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                           American Wrestling Alliance
                                 Proudly Presents
                         AWA Saturday Night Wrestling

                         Live from the Fair Park Arena
                             Birmingham, Alabama
                                    July 18, 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.  In it's place, we see footage marked "DEATH OR
GLORY!" in white text over it.  The shot is of the Main Event with the
Russian War Machine, Kolya Sudakov pulling the injured challenger off
the mat, throwing him hard back into the corner.]

GM:  Look at Sudakov... stalking his prey... cornering the weakened
challenger...

[Scott tries to lunge out of the corner but Sudakov cuts him, throwing
him back to the buckles.  The Russian War Machine throws a hooking right
hand to the eye area, knocking Scott down to a knee.  Sudakov yanks him
back up, throwing his arms back over the ropes to expose the body.]

GM:  The Russian - exposing that body again... ohhh!  Kick to the body!

[Sudakov nods at the reaction of the jeering crowd, snapping another
kick to the ribcage, causing Scott to fall down to the mat, cradling his
midsection.]

GM:  Stevie Scott can't even stand on his own power... can't even-

[The National Champion leans over, pulling Scott off the mat again,
immediately firing Scott to the ropes.]

GM:  Irish whip... backdr- leapfrog by Stevie...

[And as soon as Sudakov turns around, Stevie CONNECTS with the
Heatseeker, catching the National Champion under the jaw with the
superkick.  The blow brings the fans to their feet as Sudakov spirals
away, collapsing to the canvas near the ropes.]

GM:  HEATSEEKER!  HEATSEEKER!  COVER HIM, STEVIE!

[The Hotshot crumples to his knees, still cradling his body and slowly
starts edging towards the Russian.  The fans are roaring, trying to
cheer him forward, edge him on, get him to the fallen National
Champion.]

GM:  Stevie's crawling on his hands and knees - desperately trying to
make the cover... come on, Stevie!  Get there, kid!

[The challenger creeps closer... and closer...]

GM:  Almost... come on!

[And throws an arm across the chest of the Russian.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE- 

[The crowd ERUPTS in jeers as Vladimir Velikov grabs his nephew's foot,
placing on the bottom rope so the referee breaks the pin count.  The
referee points to the foot, shouting at the Hotshot that it's only a two
count.]

GM:  Only two thanks to that... that...

BW:  Vladimir Velikov saw the title slipping out of his hands and he did
the only thing he could.  Velikov just saved the National Title for his
nephew... for his country, daddy!

GM:  Stevie can't believe it.  He can't-

[The crowd ROARS as Sweet Daddy Williams flies around the corner,
blasting Velikov with a right hand, knocking him down to the floor.  The
rotund fan favorite drops down on Velikov, pounding him repeatedly with
right hands!]

GM:  SWEET DADDY WILLIAMS IS ALL OVER VELIKOV!

[With the cheering crowd rooting him on, the big man continues to pummel
the elder Russian.  Velikov starts to fight back from his back, trying
to tangle up the Atlanta native.]

GM:  We've got a fight outside on the floor!  Sweet Daddy Williams and
Vladimir Velikov are all over each other out on the floor!  They're
taking it right to one another and- wait a second!  Where is HE going?

[The crowd buzzes with confusion as Michael Meekly leaves the ring,
trying to restore some order out on the floor.]

GM:  Kolya is down, Stevie is barely moving... why in the world did the
referee just leave the ring?  Why is he- OHHHH!

[The fans echo Gordon's response as Michael Meekly accidentally catches
an elbow from Sweet Daddy Williams, knocking the official down on the
floor.]

GM:  Ohh!  The ref is down! 

BW:  He's just stunned though.  Williams didn't catch him full-on the
jaw!

GM:  Stevie's down... the Russian's down... wait a second!

[The jeers grow louder as "Agent To The Stars" Ben Waterson climbs to
his feet from his ringside seat, metal briefcase in hand.  He rushes
towards the ring, looking around to make sure the referee is still
down...

...and shouts something into the ring.]

GM:  What's Waterson doing?  What in the world is he-

[A dazed Stevie Scott pushes up off the mat, looking down to the floor
where the referee is shaking his head, trying to regroup...

...and nods in Waterson's direction.  The well-dressed Agent throws the
case into the air, landing in the hands of Stevie Scott just as a
stunned Sudakov gets up, clutching his chin.]

GM:  What the- wait... wait... NOOOOOOO!!

[The Hotshot winds up with the metal case, rearing back as far as he
can...

...and SMASHES it down over the skull of the National Champion, bringing
him down to the mat in a heap!]

GM:  OHHHHHHHHHH!

[Scott throws the case to the floor, still clutching his body as he
staggers towards Sudakov's prone body, throwing himself into a lateral
press.  Outside the ring, Ben Waterson grabs Michael Meekly, throwing
him under the ropes into the ring.  Still dazed, Michael Meekly spots
the downed shoulders and raises his hand.]

GM:  ONE!!!  TWO!!!!   THREEEEEEEEE!!!!!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  What... what did we just see, Bucky Wilde?  What in the world did
we just see?

[The crowd is buzzing with concern and confusion as an exhausted Stevie
Scott pushes up off the unconscious Kolya Sudakov, throwing his arms up
into the air as a still-dazed Michael Meekly raises his hand in
triumph.]

MC:  Your winner of the match... and NEEEEEEEEEWWWWWW AWA NATIONAL
CHAMPION...

"HOTSHOT" STEEEEEEEEEVIE SCOTT!

[The announcement of the new champion echoes as the footage fades 
to the sounds of "One More Saturday Night" by the Grateful Dead.

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

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

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

After a moment, we fade away from the cheaply done intro to the interior
of the Fair Park Arena in Birmingham, Alabama, where over four thousand
fans have jammed into the building for more AWA action.  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.  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.  Bucky Wilde, we
are-

BW:  Spare me, Gordo.

GM:  Excuse me?

BW:  I don't want to hear all the hype tonight.  In fact, I want someone
out here to promise me some hazard pay just for coming to Birmingham!

[The crowd jeers the colorful announcer.]

GM:  Oh, come on now.

BW:  Don't give me that, Gordo.  This place is dangerous.  It's like a
war zone on the streets of this place.  I'd rather call a match in
downtown Baghdad than this slum.

GM:  Well, you're certainly in a good mood tonight.

BW:  Sarcasm will get you absolutely nowhere, daddy.  What do I have to
be happy about anyways?  My award... MY award... got snatched out of my
hands and given to some... THING.  Why should I be in a good mood?

GM:  We do have a new National Champion.

[Bucky breaks into a grin.]

BW:  Ah yes... once again, you prove why you make the big money, Gordo. 
I AM extremely happy about that!  Not that I don't like Kolya Sudakov
but we've got a new champion... and these people are absolutely furious
about it... and THAT?  THAT makes me happy, Gordo.

GM:  I thought it might.  Yes, indeed, fans - we DO have a new AWA
National Champion as "Hotshot" Stevie Scott ended the long reign of
Kolya Sudakov.  But perhaps a story larger than that, Bucky Wilde, is
what transpired at the end of that match and following.

BW: Just say it, Gordo.  The old Hotshot is back, daddy!  No more seeing
him run around with that fat old goof Sweet Daddy Williams.  You and all
these fans better get used to seeing him with his new partner and that
gold belt around his waist.

GM: Of course, Bucky refers to Ben Waterson, who helped Stevie win that
match on July 4 and bring him the National Title.

[And on cue, the crowd goes crazy with a heel pop.]

GM: Speaking of the new champion and his manager, they are making their
way down to join us.

BW: I can't wait to hear this, daddy!  Don't screw it up, Gordo.

[Indeed, Stevie and Ben walk to the table and into the view of the
camera, both obviously very proud of themselves.  Stevie is dressed
quite different than his former casual look.  Instead of the bermuda
shorts, Hawaiian shirt, etc., he sports a gray suit and white dress
shirt with a blue silk tie while sunglasses now cover his eyes.

Waterson, as well, is in a suit, smiling about as smugly as a human
possibly can.  Stevie carries the golden belt of the AWA National Title
across his right shoulder, and as the duo stops beside Myers, Waterson
reaches over and slaps the front plate a couple of times.  Before Myers
can open the interview, though, Waterson holds up a hand and
interrupts.]

ATTSBW: Hold up just one moment, Gordon.  Before we get started, I need
to make something crystal clear.  You're about to talk to the AWA
National Heavyweight Champion, and as such I expect you to treat him
with the respect he deserves.  If at any point in this interview, your
line of questioning goes against that grain?  We're out of here.

[Heel pop.  The first of many, to be sure.]

GM: I'll consider myself warned.

ATTSBW: You may proceed.

GM: Well, Stevie Scott, you did indeed fulfill your prediction that
you'd walk out of Jackson, Mississippi, with the AWA National Title
around your waist, but I don't think anyone expected you to use the
methods you did in order to accomplish that.  I suppose the question I
want to know, and I am sure all those fans out there who have been
cheering so hard for you over the last several months want to know, is
why?

[Stevie laughs almost silently, as if he expected the question to be
asked.]

HSS: Why.

[The new champion pauses, still smiling, as Myers hesitates before
responding.]

GM: Yes.  Why did you-

HSS: Hang on there, Myers, no need to rehash the details.  Everyone here
tonight and everyone watching at home knows what happened.  So you want
to know...why?

Why did I end the eight-month reign of Kolya Sudakov?  Why did I go to
any length, take every precaution necessary to win the AWA National
Title and secure a significant increase in my paycheck?

Heh.  You make that sound like a _bad_ thing, Myers!

[Boooo!]

GM: There's a whole lot more to it than that, such as what you did to
your now-former partner, Sweet Daddy Williams.

[Again, Stevie laughs arrogantly.]

HSS: Ah yes, Sweet Daddy Williams.  We had some good times, didn't we,
Sweet Daddy?  Let me tell you, Gordon, I've never seen a man squash a
buffet as fast as that guy could.  If the AWA had a competitive eating
division, he'd be the guy toting around a gold belt like this one I've
got.

[Waterson stands behind, laughing, as Stevie cracks it...a STEVIEGRIN~!]

HSS: And the women he got.  Wow...you have never seen a larger - and I
do mean _larger_ - collection of ugly, flabby ladies like he got.  Flies
to a big, steaming pile of crap is what it was, Gordon.  Probably your
kind of woman.  You should hang out with him sometime.  Lord knows he
probably needs the company.

[Myers brings the microphone back to him to interject, but Stevie pulls
it back and stops any of that noise.]

HSS: No need to thank me for that tip, pal.  Just because Stevie Scott
has refocused his approach, that doesn't mean he doesn't still look out
for the number two announcer in the AWA.

[That gets a big smile from Bucky Wilde, of course.]

HSS: Now back to the fat man.  It seems like a lot of people, Gordon,
have a problem with the fact that I'd turn my back on Sweet Daddy
Williams after what he did for my career.

First off, everyone wants to know, was it all an act?  Was the Hotshot
playing everyone for the fool for the span of almost a year?  Now,
Gordon, I'm as devious as anyone out there.  I'm as cunning a competitor
as there is in the game.  But the answer to that question is, quite
simply...

No.

[Stevie pauses, as if to let his answer sink in, before continuing.]

HSS: You want to know the truth of the matter, here's the truth of the
matter.  Sweet Daddy Williams...the old man _did_ pull me up out of the
gutter when everyone else had written me off.  And, believe it or not, I
did consider him to be a friend.  I meant what I said, at the time,
about him helping me to open my eyes and see things in a whole new
light.

But as time went on, and that light kept shining brighter and brighter,
Gordon...I started to see the _real_ truth.

Let me pose a question to you and to all these people out here who
suddenly hate me worse than they hate dental hygiene.  Once I got up on
my feet...which didn't take that long, believe me...who got the most out
of our partnership?

[Myers pauses, knowing the answer Stevie wants, but won't deliver.]

HSS: What, afraid to say it?  That's alright.  The absolute, 100 percent
truth, Gordon Myers...and even _you_ know it...is that Sweet Daddy
Williams got a helluva lot more out of our partnership than I did.

[The new champ nods emphatically.]

HSS: That old fart had been working in front of 150 people in high
school gymnasiums and National Guard Armories, earning about 50 dollars
a night, before he got a few chances here in the AWA as a favor from
someone, as far down the toilet as his career was.  And even before
Stevie Scott entered the picture, all he was doing here was beating some
nobodies, getting five minutes of camera time, and going on his merry
way.

But ever since he started running with the Hotshot?  The old man was
back from the dead.  Getting paid well enough to hit the Shoney's buffet
for breakfast, lunch, _and_ dinner.  All because of _me_.

[Yep, you guessed it, big heel pop from the SDW-loving crowd.]

HSS: That's right, _me_.  And don't let him fool you, Sweet Daddy is a
smart man.  Or at least smart enough to know when to take a ride on
someone else's coattails.  You see, Gordon, the old man...he figured it
out.  And so what did he do?

He _used_ me.

[An incredulous Myers can't help himself and pipes up.]

GM: Used you?  Are you serious?

HSS: One hundred percent, Myers.  Used me.  Being the historian you are,
I'm sure you'll remember what happened when we were supposed to take on
Kentucky's Pride for the tag titles, right?  The Russians took me out
before the match...you recall this?  And tell me, what did the "savior
of my career" go and do?  I know you remember this, Myers.  Tell all
these people, what did he do?

[Myers hesitates, but having no other choice, answers.]

GM: He secured himself another partner so as not to lose the title shot.

HSS: Ding ding ding!  Correct!  He went and got himself...you said it,
Gordon..._himself_...another partner.  You hear that?  After I worked my
butt off to put us into the number one contender's spot, he still had
_no qualms_ about leaving me off in the ER by _myself_ while he found
the one man still wrestling that's older than he is and took away my
chance to win some gold.

[Waterson shakes his head in the background.]

HSS:  Seriously, Gordon, he replaced me with Soup Bone Samson.  That's
how much he thought of the ol' Hotshot.  Soup Bone Samson, a man who was
_never_ fit to tie my laces or carry my bags from the trunk of my
Mercedes into the arena, even on his _best_ day.

That, Gordon Myers, is when I started to see the light once again.  I
realized that Sweet Daddy Williams was a selfish man, simply hiding
behind what seemed like noble intentions.  Befriending me when no one
else would talk to me and helping me regain my mojo.  Standing
side-by-side with me in my fight against Velikov and Sudakov.

[This time, it's Stevie who shakes his head.]

HSS: No...Williams was getting paid and getting paid _well_, all because
of me.  I was his gravy train, Gordon.  His last shot at glory.  And he
had me snowed for a long time until that one fatal mistake of showing
what he _really_ thought of me when he dumped me at the hospital and
brought in a 60 year old man as his partner in the biggest match in the
last 15 years of his career.

