bucky returns to the broadcast position while this
is going on.]

BW: I know Destiny is here, Gordo!  This would be unbelievable to have
this match tonight!

GM: These fans want it, Tumaffi wants it, the whole world wants it...
and here comes the man who can make it happen!  Here comes Shane
Destiny!

[Destiny walks from the entrance portal, dressed in his street clothes. 
He makes a movement to the ring, but then stops and pauses for a second.
 He smirks, then heads back to the announcer's desk, where he instructs
Myers to hold up the microphone.]

SD: Let me make one thing absolutely clear to you, you unkempt savage...
I'm not here on your every beck and call.  You can talk about all the
people that you've beaten, as if that's supposed to mean something to
me.  Look at me, Tumaffi... I am not any of those names that you
mentioned.  How many of those men have done what I have done?  How many
of those men have lost buckets of blood, faced the highest-calibre
talent possible?  How many of those men shattered the bones and dreams
of dozens of hopefuls?

[Destiny pauses to scoff.]

SD: You think your resume is so damn impressive... well, let me make
this clear to you.  How many Hall of Famers have _you_ beaten?  How many
World titles have _you_ held?  How many times have you been in the main
event, wrestling the absolute top talent in the sport today?  Oh, sure,
you hospitalized some people... but until you have done what I've done,
you are in no position to make any kind of demand from _me_.  You are
nothing but hype... _I_ am the real deal.  So these people want to see
me fight you?  I'll fight you, Tumaffi... 

[The crowd cheers enthusiastically, drawing a look of disgust from
Destiny's face.]

SD: ... but not tonight.  I'm not giving away my talents for free so
people can watch me wrestle on television, much less destroy the myth of
the great Samoan Beast.  So you can make your grandstand challenges, you
can stomp and snarl, but it's not going to do you any good.  You want to
fight me?  Take it up with the matchmakers... these people have to pay
to see the best professional wrestler walking this earth today, and
that's Shane Destiny.

[Destiny walks away from the announcer's podium and returns to the
locker room, boos raining down from the fans in attendance who were
hoping to see such an anticipated match.]

GM: Well, I guess that...

[But before Gordon can spit out another word the crowd _pops_.]

GM:  ... oh my!

[The figure quickly approaching the scene is adorn in a tan trench coat
and black cowboy hat, the brim tilted back to allow those in attendance
a view...

... of a former National Champion...]

GM: Ladies and Gentlemen, join me in welcoming a man who just made his
return to AWA, shocking the world in the rumble...

[The larger than life figure of "The Athens Georgia Madman" steps into
the scene, a smile smile on his face as he waves his hand in
appreciation at the massive cheers that rain down upon him. He tilts his
head back towards the entrance for a moment as Gordon continues.]

GM:  ... RON HOUSTON!!!

[Houston leans in, turning his attention back to Gordon. Bucky,
meanwhile, stays as far removed from the man who once put his hands on
him and came dangerously close to crossing the line. As this all goes
on, Tumaffi stoically watches... "The Madmen" arena wide going wild!]

RH: Mah oh _mah_... 

[Houston points towards the entrance.]

RH:  ... it's amazin' how quickly things can change, ain't it Gordon?

[POP!!!]

GM: It sure is, Ron.

RH: Ah was gone fer a short while. Off lickin' mah wounds. A little bit
embarrassed by how mah stubborn self got me inta a pickle that cost me
the National Championship. But ah've always lived and died by mah
foolish pride, so ah don't hold it against mahself too much. But ah'm
startin' ta wonder if Kolya took more than the National Title from The
East Coast Terror, Gordon. Ah'm wonderin' if he took mah sanity as well.

[Houston smiles.]

RH:  Ah come back and we've got us _Shane Destiny_ runnin' round here
like some ticked off hyena. A legend no doubt, but a face ah wasn't
expectin' ta see when ah walked through those curtains. We've got Marcus
Broussard throwin' his skull in front of a hunk of metal fer somebody
other than himself. We've got us Adam Rogers, mah friend, throwin'
everything he's got at me just ta get a shot at mah hunk of metal that
_still_ seems to be layin' 'round the waist of a Russkie who ambushed
and stole it from The Athens Georgia Madman...

[Houston points at the 6'7 415 pound mountain of a Samoan that stands in
the ring in front of him.]

RH:  Then we've got _this_. Ah leave fer a short little while and ah
come back ta find Tumaffi himself... _THE_ Tumaffi... comin' out here ta
cheers and doin' what's right. The big Samoan nightmare ain't no more.
Ah guess he woke up. Ah guess he grew up. Heck, ah guess a lot of
things. But one things seems certain...

[Houston rubs his head.]

RH:  Ah swear ah must be dreamin'. 

[Houston eyes Tumaffi up and down. His eyes narrowing as he removes his
black cowboy hat and plops it down on the desk beside him.]

RH:  Now, there's a time a place fer me ta come out here and thank these
fans fer their support. Mah _Madmen_...

[POP!!!]

RH:  ... Fer all the letters ah've been getting askin' me ta get better,
or come back, or heck, just to show mah face and let 'em know that ah'm
ok. But ah think ah showed the world just how rested and healed ol' Ron
Houston is at the Rumble...

[Big pop!!!]

RH:  As fer mah intentions? Well, there's a time and a place ta let
ya'll know what mah intentions are now that ah'm back... whether it's
settlin' old scores... or trumpin' up some new ones ta settle. Heck, or
just comin' out here every week ta put on a good show fer The Madmen
everywhere.We've got us plenty of time ta get ta that. We've got us
plenty of time fer thank ya's. Plenty of time fer comeuppance too. 

[Houston points a big Athens index finger in Tumaffi's direction. The
Samoan staring on intently.]

RH:  But none of that is why ah'm here today. Ah don't think a soul in
this arena would say that ah ain't one ta seize and opportunity when ah
see it, and that's _exactly_ what ah'm out here fer tonight... seize a
_big_ opportunity. A six foot seven, four hundred fifteen pound mountain
that ah ain't ever climbed. A mountain that even Shane Destiny chose to
waltz away from tonight instead of facin'. 

So tonight... Tumaffi... ah couldn't help but notice that ya ain't got
nothin' better ta do. And truth be told, neither do ah. So whaddaya say?
Tumaffi versus Ron Houston... in that there ring... 

[POP!!!]

RH:  ... TONIGHT!!!

[Houston pauses, soaking in the arena's support as Tumaffi nods his head
in understanding as Houston finishes. He then replies.  Loudly.]

Tumaffi: It seems that the alleged legend, Shane Destiny, does not have
the backbone or character befitting his reputation.  But perhaps this
man does!  Know with assurance, Ron Houston, that the Samoan nightmare
is most certainly NOT over!  The nightmare is reserved exclusively for
those who choose to meet Tumaffi in battle, as you have now done! 
Therefore, you will get what you have asked for!  Tumaffi accepts your
valiant challenge!

[The crowd roars, as they now know the main event they're getting
tonight.]

Tumaffi: It is shameful that the alleged legend, the former world
champion, the man who was once lauded by all, did not possess an ounce
of your courage or heart.  Therefore, Ron Houston, Tumaffi invites you
to attempt to make your own legend tonight!  But be forewarned that a
man who tries to slay a dragon only faces two possible outcomes:

Legend... or lunch.

[Houston smiles a crooked Georgian smile.]

RH: Then ah guess ah'll be seein' ya _real_ soon, mah good man.

[Houston grabs the cowboy hat and plunks it back down onto his head.]

RH:  And ah must say that ah'm _really_ looking forward ta it. Ah'll see
ya'll _real_ soon.

[Houston snickers.]

RH:  Legend or lunch, shucks ah like that a _lot_. 

[And with that The Athens Georgia Madman departs, the crowd going wild
at the ridiculously hot main event they're going to have the privilege
of viewing.]

GM:  Fans, what a Main Event that's gonna be!  Ron Houston vs Tumaffi?! 


BW:  This is nuts!  You've gotta be kidding me!

GM:  The East Coast Terror vs the Samoan Nightmare... TONIGHT!  Don't
you dare go away!

[We fade away from the Ford Arena.

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 backstage area where Jason Dane is standing
just beyond the entryway.]

JD:  We are LIVE here in the Ford Arena in Beaumont, Texas, fans, for
AWA Saturday Night Wrestling and the excitement is through the roof
already!  It's just as exciting as it was two weeks ago at Memorial Day
Mayhem in fact.  We kicked off tonight's show in a huge way... but at
Mayhem, no one could even imagine we'd kick off the show as we did. 
Take a look...

[Cut to footage marked "MEMORIAL DAY MAYHEM" where Bucky Wilde was in
the ring at the start of the show for a special edition of The Call Of
The Wilde.]

BW:  This man phoned me two weeks ago and said that he had something to
say to the AWA - to the fans, to the wrestlers, to the world.  And he
said that I was the only one he trusted to get him that chance.

Well, when "Big Bucks" promises... "Big Bucks" delivers.  

This man... he and I haven't always seen eye to eye.  But he's changed. 
And I like his attitude these days.  I've seen the future and this man
is going places once again.

[Feel the hype!]

BW:  Ladies and gentlemen... the twenty-seventh announced name for
tonight's Rumble... he is a former two-time World Heavyweight
Champion...

He is... "SUPERSTAR"...

[Dramatic pause.]

BW:  KEVIN SLATER!

[The crowd reacts with shock as "Rock Superstar" by Cypress Hill starts
up over the PA system.  Bucky Wilde jigs back and forth to the music, a
huge grin on his face at the crowd's reaction.  

After a moment, Kevin Slater walks into his AWA arena once again for the
first time in months.  Slater doesn't look like the Kevin Slater we're
used to seeing though.  He's dressed in a stylish black suit, a bright
gold chain hanging around his neck.  Sunglasses are on his face as he
steps into view.  He places his hands on his hips, looking back and
forth at the crowd before making his way down the aisle towards the
ring.

Slater very obviously is trying to avoid the fans, pulling his arms
close to his body to avoid the high-fives of the aisle-side crowd as he
heads towards the ring.  The former "Wild Thing" steps up the ringsteps,
climbing through the ropes.

He strides out to the center of the ring, accepting a handshake from
Bucky Wilde which brings even more boos from the AWA fans as Slater
looks out at them from behind the sunglass-covered eyes.

And with that we...

CUT!

...to later in Slater's promo.]

BW:  Kev, you know I've got to ask the question.  The last time we saw
you in an AWA ring, you took it to your former friend, Bobby Taylor,
after his brutal match with Grant Stone.  That was several months ago
now but I'm sure everyone still wants to know why.

[Slater nods his head.]

KS:  Of course, of course.  Why wouldn't everyone want to know why I
FINALLY wisened up and put that piece of trash Taylor in his place?

You know why, Bucky?

[The announcer shakes his head.]

KS:  The story goes back years, Bucky.  Years!  It goes back to the late
90's in Los Angeles when I was on top of the wrestling world.  It goes
back to the Cult of Personality.

Slater, Taylor, Myers, and Steele.  We were going head-to-head with the
Syndicate and making all the headlines...

[Slater pauses.]

KS:  But like all things in this business, all good things must come to
an end.  And when the CoP went down... we went down in flames.  The
group crashed and burned.

And I went right along with it. 

Everyone knows my story, Bucky.  Pills, booze... the bad stuff.  I had
my demons and time and again, I let them win.  I had my shots to get
back but everytime, I lost them at the bottom of a bottle.

[The crowd hushes a bit at Slater's emotions.]

KS:  My friends... my family... they tried at first.  But I kept pushing
them all away.  And in the end, I was all alone.

Some people would say that's what I deserved, Bucky.

[Slater nods his head...

...then whips the sunglasses off, throwing them down.]

KS:  BUT NOT ME!

