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                           American Wrestling Alliance
                                 Proudly Presents
                         AWA Saturday Night Wrestling

                           Live from the WKIK Studios
                                    Dallas, Texas
                              September 26th, 2009
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[As we fade in, we hear the closing theme to the Fishing With Orlando
Wilson show as the shot starts to fade.  It is replaced with footage
marked "LIVE!"  From the surroundings, we have to assume it is the
parking lot of the WKIK Studios where a massive black limo has just
pulled into view. 

After a few moments, the door swings open and three of the most despised
men in professional wrestling make their arrival - "Gold Bomber" Gary
Bright, "Agent To The Stars" Ben Waterson, and the AWA National Champion
"Hotshot" Stevie Scott.  All three men are cockily grinning and slapping
each other on the back as they emerge from the vehicle.

Stevie remarks, "It's party time!" to a pair of grins as they head
towards the entrance to the building as we fade from the live footage.

It is replaced by footage marked "THREE WEEKS AGO!" with footage from
the AWA National Title match at No Escape where Adam Rogers is pulling
Stevie Scott off the canvas to his feet.]

GM:  Rogers is moving in, pulling Stevie off the mat...

[As soon as he hits his feet, the Hotshot fires!]

GM:  HEATSEEK-

[But the desperately thrown superkick fails to connect as Rogers catches
the leg, quickly sweeping the other leg with his foot, and then grabbing
both legs, stepping through them...]

GM:  NATURAL SELECTION!  

BW:  The Last Rites!  The hold he learned and mastered during his wars
with Caleb Temple!

GM:  And is the Last Rites for the title reign of Stevie Scott?  Rogers
is trying to get it on!  Trying to turn it over!  Trying to-

[EARTHSHATTERING ROAR!]

GM:  IT'S ON!  IT'S LOCKED IN!

[Rogers sits back in the sharpshooter leglock, Scott screaming in pain
as he claws at the canvas, desperately searching for a way out...

...and an equally desperate Ben Waterson hops up on the apron, forcing
Rogers to break the hold, and BLAST Waterson with a right hand, knocking
him off the apron to the floor!]

GM:  WATERSON'S DOWN!  

BW:  But he got that hold broken!

GM:  Rogers pulls Stevie off the mat... waistlock!

[The Natural charges towards the ropes, smashing the National Champion's
chest into the top rope, falling back into a rolling reverse cradle as
the referee dives to make the count...

...but before Rogers can fall back in the Natural Bridge, Gary Bright
climbs up on the apron.]

GM:  BRIGHT!  BRIGHT'S ON THE APR- OHHHH!

BW:  Not anymore!

GM:  Rogers has floored Waterson!  He's floored Gary Bright!  Now all
that's left is to-

[Rogers turns around to face the champion who lashes out with a
Heatseeker style side kick but aimed at the midsection of the challenger
who doubles up from the impact.  The Hotshot quickly steps forward,
hooking a standing headscissors as he reaches under Rogers to wrap his
arms around the waist.]

GM:  Wait a second!  What's he-

[The National Champion straightens up, hoisting Rogers off the canvas
and holding him upside down...

...and sits out, DRIVING Rogers SKULLFIRST into the mat!]

GM:  PILEDRIVER!  PILEDRIVER ON ADAM ROGERS!

[The crowd falls silent at the sight of Rogers' skull being spiked into
the mat as Stevie Scott throws himself across the Natural's chest.]

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


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


[The stunned crowd sits in total silence as Stevie Scott rolls from the
ring, snatching the title belt away from the timekeeper and quickly
moving to join a slightly-dazed Gary Bright and a slightly more-dazed
Ben Waterson in the aisleway.]

MC:  Your winner of the match... and STILL AWA National Champion...

"HOTSHOT" STEEEEEEEVIE SCOTT!

[The crowd jeers as the shot freezes and is replaced with multiple still
photos of Adam Rogers being tended to by AWA medical staff before being
loaded onto a stretcher, carried from the arena, and placed inside an
ambulance.  The final shot holds for a moment before slowly fading 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 long-missed WKIK Studios in Dallas, Texas.  There seems to have
been some remodeling done since our last time in the Studios as the back
wall is now covered with various flags from around the world.  The
bleachers on three sides of the ring stand a little taller, helping to
fit a few more people into the building.  The ring is sporting red,
white, and blue ropes with matching buckles and is lookin' good, yo.

A quick cut reveals our announce area - a brand new blue and white
backdrop with a television screen currently displaying the AWA logo
behind our announce duo.  They stand behind a small wooden podium, all
grins as the fans cheer the return of the AWA to their hometown.

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.  And Bucky
Wilde, it is good to be home!

BW:  I never thought I'd say I missed Texas but heck if it ain't so,
Gordo.

GM:  These fans here in the WKIK Studios tonight are PUMPED for an
exciting night of AWA action and-

[Before Gordon can get fully into hype mode, the crowd EXPLODES into
jeers as three most unpopular figures make their arrival into the WKIK
Studios known.]

GM:  Fans, I apologize but apparently we are already being joined at
this time by the trio of Ben Waterson, Gary Bright, and the AWA National
Champion, Stevie Scott, though they are not scheduled to appear right
now-

[Waterson snatches the microphone from Myers' hands.]

ATTSBW: We don't need a scheduled time, Gordon.  Have you not yet
learned that we do what we want, when we want?  And what we want tonight
is a victory celebration to honor us on yet another successful title
defense, and two more additions to the rapidly-growing body count at our
hands.

[Apparently Myers was prepared for this takeover, as he pulls out two
additional microphones from underneath the table top.  He takes one and
sets the other on the table, which Stevie Scott quickly grabs.]

GM: Be that as it may, you very nearly crippled a man in the process.

ATTSBW: I already told you, we do whatever we need to do.  And what the
AWA National Champion did, mind you, was _completely_ within the rules.
It's not _our_ fault that Adam Rogers' vertabrae compressed like an
accordian.

[Heel pop!]

GM: Nonetheless, it amazes me that you can be proud of your actions at
No Escape, and I daresay you have raised the ire of many, many wrestlers
in the dressing rooms.

ATTSBW: Gordon, seriously, have you not been watching us these last few
months?  Six, count them, SIX...of those irate wrestlers have already
been sent packing, whether it be by injury or humiliation.  I can assure
you, anyone else back there who wants to step up to the plate against
the three of us will be met with the same fate.

[A grinning Stevie Scott, clad in a powder blue dress shirt and a gray
blazer and wearing sunglasses, steps forward.]

HSS: Gordon Myers...for week after week after week, we have come out
here and told you _exactly_ how things were going to go down.  And what
has happened each and every time we've made a prediction?

[Stevie laughs arrogantly.]

HSS: It's come true, hasn't it?  Like Ben said...six men have already
been taken out by me and the Gold Bomber.  So do you truly think,
Gordon, that anyone else back there really wants to take a shot at us?
Is there anyone man enough to try to take down the Gold Bomber?  Just
take a look at this guy...step up here, Bomber.

[Bright, who had previously been standing motionless behind Waterson and
Scott with his massive arms folded, steps forward and flexes his
biceps.]

HSS: Take a look here.  The Gold Bomber, chiseled from stone by the
gods.  Sent to the AWA to educate and dominate, and to be part of the
greatest force in professional wrestling today.  Who's going to try? 
Ron Houston?  Any chance you're back there?  I'd love to see that big
goof try to take GB down.