And just about the time I started figuring things out, who else would
enter the picture...

[Stevie points at Waterson.]

HSS: But _this_ man.

When the time was right, he approached me with his offer.  Everything he
said, it was exactly what I knew to be true.  That I would be limited as
long as I was running with guys like Sweet Daddy Williams who were
hanging onto my coattails and holding me back in the process.  That my
potential was still as great as any man in the business, with the right
support behind the scenes.

Gordon, I never got into this business to make friends.  I didn't get
into it to get the cheers from the crowd.  That doesn't get you a bigger
paycheck.  I got into it to win _titles_.  I got into it to be the
_best_.  So after several conversations with Mr. Waterson, I realized it
was in my best interest to begin making some changes in the way I did
things.

And it all started with my, shall we say, associates.

[Waterson grins and nods as Stevie pats him on the back.]

HSS: The man calls himself "Agent To The Stars" for a _reason_, Myers.
He knew good and well who was going to win that Memorial Day Rumble and
get the title shot at Death Or Glory.  He knew that it was going to be
the biggest star that the AWA had to offer.

The Hotshot himself.

Ben had the _plan_, he had the _scheme_, he had the _money_...

And now? We've got the gold.

[The heel heat intensifies even more.  Stevie continues smiling in spite
of it.]

HSS: Myers, there _is_ no bigger star in the AWA...there is no bigger
star in professional wrestling...than the man standing right here with
the gold on his shoulder.  Ben Waterson knew that, and Ben Waterson got
the offer so sweet that I had no choice but to jump on it like we're
going to jump on the ladies in the penthouse suite of the Hilton later
tonight.

GM: The offer to get you the AWA National Title, I assume.

[Stevie laughs again, slapping Waterson on the back.]

HSS: Why don't you fill 'em in, Ben?

[A smugly-smiling Waterson adjusts his sportcoat and steps forward.]

ATTSBW: Myers, it's not surprising to me that you don't get it.  Like
Stevie said, he is the biggest star there is.  He didn't need my help to
win the AWA National Title, I can assure you of that.  What you
witnessed in Jackson, Mississippi, is the start of something much
larger... much more powerful... and much more influential... than
anything the AWA has seen in its short existence.

[Waterson pauses, glancing at Myers who looks back at him quizzically.]

ATTSBW: I see.  So you want to know what I'm talking about.  And I'm
sure that all these people here tonight want to know what I'm talking
about as well, because there's no way in hell a bunch of Alabama
rednecks would be smart enough to figure it out.  I don't know what's
lower... the number of teeth in the front row or the combined IQ of
everyone sitting in those seats out there.

[Cheap heat!  Whoo!]

ATTSBW: So allow me to lay it out for you.  The plan is much more than
the National Title.  The plan, Gordon Myers...

... is domination.

[Stevie grins arrogantly in the background as a still-smug Waterson goes
on.]

ATTSBW: Domination of the AWA and the entire wrestling world in a
variety of ways.  I'm talking about dominating in the ring and winning
championship after championship after championship.

[Ben thumbs at Stevie over his shoulder.]

ATTSBW: As you can see, we are off to a very nice start in that
department.

I'm talking about dominating in the bank account.  Being the richest men
in professional wrestling and living a lifestyle that no one can touch.
I'm talking about spending more money in one week on wine, women, and
song, than other, lesser wrestlers bring home in an entire year.

I'm talking about dominating the news, the internet chatter, the
television cameras.  I call myself "Agent To The Stars" for that very
reason, Gordon.  I want...and I _only_ want...stars who are drawn to the
spotlight.  And the spotlight drawn to them.

Now, in this man's case...

[Waterson reaches back and touches Stevie on the shoulder, prompting the
new champ to step forward a bit.]

ATTSBW: It wasn't a difficult proposition at all.  Just get him away
from that flabby butt-shaking, two-bit, Sizzler buffet's worst
nightmare, and-

[And stop talking, Ben.  Because you've been interrupted by a HUGE pop,
followed shortly by a VERY angry Sweet Daddy Williams who comes bursting
(as much as he can) into the picture.  Myers and Wilde scramble to get
out of the way, but as SDW pulls up short of attacking anyone and
everyone in his sight, Myers sidles back in to put the microphone close
enough to grab the conversation.]

SDW:  YOU LISTEN UP... THE BOTH OF YA!

[The crowd cheers as a fired-up Sweet Daddy grabs Myers' wrist, shouting
into the mic.]

SDW:  Stevie... Stevie... I don't know what's gotten into ya, buddy...
but this ain't you.  This...

[Sweet Daddy Williams shakes his head, seemingly in disbelief.]

SDW:  This ain't you.  This is... this is HIM!

[A furious finger is pointed in the direction of Ben Waterson who steps
back, raising his hands in defense.]

SDW:  This slime... this snake... this weasel... he's gotten into your
head, man.  He's gotten in there with all this talk of titles and money
and fancy cars and big houses and... it's not what this is about,
Stevie.  

It's not what YOU'RE about!

[Another big cheer for the emotional fan favorite.]

SDW:  I sat back there... I listened to whatcha said...

[Another head shake.]

SDW:  I don't buy it, baby.  I just don't.  We're friends, Stevie. 
We're partners.  The Sweet Heat Express rockin' and racin' all over the
nation...

[Big cheer!]

SDW:  I know what ya said.  I know.  But it doesn't have to be that way,
Stevie.  They're words... that's it... just words.  You got... you're
confused... I get that.

Come on, Stevie... we're partners... we're friends... we're brothers,
baby.

[Sweet Daddy Williams' voice takes on an almost-pleading tone as he
addresses his Sweet Heat partner.]

SDW:  Kick this snake to the curb and shake my hand, baby.  It's not too
late, Hotshot... we can still make this right... 

[The fan favorite extends his hand.]

SDW:  Come on.  Come on, baby.  Shake my hand.  Put all this behind you.
 I'll forgive you... these fans... they love you, man... they'll forgive
you too!

[Stevie looks out on the Alabama crowd that cheers, trying to urge him
to accept his partner's hand.  The Hotshot nods at the cheers, looking
down at Sweet Daddy Williams' hand...

...and then SPITS right in his face!]

GM:  Ohh!  Come on, Stevie.  There's no call for-

[Sweet Daddy Williams lunges forward, grabbing Stevie Scott by the
lapels of his sportscoat, pushing him back against the ring apron...

...but gets LEVELED from behind by a large, tanned, muscular individual,
who drops him with a well-placed forearm blast to the back of the head.

"Gold Bomber" Gary Bright.

Ever the opportunist, Stevie immediately joins in with Bright as they
stomp away on the downed Sweet Daddy.  Williams struggles to his feet
and spears Bright, driving him backward...but Stevie quickly drives an
elbow into the small of SDW's back to send him down to his knees again.]

ATTSBW: Say hello to our new insurance policy, Gordon Myers!

[Stevie pulls Williams up and pins his arms behind him as Bright rares
back one of his massive arms and _clocks_ the fan favorite with a hard
blow to the forehead.  SDW's legs crumple underneath him and the big man
hits the cold concrete with a louder-than-usual "thud."  Stevie gives
Bright a high-five as officials rush over to the downed Sweet Daddy. 
The duo then joins Waterson back at the table with Myers.]

GM: Ben Waterson...what a despicible attack on that man!

ATTSBW: Despicible?  Who are you kidding, Myers?  The fat man was about
to attack _us_ until the Gold Bomber put a stop to it.  Why do you think
I called him our insurance policy?  We knew Williams would try
something, and the moment he did... well, GB was ready and waiting to
make sure he couldn't follow through with it.

[Waterson grins.]

ATTSBW: Like I said, Gordon.  Domination.

And get ready, AWA, because this is just the start.

[Bright lays a couple additional kicks into SDW's side as Stevie steps
up beside Waterson, looking and pointing down at his fallen former
friend.]

HSS: Hey, Sweet Daddy!  Old man, even after all those things I realized
about you, I _still_ gave you the chance to stay on board the Hotshot
Express.  I still extended my hand to you right in the middle of that
ring two weeks ago, but you shoved it away.

Well, big man...your gravy train just left the station.  Your free ride
is over.

Now who wan' lay in a hospital bed ta'night?

[Ripping a man's catchphrase?  Aw, hail no!  That draws a MASSIVE heel
pop.  Bright, his handiwork complete, joins Scott and Waterson beside
Myers.]

ATTSBW: Gold Bomber, it is my pleasure to say to you, welcome to the
organization.

[The Gold Bomber looks around at everyone in the audience with a look of
disgust on his face. The boos just continue to rain down on the trio.]

GB: In the Gold Bomber's brief time here in the AWA, he has noticed that
there is a line that has been drawn in the sand and standing on each
side were warriors and on the other side wannabes. The problem was that
the Gold Bomber was the only warrior standing on his side and facing a
sea of wannabes and hasbeens. A god facing down on the plebeians and the
downtrodden. Looking down at the unworthy and the inept, the Gold Bomber
came to one major conclusion...

[Bright pauses as he points to everyone in the arena.]

GB: You all cheer little boys who run around in tights pretending to be
athletes.... when you should be cheering... Champions....

[Bright points to Scott.]

GB: When you should be cheering perfection.... [single arm bicep pose
with mic still in hand] You see there's a few things that Stevie, the
Agent To The Stars, and the Gold Bomber know about... and that's utter
domination. Sweet Daddy?  It's more like... Who's Your Daddy?  Stevie
showed you what being a champion and what being an anchor of the AWA is
all about.

[Heel pop!]

GB: The Gold Bomber has joined forces with the Hotshot. The greatest
star in the AWA has joined sides with the greatest power in professional
wrestling. What can you do? Where can you hide? Who can be able to sleep
at night knowing what has been unleashed on the AWA?

[Waterson grabs the mic and holds it up as Bright strikes a double bicep
pose.]

GB: What ya gonna do when the thunder and lightning of professional
wrestling start to rain down on you?

[Bright holds the pose and Stevie slaps him on his massive deltoids
while Waterson pauses, smiling with the same smug smile, and hands the
mic back to Myers.  But not before dropping...]

ATTSBW: Consider.  Yourselves.  Warned.

[With a smirk, Waterson walks off camera, following his two despised
charges back up the aisle towards the locker room area.]

GM:  Gary Bright, the Gold Bomber... has aligned himself with Stevie
Scott and Ben Waterson.  

[Myers shakes his head.]

BW:  Who can stand up to them, Gordo?  Who?

GM:  I don't know.  I just don't know.  Fans, we'll be right back.

[The camera holds on the ringside area where a pair of medical team
members are helping Sweet Daddy Williams up to his feet outside the ring
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 where Jason Dane is standing in the
locker room area, looking a bit frantic.]

JD:  Are we... are we back?

[Dane looks off-camera for a second before turning back.]

JD:  Welcome back to Saturday Night Wrestling, fans and, uhh... 

[Dane looks off-camera again.]

JD:  Sweet Daddy!  Over here!

[The camera pans a bit to show Sweet Daddy Williams, carrying a duffel
bag in his hand, walking towards the exit of the building.  Jason Dane
walks quickly, trying to catch up to him.]

JD:  Sweet Daddy... can we get a word?  Can we-

SDW:  Not now, Jason.

JD:  But... what are your thoughts on Gary Bright joining up with-

SDW:  I said not now!

[Williams opens the door.]

JD:  Please... for your fans... what's next?

[Sweet Daddy Williams pauses with one step through the doorway, slowly
turning back to look at Jason.]

SDW:  I don't know.

[And with that, the popular fan favorite walks through the doorway and
out of sight.  The camera stays on him as he walks into the parking
lot.]

JD:  Sweet Daddy Williams has left the building... and perhaps the AWA
as well.  Fans, let's go back to ringside for tonight's opening matchup!

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

MC:  The opening matchup is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit.  Introducing first, already in the ring at this time, from
Birmingham, Alabama... at 290 pounds... Bill Simpson!

[A tough-looking guy with a wild beard and cowboy boots hops up on the
middle rope to a handful of hometown cheers.]

MC:  And his opponent... 

["Rock Superstar" by Cypress Hill kicks in to an explosion of jeers from
the crowd.]

MC:  From Boston, Massachusetts... weighing in at 260 pounds...

"SUPERSTAR"
KEVVVVVVINNN SLAAAAAAAATERRRR!

[The boos don't relent a bit as "Superstar" Kevin Slater walks through
the curtain.  He's clad in black trunks to mid-thigh along with a set of
dark sunglasses.  He sneers at the ringside fans as he makes his way
down the aisle towards the ring.]

GM:  Kevin Slater is on the way to the ring and while we didn't see him
at Death Or Glory, you know his brewing issue with Bobby Taylor is on
the minds of a lot of our fans, Bucky.

BW:  What issue?  If you listen to Taylor, he's not even comin' for
Slater!

GM:  That's not what he said, Bucky.  He just said that he and Slater
have too much history - too much time as friends... as brothers - to
throw it away and try to cripple him.

BW:  Coward.

GM:  Give me a break.

[Slater slingshots over the ropes into the ring, dropping to a knee with
a big double bicep pose to even more boos from the crowd.  He pops up to
his feet, pulling the sunglasses off to hand them to the referee.]

GM:  The referee calls for the bell... 

[Bill Simpson rushes across the ring, storming a surprised Kevin Slater.
 A barrage of wild haymakers knocks Slater back into the corner, every
blow rocking the former Wild Thing.]

GM:  Simpson's all over Slater!

[The crowd roars as Simpson grabs Slater by the wrist, firing him across
the ring...

...and DRILLING the "Superstar" with a running clothesline in the
corner!]

GM:  Ohhh my!  

BW:  Where did this guy come from?

GM:  Birmingham, Alabama!  And these people are lovin' it!

[Slater staggers out of the corner...

...and EATS an uppercut squarely on the chin, knocking him down to the
mat in a heap!]

GM:  What an uppercut by Simpson!  He knocked him right on his
traitorous tail, Bucky!

BW:  I'm not liking this, Gordo.

GM:  The fans certainly are!

BW:  Like I said.

[A barrage of hard stomps by Simpson causes Slater to roll under the
ropes to the apron.  The wild-eyed Simpson lets loose a whoop as he
reaches over the ropes, pulling Slater up to his feet...

...and catching a jab to the eye!]

GM:  Ohh!  Cheap shot by Slater!

[The former Wild Thing slips through the ropes into the ring.  A pair of
chops to the chest of the blinded Simpson sends the brawler stumbling
back into the buckles.]

GM:  Here come Slater...

[The "Superstar" sprints across the ring, leaving his feet with two feet
smashing hard into the sternum of Simpson.]

GM:  Oh, nice dropkick in the corner by Slater!

[Smirking at the booing crowd, Slater hauls Simpson out of the corner by
his tangled beard...