I _DESERVED_ better, Bucky!  I _DESERVED_ to have the friends and family
by my side to help me get through it.  I _DESERVED_ to have these people
who said they loved me to prove it!

But that's not what I got, Bucky.  Not in the slightest.

[Slater hushes a bit.]

KS:  So, I stood alone... I fought alone... and I got better.  I worked
my way back.  I got clean and sober and I wanted to get back to the
business I loved.  I wanted to become the man again who won two World
Titles in Los Angeles.

But no one would give me a chance.  

I had "a reputation."  I was the guy who couldn't be counted on.  Who
would "flake out" and disappear when he was needed.  I was a ticking
time bomb to those people... it was just a matter of when I'd explode.

[Slater pauses.]

KS:  Then the AWA came around... and I made an appeal to the men who
were supposed to be my friends.  "Give me one more shot.  Let me prove
that I've changed."

[Slater nods.]

KS:  And it took a while... weeks of begging... pleading... of
humiliating myself so they could get a cheap thrill out of watching a
FORMER TWO-TIME WORLD CHAMPION on his knees begging for a job.

But they gave me the job.  They needed some name value to sell some
tickets.  They wanted me to be the "Wild Thing" that I always was.  They
wanted the old Kevin Slater.

But the old Kevin Slater is dead and buried.  The "Wild Thing" is dead
and buried.

[CUT!  Ahead once more...]

KS:  I knew where everyone else stood... but what about you, Bobby?  

Grant Stone was the key.  He wanted to draw you out... the real you...
as badly as I did.  He was an easy pawn to move around the board too. 
Toss him some cash, watch him bust up some people, and eventually... he
got to you.

You didn't care when I got hurt.

You didn't care when Steele got hurt.

You didn't even care really when Shane got hurt.

[Slater pauses.]

KS:  In the end, it was only when your ego got hurt... your precious
reputation got hurt... that's when you cared.  And that's when you
stepped up to take your shot at Stone.

And that's when my opportunity presented myself.  My chance to expose
myself.  To expose you.  And to show the world the truth of what was
going on in front of their very eyes.

So, I took my shot.  I took my chance.  And I put you out.

[Slater stops, the crowd booing, as Bucky Wilde finally speaks again.]

BW:  Kev, are you... are you saying that YOU were The Man With The
Money?

[Slater smirks.]

KS:  Bucky, Bucky, Bucky... I'm surprised there was ever any question at
all.  I mean... you know the people who work here.  You know that most
of these guys have squirreled around the independent circuit for years,
not making a dime.

Who else but a former two-time World Champion could afford to put that
bounty out there?  Who else but a former two-time World Champion could
have the cash to draw people here to the AWA to come after... me?

Who else... but a Superstar?

[And with that, we fade from the older footage back to Jason Dane who
has now been joined by "Superstar" Kevin Slater, absolutely beaming at
what we just saw, who is dressed to compete.]

JD:  Kevin Slater, we've known each other a long, long time.  I grew up
in the locker rooms in Los Angeles watching you become a two-time World
Champion.  I have to say... some of what you said... I'm shocked. 
Completely stunned at what you've become.

[Slater smirks at Jason.]

KS:  That's cute, Jase.  It really is.  I remember those days too. 
Thirteen years ago... you were just a kid running around the back,
trying to carry my bags.  Trying to get me to date your sister so you
could call me "Uncle Kevin."  It was endearing.

[The sarcasm is evident in Slater's voice.]

KS:  You know, Jase... I kinda forgot about all that.

[Slater scratches his chin.]

KS:  We were friends, kid.  We really were.

[Slater removes his sunglasses, looking a little emotional...

...and then puts a steely gaze on Jason Dane.]

KS:  Which just adds one more person to the list of people who weren't
there for me when I needed them!  Jason Dane, you insignificant little
punk!  Where were YOU when I was signing autographs at the local flea
market to pay my rent?  Where were YOU when I sold the boots from my
FIRST wrestling match so I could get dinner?

You were right where the rest of them were.  You weren't around.  

[Slater sneers at Dane.]

KS:  Just like the rest of my so-called friends... my "adoring"
family... my "fans."  None of you were there.  I was alone... I hit
bottom alone.

And I climbed back up alone.

I needed you then, Jason.  I needed you all.

[Slater puts the glasses back on.]

KS:  I'm a two-time former World Champion, Dane.

I don't need ANYONE now.

[With that, Slater shoves Dane back against the backstage wall before
walking past him towards the entryway.  A disappointed Dane shakes his
head as we fade back to the ring where Melissa Cannon is standing.]

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit.  Introducing first, already in the ring at this time... from
Dallas, Texas, weighing in at 270 pounds... 

BEEF JACKSON!

[A... well, beefy... large African-American man stands in the middle of
the ring in a pair of black full-length tights with a camo shirt with
the sleeves cut off.  He throws one of his meaty arms to the air to a
few cheers.]

MC:  And his opponent...

[Cypress Hill's "Rock Superstar" kicks in to a huge shower of jeers from
the AWA faithful.]

MC:  From Boston, Mass... weighing in at 255 pounds... he is...

"SUPERSTAR"

KEVIN SLATER!

[Slater walks through the curtain to even more boos.  He's dressed in a
simple pair of white tights and boots with black elbow and kneepads. 
The sunglasses stay in place as he walks down the aisle towards the
ring, going out of his way to avoid any touches from the fans lining the
aisle.]

GM:  This guy makes me sick, Bucky.

BW:  Why's that?

GM:  These fans have ALWAYS supported him.  Even when he didn't really
deserve it in my opinion - they stood behind him.  They cheered for him,
they rooted him on.  And in the end, he spits in all their faces!

BW:  You're just like them, Gordo.  None of them were there when he
needed them.  Just like that big goof Taylor.  Just like everyone! 
Kevin Slater has finally seen the light and you can't understand it. 
Predictable!

[Slater slowly walks up the steps, standing on the ring apron.]

GM:  Now what's his problem?  Get in the ring.

[The former "Wild Thing" shakes his head at the referee, gesturing at
the ropes.]

GM:  He's ordering the referee to open the ropes for him?  You've got to
be kidding me!

BW:  Why not, Gordo?  He's a former two-time World Champion, you know.

GM:  So I've heard.

[The referee finally sits on the ropes, opening them up for a smirking
Slater who steps into the squared circle.  He removes his sunglasses,
handing them with a warning to a ringside attendant...

...and then turns around into a running clothesline that knocks him off
his feet!]

GM:  Ohhh!  What a clothesline!

[The referee calls for the bell to start the match as a fired-up Beef
Jackson pulls Slater off the mat, drilling him with a big haymaker that
knocks Slater back into the buckles.]

GM:  The "Superstar" is on the ropes early, Bucky!

BW:  It's ring rust.  Give him some time.

[With the crowd cheering, Jackson throws heavy right after heavy right
into the skull of Slater.  Grabbing the former World Champion by the
wrist, Jackson hurls him across the ring before stampeding across after
him...]

GM:  RUNNING CLOTHESLIIIIIII- OHHHHH!

[Jackson's huge frame slams chestfirst into the buckles as Slater dives
out of the way.]

BW:  Fantastic veteran move by Slater to avoid the clothesline in the
corner!

GM:  Jackson staggers out of the corn-

[Slater hoists the big man up into a fireman's carry before tossing him
overhead, dropping down to a knee so that the back of Jackson's neck
smashes into the bent knee.]

GM:  Ohhh!  I don't even know what you call that!

BW:  A fireman's carry neckbreaker maybe?  I have no idea either!

GM:  With Jackson down, Slater's heading for the high rent district. 
He's wasting no time in trying to finish off Beef Jackson here on
Saturday Night Wrestling!

[With a big grin on his face, Slater scales the ropes, balancing with
ease as he looks out over the jeering crowd...

...and hurls himself off the top, floating through the air and driving
the point of his elbow down into the chest of Beef Jackson!]

GM:  Flying elbow!  Vintage Kevin Slater right there!  That's been in
the playbook of Kevin Slater for years, Bucky.

BW:  It certainly has.  He's won countless matches with that and I'm
guessing he just won another one, Gordo.

GM:  Lateral press by Slater... one!  Two!  Thre- what the-?!

[The crowd boos as Slater pulls Jackson up by the head, breaking up the
pin attempt.  He sneers at the jeering fans, shaking his head back and
forth as he climbs up to his feet, pulling Jackson up with him.]

GM:  Slater's not done yet apparently.  What else does he have in store
for-?  Uh oh.

[The Wild Thing pulls Jackson into a front facelock, casting a big grin
as the crowd catches on to what's going on - booing him wildly as a
result.]

GM:  Oh, give me a break, Bucky.  He's not going to-

BW:  Oh, yes he is!

GM:  Slater's got him hooked and...

[Grabbing Jackson by the trunks with his free hand, Slater picks Jackson
up off the mat...

...and SPIKES him skullfirst into the canvas with a thunderous DDT!]

GM:  DDT!  A big time DDT by Slater!

BW:  No, no, no!  That's no ordinary DDT, Gordo!  You know it!  It's the
Cattlebuster, baby!  The Cattlebuster DDT just claimed another victim
and I think that's the finest I've ever seen it executed!

GM:  Give me a break.  Well, if the elbow didn't do it... that DDT
surely did.  That Cattlebuster DDT, I should say.  Kevin Slater just
blatantly stole the signature move of Bobby Taylor... his former friend
that-

BW:  Look at this!

[Slater promptly shoves the hefty Jackson onto his chest, pulling both
arms behind him into a double chickenwing...

...and then kicks over in a front flip, bridging to complete the
submission hold.]

GM:  Whoa!  What is that?

BW:  A bridging double chickenwing!  He's got Jackson trapped!

GM:  Jackson's trying to- that's it!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


MC:  Ladies and gentlemen... your winner by submission...

"SUPERSTAR" KEVIN SLAAAAATER!

[Slater holds the submission for a few seconds despite the referee's
demands to break it... 

...and then finally releases, smirking as he climbs up to his feet.  He
orders the referee to raise his hand in victory as he looks out over the
jeering fans.]

GM:  Slater with a win by submission over Beef Jackson and-

[The crowd suddenly goes NUTS!]

GM:  TAYLOR!  TAYLOR!

[Bobby Taylor comes charging down the aisle towards the ring, clad in
dress slacks and shoes.  A dress shirt is whipped off to the floor as he
tears towards the ring, diving headfirst under the ropes.

But by the time he gets to his feet, Kevin Slater has once again bailed
out of the ring.  This time, he hurdles the ringside rope, making his
way through the crowd towards the nearest emergency exit.  Taylor leans
over the ropes, screaming Slater's name as he stares out after him.]

GM:  Ohhh... Slater got away again!  Just like at Memorial Day Mayhem,
Slater flees from Bobby Taylor and Taylor just misses getting his hands
on that no-good...

BW:  Watch it, Gordo.

GM:  Kevin Slater gets the win but I'll tell you, I can't wait to see
what happens when Bobby Taylor finally gets his hands on Slater, Bucky.

[An irate Taylor paces back and forth near the ropes, glaring out into
the crowd where Slater is still rushing towards the door and 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 inside the Ford Arena where Melissa Cannon is
standing in the middle of the ring.]

MC: The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit. Introducing first and already in the ring... Hailing from
Camden, New Jersey and weighing in tonight at 267 pounds... THE NORTHERN
LIGHTS BOMBER!

[A well muscled man with stringy black hair and short black beard -
wearing a dark blue wrestling singlet with a silhouette of the Northern
Lights Bomb maneuver on the front - shoots his arms up in the air before
pounding his chest, showing he's amped for this match.]

MC: And his opponent...