[Stevie slaps Bright on the shoulder, as GB resumes his folded-arm
pose.]

HSS: And as for me?  Gordon Myers, I have proven myself over and over
again in 2009.  I have pulled myself up from rock bottom and lifted
myself to the top of the wrestling world.  I've already taken on and
defeated men that no one thought I could hang with... Sudakov...
Broussard... Rogers.  And there ain't no one left, no man who laces up
his boots, who can take the Hotshot down.

[Stevie grins again as Waterson resumes.]

ATTSBW: In fact, Gordon, let me tell you what we're going to do.  If
there's anyone back there that's mad as hell and can't take it any more?
  Bring it on.  If there's anyone back there that wants a shot at either
one of my men?  Walk down the aisle and get in the ring.

[Waterson smugly adjusts his double-breasted blazer.]

GM: Wait just a minute, Ben Waterson.  Do you mean what I think you
mean?

ATTSBW: Exactly correct, Myers.  Tonight, we issue an open challenge to
any members of the AWA to come and meet the same fate as the Russians...
as Sweet Daddy Williams... as Marcus Broussard... as Ron Houston... and
as Adam Rogers.

The time is now, AWA.  If you want to put an end to this path of
destruction that has been running rampant over the last two months? 
Come do it, and come do it TONIGHT.

[Suddenly, the opening guitar riffs of ZZ Top's "Sharp Dressed Man" come
blaring across the loudspeakers as the crowd pops for the man who will
challenge the dastardly Stevie Scott, before they realize whose entrance
music this is.  The pop turns quickly into jeers as "Ladykiller" Calisto
Dufresne and "Subzero" Adrian Freeman step out from the entrance portal,
microphones in hand.  Scott's face shows a bit of confusion as he stares
down at his former partners in crime - literally.]

CD: Stevie!  Hey, pal.  Nice to see you.  You look well. 

[Dufresne notices the look on the three men's faces.]

CD: Hey, listen... We're not out here to take up this open challenge of
yours.  While we certainly respect a man such as yourself, who plays by
the rules and does things honorably, we have no desire to get caught up
in the swath of destruction you're cutting through the ranks of the guys
back there who don't respect genius when they see it.

[Predictable heel pop.]

CD: We're here to talk about gold.  Something you've become quite
familiar with... and, rightfully so, I should add!

[A Cheshire cat grin from Dufresne.  What do these two guys want?
Freeman steps in.]

AF: I'll put this quite simply.  We more than earned our shot at
Kentucky's Pride, and we were dominating the mat with those country
bumpkins.  Until we were -- completely unfairly, I may ask --
disqualified, and the best team in the AWA was denied the belts that
tell the world so.

CD: See, Adrian here hit the nail on the head.  At No Escape, the AWA
fans were robbed of their opportunity to have a set of champions they
can believe in.  They got that in you, but they need a team with such
charisma and honor too.

[Gag me.]

AF: Now, I know that officially we have to get three points to get
another shot and blah blah blah blah blah.  But you're in charge, right?
 You should be able to swing us a rematch, with those belts on the line,
tonight.  So what do you say, Stevie?  Care to pay back a favor or two?

CD: You have to admit that we didn't get a fair shot.  Mickey Meekly -
who spends more time on his back than Sarah Sharpe - had finally had
enough of all of these Neanderthals pushing him around and he took it
out on _US!_  It was a complete miscarriage of justice!  We had the Tag
Team Titles in hand as we beat those two rednecks within an inch of
their lives and they were stolen from us!  Just like our WarGames match
last year was stolen from us, Stevie!

[This seems to make Scott visibly flinch and the look on Dufresne's face
indicates he wishes he never had brought that up.  Stevie holds his
glare at Dufresne for a tense moment, then cracks a smile.]

HSS: Ah yes, War Games.  Those were good times, weren't they?  Good
times.

Well, good for you.  Not so much for me.

[Dufresne is pretty clearly mentally kicking himself for bringing up old
wounds, so much so that Stevie waves it off.]

HSS: Don't beat yourself up for drawing up bad memories, Calisto.
Believe me, I haven't forgotten.  I remembered as soon as you showed
your face here tonight.

And Freeman?  I'm pretty sure any favors were repaid and then some in
that cage one year ago, so don't get too greedy.

[Stevie glares at Freeman for a moment, before continuing.]

HSS: But you know, sometimes things happen for a reason...and things
have definitely worked out for me in the end.  Here I stand, top of the
AWA heap as the National Champion...

[Another pause, another grin, a soft laugh.]

HSS: ...and your lips firmly planted on my backside.  Almost makes the
betrayal worth it.

Almost.

Now...all that said...I have to agree with you in one regard.  You
_didn't_ get a fair shake against Kentucky's Shame.  And I hate it for
you.  Well, not really.  So there's really not anything I can do for
you.

[Waterson taps Stevie on the shoulder, then whispers something to him.
Scott gets another grin on his mug.]

HSS: Correction, boys, there _does_ appear to be something I can do
about it.  You will indeed be in action tonight.

[Pop!  Freeman and Dufresne exchange hopeful glances.]

HSS: But it won't be against the opponents you want.

[Another pop!  Dufresne's face certainly exhibits his displeasure.]

HSS: You see, Calisto, when you mentioned War Games... it got Ben
Waterson here thinking, and when the smartest man in professional
wrestling gets his wheels turning, things usually happen.  And so it
will happen for you tonight.

Your opponents?  Not Kentucky's Guilt, though very few things would
please me more than seeing them get humiliated again.  No, your
opponents tonight...

[Cue "War Pigs" by Black Sabbath.  Surprise pop!]

HSS: Have fun, boys.

[The returning War Pigs - Hawk and Sabre, followed by their manager
Richard E. Lee - dash down the aisle.  Lee takes a spot at ringside as
Hawk and Sabre dive under the ropes into the ring, completely catching
Dufresne and Freeman offguard as Stevie And The Gang bail from the ring.
 The bell frantically rings as Sabre drills Freeman with a right hand
while Hammer blasts Dufresne with an overhead double axehandle.  The
crowd roars as the Pigs continue to pound away on the rulebreaking duo.]

GM:  Here we go!  

BW:  The War Pigs!  Where did they come from?

GM:  Japan!  They've been on a tour of Japan for months.  I understand
that right now they are between tours and had come here tonight as a
special surprise for the fans on this homecoming show but I don't know
if even they knew they'd be in action right now!

[Sabre throws a series of hard right hands, knocking Freeman back into
the corner as Hammer hurls Dufresne by the hair to the opposite corner. 
They take a quick look to one another before proceeding to whip Freeman
and Dufresne into each other, the collision knocking both men off their
feet as the War Pigs stand tall.  The fans jeer as Calisto Dufresne
rolls from the ring to the floor...

...which brings Hammer outside the ring as Sabre drags Freeman off the
mat before taking him over in a HUUUUGE gutwrench suplex!]

GM:  Good grief!  Did you see that, Bucky?

BW:  Of course I saw it!  This is a total miscarriage of justice, Gordo.
 The War Pigs?  Calisto and Adrian weren't ready for this!  They didn't
know these two were back!  No one knew!

GM:  In the AWA, you've gotta be ready for a tough fight on every night,
Bucky.  They came out here to run their mouths and now they're paying
the price for it.