...and pops him under the chin with a European uppercut that knocks
Simpson down to the mat.  With the referee protesting, Slater unleashes
a series of stomps to the head and neck of Simpson before dropping down
to his knees, wrapping his hands around the throat of the hometown
favorite.]

GM:  Blatant choke applied by Slater!  One!  Two!  Three!  Four!  Fi- he
breaks it.  Just in time right there.  He'd look pretty silly getting
disqualified against a competitor no one has heard of in the AWA before,
Bucky.

BW:  He might find it worth his while if he gets to put that nobody in a
hospital.  This is a different Kevin Slater.

GM:  It's a Kevin Slater who likes to remind everyone he's a two time
former World Champion and you would have to imagine he's looking to get
the winner's side of the paycheck on most nights.

[Slater pulls Simpson off the mat by the hair, smashing him with an
elbow across the side of the jaw, knocking him into the ropes.]

GM:  Off the ropes...

[As the wild-haired Simpson rebounds, Slater hoists him up into a
fireman's carry...

...and then flips the big man over his shoulders, smashing the back of
his neck down on Slater's bent knee!]

GM:  OHHHHH!  

BW:  Fireman's Neckbreaker!  That oughta do it!

GM:  One... two... thr- oh, come on!

[The crowd jeers wildly as Slater pops up to his knees, pulling Simpson
up by the tangled hair.  He smirks at the protesting referee before
driving a few clenched fists into the side of Simpson's head, knocking
him back down on his back.]

GM:  Simpson's down again... Slater back to his feet...

[The Superstar blows off the referee's cries as he heads across the
ring, stepping through the ropes to the apron.  He sneers at the boos as
he climbs up the ropes.]

GM:  Slater's heading up top!

BW:  This is textbook Kevin Slater.  He's been using this flying elbow
for over a decade!  Slater's got a bullseye right on the chest of that
hillbilly.

GM:  Slater's up top... he's set... he's ready...

[With a smirk, Slater takes flight, sailing through the air with his
elbow cocked...

...and DRIVES it down squarely on the throat of the downed Simpson!]

GM:  OHHHHH!  That'll do it right there!

[Slater springs to his feet, arms spread wide as he does a full 360 for
the jeering crowd... 

...and then places a single boot on the chest of Simpson.]

GM:  One.  Two.  Thr- again!  Again, he pulls him up!

BW:  I love it, Gordo!  Kevin Slater - just like Stevie Scott - has
completely cast aside these idiots in the crowd and he's showing the
world what he truly was able to do all along.

GM:  This is totally uncalled for!  Get this under control!

[Slater climbs to his feet, dragging a barely-moving Simpson up as well,
shoving him back against the buckles.  The "Superstar" grabs the elbow
pad over his right arm, yanking it off.]

GM:  Slater's taking off that elbowpad... what's he-  oh, come on!

[The crowd jeers as Slater wipes the elbowpad across his forehead,
smirking as he tosses it into the crowd...

...and then OBLITERATES Simpson with a standing lariat that takes the
big man down to the mat!]

GM:  OHHHH!  Can you finish him off?  For the love of-

BW:  Oh, he's not done yet, Gordo.

GM:  He should be done!  Ring the bell, ref!  Stop this thing.

[Slater sits on the canvas for a few seconds, grinning at the referee
who is screaming at him.  He slowly gets back to his feet, looking down
at the motionless Simpson before dragging him into a front facelock...]

BW:  Here it comes, Gordo!  Here it comes!

[With a handful of tights, Slater hoists him up into a horizontal
position...

...and SPIKES him skullfirst into the mat!]

GM:  CATTLEBUSTER!  CATTLEBUSTER DDT!

[Slater climbs to his feet, looking down at Simpson flat on his stomach.
 He bursts into action, hooking both arms in a double chickenwing and
flipping over the top in a bridging chickenwing!]

GM:  What the-?

BW:  It's the Boston Massacre!   The bridging double chickenwing!  We've
seen this from Slater before but-


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  That'll do it!  Finally!

[The referee orders Slater to break the hold which the Superstar finally
does after several seconds.  The former World Champion sits up, smirking
at the jeering crowd.  He orders the referee to raise his hand and then
promptly rolls out of the ring.]

GM:  It looks like we're about to be joined by Kevin Slater who-

[Slater snatches the mic away from Gordon Myers.]

KS:  Gordon Myers!

[Pause.]

KS:  Gordon Myers, you and I... we've been in this business a long, long
time.  And I have nothing but respect for you.  Whatever I do, whatever
I say... nothing changes that.  But what has changed is the way I expect
to be treated.  By you... by these fans... by the other wrestlers in the
locker room... I am a former two time World Champion, Gordon Myers.  I
have earned... and I _demand_ your respect!

[Myers nods as Slater hands him the mic.]

GM:  Fair enough.  Mr. Slater, that was an impressive victory but I
can't say that I'm pleased with the way you went about it.

KS:  Is that a fact?

[Myers nods.]

KS:  As you say, Gordon... fair enough.  But what did you find
objectionable?  Was it my bone-rattling Lariat?  Was it my awe-inspiring
Fireman's Neckbreaker?  

Perhaps it was that flying elbow that made flashbulbs pop across the
entire state of Alabama?

[Slater smirks.]

KS:  I know, I know... it was the Cattlebuster DDT, wasn't it?

[Myers interrupts.]

GM:  No, it was your insistance on punishing that young man even after
you could have beaten him at any time!

KS:  Gotcha.  Well, at least you have to admire me putting him out of
his misery.

BW:  The Boston Massacre was lookin' good, Kev.

[Slater looks confused.]

KS:  The what?

BW:  The Boston Massacre.

KS:  I'm not sure I-

[Slater snaps his fingers.]

KS:  Oh!  You must mean my new finisher... the Outlaw Clutch!

[Slater and Bucky cackle in unison.]

GM:  The Outlaw Clutch?  Are you serious?

[The "Superstar" points a warning finger.]

KS:  Respect, Myers.  Don't forget it.  The Outlaw Clutch has just
become the most feared, the most punishing, the most painful hold in the
entire industry.  You can forget the Fujiwara, the Last Rites, the SoCal
Clutch, The X... and all the others.  It's the Outlaw Clutch that makes
grown men weep at the thought of being trapped in it.

GM:  Mr. Slater, you seem to still be quite obsessed at the idea of
taking on Bobby Taylor.  Four weeks ago on this show, Mr. Taylor had
words for you... but they were very, very different.

KS:  Ah yes.  My old friend, Bobby, was quite emotional when he talked
to you, Gordon.  It was...

[Slater pauses.]

KS:  It was downright touching, Gordon.  I mean...all that talk about us
being friends... about us being family.  Apparently he thinks we're
still friends... that we're still brothers...

[Slater spits.]

KS:  Taylor, we've _never_ been friends!  We've _never_ been family! 
You weave quite the Hallmark card but the fact is, our days where we
were close were a fraud.  They were a joke.  And those days are long
gone.

So, if you want to tell everyone that you don't want to hurt me, that's
fine.  If you want to tell the world that you don't want to cripple me,
that's fine too.

But never think for a second that the feeling is mutual, Taylor.  

[Slater glares at the camera, his voice growing quiet.]

KS:  Not for one... single... second.

[And with that, the "Superstar" makes his exit from the ringside area,
leaving Gordon and Bucky behind.]

GM:  Kevin Slater makes his feelings towards "The Outlaw" Bobby Taylor
very well known.  He wants Taylor in the ring and he wants it badly,
Bucky.

BW:  And I can't wait to see it.  

GM:  Fans, don't you dare go away 'cause we'll be right back with more
Saturday Night Wrestling!

[The camera holds on Gordon and Bucky for a moment 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 backstage area where Jason Dane is standing
alongside a nicely dressed older gentleman.]

JD:  Welcome back to Saturday Night Wrestling, fans!  By my side right
now is Stephen Ross, the Chairman of the Championship Committee!  Mr.
Ross, it was a wild night at Death Or Glory in Jackson, Mississippi!

[Ross nods.]

SR:  You can not deny that, Jason.  It was one of the craziest nights I
can recall since I got involved with this great sport.

JD:  Everyone's been talking about the AWA since that night.  And I know
that the Championship Committee has had several meetings since then to
discuss what's next.  

SR:  That's correct.

JD:  So, uh... well, what's next?

[Ross chuckles.]

SR:  Jason, first thing's first... tonight.  Tonight, our Main Event has
had a signed contract for a few weeks now.  It was scheduled to be the
Russians, Vladimir Velikov and Kolya Sudakov, taking on the team of
Sweet Heat - Sweet Daddy Williams and the new National Champion Stevie
Scott.

JD:  Right.  But surely we won't be-

[Ross holds up a hand.]

SR:  Before tonight, the Committee had every intent of making that match
go on no matter how Sweet Heat feels about one another.  However, due to
what happened earlier tonight with Sweet Daddy Williams... well, he has
left the building as you know, Jason.

[Dane nods.]

SR:  So, we have given Stevie Scott the option of selecting a new
partner tonight to take on the Russians and he has obliged, selecting
the "Gold Bomber" Gary Bright to be his partner in the Main Event
tonight.  

JD:  Gary Bright and Stevie Scott taking on the Russians tonight?!

SR:  You've got that right, Jason.

JD:  Well, that should be an outstanding showdown.  Now, you said "first
thing's first."  

[Ross smiles.]

SR:  That's right, Jason.  After much discussion, the Championship
Committee is prepared to announce another big event coming up for the
American Wrestling Alliance.  Our next big event will be the AWA's debut
in the Carolinas on Labor Day weekend for a show that we have decided to
call No Escape.

JD:  No Escape?  I'm not sure I-

[Ross raises a hand.]

SR:  Over the past few months, there has been one rivalry here in the
AWA that is, quite frankly, out of control.  We've seen these two men
battle in the ring, out of the ring, in the crowd, and even in a parking
lot.  When the Committee reviewed the situation, we decided that these
two men were posing a very serious threat to the AWA fans themselves
with their disregard for anyone around them during their battles.

So, we feel we've come up with a solution that should end this war
between those two men.

On Labor Day Weekend at No Escape, Juan Vasquez and Raphael Rhodes will
meet one more time...

...INSIDE A STEEL CAGE!

[Dane's jaw drops.]

JD:  Vasquez and Rhodes - in a cage?!  That's the first EVER singles
cage match in the AWA!

[Ross nods.]

SR:  And I honestly can't think of a better matchup for the first
one-on-one cage match in AWA history.  

JD:  There you have it, fans.  No Escape - coming on Labor Day Weekend
in the Carolinas featuring Juan Vasquez and Raphael Rhodes inside the
confines of a steel cage!  That's gonna be something else.  Thanks for
your time, Mr. Ross, and now let's go back to ringside to Bucky and
Gordon!

[We cut back to the ringside area where our announcers are standing.]

GM:  Thanks, Jason - and what HUGE news we just heard, Bucky!

BW:  That's right.  At long last, Raphael Rhodes is going to get his
hands on that miserable twerp Vasquez and this time, Vasquez will have
nowhere to run and nowhere to hide!

GM:  No Escape, coming to the Carolinas on Labor Day weekend, and what a
brutal matchup that's sure to be, fans.  But in addition to that, we
also just got the announcement of tonight's Main Event with The Russians
taking on Gary Bright and the new National Champion, Stevie Scott!  That
should be a tremendous matchup as well!  Right now, fans, it's time to
welcome back one of the AWA's hottest young stars, "Thunderbolt" Jackson
Ross who we haven't seen since Memorial Day Mayhem!  Let's go up to
Melissa!

[Cut 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... weighing 310
pounds... The Red Menace!

[A burly man clad all in red spandex throws both arms up to the jeers of
the crowd.]

MC:  And his opponent...

[The sounds of "Thunder Kiss '65" by White Zombie rocks over the PA
system.]

MC:  Weighing in at 245 pounds from San Antonio, Texas... he is
"THUNDERBOLT" JACKSON ROSSSSS!

[Ross comes charging through the curtain to a large "welcome back!"
reaction, flinging his arms apart as he slams to a halt, soaking up the
cheers of the crowd.  With a big grin on his face, Ross sprints the rest
of the way down the aisle, pulling up to a halt where he deadleaps up
onto the ring apron, slingshotting himself over the ropes into the
ring.]

GM:  Jackson Ross making his AWA return after a nearly two month long
tour of Japan as part of the talent exchange agreement with Tiger Paw
Pro.  We understand that he was quite successful during that tour,
Bucky.

BW:  More of the silver spoon treatement.  There's guys who've been
wrestling for years who would love a cushy, high-paying tour of Japan
and this punk gets it after a few months in the business.  

GM:  You just don't like this kid and nothing changes that.

BW:  Maybe he should go learn from Stevie Scott - maybe THEN I'd like
him.

[The referee calls for the bell as the two grapplers head towards the
middle of the ring, locking up in a collar and elbow that the Red Menace
easily takes control of, shoving the youngster back into the ropes...

...where he steps back and delivers a crushing overhand chop across the
chest of Ross, knocking him down to a knee.]

GM:  Good grief!  What a chop by the Menace!

BW:  It's like getting hit in the chest with a frying pan, daddy!

GM:  The Menace drags him up... headbutt!

[The blow sends Ross falling back into the ropes, his arms draped over
the top rope.]

BW:  Looks like Ross is suffering from jetlag, daddy!

GM:  Very funny.

[Grabbing Ross by the wrist, the Menace fires him across the ring.]

GM:  Irish whip... clothesli- ducked by Ross!

[The crowd cheers for a picture perfect dropkick on the jaw that causes
the Menace to stumble back a couple steps.  With the big man dazed, Ross
races towards him, leaping up to snare the Menace's head with his
legs...

...and takes him down to the mat with a headscissors takedown!]

GM:  Nicely done right there...

[Slow to get up, Menace is an easy target for the speedy Jackson Ross
who hits the ropes, bouncing back with a leaping forearm smash that
knocks the Menace down again.  Ross gets to his feet, racing towards the
corner, leaping up to the middle rope where he promptly springs back off
with a somersault senton splash!]

GM:  Ohhh!

BW:  Ehhh... that was alright.

GM:  Ross has him down... right hand... and another right... and a
third!

[With the Menace down, Ross slingshots over the ropes to the apron.  He
pumps a fist before grabbing the top rope, looking into the ring where
the Menace is starting to rise...

...and then deadleaps to the top rope, springboarding off with a picture
perfect high cross body!]

GM:  CROSS BODY OFF THE TOP!!  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREEEEE!!!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  Jackson Ross with the win in his return to the AWA!  And listen to
these fans cheering this young man on!

[Ross gets back to his feet, saluting the cheering fans as the referee
raises his hand in victory.  The young man heads towards the ropes,
stepping through them, and dropping down to the floor at ringside where
Gordon Myers and Bucky Wilde are standing.]