[The static noises that begin "The Thing I Hate" by Stabbing Westward
sounds throughout the Ford Arena as the fans give out a mixed pop for
the brash Pure X. The young technician's dressed in his normal wrestling
gear of dark baggy green pants with two swords crossed on each leg in
the form of an X, black T-shirt, and black boots.]

MC: Hailing from Los Angeles, California and weighing in tonight at 227
pounds...

[Pure X calmly walks down to the ring and up the steps.]

MC: PUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURE X!

[The young technician raises an arm as another mixed reaction from the
crowd sounds out before the ring bell. The two men meet in the middle of
the ring and immediately go into a collar-and-elbow tie-up. This last
but a second as Pure X quickly switches out of to the back, holds his
elbow to the back of the Northern Lights Bomber's neck and sweeps the
larger man's legs out from under him, shoving him down in the process.]

GM: And just that quick, Pure X has his opponent down on the mat!

BW: That was a nice variation of a face plant, Gordo. Should be easy
pickings for him her now.

[Indeed, Pure X whirls around so that his left knee is planted right in
the back of the NLB's head while wraps his right arm around the Bomber's
own right arm, yanking it back in a vicious motion.]

GM: Modified armbar now applied by Pure X. Seems to me that Pure X
showing a little more intensity than what we've seen here in his short
time in the AWA.

BW: Have to agree - I think coming up short in the Rumble is weighing on
his mind. He's got to be thinkingthat if he hadn't requested to be the
first man in the Rumble, he would've went a whole lot farther. Pretty
sure I'd agree, too, daddy.

[The ref asks the Northern Lights Bomber if he wants to quit, which the
Bomber shakes off - while gritting his teeth - as Pure X continues to
pull back on the right arm. The Bomber, however, uses his strength to
roll around enough to break the hold. Pure X, though, gets up and starts
to lay boot after boot to the shoulder, neck, and bicep of the NLB.]

GM: Pure X working the Northern Lights Bomber right shoulder, no doubt
trying to take away the man's power.

BW: Well, when you've named yourself after a move, guess it doesn't take
a rocket scientist to know how to neutralize you. Pure X is making sure
that this Bomber fellow can't even get Pure X off the ground, should it
come to that.

[Pure X drags the Bomber up by his hair and then shoots left & right
fists to the right shoulder, softening up the area. After about the
sixth shot, the Bomber pushes Pure X out, turns and rushes Pure X with
his left shoulder, leveling the technician.]

GM: Bull rush by the Northern Lights Bomber and Pure X is down!

BW: He ran at X with all his weight - no doubt that hurt, daddy!

[The Bomber stomps away at Pure X before going to bring X back to two
feet. However, when reaching down, the NLB instinctively used his right
arm and a shot of pain hit him enough to stop him on the spot.]

GM: The Bomber couldn't drag X back up - Oh! Roll up by Pure X! One,
two, thr- No!

[The Bomber shoots back up, angry that he almost got himself pinned via
a roll up and immediately charges at a rising Pure X. He hits X with a
running knee to the gut of Pure X and then locks X in a front facelock -
using his off arm.]

GM: He's going for it! The Northern Lights Bomber is going for his
namesake move!

[As the Bomber tries to scoop up Pure X for the Northern Lights Bomb,
Pure X wiggles out of it as the Bombers shows some difficulty trying to
perform the move not on his right side. The Bomber tries to charge at X
again, however Pure X has this one scouted as he counters with a drop
toe hold that Pure X turns to a single-leg Boston Crab.]

GM: Working over the shoulder of the Northern Lights Bomber paid
dividends as Pure X got out of a dangerous situation and quickly &
impressively into yet another hold.

BW: Give this man ten minutes in the ring and he'll have worked over
pretty much every joint you got, Gordo.

[Pure X wrenches back on the left leg of the Bomber, working over the
Bombers knee. Just as the ref asks the Bomber if he wants to submit,
Pure X switches out of the hold and instead moves down and slams the
Bomber's left ankle across his outstretched knee. X does this a couple
more times before standing up and hitting a knee drop to the ankle,
causing the Bomber to wail out in pain.]

GM: Knee drop to the ankle and that may have done some damage, Bucky!

BW: Certainly seems that way, Gordo - no man of the Bomber's size just
wails out like that unless he's hurt.

[Pure X immediately grabs the left leg and locks in his finisher - the
ankle lock that he calls "The X". It takes only a couple of seconds
before the Northern Lights Bomber taps.]

GM: The Northern Lights Bomber submits!

[At the sound of the bell, Pure X immediately lets go of the hold and
calmly drops the Bomber's leg.]

MC: You winner of the match...

PUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURE X!

[Pure X shoots an arm up in triumph as the fans give out another mixed
pop for the technicially gifted wrestler. X looks back at the Bomber and
nods to himself as he sees his former opponent gingerly walking off and
up to the locker rooms. Pure X then exits the ring and makes his way
over to the broadcast area where Gordon Myers stands by.]

GM: Pure X, congratulations on your win tonight.

PX: Thanks...

GM: I have to ask since you seemed to have shown a little more of an
edge in the ring... Considering how long you lasted and how well you
performed, do you have any regret at requesting to be the first man in
the match? Do you think that maybe if you had left your position to
chance, it might be you awaiting a title match on July 4th?

PX: I won't lie to you, Myers... It was disappointing. I was rolling in
that ring when Freeman tossed me out. I was disappointed that I couldn't
make it to the end and get to face... Or rather beat the current joke we
have of a National Champion. But that's what comes with the territory of
that type of match, Myers. The unexpected rules...

[Pure X pauses, a bit of a bitter pill he's swallowing here.]

PX: The best wrestler in the ring doesn't always win. The weaker, less
talented like of... Well, heh, Freem-

[Pure X curls his upper lip, showing he's still not over what happened.
However, he stops himself from continuing down that line of thought.]

PX: No... No... I won't do that. I should have won - in my heart, I know
I could have gone the distance. Didn't happen. So now I'm back to square
one, and you know what Myers?

[Pure X pauses, waiting... waiting... waiting... until finally Myers
gets the queue.]

GM: Oh, uh, what?

PX: "The what" is that I'd rather have it this way. Winning some sort of
trumped up circus event to get a shot at the title? That's not my style.
Skipping over those who've worked longer and have gone through the hoops
before I have -

[Pure X shakes his head.]

PX: No. See, I'm a methodical person - in and out of the ring. I'd
rather beat every single person above me in the rankings, in order,
before getting my shot at the title. I'd rather prove to the whole
roster that I - as a rightful, merited National Champion - am the best
that this federation has to offer. So I'll go through Vasquez,
Broussard, Rhodes, Rogers, Freeman, and Scott - and anyone else who
suddenly jumps ahead of me - before I get my title shot. I'll take the
long road cause that's what a TRUE champion should have to do before
getting their hands on a title.

[With that, Pure X leaves the broadcast area and heads back to the
locker room.]

BW:  Gordo, did he just challenge the ENTIRE Top 10 contender list?

GM:  I'm... I think so.  He's ranked number seven as of the last edition
of the Top 10 list so I guess he's technically challenging the 6 men
ahead of him but... well, fans... that's definitely something to keep an
eye on.  Fans, let's go backstage where Jason Dane is standing by with
the men who'll be in our next match!

[Cut to the locker room area where Dane is indeed standing by.  On each
side of him is a large, muscular man.  On his right?  Scott Pain.  On
his left?  Colt Patterson.]

JD:  Thanks, Gordo.  Scott Pain, Colt Patterson... you have got to be
disappointed with how things turned out for you both on Memorial Day.

[Patterson looks a little annoyed in Dane's direction.]

CP:  Disappointed?  Yeah, you could say that.  You're looking at two men
who used to be on top of the wrestling world.  So, you could say that
getting chucked out of the Rumble before we had a chance to make a major
impact... yeah, that's disappointing.

JD:  I'm not sure I understand, Colt.  You eliminated Gary Bright with
help from Jackson Ross.  That's something, right?

CP:  Sure.  It's something.  It's something I wanted to do for Scott
because he's got unsettled business with Bright still.  But still... I
didn't get a chance to do what I came here to do.  I didn't get a chance
to win it all and get that shot at the National Title.  That's the
bottom line, Dane.  I want gold. 

[Patterson slaps Pain on the chest.]

CP:  WE want gold.  Singles gold.  Tag goid.  Right now, it doesn't much
matter to either of us.  So, we didn't get the job done at the Rumble.

[Patterson shrugs.]

CP:  We'll get it done tonight.  And when we do, we'll be one point away
from cashing in a title shot at Kentucky's Pride.  City Jack, Tin Can
Rust... we've got all the respect in the world for you guys.

[A grin.]

CP:  But we've also got every reason in the world to want to beat you. 
Now, if you'll excuse us... we've got business to take care of.

[The duo starts to walk away when Dane interrupts.]

JD:  One more thing, Colt... you also eliminated Jackson Ross in the
Rumble.

[Patterson pauses.]

CP:  And?

JD:  Well, uh... isn't he your friend?

[Patterson glances at Pain who grins.]

CP:  Kid, much like Jackson... you've still got a lot to learn.

[With that, the powerful duo makes their way towards the entranceway. 
We cut back to the ring where Melissa Cannon is standing.]

MC:  The following contest is a tag team match scheduled for one fall
with a twenty minute time limit.  Introducing first... in the ring at
this time... at a combined weight of 570 pounds... Dale Orson and Keith
Moore!

[Not much reaction for the nondescript competitors.]

MC:  And their opponents... also weighing in at 570 pounds...

COLT PATTERSON and SCOTT PAAAAAAIN!

[The crowd cheers as the veteran duo makes their way through the curtain
into the Ford Arena.  The 6'10 Pain, dressed in black trunks that extend
to mid-thigh, leads the way, slapping the hands of the ringside fans as
he walks the aisle.  Patterson comes up the aisle behind him, also
slapping hands in his white trunks.]

GM:  Patterson and Pain are attempting to work their way up the tag team
ladder in the AWA right now.  They are currently ranked #5 in that list
but with the point system in place, all you need is a hot streak to get
that elusive title shot at Kentucky's Pride.

BW:  And I hate to admit it but Kentucky's Pride did quite well for
themselves in the Rumble as well.

GM:  They came very close to being there at the very end, lasting all
the way to the final five of the match but they couldn't quite get
there.  City Jack was very disappointed, I know that for sure.

[Patterson and Pain make their way into the ring to still more cheers
from the AWA fans.  Patterson takes to the middle rope, paying tribute
to the cheering crowd before hopping back down.  The two veteran huddle
up, trading some last minute words before Patterson steps outside of the
ring, letting his much-larger partner take the start.]

GM:  It looks like Scott Pain is going to be starting this one off with
Keith Moore - there's the bell now.

[Pain strides out to the middle of the ring, emotionless as he waits for
Keith Moore to join him.  A collar and elbow tieup is attempted by the
much-smaller Moore, bringing a smirk to the face of Pain...

...who HURLS Moore halfway across the ring and down to the mat!]

GM:  Goodness!  

BW:  No one can doubt the power of Scott Pain, Gordo.

GM:  Absolutely not.

[Moore gets back to his feet, looking surprised at the throwdown.  He
shakes his head a bit as he edges closer to Pain again...

...this time ducking under a tieup attempt, throwing hooking blows at
the ribcage of Pain.  A leaping dropkick causes Pain to take two steps
back.]

GM:  Moore with a flurry of offense!  Back to his fee- OHHH!

[The crowd gasps along with Gordon Myers as Pain connects with a running
boot to the jaw that dumps Moore in a heap back down on the canvas.]

GM:  What a boot by Pain!

[Dragging Moore by the hair to the middle of the ring, Pain leaps into
the air, dropping a crushing legdrop down across the upper body of
Moore.]

GM:  310 pounds of legdrop down on Moore!  I think he could finish this
guy off right here and now if he wanted to, Bucky.

BW:  What fun would that be?