[Out on the floor, Hammer drags Dufresne to his feet...

...and hoists him high overhead in a military press before hurling the
Ladykiller back into the ring through the top and middle ropes!  Richard
E. Lee howls with excitement as Sabre drags Dufresne off the mat as well
before scooping him up and slamming him down to the canvas before
leaping up into the air and driving his fist down into the skull!]

GM:  Fistdrop with authority!  Dufresne's skull just got smashed by
Sabre!

[With Hammer back in the ring now, they turn their attention to Adrian
Freeman who has pushed himself back to his feet.]

BW:  Can this idiot referee get some control in here?  We've got a two
on one and it's been a two on one since the beginning of the match! 
This is illegal!

GM:  It was a two on two for a while.

BW:  Don't backtalk me, daddy!  

[The duo backs Freeman into the ropes, each grabbing an arm for a big
double Irish whip...

...and join hands, flooring the Australian with a running double
clothesline that knocks him off his feet.  The referee races in, trying
to get one of them out of the ring as the crowd roars their support for
the War Pigs.]

GM:  And how much do things change in a matter of months?  The last time
the War Pigs were in front of an AWA crowd, they were booing the heck
out of them while they were battling Rough N Ready.  But tonight?  All
that has changed.

[The camera cuts to the ringside area where Stevie Scott, Ben Waterson,
and Gary Bright are hanging out.  The National Champion is grinning
widely while watching his former allies get pounded to a pulp.  From
outside the ring, Scott shouts a few words in the direction of the War
Pigs, seemingly giving them instructions.  Sabre throws a confused stare
at the Hotshot before pulling Dufresne off the mat, shoving him back to
the corner.]

GM:  Are the War Pigs working here tonight for Stevie Scott?  Did he
just give Sabre some orders?

BW:  It looked like it.  And that's gotta be a scary thought for the
entire AWA.  The War Pigs under the control of the Hotshot and Waterson
would run roughshod over the entire company in a heartbeat.

GM:  You could be right on that one, Bucky.

[Sabre snaps off a big chop across the chest of Dufresne as the referee
finally manages to get both Hammer and Adrian Freeman out of the ring
into their respective corners.  Dufresne slumps back in the buckles as
Sabre grabs him by the arm, firing him across the ring.]

GM:  Another whip by Sabre... here he comes!

[As the 6'2, 270 pounder sprints across the ring, a desperate Calisto
Dufresne hooks the top rope, kicking up with both legs...

...which causes Sabre to run HARD into the feet of the Ladykiller!]

GM:  Ohhh!  Dufresne caught him coming in!

[Sabre spins away from the corner, clutching his chin...

...which allows Dufresne to throw himself down towards the mat, driving
his shoulder into the back of Sabre's knee!]

GM:  Clipping!  He clipped the knee right out from under Sabre!

BW:  Illegal in the NFL but totally legal here in the AWA, daddy!  And
just like that, the Ladykiller has turned the tables in this one.

[With Sabre down on the mat, Dufresne staggers towards his corner where
he makes the tag to Adrian Freeman.  The technician quickly moves into
the ring where he pounces on the injured limb, kicking and stomping the
same knee before reaching down to hook the ankle, twisting the leg into
a spinning toehold!]

GM:  Submission move applied by Adrian Freeman.

BW:  And with Adam Rogers out of the AWA, there can be no argument that
Adrian Freeman is now the best technicial wrestler in the entire
company.  I wouldn't have argued it before but some people would.

GM:  I don't know about that.  What about someone like Pure X?

BW:  I still give Freeman the nod.

[Freeman screams, "QUIT!  QUIT!" at the injured Sabre as he cranks up
the pressure on the injured knee...

...and then gets kicked away from it with the free leg of the Detroit
native, sending Freeman falling halfway across the ring.  Sabre rolls to
his chest, trying to crawl towards his waiting partner.]

GM:  Hammer's ready for the tag - ready and waiting for- ohh!  Freeman
cuts him off with a big elbowdrop to the back of the head.

[The Australian slowly gets back to his feet...

...and promptly spits in the face of the nearby Hammer who immediately
charges into the ring with a fury.]

GM:  BIG MISTAKE!

[But the referee cuts off Hammer's charge...

...which allows Dufresne to slide in, joining his partner in dragging
Sabre all the way back to their corner.  Freeman slaps his hands
together over his head, allowing Dufresne to stay inside the ring as the
referee turns around.]

GM:  There was no tag, referee!

BW:  He heard one though, didn't he?

GM:  He didn't see it!  The referee isn't supposed to allow anything he
doesn't see!

[With Sabre down on the mat, Dufresne measures him and connects with a
few well-placed stomps to the back of the knee.  Grabbing the leg, the
Ladykiller hooks in a half Crab, pulling back on the leg as Sabre claws
at the canvas.]

GM:  Dufresne just told the referee to ask Sabre if he wants to quit.

[And as the referee drops down to his knees to do that, Adrian Freeman
leans in from outside the ring to push on the forehead of Dufresne,
applying more pressure to the Crab-trapped knee.]

GM:  Oh, come on, referee!  Keep your eyes open!

BW:  He's doing his job, Gordo.  He's trying to find out if Sabre wants
to submit.  He can't be in two places at the same time.

GM:  I realize that, Bucky, but he needs to try to do a better job of
keeping track of these two.  They're going to use every dirty trick in
the books to try to beat these War Pigs.

[Outside the ring, we see Ben Waterson whispering something to Stevie
Scott who raises his eyebrows, nodding his head a bit.]

GM:  What on Earth are those two talking about?

BW:  No idea but I'm guessing it's not dinner plans.

[Sensing no submission coming, Dufresne breaks the half Boston Crab and
promptly drops a leg across the back of Sabre's neck before rolling him
onto his back.]

GM:  There's a cover... 

[The referee drops down to count, hitting the mat twice before Sabre
powers out of the pin attempt.]

GM:  Two count only right there.  Sabre's still got a lot of wind left
in his sails.

[Dufresne pushes back to his feet, delivering a couple more stomps
before making the quick tag to Adrian Freeman.]

BW:  These two have developed into one of the best tag teams in the
world, Gordo.  They're using the same kinds of techniques that you see
from teams who've been together for years - or centuries in the case of
Kentucky's Pride.  They're cutting the ring in half, keeping one man in
on the other team, making quick tags to keep the fresh man in on their
side of the ring.  Great tag team wrestling on display.

GM:  They certainly are talented but it's their tactics you have to
question.  

BW:  Tactics schmatics, Gordo.  These two are the former #1 contenders
to the National Tag Team Titles and if it weren't for that blasted point
system, I believe they still would hold that spot.  They had Kentucky's
Pride on the ropes at No Escape and that referee bailed those rednecks
out.

GM:  That's certainly debatable but what's not debatable is that they've
got a long, long road to climb to get back to the three points they need
to get another shot at the champions - and that road starts tonight!

[After some more stomps on the mat, Freeman hauls Sabre off the mat,
smashing him on the back of the neck with an elbow.  Hooking a front
facelock, Freeman slowly turns him over so that both men are facing
out...

...and then DROPS down, jamming Sabre's neck into his shoulder!]

GM:  Ohhh!  Neckbreaker by the Australian!

[Freeman quickly applies a cover as the referee drops to count again and
again only reaches two before Sabre gets a shoulder off the canvas.]