GM:  Jackson, I'll give you a moment to catch your breath but welcome
back to the AWA.  It's great to see you back inside an AWA ring and I
know these fans feel the same way!

[Big cheer from the fans who do indeed feel the same way!]

JR:  Thanks, Mr. Myers.  It's great to be back.

GM:  How was Japan?

JR:  Absolutely amazing.  It was my first time there and I learned so
much... saw so many new things.  It was a fantastic experience and I'm
so happy Tiger Paw Pro asked me to come over there.  

GM:  How was the Tiger Paw Pro competition?

JR:  Well, Mr. Myers... the AWA has the toughest competition bar none in
the wrestling world but Tiger Paw Pro?  They're a close second.  I
fought with and against some of the best wrestlers I've ever seen and I
loved every second of it.  

GM:  The last time we saw you in the AWA, we- hold on here...

[The crowd responds with a bit of a mixed reaction as the duo of Scott
Pain and Colt Patterson - also known as Unfinished Business - makes
their way out to ringside.  Patterson is clapping in Jackson Ross'
direction as they approach, Pain looking menacing as he stands behind
his partner.]

CP:  Go ahead, Gordon.  Finish what you were about to say.

GM:  Well, uhh... okay.  I was going to say that the last time we saw
Jackson Ross in the AWA, he was getting Pearl Harbored by you and thrown
out of the Rumble.

[Patterson nods his head.]

CP:  You hit the nail on the head, Gordon.  That's exactly what
happened.  I used Jackson to help me eliminate Gary Bright from the
Rumble... and then I flattened him and tossed him out myself.  Sound
about right?

[Myers nods his head.]

CP:  That's what happened... but what you don't explain is _why_ it
happened, Gordon.

[Myers looks puzzled.]

GM:  Okay, so why did it happen?

[Patterson grins.]

CP:  Because it was business.  Jackson, you remember my first match back
on this little comeback.  I asked to face you, right?  You remember
that?

[Ross nods.]

CP:  I saw a world of potential in you and I wanted to see if you were
actually as good as I thought you were.  Needless to say since I got
beat that night - you were.

[Patterson grins again.]

CP:  When the Rumble came around, I asked you to watch my back and
Scott's back and I told you that we would watch yours.  So, to a lot of
people, it looked like I betrayed you when I hit you from behind and
threw you over the top.  To a lot of people that's what they saw.  But
kid, I gotta ask you... what did you see?

[Colt stares intently at Jackson Ross as Scott Pain stands at the ready
behind him.]

JR:  Mr. Patters-

[Ross pauses.]

JR:  Colt.  If I thought it necessary that night, I would've ripped your
throat out for what you did to me.  If I had felt the slightest bit
fooled or tricked or betrayed... but that wasn't what I felt.

[Ross shakes his head.]

JR:  To me?  It was just another lesson that I had to learn the hard
way.  In a match like that?  With stakes that high?  There are no
partners.  There are no friends.  And not a single thing is personal. 
It's all just business.

[Patterson grins again at the response, nodding his head.]

CP:  Kid, you're not only as good as I thought... you're as smart as I
thought too.  That's exactly what it was.  It was me and Scott teaching
you the hard way that there are no friends when that much is on the
line.  You learned that and I'm sure you're going to learn a lot more
over the years.

[Dramatic pause.]

CP:  And that's why I came out here tonight.  It's time for the next
step in your education, kid.

[Ross looks confused.]

CP:  I'm out here to offer you a spot in Unfinished Business with me and
Scott.

[Scott Pain looks stunned by this news, suddenly speaking up for the
first time.]

SP:  Wait a second... wait a damn second... we didn't talk about this,
Colt.  We didn't-

CP:  Trust me on this one, Scotty.  This is the right decision.

SP:  I don't know this kid... I don't trust this kid... hell, I don't
even _like_ this kid!

[Patterson looks at his friend and partner for a second silently.]

CP:  Scott, you know we need this.  We had our shot at Kentucky's Pride
and we failed.  We need new blood... fresh blood... we need someone
younger to make us quicker, faster, better.  This kid is the future of
the business and we're-

SP:  What?  The past?  Forget this.

[Pain abruptly shoves past his partner, storming away from the ringside
area.]

CP:  Jackson... kid, trust me.  He'll get over this.

JR:  Mr. Patterson... I'm not sure I-

CP:  This is the best thing for you... for your career.  Come on. 
Whaddya say?

[Ross looks conflicted at the offer.]

JR:  I.. I need to think about it.

[Patterson looks slightly annoyed... then breaks into a grin.]

CP:  Good deal, kid.  I'm sure when you get a chance to think about it,
you'll make the right decision.  Just give me a call when you do.  You
know where to find me.

[Patterson offers a hand which is quickly shaken by Jackson Ross.]

GM:  Fans, don't go away, we'll be right back with more AWA Saturday
Night Wrestling!

[We hold on Jackson Ross and Colt Patterson in a handshake before fading
to black...

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

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

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

[Red text appears on the screen.]

"AWA: YEAR ONE!"

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

"Witness highlights from the first AWA Saturday Night Wrestling.

See the very first AWA Rumble.

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

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

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

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

...and then back up to footage where the words "Taped 7/4/09" appear on
the bottom of a black screen and then there's a bit of static as we go
from the black screen to what appears to be a hand-held camera's
point-of-view on a wrestling ring.  It's not the best camera work in the
world.. shakey and amateur, but the crowd around the "camera man" seems
to be having a good time booing at the Right Proper Thugs who are
working over a couple of guys.  One of them is dressed as Abraham
Lincoln and the other is dressed as Uncle Sam and both of them are just
getting the holy hell knocked out of them as the Right Proper Thugs just
lay in a beating.

Barrett Topps grabs "Uncle Sam" and whips him into the ropes.  He comes
bouncing off and Topps catches him in a brutal looking overhead
belly-to-belly suplex, sending Uncle Sam bouncing onto his back and
right out of the ring.  Topps looks over the top rope and just spits a
giant loogie right down onto the fallen opponent.  That gives Abraham
Lincoln the opportunity to rush in and hit a double-axehandle to Topps's
back, but it barely even registers with the big man, who turns and
clobbers Lincoln to the mat with a big European Uppercut.

Although the sound isn't very good over the jeers and boos of the crowd,
it's clearly heard when Topps calls Lincoln an "American coward!"]

Topps takes his sweet time making his way to his corner and tagging in
Marcus Moore.  Moore doesn't waste any time, rushing across the ring and
just driving the heel of his Doc Marten's workboot right into the face
of Lincoln as the ex-President tries to get to his feet.  Moore just
shakes his head, then drags his thumb across his throat to signal this
one is all over.  He drags Lincoln back to the Right Proper Thugs corner
and tags in Topps.  From there it's all academic as Moore hits a Running
Liger Bomb on Lincoln and Topps comes off the top-rope with a big splash
for the three count.

Uncle Sam rolls into the ring and crawls over to his partner while The
RIght Proper Thugs have their hands raised in victory.  Lady Victoria
Pembroke-Burton has now joined them in the ring as she is looking with
utter contempt at Uncle Sam and Abraham Lincoln.  She lets her men
celebrate in the ring as she struts across the ring and slams her cane
into the side of Uncle Sam's head.  Abraham Lincoln doesn't get off easy
either as Pembroke-Burton drives the cane between Lincoln's legs as if
taking a very hard golf swing with the bronze head of the walking stick.

Topps and Barrett walk over to where their downed opponents are laid out
and kick them roughly out of the ring.  Meanwhile someone has apparently
made the mistake of giving Pembroke-Burton a live mic.]

Pembroke-Burton:  "Oi!  It's bloody July 4th innit?  And to celebrate, I
just had my boys beat the stuffing out of two American icons, yeah?  Did
all you American wankers enjoy that, eh?"

[Apparently not judging by the boos coming from the crowd and a chant of
"USA" "USA" starting up.  Topps and Barrett don't appear to take well to
that, climbing out of the ring and getting right in the faces of the
fans.. jawing back and forth and making the security force at ringside
appear highly nervous.]

Pembroke Burton:  "Y'know, my boys were robbed of a chance to compete
for the National titles, and we've been doin' some hard thinkin' about
that and we came to the conclusion that it's a good thing.  I mean, if
they'd gotten that match, and then won the titles... and no doubt they
would have... then we'd be forced to represent the bloody U.S. wouldn't
we?  Talk about a bleedin' disgrace.  Why would we want to represent a
bunch of utter tosses like all of you?"

[The Right Proper Thugs climb back into the ring and stand by their
manager, nodding their agreement.  Topps takes the mic from
Pembroke-Burton and sneers out at the crowd.]

BT:  "Too right, luv.  Now if those belts meant we'd be representin' the
U.K., well that'd be all's well, yeah?  But I don't want no one
confusin' me with some weak-beer drinkin', baseball watchin', American
git.  The kind of sissy yank who gets all whiney when some pop-star
kicks off."

[Marcus Moore yanks the mic out of Topps's hands.]

MM:  "That's right you bloody yank bastards, if... and only IF... we
wanted those titles, we'd be on them like death on Michael bloody
Jackson.  Like your bleedin' Old Navy on American white trash."

[And now it's Pembroke-Burton's turn to pull the mic away from Moore.]

PB:  "Bottom line is this, gits... the Right Proper Thugs are here to
stay, you little sots.  So get ready because it's a whole new game from
this point on yeah?  Now we're gonna go and get utterly pissed, so you
can all just bloody go to-"

[And the camera abruptly cuts to black before fading back up on the
ringside area where Gordon Myers is shaking his head.]

GM:  Fans, we apologize for that.  As you could see, that match... if
you can call it that... was taped before Death Or Glory went on the air.
 The Right Proper Thugs had brought in their own opponents, their own
camera crew... that was NOT a sanctioned match, mind you, so they still
do not have any points.

BW:  But that's all gonna change in two weeks, daddy, when the Right
Proper Thugs will be in action!

GM:  They certainly will be in in-ring action in Atlanta in two weeks...
hopefully they'll have a better outing than they did against Unfinished
Business several weeks ago.

BW:  I'm just happy that Lady Pembroke-Burton's going to be here in
person.  After all these months of having to look at Sarah Sharpe, good
grief, a real woman at ringside at long last.

GM:  Give me a break.  Fans, speaking of real women, let's go up to
Melissa for our next match!

[Cut to the ring where Melissa is standing.]

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

["Du gamla, Du fria (aka the national anthem of Sweden)" plays over the
PA as a man in his late-thirties with short blonde hair, at around 6'3"
or so comes out of the entrance.]

MC: From Uppsala, Sweden, weighing at two hundred and twenty pounds...

YONEF STERLONG!

[A smattering of polite applause from the crowd sounds out as the Swede
raises his hand. Sterlong's dressed in blue wrestling tights with a
yellow cross on both legs to form the Swedish flag; and a tight white
athletic shirt with the coat of arms of Sweden on the right breast. Once
in the ring, he points up to the sky twice before going to his corner.]

GM: Yonef Sterlong, all the way from Sweden, in his debut match here in
AWA. He's apparently been a junior heavyweight champion in Europe for a
number of years.

BW: Pfft, Europe. That's below even the minor leagues here, Gordo. And
how old is this guy anyway? 50?

GM: Hardly, but he certainly has... an extensive amount of experience.

[Cut back to Melissa.]

MC: And his opponent...

[Stabbing Westward's "The Thing I Hate" starts to play as a loud mixed
pop sounds out from the crowd.]

MC: From Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, weighing in at two hundred and
twenty-seven pounds...

PUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEE XXXXXXX!!!

[A louder pop sounds out as the young technician walks down to the ring,
unmoved by the applause - his eyes focused on his opponent in the ring.]

GM: Pure X is coming off a thrilling win against Gary Bright at Death or
Glory in a match many were saying was a show stealer.

BW: There's no doubt about that, Gordo - both men gave it their all in
the ring. I have to feel that we saw the future of the AWA in that ring
on that night and I wouldn't be surprised we see those two go at it
again sometime soon.

GM: You may be right, Bucky. But tonight Pure X has to hold off Yonef
Sterlong to keep his quest of working his way up the rankings.

BW: True. A win here won't move him up the rankings. But a loss - and
all disrespect to this Swedish guy - would drop X out of the top ten.

GM: Don't you mean "No disrespect" to Yonef Sterlong?

BW: No.


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


[Referee Mickey Meekly calls for the bell as the two men circle the
ring, sizing each other up. Sterlong goes for the first attack, trying
to charge with a with a running knee, but Pure X sidesteps and sweeps
the leg out from under Sterlong, felling the Swede.]

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

[Pure X immediately attacks, the leg, stomping away at the knee and the
ankle of Sterlong. X then backs off to let Sterlong get back to his
feet, but Pure X quickly clips the left leg. Pure X drops down and
straddles the left leg, grabbing ahold of the ankle and then ripping the
leg up and slamming it down, knee first into the mat.]

GM: Pure X slamming that knee into the mat repeatedly here and it's
clear what his strategy is tonight - take out Sterlong's knee and attack
the ankle for The X anklelock.

BW: Simple but effective. No need to get fancy, Gordo.

[After about five or six stiff slams, Pure X grabs the ankle, tucks it
under his arm, and yanks back as viciously as he can.]

GM: Single leg Boston Crab now applied and Sterlong looks to be in some
serious pain.

BW: A guy his age, who's probably been a high flier for his career? You
can be sure he's had some knee issues before. X's just capitalizing on
what's a logical assumption.

[X asks the ref for the submission, but Sterlong shakes off Meekly's
question. Pure X, in response, stands up - with the ankle still in his
grasp - and put his heel into the back of Sterlong's knee. X then lets
go of the ankle and slams his heel down at the same time, crushing
Sterlong's knee into the mat and causes the Swede to cry out in pain.]

GM: Vicious move there by Pure X. It seems to me that X is showing some
determination tonight.

BW: Well, he's trying to send a message. I talked with him after the
Bright match and he was disappointed that he didn't get the submission
victory. The man's got lofty goals, Gordo.

GM: Lofty indeed. I would think a win, no matter how made, against Gary
Bright would be enough.

[Sterlong, after crawling his way to the ropes, climbs to two feet and
turns around... just in time to get hit with a low dropkick to the left
knee, crumpling Sterlong back to the mat. Pure X goes in for the kill,
but backs off as Sterlong grasps the ropes again.]

GM: Pure X standing back, yelling at Sterlong to get back to the two
feet.

[Pure X goads on Sterlong as he gets vertical, albeit with a noticeable
limp on his left side. X motions for Sterlong to attack, which the Swede
obliges with a clothesline attempt that X ducks. Sterlong goes into the
ropes and on the rebound instinctively goes for a high knee to the gut
of Pure X.]