[Pain nudges Moore with his boot, rolling him to the corner where a
hesitant Dale Orson makes the tag.  He doesn't immediately climbs into
the ring though...

...which causes Pain to storm the corner, using a biel throw to bring
Orson into the ring!]

GM:  Another big show of power from Pain and with power like that, you
would have thought he'd have a better showing in the Rumble, Bucky.

BW:  The Rumble is unpredictable.  With so many limbs flying around,
it's real easy to get tossed before you realize it.  Power helps but
it's not everything in a match like that.

GM:  Pain pulls Orson off the mat... there's a tag to Colt Patterson!

[Patterson is quickly into the ring, delivering a kick to the ribs of
Orson to double him up.  A snap suplex follows, taking Orson down hard
to the mat...

...where a BIG leaping elbowdrop finds the mark!]

GM:  Patterson is all over Orson...

[The former World Champion pulls Orson up, firing him into the ropes...

...and catching him on the rebound with a spinning powerslam, reaching
back to hook the leg!]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREE!!  That's it, Bucky!



"DING!  DING!  DING!"


MC:  Your winners of the match by pinfall...

Colt Patterson and Scott Pain!

[The crowd cheers the victory.]

GM:  A big win by Patterson and Pain... and that puts them in a perfect
spot, Bucky.  One more win and that title shot is theirs.  We all know
how badly they want a shot at the gold and that match could be it for
them.

BW:  They've still got one more to go and that win is the hardest.  Just
ask Rough N Ready and the Bishops.

GM:  You've got that right.  Fans, don't go away, we'll be right back
with more AWA action!

[We fade away from the victorious Pain and Patterson 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 Dave Cooper and Eric Matthew
Somers of Rough N' Ready have come to the announce position. Cooper is
dressed in a button-down shirt and blue jeans while Somers is wearing
one of them nifty AWA T-shirts and faded blue jeans.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans, and at this time, we are now joined by Rough N'
Ready, who saw their match for the final point for a National tag team
title shot go to a no contest... I take it, though, that these two men
are not finished with their issues with the Bishop Boys. Gentlemen, I
notice Sarah Sharpe is not with you tonight... how is she doing?

DC: Gordon, Sarah is doing as well as she can be. She'll have her arm in
a sling for a few weeks, but otherwise, she's fine. She could have been
here tonight, but simply felt it was best to let Eric and myself do the
talking as far as certain issues go.

GM: Well, that brings us to Memorial Day Mayhem and the match with The
Bishop Boys.

DC: Gordon, the fact we didn't get the final point for that tag title
shot isn't what bothers us. What bothers us is the fact that Cousin Bo
took it upon himself to get involved in his boys' business... and he can
say what he wants about looking out for his men, but the fact is, he
chose to get involved and it should be no surprise that Sarah was gonna
stand up for us as well. And then, as they might say, all hell broke
loose.

BW: You know, if that wife of yours would just stay in the kitchen and
fix your dinner, that wouldn't have been a...

[Bucky does not get to finish his sentence as Somers immediately moves
forward, fist raised, causing the announcer to scurry back a few steps.]

EMS: Wilde, I'm gonna say this one time only... keep your mouth shut or
I'll gladly shut it for you! And it don't matter if the AWA front office
fines and suspends me for it... I will not stand by and watch you trash
our manager... my partner's wife... and get away with it!

[Cooper makes no attempt to restrain his partner, although Somers holds
his ground as Bucky continues to back away.]

EMS: Now, as Dave said... all hell did break loose as I made sure Cousin
Bo kept his nose out of things, only then one Cletus Lee takes it upon
himself to interject and, as a result, he hurts our manager! Yeah, I was
ready to give Cousin Bo some issues if he didn't keep his nose out of
our business... but as easy as it could have been for me to really lash
out, I held back. Hell, Bo should have been breathing a sigh of relief,
because as Cletus Lee and Duane Henry found out... when I don't hold
back, people find out just how well I beat people up!

GM: But that brings us to what happened moments after... Dave Cooper,
you were dropped with a gourdbuster onto that wooden platform.

DC: Gordon, I'll admit Duane Henry rang my bell that night, but the
thing is, I'm still standing, and I'm not done with him or Cletus Lee!
And rest assured that Eric and myself will be looking forward to that
opportunity to get those two in the ring and settle this once and for
all.

GM: Well, that may not happen, gentlemen... you may not have heard yet
since you just arrived at the arena but earlier tonight, Stephen Ross
made an announcement on the behalf of the Championship Committee that 
the AWA is NOT allowing yourselves and The Bishop Boys to face each
other in another match for some time, as they are worried about things
getting too out of control, given what happened at Memorial Day Mayhem.

[Somers and Cooper share a surprised glance at one another before Somers
speaks again...

EMS: Gordon, all I have to say is this... one way or another, I'll damn
well catch up to The Bishop Boys and we'll settle this out in the
parking lot if we have to!

DC: Even as I can respect that the front office doesn't have an easy
job, as I've been in that position myself... what happened at Memorial
Day Mayhem is not going to go unanswered, I can guarantee you that. The
only thing I'm going to say to Stephen Ross or whoever else is in charge
of these decisions... you better find a way to let us settle this,
because I can guarantee you that, to what my partner Eric just said...
I'll back him up on that if need be.

[The members of Rough N' Ready then depart the announce position.]

GM:  Rough N Ready isn't done with The Bishop Boys... and I'm going to
guess that the Bishops aren't done with Rough N Ready either.  Jason
Dane is standing by with the Bishops... and frankly, I think they owe
the entire AWA an apology for their actions at Memorial Day Mayhem! 
Jason?

[Cut to Jason.]

JD: Yes, Gordon, joining me right now are Cousin Bo and his charges, The
Bishop Boys, Cletus Lee and Duane Henry.

[The shot moves to the left to show afurious looking Bishop Boys team.
Standing in front of them is an even angrier Bo.]

JD: Well, Bo, you hear...

CB: [interrupting] MR. ALLAN, DANE!

JD: Erm, yes, Mr. Allan. I think the one question our viewers have had
since Memorial Day Mayhem is this. Why? Why did you feel it necessary to
attack Sarah Sharpe and reinjure her shoulder? Why have one of your men
heinouslyattack a perfectly innocent woman?

CB: First of all, Jason Dane, before we get down to brass tacks, I think
you need to take the sass right of your voice. Because I'll tell you one
thing. I am in NO mood for your smart-aleck comments.

[Bo turns to the camera.]

CB: And that goes double for you, Myers. You've been warned before about
annoying me, and I'll tell you right now, this is absolutely the last
warning you get. You cross me one more time, and I don't think you'll
like the end result. You hear me?

[Bo turns back to Jason.]

CB: Now, as far as this insinuation that everyone is making, all it is
is yellow journalism, nothing more. Cletus Lee Bishop did not knowingly
attack Sarah Sharpe.

JD: [incredulous] You mean to tell me that Cletus Lee entered that ring
and didn't see Sarah Sharpe standing on the apron right in front of
him?!

CB: Now what did I just tell you about getting nervy with me?! What
Cletus Lee did, pal, was made the LEGAL tag, entered the ring, and went
for one of his big moves. The only reason, and I stress the ONLY reason
that such an incident occurred, was because Sarah Sharpe was someplace
she should not have been. She stood there on the apron like an idiot,
and she paid the consequences. If she ended up suffering an injury, then
I would hope that would teach her a lesson. Frankly, though, I think
she's acting.

JD: Acting?!

CB: Yes, acting, are you deaf? Because she manages one of the "beloved"
tag teams around here, the minute she throws herself to the ground,
everybody acts as if some great tragedy just occurred. But when I go to
argue with that stupid inbred of a referee over an illegal tag, and get
yanked to the ground by that bigmaniac Somers, theseidiot fans are ready
to cheer like crazy if he knocks me out. Now you tell me, Jason Dane,
exactly where is the justice in that?

JD: Well, not for nothing, Mr. Allan, but you did get up on the apron
first.

CB: To argue an infraction! How is it my fault that whatever rookie ref
they trotted out there needs glasses? And not only that, when Somers
pulled me down, I tweaked my ankle! Did you see me flailing all over the
place, whining and crying about stopping the match? NO! But,
OHHHHHHHHHHHHH, the fragile little woman breaks a nail, and suddenly we
have to stop the show in its tracks! This is pathetic, and an injustice!

JD: So what now, Mr. Allan?

CB: What do you mean "What now?"? I want The Bishop Boys to get that
third point they deserve, that's what.

JD: And how do you propose going about with that?

CB: Does this company seriously pay you? Because they're getting bilked.
I want a rematch. The Bishop Boys against Rough N Ready. No excuses this
time.

JD: Um, Mr. Allan, didn't anybody tell you?

CB: Tell me what?  We just got here.  What in blazes are you talking
about?

JD: There won't be any rematch.

[Bo pauses.]

CB: What?

JD: The Committee refuses to make a rematch, in light of what happened.
This is exactly what worried them in the first place. They feel that
another match between The Bishop Boys and Rough N Ready is not in the
best interests of either team, not to mention the AWA in general.

[For the first time since entering the AWA, Cousin Bo is completely
speechless. Bo stammers for a bit before walking off shocked.]

JD: Um, do either of you gentlemen have anything to s-

[Bo walks back into the shot. He acts like he's about to wring Jason's
neck, but thinks twice about it and instead gets in his face.]

CB: [in a very low, calm voice.] I am only going to ask you this one
time, so listen very closely.  Where....is...Stephen...Ross?

JD: I, uh, I don't know. I haven't seen him all day.

[Bo storms back off. Jason looks at The Bishop Boys, who look back at
him expressionless.]

JD: Anything to add, gentlemen? Duane Henry?

[Jason gulps.]

JD: Cletus, uh, Cletus Lee?

[Cletus Lee ignores him and walks off. Duane Henry spits at Dane's feet
and follows, mumbling something to himself.]

JD: I guess that'll do it from here. Back to you at ringside.

[Jason exhales deeply. In the background, Bo can be heard yelling "Ross!
RROOOOOOOOSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Cut back to Gordon and Bucky.]

GM:  Well, Bucky... apparently neither Rough N Ready nor the Bishops are
pleased with Stephen Ross' announcement at the start of tonight's show. 
There will be no rematch and... well, I hope Mr. Ross has left the
building for his sake.

BW:  And for Cousin Bo's.

GM:  You got that right.  Fans, there's been a lot of talk tonight about
the tag team division.  The Bishops looking for their third point. 
Rough N Ready looking for their third.  Now we've got Colt Patterson and
Scott Pain looking for their third as well.  But waiting for the dust to
settle is Kentucky's Pride and you can bet that they'll be hoping to
defend the titles on the 4th of July as well.

BW:  Well, Tin Can Rust will be.  He's been fired up ever since winning
them and is focused on nothing but that.  City Jack?  He's more
concerned with making it for Free Pancake Day.

GM:  Give me a break.  Fans, I understand that we have a very special
announcement about this situation as well.  That's coming up right after
this quick commercial break!

[Hold on a shot of Gordon and Bucky for a bit before fading to black.

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

"Have you ever dreamed of fame?"

[Cut a little closer.]

"Of glory?"

[A little closer.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Two young students are grappling on the canvas.]

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

You want to wrestle!"

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

...and then fade back to live action - more specifically to Jason Dane
who is standing by in the locker room area.]

JD:  Welcome back to Saturday Night!  All night long, we've been talking
about what we saw at Memorial Day Mayhem, the AWA's last major event. 
Now, we're going to be looking ahead a bit to a night that will be a big
one as well.  On the 4th of July, we already know that Stevie Scott will
be challenging Kolya Sudakov for the National Title.  And now, we can
make it official...