GM:  Sabre kicks out at two again.

BW:  But nowhere near as much authority on that one, Gordo.

GM:  That's for sure.  Sabre desperately needs to get across that ring
and make the tag to Hammer.  Hammer's just dying for the tag - leaning
over the ropes, screaming for Sabre to get there.

[Freeman drags Sabre to his feet...

...and gets caught with a right hand!  Big cheer!]

GM:  Sabre's fighting back!  Right hand!  And a second right!  Now a
third!

[Freeman takes two steps back, shaking his head as Sabre turns to move
across the ring...

...but the Australian reaches in from behind, raking Sabre's eyes with
both hands!]

GM:  Ohh!  He went to the eyes!

[The Australian reaches in, hooking a half nelson, and just barely takes
Sabre off the mat...

...and SMASHES him down across a bent knee!]

GM:  BACKBREAKER!  GOODNESS!

BW:  A half-nelson backbreaker by Adrian Freeman and he didn't get as
much as he'd like on that.  He's outweighed by quite a bit so he
couldn't get the big man as high off the mat as he wanted.

GM:  Cover - hooks the leg!  ONE!!  TWO!!  TH- shoulder up!

[Freeman quickly gets into the straddle, throwing fist after fist at the
skull of the downed Sabre.  The referee counts to four before the
Australian gets to his feet, glaring down at Sabre.]

GM:  Sabre, again trying to crawl across the ring...

[Freeman watches him, letting him exert his energy as he tries to get
across the ring...

...and as they reach mid-ring, he slips around Sabre, hooking in a front
facelock to cut him off from his partner.]

GM:  Freeman cuts the ring off again, preventing Sabre from moving
across the ring to Hammer... but listen to these fans cheer him on!

[Amazingly, the crowd starts up a "WAR!  PIGS!" chant that drives Sabre
from his knees to his feet, struggling against Freeman as he tries to
get to his corner.]

GM:  Sabre's fighting it!  Sabre's trying to make the tag!

[His partner stands in the corner slapping the top turnbuckle in rhythm
with the chant.]

GM:  Hammer's cheering him on!  Sabre's pushing Freeman across the ring!
 Freeman can't stop him!

[The Australian looks panicked as Sabre inches closer and closer to the
corner...

...and then straightens up, hurling Freeman up and over in a backdrop!]

GM:  OHHH!  SABRE TAKES HIM DOWN!

[And then stumbles across the ring, slapping the hand of his partner.]

GM:  TAG!

[BIG CHEER as Hammer steps through the ropes, marching across the ring.]

GM:  Hammer's in the ring - and look out!

[The big man pulls Freeman off the mat, firing him across the ring to
the ropes.  As the Australian rebounds, Hammer hoists him off the mat,
rotating quickly...

...and DRIVES him into the canvas with a powerslam!]

GM:  POWERSLAM!  HE PLANTED HIM!  ONE!!  TWO!!!  OHHH!

[The crowd jeers as Calisto Dufresne races into the ring, burying his
knee in the back of Hammer, breaking the pinfall just in time.]

GM:  Dufresne breaks up the pin, stomping on Hammer and-

[A weary Sabre races across the ring, knocking Dufresne down to the mat
with a big running clothesline.  The Ladykiller promptly rolls to the
floor as Sabre leans over the ropes, bellowing at him.  Inside the ring,
Hammer is back to his feet, dragging Freeman off the canvas...

...and pushing him up in a gorilla press, holding him high...]

GM:  Look at the power of Hammer!  Ohhh!  He drops him facefirst to the
mat!

[Hammer steps out from under Freeman, allowing him to crash to the
canvas, and then strikes a big double bicep pose, pointing a warning
finger at Gary Bright.]

GM:  Haha!  He's showing the Gold Bomber that he's not the only
powerhouse here in the AWA!  Hammer is a powerful man in his own right,
Bucky.

BW:  But he's no Gary Bright.

GM:  That's another debatable point.

[Sabre comes over to join his partner just as Freeman pushes up to all
fours...

...and they launch into a barrage of overhead double axehandle smashes
on the back of Freeman!]

GM:  They're beatin' the tar out of Freeman - knocking him down to the
mat again!

[With Freeman flat on his belly, both War Pigs let loose a loud roar
before Hammer drags the Australian off the mat again.]

GM:  They pull him back up... backed to the ropes... double whip...

[And as Freeman hits the far ropes, rebounding back...

...both War Pigs leave their feet, levelling the Australian with a
leaping double shoulderblock!  HUGE CHEER!]

GM:  OHHHHH!  DID YOU SEE-

BW:  Of course I did!

GM:  The War Pigs are all over Adrian Freeman and-

[The cheers grow even louder as Sabre exits the ring, scaling the ropes
as Hammer pulls Freeman up, ducking down behind him and powering him up
into an electric chair lift.]

GM:  They've got Freeman up!  They're going for that WMD - the Weapon of
Mass Destruction!

[Seizing the moment, Calisto Dufresne reappears, leaping up on the
apron, racing down the length of it...

...and sweeping the legs out from under Sabre, causing him to crotch
himself up top!]

GM:  OHHHHHH!

[Hammer shoves Freeman off to the mat, moving towards the ropes where
Calisto Dufresne is standing.  The Ladykiller hops down off the apron...

...right as Hammer reaches through the ropes, grabbing Dufresne by the
hair!]

GM:  HE'S GOT HIM!  HAMMER'S GOT DUFRESNE!

[With the crowd roaring and the referee blocked out of "the play",
Dufresne dips into his trunks in full view of the WKIK cameras,
withdrawing a foreign object of some sorts...

...and swings around with a clenched fist, DRILLING Hammer in the temple
with the object!]

GM:  OHH!  HE CAUGHT HIM!

[The foreign object blow knocks Hammer backwards, falling down to the
canvas as Dufresne quickly tucks the weapon back into his trunks as
Adrian Freeman dives across the downed Hammer.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREE!!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  Unbelievable.  They steal another one!  Dufresne and Freeman steal
another one, Bucky.

BW:  What are you talking about? 

GM:  The weapon!  The foreign object in the trunks!

BW:  I have no idea what you're talking about.  You talk about Soup Bone
Samson's knockout power but we just saw Calisto Dufresne knock out War
Pig Hammer with a single punch!  

GM:  And you know exactly why - admit it!

BW:  You're seeing things, Gordo.

[The camera cuts to Dufresne who drags Freeman under the ropes to the
floor, both men quickly beating a retreat before the War Pigs can
recover.]

GM:  And those two are out of here like two thieves in the night, Bucky.
 They stole this one and they know it whether you want to admit it or
not.  Fans, we've got to take a quick break but we'll be right back with
a special medical report on the condition of Ron Houston!  Don't go
away!

[The camera holds on the retreating Freeman and Dufresne - the
Ladykiller shouting, "We want our rematch!  Make it happen!" as we fade
to black.

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

"Have you ever dreamed of fame?"

[Cut a little closer.]

"Of glory?"

[A little closer.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Two young students are grappling on the canvas.]

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

You want to wrestle!"

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

...and then come back up to the backstage interview area where Jason
Dane is standing with "Agent To The Stars" Ben Waterson and "Gold
Bomber" Gary Bright.]

JD:  Welcome back to this very special homecoming edition of AWA
Saturday Night Wrestling, fans.  All of us are so excited to be back
here in Dallas at the WKIK Studios but there are a few people missing
tonight from the party.  One of those men... is Ron Houston.