GM: Knee strike connects, but Sterlong couldn't take the pain as he
falls to the mat after hitting that left knee!

BW: This one's over, Gordo. Just a matter of time.

[Sterlong slams the mat in frustration as he drags himself back up just
in time for a Pure X clothesline attempt. However, Sterlong blocks that
and goes with a right punch... but Pure X blocks the punch and swivels
around to the left side of Sterlong.]

GM: Pure X positioning himself for a side Russian leg sweep, but it
appears that Sterlong's blocking the move...

[X puts his right foot up against the back of Sterlong's right knee as
he holds his arm around the back of Sterlong. In one fluid motion, X
pushes Sterlong down to the mat, rolling with Sterlong so that the
Swede's left leg is held between Pure X's legs and arms.]

GM: Rolling kneebar from Pure X! Sterlong is in pain here as X yanks
back at that hurt knee!

[Pure X is relentless as he yanks back that left leg while screaming at
Meekly to ask Sterlong is he wants to end the match. Sterlong tries to
wriggle his way out of the hold, but the pain is too much...]

"DING!Ź DING!Ź DING!"

GM: He tapped! Yonef Sterlong has submitted to Pure X via that
impressive rolling kneebar!

[As Pure X sees Sterlong tap, he quickly releases the hold and gets back
to his feet, holding his hands in the air as the crowd gives out another
mixed pop.]

MC: Your winner of the match...

PUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEE XXXXXXX!!!

[Pure X pumps his fist before looking back at Sterlong as he struggles
to get back to his feet. Pure X nods at Sterlong, admiring his work,
before leaving the ring to head for the broadcast area.]

GM: Pure X joining us here at the broadcast booth after his victory
tonight.

PX: Myers...

[X looks over to Bucky.]

PX: Wilde.

GM: Pure X, off the heels of your win against Gary Bright, it appears
that your next opponent in your gauntlet of running the Top 10 would be
former AWA National Champion, Ron Houston. Your thoughts?

PX: Well, just like I said to Bright - this is my next step. I'm serious
about getting a shot at that title and showing the people here watching
as well as my peers in the back that when I get that shot? I've earned
it.

GM: Ron Houston has made his intentions clear as well when it comes to
the National Title. He wants it back and even -

[X holds up his hand to cut off Gordon Myers.]

PX: Yeah, I know Myers. I know he wants "his" title back. It's
interesting that he'd call it "his" title when it's been almost a year
since "he" abondoned it. See Myers, he got injured and he lost it. He
has no more a claim to the title than I do right now. So for him to try
to call out the winner of the Scott-Sudakov match? 

[X shakes his head.]

PX: It just shows who I'm going up against - a person who doesn't live
in reality. A person who still thinks he's championship caliber, but
doesn't have to show it. 

GM: But he has been a champion and he's has looked to be back in form
since coming back off injury.

PX: Yeah, he's looked adequate. But you know what else, Myers? I've
never had to come back from injury. I've never been so careless in the
ring that I allowed someone to break my bones. That's what comes with
having superior training, technique, and talent.

GM: I think you may be discounting Ron Houston just a bit, Pure X.

PX: No, I'm not. I know, he's got size and he's got experience. But he's
also got age, injuries, and a one-card offense. I'm not discounting him,
Myers... I'm just not worried about him.

[As if on cue.. the opening guitar chords of Beck's "Farewell Ride"
twang their way over the PA. The crowd _immediately_ rises from their
seats in unison.]

GM:  Speaking of Ron... looks like weÕve got company!

[Pure X looks to the entrance as the lumbering figure of one very ornery
former National Champion emerges. HeÕs cloaked in a tan trench coat and
black cowboy hat. Underneath his trench coat is a black t-shirt and
battered blue jeans. The Athens Georgia Madman makes a bee line down the
aisle, his feet trudging along quickly as he approaches X and Gordon
with purpose.]

GM: Ron itÕs good to se--

[GordonÕs brought to a screeching halt as Ron unusually foregoes the
normal formalities and yanks the mic out of his hand. His steely blue
eyes piercing directly down at Pure X.]

RH: Let me get one thing nice and _sparklinÕ_ clear for ya, _scout_.

[Houston leans in, making sure heÕs right in Pure XÕs face.]

RH:  Ah ainÕt Gary Bright.

[Pop!!!]

RH:  Ah ainÕt some steppinÕ stone ta fer ya to walk past. Some obstacle
ta overcome. Or heck, even Ōnother notch in that there belt of yers. Ah
ainÕt just a name on some top ten list. And ah _ainÕt_ some fallen star
havinÕ the stroke ta live off the name heÕs made.

[Houston scoffs.]

RH:  And ah most _certainly_ ainÕt ta be taken lightly.

[Big pop from the adoring Madmen everywhere.]

RH:  So while ah sat back there and watched ya run yer mouth Ōbout The
East Coast Terror like ya knew a thing or two. Ah _had_ ta come out here
and stop ya in yer stinkinÕ, stupid, ignorant tracks.

[The big man from Athens slightly chuckles.]

RH:  Ya run yer mouth like ya know a thing er two Ōbout who ah am. ŌBout
what ahÕve done. Ya come out here, like some great soothsayer preachinÕ
stories Ōbout how Ron Houston ainÕt earned nothing. How he ainÕt done
nothing. And Ōbout how heÕs nothing but some big whininÕ washed up
clown.

[Houston grits his teeth as he continues to peer right at Pure X.]

RH:  In case ya missed it... ah damn near took me that Rumble on my
first night back.. and where were _you_?

[X goes to respond. But Houston steps away.]

RH:  WeÕll get back ta that.

Ah managed ta take the biggest man this federation has ta the limit..
and albeit through underhanded methods of a third party who had no place
beinÕ there.. ah _won_.

And while _ah_ was main eventinÕ that card a mere weeks ago...

[Houston cocks his head.]

RH:  Where were _you_?

[Houston begins to pace back and forth in front of X as he grows more
irate.]

RH:  While _ah_ was winninÕ me the inaugural Rumble... fightinÕ mah way
through _three times_ as many men in _one night_ as yer out here
bragginÕ bout working yer way through over _several months_.. where were
_you_?

[X leans in again to respond, but Houston ignores him altogether.]

RH:  When _AH_ was out here.. takinÕ a shark ta the deepest waters and
layinÕ him in a _grave_ he ainÕt never crawled out of.. when _ah_ was
out here _winning_ the National title that ya just hope ta someday fight
fer... where on earth were _you_?!

[Houston leans in again, practically nose to nose with X.]

RH:  Ya werenÕt where ah was a year ago.

Ya werenÕt where ah was a month ago.

Ya werenÕt where ah was a week ago.

So please... ah beg ya... what makes ya think that in a few short weeks
yer gonna be _anywhere_ near ready fer this Ņone trick ponyÓ?

[Houston once again retreats, not giving X the time to talk that he
probably deserves by now.]

RH:  And thereÕs a reason ya ainÕt ever gonna approach mah
stratosphere... _X_. And itÕs quite simple, matter oÕ fact ya had the
nerve ta throw it at me like some stinkinÕ insult when in fact itÕs a
badge of pride that yaÕll should be wearinÕ on yer chest every time ya
come out here...

Cause ah _am_ willinÕ ta take some risks.

Cause glory ainÕt hidden behind the door of comfort.

Cause sometimes ya gotta put it _all_ on the line, kiddo.

[Houston scowls.]

RH:  And donÕt worry, ahÕm gonna teach ya that _real_ soon.

[Houston drops the mic and immediately walks away, leaving Gordon, Pure
X, and everybody in attendance in shock at his anger. X less shocked
than the rest as we fade to black...

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

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

[He whips open the backpack and produces...

...a JUAN VASQUEZ BOBBLEHEAD!]

"Whoa!"

"Wow!"

"That rocks!"

"I want one... now!"

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

...until a fifth kid walks up.]

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

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

...a CITY JACK BOBBLEHEAD!]

"WHOA!"

"WOWER!"

"THAT ROCKS MORE!"

"I WANT ONE... NOW!"

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

And then back up on live action where Gordon Myers and Bucky Wilde are
standing alongside a familiar 400-pound Samoan.

Tumaffi is here, clad in a silky dark-green floral robe.  His wild black
hair and beard have been trimmed a bit lately, but still juts out in all
directions.  There is a calm, almost haughty expression on his wide flat
face.  As this is not the WKIK Studio, Bucky Wilde has to figure out
what way to go before taking off.  Gordon Myers stands alone to do the
interview.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans, and with me at this time is the gargantuan
Tumaffi!  Tumaffi, at Death Or Glory, Shane Destiny had some strong
words for-

[Gordon is cut off by the deep, booming voice of Tumaffi.  But Tumaffi
isn't shouting or bellowing or any such thing.  No, he's laughing.  This
startles Gordon a bit.]

GM: You find something funny?

Tumaffi: Shane Destiny had strong words?  Shane Destiny's words proved
that he is of no consequence!

GM: How so?

Tumaffi: Shane Destiny wants twenty-five thousand dollars to face
Tumaffi.  Destiny even tells us that his ex-wife is likely the cause of
this sudden financial need.  So, Shane Destiny.  Tumaffi now knows why
you have made your inane time-release challenges.  Some men fight for
glory.  Some men fight for honor.  Some men fight for the thrill of
combat.

Shane Destiny fights because he owes his wife money!  HA HA HAAAAAA!

[Tumaffi laughs long and loudly.  Gordon Myers is entirely taken aback
by this.]

GM: So Destiny's challenge?

Tumaffi: Is absolutely worthless.  He called Tumaffi's name, waited
until he had my attention, and suddenly wants twenty-five thousand
dollars on the line to commensorate the challenge he initially made.  In
the meantime, he interferes in Tumaffi's matches and has the shameless
nerve to lie about it.  So why did he challenge Tumaffi?  

Likely he knows that Tumaffi's family is quite wealthy.  Tumaffi needn't
mortgage my house, Shane Destiny, Tumaffi can find twenty-five thousand
dollars in my checking account.  This is because Tumaffi wrestles all
over the world, while Shane Destiny clings to the vain hope that he can
take advantage of me for the money to pay his alimony.  

After all, Gordon Myers, Tumaffi is merely a simple savage, am I not? 
That is why Tumaffi, simple savage that I am, got a prenuptual
agreement.  Perhaps you have vaguely heard of such simple savage rituals
in your highly advanced civilization.  HA HA HAAAA!

[Tumaffi continues to laugh at Shane Destiny's misfortune, and Gordon
attempts to press the issue.]

GM: So are you accepting his challenge?

Tumaffi: Tumaffi strongly suspects that Shane Destiny had five
hundred-dollar-bills bound atop a stack of ones and scrap paper.  Since
he is clearly a liar, such deception would not be past him.  Though
perhaps such a thing is too clever for him.  Perhaps someone more clever
gave him this idea.  His ex-wife, perhaps.  

As for Destiny, Tumaffi is unimpressed.  Perhaps now that you have
revealed how desperate you are for money, Shane Destiny, perhaps now
that you are revealed as a destitute, desperate victim of your own
attitude... Tumaffi can't wonder why your ex-wife is no longer with you
when you behave as you do... perhaps Tumaffi should just point, laugh,
and walk away.  After all, Tumaffi wrestles in the AWA for the top
competition, and not for the money.  Tumaffi knows that Destiny will not
meet his financial goals with normal match checks, Gordon Myers.  All
Tumaffi needs to do to win is to do nothing, and watch the bankers take
every last thing Shane Destiny owns.

GM: So you're not accepting Destiny's challenge?

Tumaffi: On the contrary!  Tumaffi is nothing if not magnanimous to his
lessers!  Shane Destiny, since you are in such need, out of PITY...
_PITY_... Tumaffi will accept your challenge!  Tumaffi will post
twenty-five-thousand dollars, and you will do the same.  And then you
will fight with every drop of strength you have!  Every desperate surge
of adrenaline you can muster!  You will summon every echo of the
champion you believe that you once were!

And then you will truly be something to pity, when Tumaffi takes even
what you have left to your name.  But at least you can take solace in
this: Tumaffi will give your money to charity.  Then your ex-wife will
not see a dime.  Such is the mercy of Tumaffi!  That is all!

[Tumaffi exits, and Gordon turns back to a returning Bucky Wilde.]

GM: The match is made, and what about those comments by Tumaffi!  Not
what I expected!

BW: Kick a man while he's down, Tumaffi.  Kick a man while he's down. 
Some mercy.

GM:  The challenge is accepted but you have to believe that Shane
Destiny will NOT be happy about what he just heard.  Fans, let's go up
to Melissa for our next matchup!

[We cut back to the ring where Melissa 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...
weighing in at 234 pounds... Bruce Ellis!

[A non-descript grappler in an Olympic style singlet raises his arms to
little response.]

MC:  And his opponent... from DEEEEETROIT, Michigan... weighing in at
310 pounds...

SOUP!  BONE!  SAMMMMMSON!

[The sounds of LL Cool J's "Mama Said Knock You Out" bring the capacity
crowd to their feet, cheering on the rough and tumble veteran.]

GM:  Fifty years old but one of the toughest men in the business, Soup
Bone Samson is on his way to the ring!

BW:  Can someone get him a walker?  We might be here all night
otherwise.

GM:  Give me a break, Bucky.

[The crowd's cheers grow louder as Samson makes his way down the aisle,
clad in blue jeans.  His upper body is bare, revealing his ample
stomach.  His trademark dog collar and steel chain hang around his neck
as he slaps the hands of the ringside fans lining the aisle as he heads
towards the squared circle.  Samson steps up on the apron, nodding his
head in an exaggerated fashion before moving through the ropes.]

GM:  Look out!

[He pulls the chain down from his neck, swinging it around and round to
the cheers of the crowd as Bruce Ellis bails out of the ring to the
floor, complaining to the official who is out on the floor as well.]

BW:  Get that thing away from him!

GM:  Haha!  I love it!

[After a few moments, Samson stops swinging the chain, gathering it up
and turning to hand it over the ropes to a ringside attendant...

...which gives Bruce Ellis the chance to dive headfirst into the ring,
racing across the ropes with a leaping knee to the back of Samson,
smashing his upper body into the buckles as the referee calls for the
bell to start the match!]

GM:  Oh!  Cheap shot by Bruce Ellis to start the match!  What a Pearl
Harbor job that was, Bucky!

[Spinning Samson around in the corner, Ellis throws big left hands into
the ample midsection of the big veteran, trying to knock the wind out of
his sails.]

GM:  Look at Bruce Ellis going to town on the body of Samson!  That
might be a soft spot on the veteran.

BW:  Might be?  If it was any softer, we could make toilet paper out of
his fat gut.

GM:  Ever heard about the pot calling the kettle black?

BW:  Nah, I don't listen to hip hop.