Due to pressure by Tin Can Rust on the Championship Committee, the
Committee has ruled that Kentucky's Pride WILL defend the National Tag
Team Titles on the 4th of July as well.

But who will they defend against?  

If no team has three points by the end of the next Saturday Night
Wrestling, then there will be a Wild Card battle royal on the 4th of
July with the last two men in the match teaming up to challenge for the
titles!

We'll have more to announce about the 4th of July in the weeks to come
but for now - two big title matches to look forward to and let's go back
to the ring for our next match!

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

MC:  The following contest is a tag team match scheduled for one fall
with a twenty minute time limit.  Introducing first... already in the
ring at this time... from Mexico... they are the team of El Lobo Negro
and Super Tigre!

[A smattering of cheers for the luchador team.]

MC:  And their opponents...

[The sounds of ZZ Top's "Sharp Dressed Man" starts up to a very loud
roar of boos from the Beaumont, Texas crowd.]

MC:  They are the team of "Subzero" Adrian Freeman and the "Ladykiller"
Calisto Dufresne!

[The boos grow louder as Freeman and Dufresne come through the
curtain...

...and keep on coming, charging towards the ring, diving headfirst into
the ring and charging the luchadors.  The referee frantically calls for
the bell as Freeman chops El Lobo Negro back against the buckles.  Super
Tigre is ready for Dufresne, catching him with a dropkick to the chin
that knocks the Ladykiller flat.]

GM:  Whoa my!  We're off and running in this one!

[Super Tigre charges towards Dufresne, leaping into the air to snare the
Ladykiller around the head with his legs...

...and snapping him up and over to the mat with a rana!]

GM:  Super Tigre is taking it to Dufresne!

[The Ladykiller rolls to the floor as the luchador sizes him up,
grabbing the top rope, and slingshotting himself over the top...

...and DOWN on the concrete as Dufresne dives out of the way!]

GM:  OHHHH!

[Inside the ring, Freeman is battering the other masked man in the
corner.  Grabbing El Lobo Negro by the wrist, Freeman fires him across,
following him in with a running back elbow to the chin.]

GM:  Freeman drilled him with an elbow!

[Reaching back, he snaps the luchador over into a seated position with a
snap mare...

...and then DRIVES his knee down into the back of the luchador's neck,
knocking him down flat on the mat.  The Australian drops another knee
down on the chest, staying on top for a pin attempt.]

GM:  One!  Two!  The luchador is out at two!

[Outside the ring, Dufresne rolls back in, shoving the protesting
official aside as he yanks El Lobo Negro up off the mat, pulling him
into a front facelock.  Freeman quickly grabs the legs from behind,
pulling them up so that the duo is holding the luchador off the mat...

...and they both drop down, SPIKING the masked man into the canvas!]

GM:  Sweet mercy!

BW:  WHAM BAM THANK YOU MA'AM... with an assist from Freeman to boot!

GM:  Double cover... one!  Two!  Three!

[The referee signals for the bell but an irate Dufresne isn't done,
rolling under the ropes and pulling a dazed Super Tigre off the mat,
shoving him back into the ring where Freeman immediately starts stomping
him into the mat.]

GM:  Enough is enough!  This match is over! 

BW:  Freeman and Dufresne just picked up their second point as well,
Gordo!  That's four teams with two points!  Kentucky's Pride may have
their hands full on the 4th of July!

GM:  What in the world is Dufresne- no!

[The crowd jeers as Dufresne scoops up the ring bell again, rolling
under the ropes into the squared circle.  The referee gets up in
Dufresne's face again...

...and gets CREAMED with the ring bell!]

GM:  OHHHHHHHHH!  DID YOU SEE THAT?!

BW:  Meekly mouthed off to him!  That punk kid said-

GM:  He said nothing!  Nothing!  The young man was just doing his job
and got absolutely leveled with that ring bell!  Dufresne has snapped! 
He's lost it!

BW:  This is all Rogers and Broussard's fault!  They caused this!  They
brought this on!

[With the referee laid out, Dufresne's cold gaze comes to rest on Super
Tigre once more.  He puts the belt down on the mat, grabbing the
luchador's arm and placing his hand on the steel bell.]

GM:  What in the... what is he doing, Bucky?

BW:  I'm not... oh my god.  I know EXACTLY what he's doing!

GM:  He's not!  

BW:  He is!  They are!  Dufresne and Freeman are going to add another
victim to their list!

[With Dufresne holding the arm in place, he barks an order in the
direction of Adrian Freeman who looks down with steely eyes at the
motionless Super Tigre...

...and STOMPS down on the hand, sending a wail of agony from the masked
man!]

GM:  OHHHHHHHH!

[Super Tigre immediately rolls from the ring, clutching his injured hand
underneath him...

...and the stunned arena ERUPTS into cheers as a new tandem makes their
appearance in the aisle!]

GM:  ROGERS AND BROUSSARD!

[The Natural and the San Jose Shark come charging down the aisle, diving
headfirst under the ropes into the ring...

...just as Freeman and Dufresne dive to the floor, making their escape.]

BW:  Missed 'em by THAT much!

GM:  That's not funny, Bucky.  Not funny at all.

BW:  Hey, Gordo... you should give Super Tigre a hand.

GM:  Oh, you're a real riot!

[Inside the ring, a fired up Broussard and Rogers are screaming at the
fleeing rulebreakers.  Rogers picks up the discarded ring bell, chucking
it up the aisle where it falls harmlessly a few feet from Freeman and
Dufresne who are mocking the fan favorites with each and every step back
towards the locker room.]

GM:  I can't believe what we just witnessed here in Beaumont, Texas! 
Those dastardly sons of... fans, I apologize, but I simply cannot
believe what we saw.  Freeman and Dufresne are-

[Now outside the ring, Marcus Broussard snatches the mic away from
Gordon Myers without a word.  The Shark and the Natural turn to face the
camera.]

MB:  FREEMAN!  DUFRESNE!

[Broussard takes a breath, spitting on the floor.]

MB:  You two... you've gone too far now.  I know what you're going to
say too.  "Their blood is on your hands."

[The former National Champion nods.]

MB:  That's fine.  We'll accept that.  Because it is nothing...

[He pauses.]

MB:  NOTHING!  It's NOTHING compared to the blood that's going to be on
our hands after we're through with you two.  You've done it... you've
put us back together.  Adam Rogers and Marcus Broussard... the Natural
and the Shark... the former World Champion and the former National
Champion.

You've seen our resumes, boys.

[A grin.]

MC:  Still think this was a good idea?

[Rogers claps his friend on the back for that one.]

AR:  Like I said earlier, you boys have my attention now.  And now...
you've got his too...

[Broussard nods.]

AR:  Sounds like the AWA's about to throw another big party on the 4th
of July.

Got any plans for the 4th, Marcus?

[Broussard looks pensive.]

MB:  Picnic?  Fireworks?  Nah, that's not right.

[He snaps his fingers.]

MB:  Beating the hell out of two punk kids who aren't fit to lace my
boots?

Now THAT sounds like a party.

[Rogers nods.]

AR:  4th of July... the two of you... the two of us... let's see what
you've REALLY got.

[With that, the dynamic duo strides out of the ringside area with the
crowd roaring before fading 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 ringside area where the announce team is
standing.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans, to AWA Saturday Night Wrestling and at this
time, Bucky Wilde, let's welcome out the NEW number one contender to the
AWA National Title.

BW:  Do we have to?

GM:  Yes we do.  Ladies and gentlemen, with his tag team partner Sweet
Daddy Williams, here is the winner of the Memorial Day Mayhem Rumble...

"HOTSHOT" STEVIE SCOTT!!

[The Ford Arena crowd erupts with a massive pop as Sweet Heat enter the
scene.  Williams appears to perhaps be even more excited than Stevie, as
he leads the way while stopping occasionally to shake his thang. 
Stevie, for his part, looks a bit shocked still as they approach Myers
and Wilde at the ringside desk.]

GM: And here they are, the AWA's hottest and most popular duo.

[Williams extends his hand to Myers, who shakes it.  He then extends it
to Wilde, who looks at the veteran with a "are you kidding me?" look. 
SDW nods and motions for him to shake his hand, prompting Wilde to
slowly and reluctantly stick his hand out...

...only for SDW to pull it away and rub his head.  HUGE pop!  Wilde does
nothing to hide his frustration as SDW slaps Stevie on the back and
laughs quite loudly.]

GM: Stevie Scott, let me begin by saying what I am certain most every
fan in this building would like to say to you tonight.

Congratulations.

[Another huge pop, as Stevie looks down and nods, and finally... 

...STEVIEGRIN~!]

HSS: Gordo, brother...thank _you_.  And thank you to all these fan
people in the Ford Arena today, to all the fine people watching at home
on television, and to all the fine people of Dallas, Texas and ALL the
AWA fans who have supported me over these last several months.  I know
this sounds very cliche, and I'm not about cliches, but...

I couldn't have done it without each and every one of you.

[Pop!]

HSS: I'd be lying if I didn't tell you how hard it's been to take all
this in, you know?  For pete's sake, it wasn't _that_ long ago that I
was losing to the Cuban Assassin #6 in that ring right there!

[Stevie points toward the ring where, indeed, he did lose to the CA6.]

HSS: But I've made the climb back to the top of the mountain, and I've
done it with the help of men like Sweet Daddy Williams...I've done it
with the support of the people in all the AWA's buildings.  It was the
belief of those people, the belief they had in _me_, that caused me to
believe in myself.

This is _our_ win.  And it's about to be _our_ time.

GM: No doubt, you're talking about your title match with Kolya Sudakov
coming up on July 4.

[Stevie nods again.]

HSS: That's right, Gordo.  Sudakov has been the National Champion for
way too long, as far as I'm concerned.  And come July 4, I plan on doing
something about that.

[Unable to take any more, Wilde intervenes.]

BW: Those are pretty big words from someone who has been manhandled by
the Russians every time you've seen them with the exception of one lucky
kick, daddy!

[Sweet Daddy animatedly draws his fist back and points at Wilde, while
Stevie just looks at Wilde and laughs.]

GM: While I don't necessarily agree with Bucky's choice of words,
Stevie, he does have a point in that Sudakov is a monster that has run
roughshod over most of his opponents.  How do you plan on approaching
that match?

[The "Hotshot" pauses.]

HSS: Gordon, I'm not blind to the reality of the matter.  Kolya Sudakov
is a beast, a machine, a physical speciman like none other in the AWA.

But!

[Stevie raises his index finger.]

HSS: He is not invincible.  I proved that several weeks ago when I
floored him with that Heatseeker.  He _is_ beatable, but I also know
it's not going to be an easy task.

[Before Stevie can go any further, a new figure joins the scene.  A very
well-dressed figure.  A man carrying a steel briefcase with some very
important information inside.

"Agent To The Stars" Ben Waterson.]

ATTSBW:  Well, well, well...

[Waterson flashes a toothy grin.]

ATTSBW:  It would seem to be a good time to echo the sentiments of my
good friend, Gordon Myers, here and say congratulations on your big win
at Memorial Day Mayhem.

But we all know that's not the prize you REALLY want.

[Another grin.]

ATTSBW:  You wanted to win the Rumble to get a shot at Kolya.

[He nods.]

ATTSBW:  I get it.  I understand that.  You say it's personal.  But the
one thing about me, Stevie?

I'm all about business.

[He lightly pats the briefcase.]

ATTSBW:  I've said it before and I'll say it again.  In this briefcase
that I hold in my hands... I have the secret to beating Kolya Sudakov
and more importantly, the secret to becoming the National Champion.

[Sweet Daddy Williams jumps into the fray.]

SDW:  Listen here, sucka!  Stevie don't want nothin' you're sellin'
'round town and neither do I!  Besides... Stevie's already shown he
knows _exactly_ what he needs to beat Sudakov.  One sweet, sweet kick
and Kolya'll be countin' his teeth...