[A smirking Gary Bright brings up a massive right arm in a bicep flex as
Waterson slaps him on the shoulder.]

JD:  Earlier this week, I caught up with Dr. Bob Ponavitch - who was
recently hired as the AWA's chief physician - for an update on the
condition of the former National Champion.  Let's take a look at that
footage now.

[The shot fades to another shot in what appears to be a doctor's office.
 Jason Dane is there along with a wild-haired man in a white doctor's
coat that is presumably Dr. Bob Ponavitch.]

JD:  Dr. Ponavitch, first, I'd like to congratulate you on becoming the
first official doctor for the AWA.

DBP:  Thank you, Jason.  In a place as wild as the American Wrestling
Alliance, having a full-time medical professional on staff seems like a
necessity to me.

JD:  Right.  Well, you know why I'm here.  I need an update on the
condition of Ron Houston.  We all saw him suffer a brutal assault at the
hands of Gary Bright and Ben Waterson at No Escape to that arm that was
injured last year.

[Dr. Bob nods.]

JD:  It's the same arm that was severely injured at the hands of Kolya
Sudakov last year, correct?

DBP:  It certainly is.  I recently received copies of all of Mr.
Houston's medical records and the injury he suffered to that arm last
year was quite extensive.  He had an arm injury as well as a shoulder
injury back in October.  The broken right arm takes about 10 weeks to
heal which we're obviously well past so that's not my concern.  It's the
shoulder injury that we're worried about.

[Dr. Bob spins to point at an X-Ray on a lightboard behind him.]

DBP:  As you can see here...

[Not really.]

DBP:  ...Mr. Houston has suffered a re-aggravation of the previous
shoulder injury.  A quite serious one in my opinion.  And,
unfortunately, the arm has suffered a hairline fracture as well.  

JD:  What does all that mean?

DBP:  It means that Mr. Houston should be out of action at a minimum of
four weeks but I believe he needs much more time off to fully recover.

JD:  Has he been informed?

DBP:  He has.

JD:  What was his reaction?

DBP:  Let's just say it took a while to clean up my office after he was
done with it.

[Both men chuckle.]

JD:  So, Dr. Bob, in your opinion, it could be quite some time before we
see Ron Houston back inside an AWA ring?

DBP:  In my opinion, we potentially COULD see him in back in action in a
month or so.  But we probably SHOULD see him back sometime after the
first of the year.

JD:  Wow.  Dr. Bob, thank you for your time.

DBP:  My pleasure.

[The shot fades back to live action...

...where Ben Waterson is cackling like an idiot as Jason Dane looks on
with disgust.]

JD:  Obviously, you found that funny.

ATTSBW:  Jason Dane, I found it absolutely hysterical.

JD:  Because a man's career is stalled?  Because he'll be on the
sidelines for a month or so at the very minimum?

ATTSBW:  Absolutely.  He messed with the wrong people.  Ron Houston has
a history of doing that, you know.  Broussard nearly ripped his arm
apart last year.  My old friend Kolya took his title and put him on the
shelf.  Then he came back and got in our faces.

Well, Mr. Houston, I trust the message has now been received.

[Dane looks puzzled.]

JD:  The message?

ATTSBW:  When you mess with us, you're playing with fire.  And Mr.
Houston, you just got burned.  

Oh, and Pure X... consider your tryout... a success.

[With a grin, Waterson walks away.]

JD:  Tryout?  Fans, let's go up to the ring where Melissa Cannon is
standing by!

[We dissolve back to ringside where Melissa is ready to rock.]

MC:  The following contest is a handicap match and it is scheduled for
one fall with a ten minute time limit.  Already in the ring at this
time... weighing in at a combined weight of 445 pounds... J.D.
Dillinger and Jose Rivera!

[Both men raise their arms to acknowledge the crowd, then turn to each
other and high-five.]

BW: They look confident, if a little out of work for a while.

GM: It says on the information sheet I was given that Dillinger is a
journeyman wrestler fighting out of San Antonio. These two used to
wrestle as the Young Guns for a while, before Dillinger took to
managing-

BW: Clearly, they're Young Guns no longer. Who is feeding you this
information, anyway, Gordo?

MC:  And their opponent...

[Tomoyasu Hotei's 'Battle Without Honor or Humanity' starts to play
over the arena speakers.  Louis Matsui emerges with a smirk from the
entranceway.]

MC:  Hailing from Tokyo, Japan; weighing in at 420 pounds and being
accompanied to the ring by LOUIS MATSUI,

He is MAMMOTH... MIZUSAWA!

[The curtain parts to reveal the scowling seven-footer, MAMMOTH
Mizusawa, dressed in a black singlet, black knee pads and a pair of
black boots. Matsui points with his thumb over his shoulders at
Mizusawa, who raises both his arms in the air. Both men start to make
their way down the aisle.]

BW:  Tell me, Gordo, did this information sheet of yours have a Matsui
Corporation letterhead?

GM:  ...

BW:  I thought so.

[As Matsui walks to the ring, he pays little attention to the fans
sitting on either side of the aisle, although he is still smirking.
The towering Mizusawa, on the other hand, walks slowly behind his
manager, glaring at the crowd.

Reaching the ringside area, Louis Matsui walks over to the announcers.
Gordon Myers, always the consumnate professional, already has a mic
ready to ask the smiling manager some questions, as the music starts
to fade. Bucky Wilde, always looking to ingratiate himself, stands up
and extends his hand for a handshake.]

GM: Welcome, Louis. From your expression, I am guessing you had a part
to play in arranging this match we are about to witness?

LM: Oh, no, Gordon, Mr. Wilde, arranging matches is what the AWA suits
do. I merely suggested that they go out and find two of Texas' finest
for my client to showcase his ability against. I even gave them a
couple of names, so I am quite pleased with the competition they have
chosen.

GM: But why a handicap match? Is a one-on-one encounter not enough of
a challenge for MAMMOTH Mizusawa-

BW: What a silly question, Gordo, of course it isn't. Mr. Matsui, how
do you think your client's time in the AWA is shaping up thus far?

LM: [Laughing slightly.] Gordon, did you not see what this giant
[Indicating Mizusawa.] did to his last opponent? It will take a lot
more than that for a one-on-one match to be much of a challenge for my
client. I am sure there are many in the AWA locker room who are
willing to offer that challenge... Once they get over their doubts
about their chances against my seven-foot monster. To answer your
question, Mr. Wilde, MAMMOTH Mizusawa's transition to America has been
smoother than expected, and being in the AWA is a large part of that.
All I can say is, with the might of the Matsui Corporation behind him,
I can only foresee bigger and better things for this behemoth's quest
for a higher purpose. Just you watch.

[With that, he turns to MAMMOTH Mizusawa and points to the ring.
Mizusawa walks over to the ring, grabs the top rope and pulls himself
onto the ring apron, then steps over the ropes and into the ring. He
stares down his two opponents across the ring as the bell rings.]

GM: Dillinger and Rivera look at each other, as if trying to decide
who shall have the first go at the giant from Japan.

BW: I'd be hesitant, too, if I had _THAT_ across the ring from me.

GM: Jose Rivera decides he'll start... Collar-and-elbow tie-up...

BW: And Mizusawa simply shoves him right onto his butt.