[Grabbing Samson by the wrist, Ellis drags him to the middle of the
ropes where he attempts a whip but has it reversed.]

GM:  Reversal by Samson... backdr- ohh!  Ellis pulls up short and buries
a forearm to the back of the head!  That puts Samson down on a knee on
the mat!

[Ellis quickly dashes to the ropes behind him, rebounding back with a
head of steam...

...and gets hoisted into the air, driven down to the mat with a spinning
powerslam!]

GM:  Ohhh!

[With a snarl, Samson stays down on all fours and as soon as Ellis
pushes up to his knees, Samson lunges forward with a headbutt to the
skull that causes Ellis to roll under the ropes to the apron.]

GM:  Samson reaches over the ropes... looking to bring Ellis in the hard
way...

[Showing off some power, Samson hoists the young man up, holding him
high for a handful of seconds and then bringing him down hard with a
vertical suplex.]

GM:  Big suplex by Samson!  There's a one... a two... shoulder up at
two!

[Nodding his head at the cheering crowd, Samson drags Ellis off the mat,
popping him in the chin with a left jab... and another... and another...
and another...]

GM:  Ellis is on Dream Street from those hard left jabs and-

[The cheers grow louder as Samson hits an overhead elbow smash to the
skull of Ellis, knocking him flat on his back.  The grizzled veteran
grins, slapping his forehead as he heads towards the corner where he
hops up on the midbuckle.]

GM:  Samson on the second rope... a little unusual for him to take to
the air...

[Samson stands up tall, holding his 6'6 frame straight as an arrow
before shouting "TIMMMMMBERRRRRR!" as he topples himself over, smashing
his hard skull down into the head of Ellis yet again!]

GM:  Falling headbutt off the middle rope - that might do it!  We've got
one!  We've got two!  And he's out at two again.

BW:  Bruce Ellis is showing some heart here.  Those headbutts don't
tickle, Gordo.

GM:  You should know.  I think you had a run-in or two with Soup Bone
Samson back in the day.

BW:  I certainly did.  He's a bigger goof now than he was then.

[Samson grins as he regains his feet, leaning back in the buckles as he
waits for Ellis to get back to a vertical base.]

GM:  Samson's in the corner... he's got that big left hand cocked,
Bucky...

BW:  Don't remind me.

GM:  Ellis to a knee... now to his feet...

[Slightly dazed, Ellis slowly turns to where Samson is waiting...

...and the big veteran lunges out of the corner, snapping off that big
left hook that snaps Ellis' head back... and to the left... back... and
to the left... back... and to the left.]

GM:  OHHH!  WHAT A SHOT!

[With Ellis flat on his back, Samson sits down on the chest of the
youngster, holding up that knockout punch fist and blowing on it as the
referee counts to three.]


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  Soup Bone Samson wins again!  And if he keeps this up, you'd have
to expect we'll see his name in the Top 10 in the near future, Bucky.

BW:  It's like some kind of a nightmare.  How do I live in a world where
I STILL have to see Soup Bone Samson and Sweet Daddy Williams after all
these years?

GM:  Karma's an evil so-and-so, Bucky Wilde.  It truly is.  And at this
time... yep, Bucky's out of here... Soup Bone Samson is joining me here
at ringside.  Nice win, Mr. Samson.

[The burly veteran puts an arm over the shoulders of Gordon Myers, a big
grin on his face.]

SBS:  Now ya know ya don't have to call me "Mr. Samson", Gordon.  We've
known each other too long for that mess.

GM:  Good point, Soup Bone.  We mentioned on commentary moments ago that
if you keep on winning, you might break into the Top 10 here soon.  Your
thoughts?

SBS:  I can't say it wouldn't be nice, ya know?  When I came to the AWA,
I said I was huntin' for gold... be it the tag belts or the National
Title.  The only way to do that is to win some matches and get yourself
in the rankings.  So, yeah... I've gotta say that's a goal for me,
Gordon.

GM:  _A_ goal?  You have some others in mind?

[Samson rubs his chin, nodding his head.]

SBS:  Yeah, I guess I do.  Fact is... at Death Or Glory, I was sittin'
in the back and there were times that I couldn't believe what I saw. 
And then tonight, I was sittin' in the back... and I definitely couldn't
believe what I saw... or heard.

Stevie Scott...

[Big jeer!]

SBS:  Yeah, yeah... I feel the same way.  Look here, Stevie Scott.  I
listened to what ya had to say earlier.  I heard ya.  You're the big dog
now, huh?  You think you're runnin' the joint?

[Samson nods.]

SBS:  You may get to talk a big game now.  You may get to tell everyone
you the baddest thang runnin'... but that don't make it so.  That don't
make it so.

You tell the world that you and Sweet Daddy ain't on the same page no
more.  And somehow... someway... you gotta drop the dog's name in there.
 

[Samson's gaze gains some intensity.]

SBS:  So, ya listen up good now... Sweet Daddy Williams is my friend. 
And we's been friends for a long, long time now... longer than you been
around for sure.  If he ever needs me for anything... ANYTHING... I'm
there for him.

So, yeah... when he asked me to stand in for ya that night against
Kentucky's Pride... yeah, I took the spot... I took YOUR spot... and if
things had gone right that night, I could be wearin' that gold right
now.

But that ain't what happened.  We lost.  And now you're using that night
to tell the world that you was right in doin' what ya did two weeks ago.

[Samson nods.]

SBS:  Now that?  THAT ain't right, Hotshot.  And I'm sure Sweet Daddy
don't need no help in slappin' your puny rear end from corner to corner
and bell to bell...

...but if he does?

[Samson grins.]

SBS:  Let's just say that this ol' dog won't think twice about showin'
you exactly what it feels like to be be knocked out... 

[He holds up the clenched left hand.]

SBS:  ...with one shot.  See ya 'round, Gordon.

[Samson walks out of view to the cheers of the crowd.]

GM:  Fans, don't you dare go away - we'll be right back with Marcus
Broussard!

[We hold on Gordon for a moment 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 where Gordon and Bucky are standing
with the former National Champion, Marcus Broussard.  Broussard is in
dress slacks with a black t-shirt.  He's also wearing dark sunglasses.]

GM:  Welcome back to Saturday Night Wrestling where, as you can see, we
have been joined here at ringside by a former National Champion, the San
Jose Shark, Marcus Broussard!

[Big cheer!]

GM:  Thanks for joining us, Marcus.

[Broussard nods.]

MB:  My pleasure, Gordon.

GM:  Now, Marcus... the entire wrestling world was in awe of your
resilience that was put on display back at Death Or Glory.  We saw you
assaulted before the match by Calisto Dufresne and Adrian Freeman,
injuring your arm in the process.  And during that tag team match
against them, your arm was absolutely brutalized...

BW:  Bent, twisted, smashed, slammed, torqued...

MB:  Thanks for the history lesson.  I seem to recall.

[Broussard rubs his shoulder with a wince.]

GM:  The rumors have been running wild ever since then and I've got to
ask the question that the entire wrestling world is asking - how's the
arm?

[The former National Champion sighs deeply before speaking.]

MB:  I'm not going to lie to you, Gordon.  It's hurt pretty bad.

[Silence.]

BW:  Any more details there, daddy-o?

[Marcus turns his attention to Bucky and shrugs.]

MB:  Don't know.  I heard things like torn rotator cuff... dislocated
shoulder... who knows.  After a while, I just zoned out the doctor... no
idea what he said.

GM:  Why?  Why would you not listen to the doctor?

[Broussard pulls off his sunglasses.]

MB:  For a very simple reason, Gordon.  The first thing he told me was
that I needed time away from the ring... extended time away from the
ring.  He said that I needed months off to recover from what those
two...

[He clinches his teeth - seething for a moment, trying to keep his
cool.]

MB:  ...people did to me.  Dufresne, Freeman... you just crossed a line
that there's no coming back from.  You just took a step over a line with
your foot so don't be the slightest bit surprised when I grab that foot
and snap your damn ankles!

[Big cheer!]

GM:  But Marcus, if the doctor-

MB:  The doctor can go to hell, Gordon!  I spent too much time away from
the ring last year and I'm not about to go through that again.  The last
time I checked... I'm still a former National Champion.  I'm still the
first man to wear that title around his waist.  And I'm still the man to
beat in this company if you want to try and make a name for yourself.

[Broussard pauses, looking at Gordon.]

MB:  And Gordon, I'm _damn_ sure still the man who will not rest until
that National Title belt is back around my waist.  You can put whoever
you want in my path.  Dufresne, Freeman, Sudakov, Bright, Pure X, Ron
Houston... even my old friend Adam Rogers again if you want... I'm going
to go through each and every one of them until that title belt is back
around this waist.  And there's not a single person in that locker room
that can stop-

[Broussard stops mid-sentence as he and Myers both turn their attention
to their right, where we now see "Hotshot" Stevie Scott, "Gold Bomber"
Gary Bright, and "Agent To The Stars" Ben Waterson all enter the picture
while the crowd expresses their continued displeasure with the
newly-former trio.

Stevie, still clad in his suit and sunglasses, laughs and motions for
Myers to bring the mic his way.]

HSS: Hang on, hang on, hang on.  Did I hear you say...that you want
_this_?!

[Stevie points to the AWA National Title that is laying across his right
shoulder.  He pauses for a moment and begins laughing again.]

HSS: Brother, you can't even lift your arm above your head.  What makes
you think that you're worthy to step into the ring with me, huh?  What
makes you think you're worthy to challenge for this belt?

[Broussard gets ready to reply, but Stevie is having none o' that.]

HSS: Wait, I know.  You're a former champion, right?  And you never
really lost the belt, right?  Because something-or-other happened and
blah, blah, blah.  Is it one of those types of stories?

[Stevie pauses, maybe to let Marcus answer this time...but the San Jose
Shark just glares at the new champ.  Realizing he has more mic time,
Stevie points a finger at Broussard and goes on.]

HSS: Let me make something real clear to you, big man, right here and
now.  You may have been the champion, once upon a time.  But now? 
You're not.  And you're not going to be.  Your career has already turned
into the same career of that big, blonde-headed goof you run with.
You're already standing out here talking about the good old days and
what you've done in the past and blah, blah, whatever.

Well, big man, therein lies the difference in guys like _you_...

[Stevie's finger now extends and pokes Broussard in the chest.  Heel pop
as Marcus bows up his chest in response.]

HSS: ...and guys like _me_.

Because you, my friend...you live in history.  You _are_ history.

While me?  I'm still making it, baby.

[Finally having all he can handle, Broussard snatches the microphone
from a startled Myers.]

MB:  Now it's my turn.  So, let me make something real clear to... you!

[Broussard returns the hard poke in the chest.  Stevie recoils from it,
sneering at the man who used to hold Scott's title belt.]

MB:  You can tell everyone else that you're the man now.  Tell Waterson,
tell this over-grown oaf...

[Bright tries to step forward but Stevie and Waterson hold him back.]

MB:  Tell all these people how you're the man.  Hell, if you tell enough
people, some of them might even start to believe you.But there's one
person who won't believe you, Hotshot... and you're lookin' at him.

[Big cheer!]

MB:  So, you go back in that locker room, find the bathroom mirror, and
ask out loud... "Mirror Mirror on the wall, who's the baddest man of
them all?"

You ask, Hotshot... but don't be surprised when that mirror lets you
know that the baddest man isn't the man in the mirror.

[Broussard smirks.]

MB:  It's the man staring you dead in the eye right now.

[Huge cheer!]

MB:  And it's the man telling you that in two weeks time in Atlanta,
Georgia... I want to be the first man to challenge you for _my_ National
Title belt!

[ENORMOUS CHEER!  Stevie Scott looks shocked at the idea, visibly
shaking his head to refuse when suddenly Ben Waterson, surprisingly
quiet this whole time, grabs Stevie by the shoulder and pulls him back
for a conference.  Bright also leans in.  After a brief conversation,
Stevie nods and turns back to Broussard, still a bit unsettled.]

HSS: OK... OK, big man... you want a title shot in Atlanta?

[Stevie looks back at Waterson again, obviously a bit unsure of this
answer.]

HSS:  You've got it!

[HUGE POP!  Marcus claps his hands together in reaction to the
acceptance of the challenge.  The Scott/Bright/Waterson trio makes their
exit as a beaming Broussard shakes hands with Gordon Myers.]

GM:  You got what you wanted.  Marcus Broussard.  Stevie Scott.  The
National Title on the line on the next Saturday Night Wrestling LIVE
from Atlanta, Georgia!  What a Main Event that's gonna be... and Jason
Dane, you've got your work cut out for you in topping that announcement!
 Let's go to Jason right now in the No Escape Control Center!

[We cut away from Gordon and Marcus to a funky looking No Escape 
graphic with "CONTROL CENTER" typed out in bold font underneath it.  The
graphic dissolves to a makeshift studio setting where Jason Dane is
seated behind a desk shuffling some paperwork.]

JD:  Thanks, Gordon!  Fans, we are just about seven weeks away from No
Escape on Labor Day Weekend in the Carolinas.  The exact date and venue
are still to be released but the lineup is already starting to take
shape!

[A graphic appears over Dane's left shoulder of Raphael Rhodes and Juan
Vasquez.]

JD:  You heard it from Stephen Ross earlier tonight.  Rhodes.  Vasquez.

[The graphic has a weird-looking mesh show up over it.  Damn cheap
graphics.]

JD:  CAGE!  For the first time ever in the AWA, a singles match inside a
steel cage!  This war has raged on for far too long and in just about
seven weeks' time, it's going to end inside that steel cage.

[The graphic vanishes.]

JD:  In addition, we have one more match to announce.  We saw a
confrontation between these two men earlier tonight and now it's
official.  Pure X will continue to try to work his way up the Top 10
rankings when he takes on former National Champion, Ron Houston!  This
should be an outstanding match with Pure X's biggest challenge in the
AWA to date and Ron Houston trying to keep his comeback momentum going. 
But only one man can win at No Escape!

There are a great deal more matches being discussed by the Championship
Committee as I speak and we hope to have the announcement of those
matches in the weeks to come.  But for now, stay tuned to AWA television
and AWA Access for all the details on what should be the biggest party
of the summer as the AWA ends its' summer tour in world class fashion. 
No Escape is coming, fans... and we'll be right back with our Main
Event!

[We fade away from the Control Center 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 Gordon Myers and Bucky
Wilde are standing.  Right next to them stand two men who do not look
the slightest bit happy - Vladimir Velikov and the former National
Champion, Kolya Sudakov - the Russians.  Velikov is sneering at a booing
ringside fan while Kolya Sudakov stands stoic.]

GM:  Welcome back to Saturday Night Wrestling, fans, and it's Main Event
time here in Birmingham, Alabama where one-half of that Main Event tag
team match, The Russians, have joined us at ringside.  Gentlemen, this
is unexpected.  I don't believe you're scheduled to-

[The gravelly voice of Vladimir Velikov harshly interrupts.]