...on the floor, baby!   Wooo!

[The big man shakes his thang as Ben Waterson looks on with annoyance.]

ATTSBW:  That's all well and good, Mr. Williams.  And I will admit that
Stevie Scott has shown a certain... ability... to knock my former client
out flat with that superkick.

But that doesn't mean lightning will strike twice.

[Waterson grins.]

ATTSBW:  But in this?

[He holds up the case.]

ATTSBW:  I've got a _guaranteed_ 1.21 Gigawatts that means you wake up
on the 5th of July with a new friend in your bed...

...and I'm not talking about your fat friend here.

[Williams makes another move towards Waterson but Stevie holds him
back.]

HSS:  Easy, Sweet Daddy... easy.

[Stevie settles his partner down, keeping his eyes on Waterson.]

HSS:  Like my partner says, I don't want your secret... I don't need
your secret.  I've got the only secret weapon I need...

[Scott slaps his own heart.]

HSS:  ...right here.

[The fans cheer as Waterson shrugs his shoulders and starts to leave...

...when suddenly the Russians emerge from the curtain, walking swiftly
down the aisle.]

GM:  Uh oh.

HSS:  Get behind us, Gordon.

[The play-by-play man quickly does exactly that as Vladimir Velikov
leads his nephew, the Russian War Machine and current National Champion,
Kolya Sudakov, into the ringside area.]

GM:  Mr. Velikov, we don't want any trouble out here.

[Velikov barks in laughter.]

VV:  You may not want trouble, Comrade Myers but... how you say...
trouble has found you.

[The elder Russian turns his attention towards Ben Waterson.]

VV:  Comrade Waterson, it displeases me greatly to see you back in the
AWA.  It displeases me greatly to see you... how you say... become
turncoat to the Russians.  You were paid very well for your services to
nephew Kolya in the past.  Very well.

[Velikov glares at the superagent.]

VV:  And if your so-called secrets were to get in the wrong hands... it
would displease me even more.  Perhaps you should heed your own words,
Comrade Waterson and...

Consider.  Yourself.  Warned.

[Velikov turns sharply away from Waterson who slinks away as the Russian
turns his focus to Stevie Scott.]

VV:  As for you, Comrade Hotshot... it seems only fitting that it was
you who outlasted everyone else to win the shot at nephew Kolya.  It
seems only fitting as we... how you say... come full circle.  It was
just over a year ago that you stood with the Russians... united...
carrying our flag to glory.

But now you shame us, Hotshot.  You humilate us with your cowardice and
typical American behavior.

[Velikov ignores the jeers.]

VV:  You are weak.  You are unprepared for what you face.  

[He sniffs the air.]

VV:  And you are afraid.

[He nods.]

VV:  You should be afraid, Hotshot.  You should be.  There will be no
surprise superkick this time.  There will be no American sneak-attack to
catch Kolya off guard.

There will be you.  There will be Kolya.

There will be blood.

[Velikov pauses.]

VV:  I almost feel pity for you, Hotshot.

[He barks again.]

VV:  Almost.

[The Russians turn to leave when Sweet Daddy Williams grabs the mic.]

SDW:  Ay!  Listen here, ya freakin' commie!

[A cheap pop but hey... it's a cheer, right?]

SDW:  You come out and run yer mouth all over Stevie... heck, all over
these United States... and then you think you can turn tail and run
without a fight?

[Gordon Myers lifts his hands in protest.]

SDW:  Yer right, Gordon... yer right.  I can wait.

[Sweet Daddy Williams pauses.]

SDW:  I can wait two weeks... and then... just like Uncle Sam...

I... WANT... YOU!

[Williams points a big finger in the direction of the Russians.]

SDW:  I don't give two fudgers which one'a y'all it is!  I don't care if
it's pudgy Vlad or the soon to be ex-champ... I want one'a y'all
one-on-one in two weeks time right here on Saturday Night 'Rasslin!

[Big cheer!]

VV:  You are... how you say... dumber than you look.

[Velikov smirks.]

VV:  And that, Comrade, is saying something.

[Stevie has to hold back Sweet Daddy again at this point.  Velikov
raises a hand.]

VV:  You want the Russians?  The Russians you shall have!

[And with that, with the crowd roaring, the Russians make their exit,
leaving Sweet Heat fuming at ringside.]

GM:  Fans... you heard it here!  Sweet Daddy Williams will take on one
of the Russians in two weeks' time here on Saturday Night Wrestling! 
What a night it's been and it's Main Event time here on WKIK!  

[The fans in the arena buzz, as "Farewell Ride" by Beck starts to play
over the PA.  And then they roar, because it's Main Event time.]

BW: Ugh.  I still can't believe he's back.  But maybe we'll be rid of
him once and for all after this.

GM: Please leave your personal vendettas aside.  Ron Houston is back,
and his first one-on-one encounter since that fateful night many months
ago in which he lost the National Title to Kolya Sudakov may be the
toughest challenge he has faced.  And here comes Houston!

[The imposing figure of Ron Houston steps through the curtains.   He is
clad in a full length tan trench coat with the Confederate Flag seamed
into the back, his black wrestling tights, elbow pads, knee pads, and
boots underneath.  The East Coast Terror has a look of determination as
he quickly marches to the ring, and ascends the steps.  Houston sweeps
into the ring, and the crowd gives him a hero's welcome.]


"WEL-COME BACK!  WEL-COME BACK!  WEL-COME BACK!  WEL-COME BACK! 
WEL-COME BACK!  WEL-COME BACK!  WEL-COME BACK!  WEL-COME BACK!"


GM: Listen to the chant...

BW (interrupting): GO BACK HOME!  GO BACK HOME!  GO BACK HOME!  GO BACK
HOME!  Chant with me, Gordo, we gotta drown these idiots out.  

GM: Bucky Wilde nonwithstanding, everyone happy to see Ron Houston
returning to action.  Houston acknowledging the fans, and clearly this
moment is special to him.  What a response for the rough and tumble
veteran, but I wonder if he made the right move in challenging this man.

[And at the phrase "this man", the music stops, and the bass drum,
sounding like the heavy footfalls of an incoming monster are heard over
the PA.  Each one progressively louder than the last, and the fans know
what this means.  They stand in anticipation of the Samoan Beast.]

BW: I think Houston's either lost his alleged mind, or he sees what I
see.

GM: And what do you see?

BW: A man goin' soft.

[The loud thunderclap that follows the drum beats hits right at the end
of Bucky's comment, and the thunderstorm-accompanied hollow drums and
reedy woodwinds of Tumaffi's music begin to play over the PA.  The
gargantuan Samoan, still clad in his dark blue floral silk robe, emerges
from the back, beelining for the ring with a confident stride.  Houston
backs away to allow the behemoth entry, and Tumaffi steps right up the
ring steps and enters the ring to the cheers of the crowd.]

GM: I take it, Bucky, that you missed the Memorial Day rumble.  Tumaffi
destroyed everyone he laid his hands on, and if that is soft, I have no
idea what you'd call hard.

BW: Of course he dominated a battle royal!  He's four hundred pounds! 
But this ain't no battle royal, it's a fight.  And if Tumaffi's scared
to hurt Ron Houston, he's gonna get hurt by Ron Houston, daddy.  I don't
like him, an' in fact I hate him, but Houston can fight.

GM: Speaking of like and dislike, a rare matchup where the crowd seems
to favor both men.  I think in this case, they're not so much rooting
for a winner or loser so much as they are rooting for a battle.

[Melissa Cannon takes the mic for the rare "both men in the ring"
intro.]

MC: THE FOLLOWING MATCH IS SET FOR ONE FALL.  IN THE RING TO MY LEFT,
FROM ATHENS, GEORGIA... WEIGHING TWO HUNDRED EIGHTY POUNDS...

He is the ATHENS, GEORGIA MADMAN...

RONNNNN HOUUUUUUSTON!

[The fans cheer the "Athens Georgia Madman" as he swings his arms,
loosening up for the throwdown ahead.]

MC: AND HIS OPPONENT, TO MY RIGHT, FROM THE ISLAND OF SAMOA... WEIGHING
FOUR HUNDRED TWELVE POUNDS...

TUUUUUUUUMAAAAAFFIIIIII!

[And again they cheer for Tumaffi, who sheds his robe to reveal
knee-length black trunks with metallic copper trim and matching patterns
depicting a beachfront storm.  He is barefoot, with only black ankle
suppots adorning his feet.  But the most startling change starts at
Tumaffi's ribcage and works down... a huge, intricate tattoo that covers
his massive belly and descends until it meets his wasitline, where his
ring attire obscures the rest.]

BW: Whoa!  What's with the tats?

GM: That is a Samoan traditional tattoo called a Pe'a.  It is a
representation of maturity, marking the bearer as a soga'imiti.

BW: Buh-wha?

GM: It's a Samoan thing.  He recently returned to his native Samoa to
have it done as a mark that he would be more attentive to his homeland's
cultural traditions.  It extends from under the ribcage to above the
knees, and is reportedly done without anasthetic.

BW: ...ow.

[The referee waves both men in for instructions.  The mic on one of the
cameras catches the following conversation:]

RH: You need instructions?

T: No.  Do you?

RH: No.

[And then they both just start swinging.  The startled referee steps
back, and calls for the bell frantically.]


*DING DING DING*


BW: THEY DEALIN', GORDO!  Houston and Tumaffi just decided they weren't
real interested in waitin' for the bell!

GM: Back and forth, Houston with the fists and Tumaffi with the open
hand chops!

[The fans go wild for the exchange.  Houston wisely avoids contact with
Tumaffi's skull, going stright for the point of the jaw... or where he
thinks it might be underneath that huge beard.  Tumaffi throws chops
from all directions: backhand, overhead, thrust, and is targeting the
pecs and shoulders of his adversary.  Both men weather the blows and
keep fighting.]

BW: Aw, Houston's dumber than a rock!  He's hittin' Tumaffi in the head!

GM: In the face and jaw only, Bucky.  It really doesn't matter how hard
your head is if you get hit there!

BW: Like you'd know from your wealth of ringtime?

GM: I would know because Houston is staggering Tumaffi!  The giant
Samoan is reeling!  Houston moving in... TIMMMMMMBER!


[* T H O O M ! *]


BW: I DON'T BELIEVE IT!

GM: Houston with a double leg takedown of sorts... he did not pick
Tumaffi up far, but he got him up, and drove him into the mat with his
own near-300 pounds behind it!  That had to drive the wind out of
Tumaffi, and Houston mounting to continue his offense with punches to
the face and jaw!

[The fans are cheering the big takedown... adequate technique but
tremendous strength by Houston got the behemoth down.  But shortly after
moving in to follow up, Houston is subsumed as Tumaffi simply rolls
over.  Now atop his opponent, Tumaffi buries his elbow into Houston's
face, and leans his four-hundred pound mass upon it.]

BW: Ow... just ow.  That ain't nothin' but mean right there, Gordo.

GM: Tumaffi trying to break Houston's face.  That method is cruel but
fair, it is not a rules violation.  And not emblematic of a man going
soft.

BW: Gettin' thrown on your back puts a man in desperation mode.  You
best believe Shane Destiny is takin' notes.  And if you don't believe
it, take a look over to the side of the arena.

[The camera view cuts over at Bucky's cue, and indeed, Shane Destiny is
seated in a chair alongside the wall of the building, to the right of
the announce position.  He is watching the match with interest.]

GM: I hope Destiny stays right there, too.  Tumaffi gets up, and stomps
on Houston as the rugged veteran from Athens, Georgia tries to do the
same.  Houston up and... BRUTAL MOVE BY TUMAFFI!

BW: He kneelifted him and chopped him in the back of the head at the
same time!  Hit him in the face with the knee and down across the neck
with a chop... that'll give ya whiplash for sure.