[Rivera scrambles back to his feet and immediately tags in his
partner. J.D. Dillinger steps through the ropes _AND_ cockily
challenges MAMMOTH Mizusawa to a test of strength.]

BW: You have got to be kidding me. Mizusawa could crush him with one
hand.

[Mizusawa ponders the challenge somewhat amusedly. As he reaches out
to take Dillinger's hand, however, the smaller man ducks under and
goes behind him.]

GM: Dillinger wraps his arms around the big man's waist. Tries to lift
him... No.

[Dillinger breaks the waistlock and grabs the small of his back,
strained from the effort of trying to lift Mizusawa. Mizusawa turns
around and charges him.]

GM: Clothesline! He ducks. Dillinger hits the ropes. Dropkick!

BW: The giant simply swats him away like a gnat.

[Dillinger lands hard, but has the wherewithal to roll out of the way
of a Mizusawa elbow drop. He uses the ropes to pull himself up.]

GM: Mizusawa a little slow to get back on his feet and Dillinger takes
advantage by laying a kick right to his side. He follows up with a
flurry of stomps and goes to tag Rivera.

[Both men are in the ring and proceed to lay a series of forearm
smashes to the back of the giant, who has managed to push himself up
onto his hands and knees.]

GM: Dillinger and Rivera working together to try to keep the big man
down.

BW: Well, that's one way to do it... Or it might take more than that.

GM: Indeed, the giant just shrugged off both men's attack. They step
back to assess the situation, but that allows Mizusawa to get back to
his feet.

[Dilligner and Rivera exchange a look and charge him. Mizusawa extends
his arms for a double clothesline, but his opponents duck under,
bounce off the ropes on the other side of the ring, and return with
simultaneous chop blocks to his knees.]

GM: Mizusawa spending a lot more time off his feet in this match than
before.

BW: Well, his manager did want more competition.

GM: Yes, indeed, Bucky. Dillinger and Rivera lock their arms around
the head and neck of Mizusawa, who is on his knees. A double DDT,
perhaps?

[Both men try to budge the giant, but he will not go down so easily.
Instead, he brings his hands up and palms both men's faces.]

GM: Mizusawa has that head claw hold applied on both men. Could we see
a submission victory?

BW: Not only does he have that claw hold applied, Gordo, he is holding
them at arms' length, which, for a man his size, means that both his
opponents have a hard time trying to hit back.

[Dillinger and Rivera are indeed flailing about, but making very
little contact with the big man, who gets back to his feet. Rivera
manages to swipe Mizusawa's hand away, breaking the hold, but just as
quickly, Mizusawa grabs him by the throat.]

GM: Mizusawa has Rivera goozled. And he does the same to Dillinger-

[Heel pop!]

BW: _MASSIVE_ double chokeslam! Cover!

[MAMMOTH Mizusawa simply lays a fist, knuckles down, on each of his
opponent's chest.]

[Shoulder up pop!]

GM: Nonchalant cover allows both men to get a shoulder up at two!
MAMMOTH Mizusawa looking over to his manager for instructions.

[The camera catches Louis Matsui simply shouting "KILL THEM!" Mizusawa
nods and backs into a corner.]

GM: What is he doing, Bucky?

BW: I believe the predator is stalking his prey.

[Mizusawa motions for both men to get up. Dillinger and Rivera are
trying, while the referee starts to count.]

BW: I'll give them credit, Gordo, they're still showing signs of life.

GM: Yes, Bucky. Dillinger, in fact, has managed to push himself onto
his knees... One knee now.

BW: Of course, when he's back on his feet, he's going to get knocked
back down again. I would just stay down. Better to get counted out and
live to fight another day.

GM: Mizusawa's last opponent got counted out, but got destroyed after
anyway. Dillinger is up! And here comes Mizusawa! Big boot!

BW: Dillinger ducks! His partner, unfortunately, who had just gotten
back to his feet, eats the size ten boot, instead.

[Rivera is out of it, but Dillinger comes flying out of nowhere onto
the giant's back. He wraps his arm around Mizusawa's neck, and with
the other, hits a series of punches and forearm shots. Mizusawa turns
around and drives Dillinger's back into the turnbuckle.]

GM: Dillinger is still holding on-

BW: But barely, Gordo.

GM: The big man reaches back and tries to pull Dillinger onto his
shoulder.

BW: He's trying to position him for something big, Gordo.

[Somehow, with Dillinger across his shoulder, Mizusawa manages to get
both hands under Dillinger's body, and with some effort, pushes him up
in a military press.]

[FINISHER POP!!!

GM: MAMMOTH Slam!!! Cover! ONE! TWO!!!

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

GM:  THREE!!!

MC:  Here is your winner... MAMMOTH MIZUUUUSAAAWAAA!

[The crowd jeers the announcement as Louis Matsui climbs into the
ring, joining his seven foot client inside the ring and raising his
arm in victory.]

GM:  Another impressive win here for Mizusawa and I would have to assume
it's only a matter of time before this massive beast cracks the Top 10. 
And I, for one, cannot wait to see him take on some legitimate
competition here in the AWA, Bucky.

BW:  I've got two words for you, Gordo.  Tumaffi who?

GM:  Give me a break.  And we're being rejoined now by Ben Waterson,
Stevie Scott, and Gary Bright.  Mr. Waterson, what did you think about
what we just saw?

ATTSBW:  I think MAMMOTH Mizusawa is a monster inside that ring.  And I
think that the Matsui Corporation might be getting a call from me about
some outsourcing at some point down the road.

GM:  Are you saying-?

ATTSBW:  I'm saying that it's always useful to have a seven footer on
the payroll.  

GM:  Alright, well, fans - as you can tell, the entire AWA - heck, the
entire wrestling world - is still reeling from what we saw at No Escape.
 We've talked about a lot of it already tonight but let's talk about the
National Tag Team Titles.  We saw Kentucky's Pride hang onto the
championships, but perhaps at a cost as City Jack, one half of the
champions, sustained a serious eye injury at the hands of Calisto
Dufresne and Adrian Freeman.

BW: Hey, that's what he gets for getting in there and wrestling with his
eye already in bad shape.  You step through those ropes, it's fair game.

HSS: I'm not sure how I feel about that.

GM: I don't believe anyone asked y-

[Ignoring Myers, Stevie rolls on.]

HSS: I got no love for Dufresne or Freeman...I made that quite clear
earlier tonight...but then again, they took out someone who I _really_
can't stand.  I mean, it pains my eyesight just to _look_ at the fat man
getting into an AWA ring and bringing down the quality of the product.
It also is a little irritating that someone got hurt and it wasn't done
by us, Ben.

ATTSBW: Hey, we have to share a little bit, champ.  You and the Bomber
can't wipe out the entire roster by yourself.

[Waterson glances at Bright, and grins.]

ATTSBW: Well, maybe you _can_.

HSS: Good point, Ben.  You may proceed, Gordo.

[Myers rolls his eyes.]

GM: And of course, we are still awaiting more information on the
condition of former World Champion Adam Rogers-

HSS: Here's his condition: Done.  Finished.  Game Over.  Not getting
back into a wrestling ring again.

GM: A fact you all seem to still be very proud of.

HSS: It's not a matter of pride, Myers.  It's a matter of us doing what
we said we would.  Look, back in his day...which was a long time ago,
mind you...but back in his day, I'm sure Rogers was pretty decent.  But
he was hanging on a lot longer than he should have been, and if there's
anything I can't stand, it's someone who doesn't realize when his time
is up.