VV:  I don't believe we've ever asked permission, Comrade Myers... from
you, from the promoters, from these foolish American fans... for
anything that we do!  And I am not about to start now.

GM:  Fair enough, Mr. Velikov.  This must be a difficult time for you
right now.  Your nephew, Kolya Sudakov, lost the-

VV:  I do not need to be reminded of that, Myers.  I know very well what
my nephew failed to do at Death Or Glory.  

[Velikov glares at Sudakov whose head is down.]

VV:  I know that he failed to keep the title I worked so hard to put
around his waist.  I know that he embarassed... no, humiliated... me...
our country... our people.  Our government is not pleased with Kolya's
failure and neither am I.

[Gordon Myers looks a little confused.]

GM:  Far be it from me to defend your nephew but the fact is, he may
very well have won that match if it hadn't been for the interference of
Ben Waterson.

[Velikov waves off the comment.]

VV:  You sound like nephew Kolya, Myers.  Making excuses.  How you
say... crying the blues.  There are no excuses that will make me
understand, Myers.  Kolya is better than Stevie Scott.  Kolya is better
than the entire AWA locker room.  For him to fail... to fall to simple
interference...

[Velikov shakes his head.]

VV:  It is unacceptable.

[Myers turns the mic towards Sudakov.]

GM:  Mr. Sudakov, your though-

[But Velikov grabs Myers' arm, yanking it away from Sudakov.]

VV:  My nephew has nothing to say to you, Myers.  

GM:  But-

VV:  No.  I will not have him making his excuses in public to the
American people... crying for pity.  He has shamed me enough already.

GM:  Well, you're about to get a chance at the new National Champion,
Stevie Scott and his new partner Gary Bright.  Any thoughts on that?

VV:  This is the first step in the resurrection of Kolya's career.  We
will dominate.  HE will dominate.

[Velikov sneers again.]

VV:  It is... how you say... the least he can do.

[The elder Russian barks something in Russian to his nephew who simply
nods his head, following his uncle towards the ringsteps.]

GM:  Melissa, it's all yours!

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

MC:  The following contest is your MAIN EVENT of the evening!

[Big cheer!]

MC:  It is a tag team match scheduled for one fall with TV Time
Remaining.  Introducing first... now climbing into the ring... at a
total combined weight of 580 pounds...

Vladimir Velikov... Kolya Sudakov...

THE RUSSIANS!

[The crowd roars with disdain for the evil foreign duo.  Velikov steps
up to the middle rope, waving the heavy metal Russian chain in the air
as Kolya Sudakov stands silent, tugging on the ropes to loosen his
muscles.]

MC:  And their opponents...

[The sounds of "Pomp And Circumstance" erupt from the PA system to an
overwhelming negative reaction for the men who step into the Park View
Arena.]

MC:  At a total combined weight of 513 pounds... being accompanied to
the ring by their manager - the "Agent To The Stars" Ben Waterson... 

They are the team of the "Gold Bomber" Gary Bright...

And the AWA National Champion... "HOTSHOT"... STEEEEEVIE SCOTT!

[The jeers grow louder as the trio starts to make their way down the
aisle.  Waterson leads the way, jabbering into a Bluetooth headset
nestled in his ear during the entire walk.  Bright is the second man
down the aisle, pausing in front of the cameraman to strike a double
bicep pose and say something about "the largest arms in the world." 
Bringing up the rear is the National Champion, the title belt resting
securely around his waist as he walks towards the ring.]

GM:  Well, fans... thanks to what happened earlier tonight with Sweet
Daddy Williams, the Atlanta native left the building... and this is the
result.  A tag team Main Event between two teams that most of these fans
would rather see pummel each other into oblivion.

BW:  I'd rather see them shake hands and then go hunt down that fat goof
and finish him off.  Live and let live, I always say.

GM:  Since when?

[Waterson steps aside, not overly eager to climb into the ring with the
two men he betrayed.  He whispers a few words to both Bright and Scott
before they walk up the ringsteps, climbing through the ropes.  The new
champion immediately hops up on the middle rope, pointing to the title
belt to the boos of the crowd...

...that suddenly cheers as the Russians rampage across the ring. 
Sudakov strikes first, drilling Scott with a forearm to the back that
sends the champion toppling over the ropes and down to the concrete
floor below!]

GM:  OHHHHH!

BW:  Listen to these hypocrites now!  They're cheering the Russians!

GM:  They are not!  They just like the sight of Stevie Scott flat on his
back staring up at the lights and after he turned his back on all of
them, how can you blame 'em for it?

[The clearing out of the champion leaves Gary Bright all alone to
weather the storm of the Russians as Vladimir Velikov throws his beefy
arms as quickly as he can, trying to batter Bright down before the Gold
Bomber gets the chance to do the same to him.  Bright throws right hands
at the Russian's mammoth skull as quickly as he can, trying to battle
him back...

...but the rushing Russian War Machine quickly gets involved as well,
throwing his arms and fists into the fray.  The referee calls for the
bell to start the match.]

BW:  What the-?!  How do you start a match when there's a two on one and
the man's partner is laid out on the floor?  The Championship Committee
needs to take a long look at these Meeklys cause they're either
incompetent or crooked or both, Gordo!

GM:  I think they do a fine job each and every week in the ring.

BW:  You would.

[The muscleman's attempts to fight back are quickly overwhelmed, forcing
him back against the ropes where the Russians continue their attack.  A
double whip sends Bright into the opposite ropes...

...and a running double shoulderblock knocks the big man off his feet! 
There's a smattering of cheers for the takedown but nothing major.]

GM:  Ohhh!  Bright gets taken down by the Russians!  

[The powerhouse has his arm grabbed by a stunned Ben Waterson who tugs
him under the ropes to the floor, quickly huddling up with his newest
charge as the crowd jeers wildly.]

GM:  And these fans don't like the sight of Ben Waterson having an
impromptu strategy session with- here comes Kolya!

[The angry former National Champion is ordered out to the floor by his
equally-angry Uncle and he quickly obeys, stepping through the ropes and
dropping down to the floor.  Panicking, Waterson hides behind Gary
Bright, pointing his powerhouse in the direction of the oncoming Russian
War Machine.]

GM:  Sudakov's comin' for the Gold Bomber and-

[The crowd roars as the two men come together, throwing powerful blows
at one another's skull at top velocity.  The fists are flying at a
lightning fast pace, over and over and over to the head as the two
warriors try to chop each other down to the floor.  Inside the ring,
Vladimir Velikov roars his approval, screaming orders at his nephew
while the referee tries to get Velikov out of the ring and
Bright/Sudakov INTO the ring.]

BW:  Look at this Meekly idiot!  He's got absolutely no control in there
right now!  No control!

[The cheers continue as the two behemoths pound each other senseless
outside of the ring...

...which draws everyone's attention away from the National Champion,
Stevie Scott, who rolls under the ropes, climbing to his feet and
creeping up behind Vladimir Velikov who is completely unaware.]

GM:  Velikov doesn't see him!  

BW:  The champ is in the ring and the big ol' Russian doesn't know it! 
This is horrible, Gordo - I have no idea who to cheer for!

GM:  Why don't you try being impartial for a change?

[Seizing his chance, Stevie Scott upends Velikov, throwing him over the
ropes and into the battling Sudakov.  The impact of his Uncle's 300
pounds hitting him knocks Sudakov down to a knee where a crushing double
axehandle by Bright levels him.  With a smirk, Bright strikes a pose for
the ringside fans who jeer him.  He leans down, dragging Sudakov to his
feet and firing him under the ropes where Stevie Scott immediately
starts stomping him into the mat.]

GM:  The champion is all over the man he beat for the title, stomping
him relentlessly - and there's a choke!

[The Hotshot's eyes go wide with madness as he wraps his hands around
the windpipe of the struggling Russian, trying to strangle the air out
of his lunges.  The referee warns the champ and then starts his five
count.]

GM:  One!  Two!  Three!  Four!  Fiv- whoooa.  Very close to getting
himself disqualified right there, Bucky.

BW:  The title's not on the line so he may not even care if he could put
Kolya on the shelf and not have to worry about him any more.  A former
champ is always the biggest threat to your title belt and unfortunately
for Stevie, there's three of those now in the AWA.

GM:  One of which will face Stevie in two weeks' time in Atlanta for the
title!  The San Jose Shark looked overjoyed when Scott accepted that
challenge.

BW:  As well he should be.  He's been fighting for months to get back to
that spot and in two weeks, he might be there... he might be the first
two-time AWA National Champion, Gordo.

GM:  Stevie drags the Russian to his feet... big chop knocks Kolya back
to the corner...

[Scott smirks at the booing crowd as he winds up and snaps off another
chop to the massive chest of the Russian War Machine...

...but the smile quickly fades as Sudakov steps out of the corner,
showing no effects from the chop.]

GM:  Uh oh!

[The Hotshot throws another big chop...

...that again has no effect as Sudakov steps closer again, the crowd
actually cheering a bit for the Russian.]

BW:  I told you, Gordo!  I told you they were cheering him!

GM:  Well, I'm not sure if- ohh!  Stevie Scott goes to the eyes!

[Feeling the panic, the National Champion did indeed rake the eyes of
the big Russian, temporarily blinding him as he drags Sudakov towards
the corner, making the tag to Gary Bright.]

GM:  In comes the Gold Bomber... ohh!  Big forearm smash across the
chest!

BW:  Let's see Sudakov shake that one off, daddy!

[The impact of the forearm knocks Sudakov down to a knee which Bright
quickly remedies by yanking the Russian back to his feet and shoving him
back into the corner.]

GM:  Sudakov trapped in the wrong part of town now...

[Grabbing the middle rope, Bright leans over and drives his huge
shoulder into the ribcage of Sudakov.  The referee warns him, trying to
back him away as Bright drives another shoulder in... and another before
straightening up, laughing at the referee.]

BW:  Hehehe... he just told the ref, "Get away from me, little man."  

GM:  You think that's funny?

BW:  You don't?

[Bright drags Sudakov out of the corner, hoisting him across his massive
chest in a horizontal position...

...and drops down to a knee, smashing Sudakov's ribcage into the bent
knee!]

GM:  Ohh!  He got all of that one!

BW:  Listen to Stevie!

[The crowd jeers the new champion as he shouts "Again!  Again!" at his
new partner and then applauds as Bright stands up, turning 180 degrees,
and slams Sudakov down across the bent knee yet again.]

GM:  Incredible power on display by Bright... not even showing any
strain or sign of effort in scooping the 270 pounder up off the mat over
and over.

BW:  I said it before, Gordo... Gary Bright is the strongest man in the
entire AWA bar none.

[With Sudakov bent across the knee, Bright places one hand on the upper
thigh and the other on the chin, pushing down with both hands, bending
the spine of the Russian who lets loose a growl of pain in response. 
Across the ring, Vladimir Velikov is shouting at his nephew to fight out
of the hold.]

GM:  Man, Velikov is all over his nephew tonight.  From the moment my
interview with them started until now, he's been relentless in reading
Kolya Sudakov the riot act.

BW:  He told you why, Gordo.  Kolya failed him.  Embarrassed him.  Not
to mention how humilated the Russian government is!

GM:  That hardly seems fair to me, Bucky.  I'm not the biggest Kolya
Sudakov fan by any stretch of the imagination but even you have to admit
that Sudakov was well on his way towards winning that match and
retaining his title until Ben Waterson struck.

BW:  Not the way I saw it.

GM:  Big surprise there.

[Bright shoves the struggling Sudakov down to the mat before climbing
back to his feet.  The powerhouse strikes a big front pose, shouting,
"Check it out!" to the ringside fans before arrogantly walking across
the ring, slapping the hand of Stevie Scott who sprints into action,
dropping an elbow across the head of a crawling Sudakov.]

GM:  The Russian was looking to get across that ring and make a tag but
Stevie Scott's not having any of that, Bucky.

BW:  That's smart tag team wrestling.  Keep the man down, cut the ring
in half, keep the fresh man in.

[Stevie unleashes a series of stomps to the head of the Russian to cut
off the tag attempt before dropping a leg on the back of the neck.  The
Hotshot quickly flips Sudakov to his back, applying a lateral press.]

GM:  One!  Two!  Shoulder up at two.

[An angry Stevie grabs Sudakov by the back of the head, throwing fist
after fist into the side of the face, and then shoves Sudakov back down
to the mat, reaching back to hook a leg this time.]

GM:  One!  Two!  And again the shoulder is up!  It's gonna take more
than a few punches to put Kolya Sudakov down for a three count, I think.

BW:  When did you become a big Kolya fan?

GM:  I'm not but I respect his ability inside the ring and I know that
Stevie Scott's gonna need more than some punches to finish him off.

[Scott drags Sudakov off the mat, pulling him into a front facelock...

...and twisting him over, snapping Sudakov down to the mat with a
swinging neckbreaker!]

GM:  Ohhh - nicely done right there.

BW:  Stay on the ribs, Stevie!

GM:   It didn't take you long to pick sides.

BW:  Always back a winner, Gordo.

GM:  I'll send Slush my regards.

[Grabbing Sudakov by the foot, Stevie drags him to the corner, reaching
over to slap the hand of the Gold Bomber who steps through the ropes,
takes two big steps and BURIES a high-leaping elbowdrop in the heart of
the Russian!]

GM:  Oh my!

[Bright gets back to his feet, standing straight up for a moment before
hurling himself into the air...

...and smashing his 280 plus pounds down on the chest again!]

GM:  Another big elbowdrop by the Gold Bomber - and again, you can hear
Vladimir Velikov screaming at Kolya to get out of there!  

BW:  He's trying to give him some advice.

GM:  Is that what you call it?

[The Gold Bomber gets to his feet one more time, striking a single bicep
pose over the prone Russian...

...and drops one more elbow down on the chest before applying a lateral
press.]

GM:  One!  Two!  Kickout at two!

[Bright rolls off the downed Russian, earning the ire of the AWA
faithful with some pushups next to the prone Sudakov.]

GM:  These fans don't care for that at all.

BW:  How could you not?  What an amazing show of strength!  I'd like to
see you do some pushups like that, Gordo.  Heck, I'll even let you slide
with the little girl ones that I know you do at the gym.

[After a handful of pushups that earn the applause of both Stevie Scott
and Ben Waterson, Bright climbs up to his feet, arrogantly walking
around the ring and mocking the fans as Kolya Sudakov rolls to his
chest, again trying to crawl across the ring.]

GM:  Look at Bright.  Acting like he's actually done something.  The
last time I checked this match isn't over, Bucky.  And actually, the
last time I checked, Gary Bright LOST to Pure X at Death Or Glory!  So
where does he get off on being so cocky?