GM: Indeed it will, but Houston stands up and fires away, this time at
the midsection.  Looking for a telling blow to drive the wind from his
adversary.

BW: If you hit a guy this size and shape juuuust right, you can knock
the wind out of them for a couple seconds.  Hard to do, but doable.

GM: And Bucky Wilde speaks with authority on the subject of wrestlers
with that frame.

BW: HEY!

GM: Tumaffi continues the offense, side thrust kick into Houston's
ribcage.  He uses his feet to strike rather well, an unusual trait for a
man of his size.  He is rather loud and confident as always.  Tumaffi
backing Houston into the ropes with hard chops and kicks, and now
sending him off the far ropes... Houston coming off the ropes... 


[* T H O O M ! *]


[The crowd with a big reaction for a big maneuver, as Houston winds
waaaaay up and lets one fly.]

GM: ...AND HAMMERS TUMAFFI WITH A LARIAT THAT FLOORS HIM!  WHAT A
PUNISHING BLOW, AND A QUICK COVER!

BW: HE MIGHT GET IT!  ONE!  TWO!

GM: Barely a two-count, but the fact that he got a two-count with one
mighty blow is telling!  Not many people have ever even done THAT much
to Tumaffi; Houston's power is serving him well!

BW: Yeah, he's back in control, but he's back ta throwing punches!  I'm
tellin' ya, Gordo, Houston needs a guy he can throw around in order to
be a hundred percent effective!  Even with Tumaffi goin' soft, he's in
trouble.

GM: Bucky continues to go back and forth on this matchup, as Houston now
pulling Tumaffi up to his knees, after having pummeled him on the
canvas.  Houston backs up... 


[* W H A C K ! *]


GM: ...WHAT A KICK!


BW: HE KICKED TUMAFFI IN THE HEAD, AND THE BIG MAN _FELT_ IT!

GM: Just the sheer force of that big boot bowled the Samoan Beast over
onto his back!  The fans on their feet for that, as Ron Houston is in
full control right now.  Shane Destiny just smirking at this turn of
events.

BW: Gotta be honest... I dunno what Shane can really take from this. 
He's nowhere near as big or strong as Houston.

GM: Tumaffi already getting back up, and Houston off the ropes... GETS
TUMAFFI DOWN WITH THE BULLDOG!

BW: Uh, oh.  That one wasn't so smart.

[The crowd reacts in shock as Tumaffi gets up before Houston does.]

GM: The kick was effective but the bulldog was not, and Houston turns in
surprise to catch a big spinning backfist from Tumaffi!  That strike
floors the East Coast Terror, Ron Houston!

BW: Man!  These guys are just cleaning each others' clocks.  They're
hittin' so hard, car alarms are goin' off all over town!

GM: Houston quickly up... neither man will stay down for long after a
striking maneuver, that's for sure.  BIG WINDUP HEADBUTT BY TUMAFFI...
and that trend might change!  Houston drops flat, and that headbutt is
infamous all across wrestling!  


[* T H O O M ! *]


BW: The sound you just heard is the sound of a match endin'.  That's it,
turn out the lights, we goin' Sizzlah.

GM: Tumaffi dropped an elbow, all four hundred pounds across the sternum
of Houston, and it may indeed be over as he is covering!  ONE!  TWO!

BW: Wow, I woulda lost THAT bet!

GM: Houston powering out right after two, and Tumaffi clamping down with
the reverse chinlock immediately.  He's trying to conserve energy, and
keep Houston from reasserting himself.

BW: Tumaffi usin' a wrestling hold?  Wait, WHAT?

GM: Tumaffi learned how to wrestle in the American southland, Bucky. 
Still, he is not at all accustomed to this, and Houston is able to fight
his way up to his feet.

BW: Shane Destiny likes what he sees... a guy Tumaffi's size, if he had
any real technical chops, wouldn't be moved so easy usin' that hold.

GM: Tumaffi uses the chops he DOES have to stop Houston's surge, and
that means releasing the hold and striking with a thrust chop to the
side of the neck!  Double chop to the sternum, and an overhead
Tomahawk-style chop... Houston staggers back into the corner.  And a
short avalanche by Tumaffi presses the advantage... all four hundred
plus pounds of the behemoth squashing Houston into the corner!

BW: No runnin' start there; he jus' used his leg muscles ta power his
way in, daddy.  

GM: Tumaffi with a cross-corner Irish-whip... Houston reverses!  Tumaffi
crashes into the turnbuckle... and Houston runs in after him and jumps
into an avalanche of his own!  

BW: That'll work even when your opponent is a lot bigger!  It uses his
own belly-weight against him!

GM: And a man with significant belly-weight once again provides the
expertise...

BW: HEY!

GM: ...as Ron Houston fires a series of blows to the midsection of
Tumaffi in the corner!  Houston is very durable, and he's needed that
trait in this encounter for sure!  Tumaffi staggering out of the
corner... HOUSTON GOING FOR THE BODY SLAM!

[The crowd gets behind Houston's effort, but Tumaffi kicks his legs and
takes Houston off-balance, ending the slam threat as the four-hundred
pounder lands atop the Athens Georgia Madman with a crunch!]

GM: TUMAFFI DROPPED DOWN ON HOUSTON!  ONE!  TWO!  No!  A little closer,
but still only two!

BW: Not that Houston can count that high.  I mean, what kinda dummy do
you hafta be to try an' slam Tumaffi?  Ya better rent a crane if yer
plannin' ta pick up that load.

GM: Tumaffi picking Houston up... and easily bodyslamming him!  A bit of
rubbing it in the face of his opponent there, I think.  And then Tumaffi
drops a headbutt down into Houston's skull!  The Madman is not going to
last too much longer if he does not get some offense going very soon.

BW: Gettin' offense goin' has never been Ron Houston's problem.  His
problem tanight?  Gettin' offense goin' that'll mean somethin' against
Tumaffi.

GM: It has been done before.  Tumaffi stomping Houston in the small of
the back, and now a neck wrench by the Samoan!  It's another hold, but
this hold requires less technique than it does sheer strength!

BW: Darn right.  He's jus' tryin' ta twist Houston's head off.  Not that
he'd be any dumber without it.

GM: Houston knows he cannot afford to stay in this hold for long, as he
is struggling against Tumaffi here.  He's trying to straighten out his
head, but Houston is in the seated position.  There's no leverage from
this position, he has to either get up, or get his knees under him.  And
the veteran does just that, getting to his knees, and now he can apply
some leverage and bring his strength to bear.  Tumaffi is bigger, but I
do not know if he is stronger!

BW: He's doin' it, Gordo!

[The fans start clapping and stomping to urge Ron Houston on, as this
has turned into a test of strength.  The hold is more or less broken at
this point, but Tumaffi stubbornly refuses to give in as Houston is
trying to push himself up off of his knees, using both arms to push
against the mighty arms of Tumafi.  And with the crowd's urging, little
by little, Houston manages it!  He slowly gets up to an even keel with
the Samoan Beast, and both men stubbornly hold ground, each trying to
impose their strength and force the other man down!]

GM: Listen to these fans!  Some of them urging Houston on, but I believe
I also hear cheering for Tumaffi!

BW: You do.  Ever since Tumaffi started goin' soft, they've been
encouranging him.  Wrestling fans're like shampoo with conditioner...
the cleaner ya get, the softer ya become.

GM: Houston and Tumaffi push off and start fighting again!  Neither man
could impose dominance, so they are both back to where they were at the
start of the match, throwing strikes!  Tumaffi with the open hands that
he prefers, and Houston with the meat and potatoes fisticuffs!

BW: Tumaffi always used open hands.  He says it does more damage 'cause
of surface area or somethin'.  Probably some Samoan wives tale.

GM: Probably because of his private school education.  Again, Houston
battering Tumaffi backwards!  A fistfight is straight up Ron Houston's
alley... and this time, Tumaffi with a side kick to the knee stops
Houston's offense!  And another crushing, crushing headbutt stops the
offensive flurry flat!  Houston drops like a man that was hit with a
crowbar!

BW: Tumaffi learns.  Ya can't get him the same way twice.


[* T H U D ! *]


GM: BUT HOUSTON ROLLS OUT OF THE WAY OF THE ELBOW DROP!  The veteran
remembered that was what Tumaffi followed the headbutt with before, and
made a great instinctual decision!  Houston getting back up... he is one
of the toughest men you'll see, as he is still strong despite the
punishment.  Houston driving an elbow drop into Tumaffi's chest! 

BW: Smart enough not to go running off the ropes or wasting any time. 
He jus' stood up an' dropped it.  Guess Tumaffi knocked some sense into
him.  That, or he jus' fell on his butt an' happened ta hit Tumaffi with
his elbow.  I think that second one's more likely.

GM: Tumaffi getting to his feet, and Houston circling him.  He's behind
the Samoan as he rises... running start, and Houston shoves Tumaffi with
all of his strength into the ropes!  Tumaffi hits front-first, and
catapults back... DO YOU BELIEVE THIS?!


[* T H O O M ! *]


[The fans go nuts, as Houston crouches low, catches Tumaffi as he
stumbles backwards, and uses that momentum to take him up and over!]

BW: UNBELIEVABLE!  UN-FREAKIN-BELIEVABLE!

GM: HE SUPLEXED HIM!  RON HOUSTON BACK SUPLEXED TUMAFFI!  I didn't think
it could be done!

BW: Oh, Destiny has to be loving this... he's a master of suplexes, and
if Houston just showed him a way to do it... 

GM: Houston is very, very strong... as we just saw.  He didn't just
barely suplex Tumaffi, he did so with authority thanks to that added
momentum!  And now he's lifting the Samoan Beast for more offense!

BW: I told you he was stupid, Gordo.  He should have gone for the pin
after that!

GM: Houston winding up Tumaffi's arm... __PULSE KILLER__!

BW: TUMAFFI BLOCKED IT!

[The fans have a near-miss moment as Houston goes for the Heart Punch,
but Tumaffi uses his free right arm to intercept Houston's incoming
punch.  He then headbutts Houston, which causes him to lose his grip on
the big man's left arm.]

BW: That move has got to be Houston's strategy, Gordo!  A heart punch is
the one thing that can take out a man of Tumaffi's size even more than a
normal-sized man!  It's jus' the drawback of bein' big, yer heart hasta
pump more.

GM: And once again, Bucky displays his first hand expertise, likely
gleaned from his cardiologist who has been begging him to lose weight
for years.

BW: Man, you're vicious tonight, Gordo.  I like it.  Just direct it at
somebody who ain't within arms reach of ya, an' you'll do alright.

GM: Tumaffi scooping up Houston, but the Athens Georgia Madman
reasserting control immediately with a big windup right hand to the
midsection, right above that Pe'a.  Houston applies the headlock, which
will do nothing but let him position Tumaffi where he wants him.  Moves
him towards the corner, and Irish-whips him in from close range!

BW: Shook the ring doin' that.  That's hell on the lower back. 
Especially when you're carryin' that much weight.  DON'T SAY IT, GORDON!

GM: *ahem*  Tumaffi slumped in the corner, and Houston Irish-whips him
to the far corner, and follows in with a clothesline!  This offense will
wear out Tumaffi in a hurry.  He does not have tremendous conditioning,
as his style tends to defeat opponents quickly.  Ron Houston looking to
outlast him here!  

BW: He's kicking him right in the belly, tryin' ta drive all that air
out.  An' as big of a windbag as Tumaffi is, that'll take awhile.

GM: Again and again, Houston kicking Tumaffi as the goliath is slumped
in the corner.  He's doing just that, driving all of the air out of his
industrial-sized opponent.  That's ten big kicks to the midsection, and
finally Houston relents.  You may belittle Ron Houston, Bucky, but he
has a lot of experience.  It isn't like he has never faced a man much
bigger than he is.