So, we simply took matters into our own hands.

GM: But still, the usage of the piledriver was-

ATTSBW: Was completely and totally legal, Myers, no matter what your
personal feelings are on the matter.  We warned him beforehand.  Told
Rogers, told him right on this show for everyone to see and hear, that
if he followed through and got into the ring with the AWA National
Champion, he would not be pleased with the outcome.

If you want to blame someone, Myers, blame Rogers.  Blame Rogers for not
heeding our warnings, for allowing his own foolish pride and arrogance
to get in the way of common sense. 

[Before Myers can object, the attention of everyone at the broadcast
position is drawn away by the arrival of three more individualsÉ three
individuals that make up Rough N Ready.]

ATTSBW: Hold upÉ you have noÉ

[Eric Matthew Somers does not give Waterson a chance to finish,
snatching the microphone away from Myers, an action that catches Myers
off guard and causes both Waterson and Wilde to back up a step as well.]

EMS : I have heard just about enough garbage spewed out of your mouth
[then motioning to Stevie] and your mouth as well. The only thing either
one of you said that I can agree with is that the three of us have no
love for Dufresne and FreemanÉ but the reasons why are the same reasons
why we have no love for either of you. You mock City Jack, who if am I
not mistaken, has made a habit out of making you [pointing to Stevie]
look like a wimp. Heck, if my memory serves me well, wasnÕt his partner
Tin Can Rust the same person who made you scream ÒI quitÓ in War Games
some time ago?

[That generates a positive response from the crowd, but not so much from
Stevie Scott.]

EMS: Yeah, and I suppose youÕll talk about how IÕm no different from
City JackÉ yet another one of those fat men that pains your eyesight. Or
how my partner here is no different from Tin Can Rust, in that his
better days were during the days when dinosaurs roamed the earth.

Well, the way I see it, itÕs fat men like me and City Jack, and old men
like Dave and Tin Can Rust, who make a habit out of making string-bean
armed, pencil legged, scrawny 90-pound weaklings like you say ÒuncleÓ
every time we get in the ring with them!

[As Somers talks, the tone of his voice rises and he starts to advance
on Stevie and Waterson, which prompts Dave Cooper to raise up an arm to
hold him back.]

DC: Settle down, EricÉ I know youÕve got an opinion, but save your
energyÉ at least for now.

[Somers pauses, but then eventually hands the mic back over to Cooper,
who then returns it to Myers and indicates he wants to speak.]

DC: Some people might say we havenÕt been exactly the friendliest guys
in the locker roomÉ we tend to look out for ourselves a bit too much.
But after watching all that went down at No Escape, what happened to
City Jack then what to him in the weeks prior, what you did to Adam
Rogers and what you did to Marcus Broussard several weeks before thatÉ
regardless of what this jerk you call a manager says is legalÉ well,
weÕve decided we arenÕt going to stand by and watch cowards like you get
away with the stunts youÕve pulled.

And letÕs face the facts, StevieÉ you won that title by slamming Koyla
Sudakov over the head with a briefcase, no different from the tactics
you cried foul about when the Russians pulled them on you. And yeah,
beating Adam Rogers would have been impressive if you didnÕt have Gary
Bright doing half the work for you.

Well, Stevie, if you want to play the game that way, just remember than
when you do that, it doesnÕt take long for it to bite you in the rear
end.

[Cooper drops the mic to his side and glares at Scott.  The champion
looks stunned for a moment, but it soon turns into a smug grin.]

HSS: If I have a nickel for every time I listened to some overgrown
musclehead rant and rave about all the horrible things he was going to
do with me...

[The grin widens.]

HSS: I'd be a lot richer than I already am.  And that, my friend, is
saying something.

[The grin now turns more serious, as Bright steps forward to flank the
champ on his left side.]

HSS: Listen up, big man.  I don't need a lecture from you on how I play
the game.  Need I remind you that, of all the people involved in this
conversation, I am the _only_ one wearing gold?  Just because you're too
stupid to plan, too thick to strategize, doesn't give _you_...

[Stevie, feeling his oats now, pokes Cooper in the chest as he says
"you."]

HSS: ...the right to come out here and preach at _me_...the AWA National
Champ...about how the game is played.  Let me tell you something,
pal..._we_ set the rules.  _We_ say how the game is played.  Not _you_,
not your _partner_, not Adam Rogers, not Marcus Broussard, no one...

[Stevie motions to Bright and Waterson.]

HSS: ...but the three of us.

DC:  Is that so? Well, Eric and I will then show you how serious we areÉ
you get your partner in crime Gary Bright and head over to that ring,
and then you can take us on, right now! Hey, itÕs a chance for the two
of you to work your way toward those tag team titles KentuckyÕs Pride
currently holdÉ but itÕs also a way for Eric and I not just to secure
the final point weÕve been waiting for too long to earn, but to teach
you some manners your momma should have taught you a long time ago.

LetÕs go, Eric!

[With that, Rough N Ready heads straight for the ring, both members
ducking between the ropes, Dave motioning with his hands to Stevie to
get into the ring, Eric merely glaring at Stevie and Waterson.  Stevie
Scott removes his sportscoat, handing it to Waterson as Bright moves
closer to the ring, ready to go.]

GM:  Oh yeah!  This is gonna happen right now!

BW:  Is this a sanctioned match?  If it is, Rough N Ready just found
themselves in a position to fight for their third point!  They could
sneak in the back door past the Bishops and win a shot at the tag team
titles, Gordo!

GM:  I didn't even think about that but you're exactly right about that
one, Bucky.  Rough N Ready are going to take on Stevie Scott and Gary
Bright in an impromptu challenge right here, right now, and I can't wait
for-

[With Bright and the Hotshot up on the apron, they step through the
ropes into the ring.  Dave Cooper leans over, slapping the canvas with
both hands, waving the two men forward...

...when suddenly an enormous negative reaction comes from the crowd!]

BW:  BISHOPS!

[The jeers are crazed as Cletus Lee and Duane Henry hit the ring from
out of nowhere, immediately assaulting their hated rivals.  Cletus Lee
peels off with Eric Matthew Somers, trading heavy blows with him while
Duane Henry pushes Cooper back into the corner, driving shoulder after
shoulder to his midsection.]

GM:  We've got a fight on our hands!

[A grinning Stevie Scott leans back in the corner, simply watching the
action unfold before him.]

GM:  Scott and Bright aren't doing a thing!

BW:  What did you expect?  They'd save Rough N Ready?  They'd be more
likely to join in and then you'd be crying about a four on two beatdown,
daddy!

GM:  The National Champion is showing that yellow streak down his back
right now as the Bishops and Rough N Ready battle in the middle of the
ring.

[Duane Henry straightens up, wrapping his hands around the throat of
Dave Cooper, strangling the air out of him...

...and gets DRILLED with a giant double axehandle from behind, knocking
Henry down to a knee.]

GM:  Somers takes Duane Henry off his feet... CHOKE!

[Somers wraps his massive hand around the throat of Duane Henry, ready
to hoist him high...

...but a running big boot to the ribcage breaks the chokeslam attempt,
allowing Cletus Lee to deliver a crushing headbutt that knocks Somers
back into the corner, grabbing the top rope to stay on his feet.  With
Somers dazed, Cletus Lee tees off, throwing lefts and rights to the head
of the big man.]