BW:  Look at the man, Gordo.  He's chiseled out of marble and you wonder
why he's confident.

GM:  Confident?

BW:  Fine.  Arrogant.  Cocky.  Whatever you want to call him.  The man
has hitched himself with the National Champion and the hottest manager
in pro wrestling.  In my opinion, the sky's the limit for Gary Bright
these days and he's got every right to be sure of himself.

GM:  Sudakov's about halfway across the ring... 

[But Bright is fully aware of that, spinning to cut off the path of
Sudakov.  He reaches down with his powerful arms, wrapping them around
the torso of the crawling Sudakov in a gutwrench...

...and powers the 270 pounder off the mat, THROWING him through the air
where he crashes down on the canvas in a heap to the jeers of the fans!]

GM:  Goodness!

BW:  Pure power, daddy... plain and simple.

GM:  No doubt there.  Sudakov's no light heavyweight but Bright tossed
him like a ragdoll there.

[But unfortunately, Gary Bright's not the [wait for it] brightest guy in
the bunch, having tossed Sudakov right towards the Russian corner. 
Having spotted the error, Waterson screams and shouts at Bright who
spins around just as Sudakov sits up on the mat and charges towards the
Russian...

...who throws himself towards the corner and makes the tag to a very
mild cheer from the crowd.]

GM:  In comes Velikov!  Right hand on Bright!  And another!  And
another!

[Grabbing Bright by the head, Velikov cracks him with a thunderous
headbutt that knocks Bright down to a knee.  He keeps his hold on the
neck before leaping up, driving home another headbutt that knocks Bright
down to the canvas.]

GM:  Velikov takes down the Gold Bomber!

[With Sudakov rolling out to the apron to recover, Velikov hauls Bright
up off the mat, throwing him back into the Russian corner...

...and then reaches over the ropes, hauling his nephew back to his feet
and slapping his hand.]

GM:  What in the world?

BW:  That's a legal tag!

GM:  But why?  Kolya can't even stand up on his own!

[Velikov steps out to the apron, barking orders at his confused nephew
who reluctantly steps back into the ring.  Grabbing the top rope,
Sudakov snaps off a series of hard kicks to the body of Bright, pausing
between blows to steady himself.]

GM:  Sudakov's barely able to stand and that... that...

[Grabbing Bright by the wrist, Sudakov fires him across the ring.]

GM:  Big whip by Sudakov... here he comes!

[The Russian War Machine stampedes across the ring at top speed, arm
extended for a Sickle...

...and EATS a boot to the chin from the Gold Bomber!]

GM:  OHHH!

[Bright promptly reaches back, slapping the hand of Stevie Scott who
tags into the match, and takes the stunned Sudakov down to the mat with
a running clothesline!]

GM:  Big clothesline by the champ!  Another cover!  

[The referee drops down to count but only reaches two before the dazed
former National Champion throws a shoulder up off the mat just in time. 
The Hotshot quickly takes the mount, rearing back with his right hand.]

GM:  Those are closed fists, referee!

[The champion blasts Sudakov over and over with punches to the skull,
the referee stepping in to protest...

...which gives Sudakov enough time to use his MMA skills to sweep his
way out of the mount, ending up on top of the champion in a mount of his
own.]

BW:  No!  No!

GM:   And now it's Sudakov on top of Scott!

[The crowd cheers a bit as Sudakov uses his superior striking skills to
light up the face of the National Champion with lefts and rights from
the dominant position.]

BW:  Those are closed fists, Meekly!

GM:  You didn't care a second ago!

BW:  Stevie's hands aren't registered as lethal weapons!

[The referee is a little more insistant this time, forcing Sudakov to
stop throwing bombs.  The Russian reluctantly gets back to his feet,
shaking his head to clear the cobwebs as he reaches down to pull the
Hotshot off the mat.]

GM:  Both men are back to their feet...

[Sudakov, dazed from the earlier offense, relies on his instincts and
wraps his hands and arms around the neck of the Hotshot.]

GM:  Clinch!

[The crowd surprisingly roars as Sudakov throws a knee to the body of
Scott... and a second.  Scott struggles against the grip, trying to
break free...

...and gets THROWN into the corner.  The champion tries to get out of
the corner but a hooking blow to the temple knocks him back to the
buckles.]

GM:  Stevie's trapped!

[With a roar from the Russian War Machine, Sudakov throws a big chop,
then a hooking elbow, then a chop, then an elbow, then a chop, then an
elbow - eventually chopping Scott down to a knee.]

GM:  He's got the champion reeling!  

BW:  Waterson is screaming at Stevie... trying to get him to-

GM:  OHHHHH!

[The crowd cheers as Sudakov lunges forward, smashing a knee into the
jaw of Scott, knocking him down in a heap on the canvas.  He steps up on
the middle rope, screaming as the crowd echoes the cry.]

BW:  What is he doing?  Is he actually-

GM:  The fans are on their feet!

BW:  Did he just play to those idiot fans?!

[Outside the ring, Velikov is screaming at his nephew, ordering him to
stay focused on the National Champion as Sudakov hauls Scott off the mat
by the hair, firing him into the turnbuckles where Stevie slams
chestfirst to the corner, staggering back out...

...and getting tossed through the air in a huuuuuge backdrop!]

GM:  HIIIIIIIGH BACK BODYDROP BY SUDAKOV!

[On the floor, an irate Waterson slams his fists repeatedly into the
canvas, shouting at Stevie, shouting at the referee, shouting at anyone
who'll listen.]

GM:  Stevie's laid out and the former champion is standing tall!

[Sudakov stomps across the ring, again dragging Scott off the mat by the
hair.  He pulls the Hotshot into a standing front facelock, slinging
Scott's arm over his neck...

...and snapping him over with a vertical suplex, floating into a pin
attempt.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR- no!  Shoulder up!  Stevie got the shoulder up!

BW:  That was a little too close.

GM:  I think Waterson thought the same thing.  He looks like he's run a
mile or two out there.

[The "Agent To The Stars" mops his soaked brow, again shouting
encouragement to his men as Sudakov pushes up off the mat, pointing a
warning finger in the manager's direction and again earning the ire of
Vladimir Velikov who is screaming at his nephew to stay focused.]

GM:  Ohh!  Hard penalty kick to the ribs!  And another!

[The hard kicks causes Stevie to roll out on the apron where Waterson
shouts some more, threatening Sudakov as the Russian War Machine
approaches.  The former champ leans over the ropes, hauling Stevie Scott
up by the hair, and reaching over the ropes to scoop him up in a slam.]

GM:  He's got Stevie up and- 

[The crowd boos as Waterson reaches in, yanking Sudakov's legs out from
under him to take him down to the mat with Stevie on top of him.  The
manager hangs on to the legs as the referee drops down to count.]

GM:  He's got the legs, ref!  He's got the legs!

BW:  COUNT, YOU IDIOT!

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE-  THE REF SAW IT!

[Michael Meekly immediately gets up, screaming at Waterson who backs
away, begging off.  He shakes his head, denying all of the referee's
charges as Stevie Scott tries to crawl off of Sudakov towards the corner
where Gary Bright is waiting...

...but Sudakov wraps his legs around Scott's, hooking his ankle.]

GM:  He's trying to... what's he-?!

[Scott screams out in agony as Sudakov wrenches back on the leg.]

BW:  HEEL HOOK!

[The National Champion claws at the canvas, screaming in pain as the
former MMA star tries to rip his leg apart...

...but an incoming boot from Gary Bright breaks up the submission hold,
drawing more boos from the AWA fans.]

GM:  Fans, I don't quite understand what's happened here in Birmingham,
Alabama but... these fans are actually CHEERING Kolya Sudakov!  I think
it's because they hate Scott and Bright more but... nonetheless, it's
happening!

BW:  The referee's forcing Gary out of the ring but he saved the day
right there.

GM:  For now.

[Sudakov climbs up off the mat, glaring at the retreating Gold Bomber as
he reaches down, dragging a hurting Hotshot off the canvas, and hurling
him towards the ropes...

...and catches him on the rebound with both hands around his throat. 
With the crowd cheering, Sudakov powers Stevie Scott up into the air.]

GM:  Choke!  Double handed choke and- ohhh!  Down to the mat he goes!

[The Russian War Machine again roars, throwing his arms back in a mighty
pose as he stalks towards the downed Hotshot.  Reaching down, he drags
the National Champion up by the hair.  With a dazed Stevie Scott at his
mercy, Sudakov throws a series of snapping body kicks to the ribcage in
the neutral corner.]

GM:  He's got Scott on the ropes!  The champion's in trouble here!

BW:  Get out of there, Stevie!

[Grabbing the Hotshot by the hair, Sudakov drags him out to the middle
of the ring, hoisting him up and slinging him over his shoulder.  The
crowd cheers as Sudakov backs to the corner, charging out of the
buckles...

...and DRIVES Scott down to the canvas with a thunderous powerslam!]

GM:  POWERSLAM!!  HE GOT ALL OF THAT!!

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

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE- OHHH!  BRIGHT BREAKS IT UP!!

[The crowd jeers as Gary Bright comes crashing down with a double
axehandle to break the pin attempt and then one more to further daze the
Russian.  The referee steps in quickly to back Bright away.]

GM:  Sudakov got rocked by the Gold Bomber... but he's still in better
shape than the National Champion is!

[A dazed Sudakov gets off the mat, shaking the cobwebs as he reaches
down to pull Stevie Scott up by the hair, throwing him back into the
ropes...

...and DRILLING him between the eyes with the high kick!]

GM:  HIGH KICK!  HIGH KICK!  HIGH KICK!

[The impact of the kick to the skull puts Stevie Scott down... possibly
for good as Sudakov slumps down to the mat, kneeling on the canvas as he
shakes his head back and forth.  The crowd roars for the kick,
encouraging the Russian War Machine to make the pin attempt.]

GM:  The champion is down and he's gotta be out!  All he needs to do is
cover!  All he needs to do is make the cover!

[Sudakov starts to crawl across the ring...

...but Ben Waterson's hands slip under the ropes, wrapping up the
dangerous legs of the former MMA fighter!  The crowd explodes in jeers
as the "Agent To The Stars" clings to Sudakov, desperately keeping him
for making the pin attempt.]

GM:  Come on, referee!

[The referee steps in to say something...

...but Sudakov rolls to his back, lashing out with both feet and shoving
Waterson down to the floor!]

GM:  Oh yeah!  

[The Russian War Machine gets to his feet, the crowd cheering.  Across
the ring, Vladimir Velikov is screaming for his nephew to cover the
prone Hotshot...

...but Sudakov is having none of it, walking around the ring, nodding
his head to the cheering crowd.  He reaches the corner and slaps the big
bicep of his right arm, causing the fans to cheer even louder!]

GM:  Sudakov's calling for the Sickle!  He's calling for the Sickle!

[Completely irate, Velikov is screaming at Sudakov to cover Stevie
Scott, demanding that he listen to him.]

BW:  Velikov wants him to cover Stevie.  The head kick is enough. 
Velikov is right.

GM:  But Kolya wants the Sickle!  He wants to hit the move he wanted so
badly to hit at Death Or Glory so he could retain the AWA National
Title!  

[Sudakov is poised, ready to pounce as Stevie Scott rolls to his chest,
wriggling his arms underneath him to try to get up off the canvas.  The
Russian is waving his off-arm, calling for the Hotshot to get up,
begging him to rise...]

GM:  Sudakov wants him up!  Sudakov needs him up!

[And as the Hotshot staggers to his feet, Waterson leaps up on the ring
apron, drawing Sudakov's attention as he races over, and grabs his
former manager by the head.]

GM:  HE'S GOT WATERSON!  HE'S GOT WATERSON!

[But with the manager tying up the Russian War Machine, Stevie Scott
leaps into action, lashing out with the superkick...

...and CONNECTING right at the back of the head of Sudakov!]

GM:  OHHHH!

BW:  HEATSEEKER, DADDY!

[The superkick causes Sudakov to fall forward into the ropes, knocking
Waterson down to the floor...

...which allows Stevie to pull the Russian down in a schoolboy rollup.]

GM:  Rollup! 

[As the referee dives to the mat to make the count, Stevie Scott throws
his feet over the middle rope for leverage.]

GM:  Feet on the ropes, ref!  Feet on the ropes!

[But Gordon's cries are of no help as the referee counts three and calls
for the bell.]


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


MC:  Your winners of the match... the team of Gary Bright and Stevie
Scott!

[The jeers grow louder for the despised duo as they quickly make their
exit from the ring as a furious Vladimir Velikov storms into the ring,
Russian steel chain gripped in his hands as he watches them escape.]

GM:  Velikov's in with the chain but it's a little too late, Bucky.  The
Russians have lost this one and I'm sure that's not going to improve
Velikov's mood one bit.

BW:  Of course it's not!  They had the match won, Gordo.  I'll admit
that.  Sudakov had Stevie out flat from that high kick and if he'd made
the cover, the Russians would be standing tall right now and we'd be
talking about when Kolya would get his rematch for the title.  Instead,
he listened... what an idiot... he actually LISTENED to these fans and
went for the Sickle instead!  He didn't listen to the man who led him to
the National Title, he listened to these morons in the crowd who hated
him about fifteen minutes ago, Gordo.

GM:  He certainly did seem to be enjoying the cheers of the crowd and-

[The crowd gasps in shock and then roars in derision as Vladimir Velikov
lashes the steel chain down across the back of the prone Sudakov.  The
boos are overwhelming for the elder Russian as he stands over his
nephew, glaring at him.]

GM:  What in the world was that, Bucky Wilde?!

BW:  I'd say this is tough love, Gordo!

GM:  TOUGH LOVE?!

[Velikov shakes his head at his nephew, rearing back again...

...and again lashing downwards with the chain, slamming the metal links
across the flesh of his own family.]

GM:  That's his flesh and blood in there, Bucky!  His own family!  How
could he do this?

[The burly Russian reaches down, dragging Sudakov up to his knees.  He
shouts in Russian at his nephew, angrily screaming at him...

...and then slaps him across the face!]

GM:  Ohh!

BW:  Velikov is showing Kolya who's boss now!  This is good for Kolya. 
This will teach him a lesson!

GM:  How could you eve- 

[The crowd falls silent as Velikov wraps the steel chain around his
hand, rears back...

...and DRIVES the chain-wrapped punch squarely into the forehead of his
nephew, knocking Sudakov flat on the canvas.  The silence turns to jeers
as Velikov again raises the chain over his head.  After a couple
moments, a handful of AWA officials rush the ring, diving into the
squared circle to cut off any further attack from Velikov.

As the big Russian is forced back to the corner, the camera cuts to a
shot of the downed Sudakov, a now-steady flow of crimson escaping his
skull...

...as we fade to black.]