BW: Never one this dangerous.

GM: Possibly true.  Houston with a big loud chop, and then a hard punch
to the jaw as Tumaffi exits the corner.  Houston Irish-whips Tumaffi to
the ropes... 


[* T H O O M ! *]


GM: ...AND GETS HIM UP AND OVER WITH THE BACK BODY DROP!  The fans are
on their feet, and Houston calling for the Pulse Killer again!

BW: Yeah?  Telegraphin' a move is a sure way ta guarantee it won't hit.

GM: Tumaffi getting up, but Houston winds the arm...

BW: Goodbye, dummy!


[* T H O O M ! *]


[The fans react with a mixed bout of cheers and boos (many jaded fans
still don't trust Tumaffi's turn) as the big man ducks down, scoops
Houston's leg, and jumps backwards into a...]

GM: SAMOAN DROP!  TUMAFFI WITH THE SAMOAN DROP, THE MOVE HIS PEOPLE HAVE
MADE FAMOUS, AND RON HOUSTON HAS BEEN ABSOLUTELY CRUSHED!

BW: Like an empty beer can, daddy.

GM: Tumaffi is winded but able to cover... ONE!  TWO!  THR... NO!  Near
fall, but Houston still with the strength to push Tumaffi away!

BW: If Tumaffi drops Samoa on him again, he won't have enough left ta
push oxygen into his lungs.

GM: The Samoan Beast to his feet, and pulling Houston up.  He lifts up
the former National Champion... and drives him across the knee with the
backbreaker!  Tumaffi holding him there... Houston draped over his knee,
wide open, and an executioner chop!  Tumaffi chopping across the neck of
Ron Houston!  That is a vicious maneuver, and the Athens Georgia Madman
is rolling on the mat in pain.

BW: Even Destiny was clutching at his neck when that one hit, Gordo.  No
one wants to get hit with that.

GM: Punishing offense by Tumaffi, who scoops up Houston, and whips him
to the... no, reversal!  Houston sends Tumaffi to the ropes, and runs
cross-ways.  It's a criss-cross!

BW: Musta been an accident; that's too smart a move for Ron.  He
probably tried to run opposite Tumaffi and got lost!

[As Bucky mocks Houston, the Athens Georgia Madman tries to clip Tumaffi
sideways with another lariat, but Tumaffi ducks, still running.  On the
rebound, Tumaffi attempts the same maneuver, but Houston gives it the
same response.]

GM: Both men coming off the ropes, and who will hit... COLLISION!  THEY
HIT IN CENTER RING!

BW: Houston's lucky that wasn't a head-to-head collision!  They're both
staggered...


[* W H A C K ! *]


GM: BUT TUMAFFI RECOVERS FIRST AND UNLOADS A MASSIVE YAKUZA KICK!  The
fans erupt as he nearly decapitated Houston with it!

BW: He kicked his face off!  That's it, Gordo!  That shot would have
knocked out a grizzly bear on a PCP rage, daddy.  Hit the switches,
we're takin' it home!

GM: Tumaffi winded from the running... Houston made a shrewd move with
the criss-cross, but it didn't pay off.  He gathers up Houston, and
backs into the ropes... no doubt measuring for the Polynesian Buri...
LOOK AT THAT!

[HUGE POP!]

GM: HOUSTON HITS THE HEART PUNCH!  __PULSE KILLER__!

BW: HE CAUGHT TUMAFFI RUNNING IN FOR THE BURIAL!  I DIDN'T THINK HE
STILL KNEW HIS OWN NAME, LET ALONE WHAT TO DO!

GM: Both men drop in a heap, and Houston crawls over... Ron with the
cover!  ONE!  TWO!  THRE... NO?!

[The crowd counts along with the ref, certain that the match is over...
but a gigantic shoulder raises off the mat just in time!  The fans
erupt, some in cheers and others just in disbelief.  Destiny's eyes
bulge, as he's more than a little disconcerted that a heart punch from a
big strong man wasn't enough to do the job.]

BW: HOLY... I'da lost that bet too!

GM: TUMAFFI SURVIVED THE PULSE KILLER!  Houston can't believe it!  What
in the world will it take?!

BW: A shotgun blast, point blank.  MAYBE.

GM: Ron Houston pulls up Tumaffi, and twists his arm again!  He's got
the right idea, a second Pulse Killer...

BM: ...AIN'T GONNA HAPPEN!  


[* T H O O M ! *]


[The crowd is hot, as the second Pulse Killer attempt is cut off with a
goozle by Tumaffi's free right hand... and the inevitable, ringshaking
move that follows it.]

GM: CHOKESLAM!  CHOKESLAM!  HE LANDED ON HIM WITH IT!  TUMAFFI
ABSOLUTELY WIPES OUT RON HOUSTON, AND THIS HAS TO BE ALL!  ONE!
TWO!  THRE... NO?!?!

[Again, the crowd is sure that it is over, but Houston's arm pops out
the back door at the last instant!  The reaction is loud and long, as
they cheer the courage of both men.]

BW: HOW?  How is he still even breathing after that move, let alone
moving, let alone kicking out from under four hundred pounds?!

GM: And now it is Tumaffi's turn to be incredulous, as that chokeslam is
usually more than enough.  He is not a very tall man by wrestler
standards... in fact, he's an inch shorter than Houston... but that
weight and ferocity makes that move lethal!

BW: You know what?  I'm not worried.  Tumaffi always has the Polynesian
Burial, and if that don't work, he's got the Tidal Wave, daddy. 
Superman wouldn't kick out of the Tidal Wave.

GM: It is a moot point unless he connects with one of those moves,
Bucky.  Tumaffi picks up Houston, and the Athens Georgia Madman is
fighting with everything he has left!  Peppering Tumaffi in the
midsection, but the Samoan puts an end to it with the headbutt!

BW: It only dropped Houston to a knee.  Tumaffi is weakened too!  It's
been a long match, and he's taken punishment like he normally NEVER
takes!  I think they're both one or two big moves away.

GM: Houston winds up... big haymaker connects with Tumaffi's chin, and
staggers him!  Houston ducks under...

[The fans erupt again, amazed at what happens next!]

GM: ... AND SCOOPS HIM!  HE SCOOPS TUMAFFI IN THE FIREMAN'S LIFT!  MY
GOD, HE'S GOING TO HIT __FADE TO BLACK__!

BW: IMPOSSIBLE!

GM: HOUSTON HAS HIM UP, BUT STRUGGLING TO GET A GOOD ENOUGH GRASP TO
THROW HIM OFF!  CAN HE DO IT?!

BW: ...NO HE CAN'T!

[Tumaffi shifts his weight, and Ron loses his grip.  Tumaffi's legs
swing down behind Houston, and the Samoan Beast ends up on his feet
behind the East Coast Terror!]

GM: Valiant effort, but Tumaffi escapes... AND HITS THE LARIAT!  HERE
COMES THE SPLASH!

[The crowd jumps again, knowing what is next... and for the first time
in the match, explode into boos!]

BW: Houston slides out of the ring to break up the Polynesian Burial!

GM: HE DID NOT... SHANE DESTINY PULLED HIM OUT!  DESTINY PULLED HOUSTON
OUT OF THE RING, AND TUMAFFI MISSED THE SPLASH BY INCHES!

[Tumaffi gets up, slowly and angrily.  He is glaring a hole at Destiny,
who has his arms up in the "I didn't do anything" sign.  The referee,
whose sight was blocked by a four hundred pound mass, goes over to
question Destiny... but never gets the chance.  The crowd cheers as an
infuriated Houston decks Destiny!]

BW: WHAT AN INGRATE!  Destiny saves you the match, and that's the thanks
he gets?!

GM: Ron Houston didn't come here just to win, he came here to prove
himself to the world!  And you don't do that by getting help!

BW: Then Ron Houston is an idiot!  Which I've told you all along!

GM: Houston up on the apron, and Tumaffi meets him in battle!  Both men
firing away, their anger at Destiny giving them a second wind!  The
referee imploring Houston to get in the ring, but at his height, he has
no problem punching over the ropes!  And Tumaffi can't bring his body
weight to bear with a crushing move while he is out there, so this is
not a bad idea!  Houston staggering Tumaffi with hard punches to the
jaw!

BW: Ha ha!  And there is why it was a BAD idea, Gordo.

GM: Tumaffi grabs Houston by the head and falls, driving his neck into
the top rope!  Quick thinking by the Samoan Beast, and Houston is
stunned!  Tumaffi grabbing Houston, and going to vertical suplex him
into the ring!

BW: Oh!  Houston countered!

GM: HE DID NOT... DESTINY TRIPPED TUMAFFI!  HE HAS THE ANKLE!  ONE!
TWO!  THREE!!

[The crowd boos like crazy, as Destiny holds Tumaffi's left leg down,
using the apron to stay out of sight of the referee.  Tumaffi thrashes
and kicks, but cannot free himself before the three-count!]


*DING*DING*DING*


BW: HOUSTON PINNED TUMAFFI!

GM: BUT SHANE DESTINY MADE IT HAPPEN!  DESTINY COST TUMAFFI THE MATCH!

BW: Yeah?  I seem to remember Tumaffi told Destiny that he would NEVER
cost him a match again?  That promise didn't last long, did it?!

[Houston, who did not see the reason for Tumaffi's fall, raises his
hands to the ceiling in glee.  Tumaffi sits up, his face a twisted
ensemble of rage and hate.  Destiny backs up slowly, raising his own
hands in a cocky mockery of Houston's victory pose.

Then he turns and runs for his life, as Tumaffi rolls out of the ring
and rushes for him.]

GM: Tumaffi chasing Destiny to the back... he will never catch him.  Not
even if he hadn't just fought a grueling match.

BW: Here, lemme do Cannon's job.  *ahem*  THE WINNER OF THE MATCH...
SHANE DESTINY!  WE GOIN' SIZZLAH!  Ha ha ha ha... and look at that goof
in the ring.  He's just now finding out the truth.

[Houston is puzzled at the boos, so he asks some fans why they are
booing.  They tell him, as we get the official word.]

MC: THE WINNER OF THE MATCH... 

RONNNNNNNNN HOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUSTON!

[The fans boo, and the referee tries to raise Houston's hand.  Houston
shoves him away, as he now knows the circumstances of his victory.  He
is disgusted and irate, and it shows.  Houston stands, hands on hips, as
if trying to decide what to do now.]

BW: Ha ha ha!  He thought he was gonna be a legend.  He got the big pin
on Tumaffi that has happened maybe, what, four times in the past ten
years?  But he'll never get any credit for it!  I love it.

GM: Tumaffi suffering the very rare defeat at the hands of Ron Houston,
but it was not a clean loss.  Houston does not want that kind of a win
on his record.  He has too much character for that!

BW: He wants the match restarted, but Tumaffi is gone!  He's trying ta
chase Destiny, who could run rings around him backwards about now, and
so both guys pretty much got what they deserved.  A big fat nothin'.

GM: Maybe, maybe not.  Houston may not WANT this win, but the facts of
life are this: with a win over Tumaffi, and being a former National
Champion, after tonight, you could make the case that Ron Houston has
just made himself the Number One Contender!  Stevie Scott has the next
title shot, but the winner of that match will likely be in the sights of
that man in the ring right now.

BW: In other words, another easy defense for Sudakov after his next easy
defense.  Got it.

GM: As for Shane Destiny, his day against Tumaffi will come.  And he may
very well wish that he had stayed in his chair when that day comes. 
Fans, we're out of time.  For Jason Dane and Bucky Wilde, I'm Gordon
Myers and we'll see you next time... at the matches!  So long everybody!

[Houston is still standing in the ring seething...

...as we fade to black.]