GM:  Cletus Lee is workin' over the big man... it's a battle of the big
men and obviously nothing has been settled between these two teams after
the two singles matches!  They split the singles matches and the war
continues here tonight in Dallas, Texas!

[Suddenly, big Somers starts firing back, throwing big rights of his own
that backs Cletus Lee away.  Cletus Lee looks wobbly, almost about to
fall to his knees...

...when suddenly the Right Proper Thugs are on the scene!]

GM:  What the-?!

[Barrett Topps and Marcus Moore hit the ring, immediately throwing blows
at anyone in sight.  Topps drills Somers with a forearm to the ear,
knocking Somers into the ropes.  Marcus Moore drills Duane Henry Bishop
with a running elbow smash to the back of the head, knocking Duane Henry
down to the mat.  

And still, Stevie Scott and Gary Bright are looking on.  Scott is in the
corner, pulling Bright in front of him.]

GM:  The Right Proper Thugs are out here and they're joining in!

[Moore pulls Duane Henry off the mat...

...and powers him up into a gorilla press!]

GM:  Oh my stars!  He's got Duane Henry high up in the air and-

[Moore throws him forward as Topps drops down to a knee, causing Duane
Henry's face to SLAM into Topps' bent knee!]

GM:  GOOD GRIEF!

[The impact of the doubleteam move causes Duane Henry to roll under the
ropes to the floor, looking to flee away from the Right Proper Thugs who
are standing tall...

...until a rushing double clothesline from Eric Matthew Somers takes
them over the ropes to the floor!]

GM:  OHHHHHHH!

[The Right Proper Thugs hit the floor hard right next to Duane Henry
Bishop while Eric Matthew Somers and Dave Cooper turn their attention to
Cletus Lee, working him over against the ropes.]

GM:  Cletus Lee is getting dominated by Rough N Ready and Cousin Bo is
out here on the floor going absolutely nuts!

BW:  This can't happen!  Get some help in there for-

[With a tap on the shoulder and a point by Stevie Scott, Gary Bright
rushes across the ring, drilling Somers from behind with a running
forearm smash.  A few more battering forearms follow before Bright
CHUCKS Somers through the ropes to the floor, following right behind
him...

...just as Colt Patterson and Scott Pain come rushing out from the
locker room, taking swings at the first people they encounter who just
happen to be Duane Henry Bishop and Marcus Moore.]

GM:  We've got chaos out here!  There's a ton of people battling out
here at ringside and this is breaking down in a hurry!

[Cletus Lee battles out from under Dave Cooper's offense inside the
ring, grabbing him by the throat and hoisting him up in a big double
choke lift before chucking him down to the canvas.  

Out on the floor, Barrett Topps and Marcus Moore have isolated Scott
Pain, battering him with double axehandles out on the floor while Colt
Patterson tangles with Eric Matthew Somers just a few feet away.  Duane
Henry Bishop staggers to his feet, leaning against the apron to try and
shake the cobwebs as the battle rages on all around him...

...and just narrowly gets out of the way as Cletus Lee throws Dave
Cooper over the ropes into the fray.  The big brother of the Bishop clan
steps over the ropes, dropping down into the mix as he and Duane Henry
start stomping Cooper into the floor.]

GM:  Can we get some help out here?  Can we get some control?

[With a roar from the crowd, Jackson "Thunderbolt" Ross comes sprinting
from the locker room area, diving headfirst under the ropes into the
ring.  He points a finger at Stevie Scott who lifts his fist, ready to
defend himself...

...but Ross instead spins around, scaling the ropes.]

GM:  What the-?  Jackson Ross is up top!  The kid's gonna fly!



"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"



[The crowd ROARS as Ross hurls himself from the top rope, wiping out the
pile of men underneath him, taking everyone down in a heap.]

GM:  ROSS TAKES 'EM ALL OUT!  OH MY!

[All except for one.

One who quickly gets back into the ring...

...and points a very long arm in the direction of the AWA National
Champion who looks like he should be very happy he's wearing dark
pants.]

GM:  CLETUS LEE IS IN THE RING!  CLETUS LEE IS COMING FOR THE CHAMP!

[The crowd continues to roar at the thought of Cletus Lee Bishop getting
his hands on the AWA National Champion Stevie Scott...

...and then EXPLODES as Bishop barrels across the ring, grabbing
an-attempting-to-flee Stevie Scott by the throat!]

GM:  HE'S GOT HIM!  HE'S GOT THE CHAMP!

[Bishop HURLS the Hotshot back into the corner with both hands, rearing
back with a big right hand...

...and then stopping short as Cousin Bo leaps up on the apron, screaming
at his nephew to hold up on his assault.]

GM:  Cousin Bo stopped him!  Cletus Lee was about to eat the champ's
lunch and Cousin Bo stopped him!

BW:  Thank god... but why?

GM:  Fans, we've got to take a break!  We'll be right back!

[With Stevie Scott still looking petrified as Cletus Lee holds him in
the corner with his right hand cocked back, we fade to black.

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

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

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

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

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

JD & MS:  NOW WE CAN!

[A voiceover takes over - thank God.]

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

[Fade back to black...

...and then back up on live action where we find an awkward situation. 
Gordon Myers and Bucky Wilde are in their usual spot - Wilde looking a
bit more uncomfortable than usual.  On their left stands Ben Waterson,
Stevie Scott, and Gary Bright.  On the right are Cousin Bo and the
Bishops.  Stevie Scott's looking a bit nervous still while Cletus Lee
looks like he could explode at any moment.]

GM:  Fans, welcome back to this homecoming edition of Saturday Night
Wrestling and Ben Waterson, what in the world is going on here?

[Waterson leans over the mic, some of his cocky expression faded away.]

ATTSBW:  It's simple, Gordon Myers.  As a wise man once said, cash rules
everything around me.  My friend, Bo, here... he's a wise man as well. 
He understands that when it comes to the AWA - it's better to be with
us... than against us.

So, we made a simple arrangement.

[Dramatic pause leading to...]

GM:  Which is?

ATTSBW:  Obviously, with what we just saw, the AWA can't provide proper
security for this building so the Bishops will do it instead!  The
Bishop Boys have been hired as our private security force for the night.
 

GM:  You've hired the Bishops?!

ATTSBW:  Don't play deaf, Gordo.  And don't act so surprised.  With the
National Title in our hands, we're the power in the AWA... we're the
ones with the biggest cars, the nicest houses, the custom-styled suits,
and the hottest women for sure...

[Some of those women squeal a bit in the crowd.]

ATTSBW:  Why not spread some of that wealth around to our... friends...
here?

[Cousin Bo looks pleased, nodding his head as he reaches forward to
shake Waterson's hand.  His boys don't look as happy, glaring at the
National Champion and the Gold Bomber who return the stare.]

ATTSBW:  Now, can we get back to why we're all here?  This is supposed
to be a victory celebration!  A party!  We don't have time to mess
around with people like Rough N Ready and-

[A voice rings out over the PA.]


"How about me?"


[A big cheer goes up from the WKIK Studios crowd as Soup Bone Samson is
standing in the middle of the ring, clutching a house mic in his hand.]

SBS:  You got time for me, Waterson?

[Waterson looks even more irritated now.]

ATTSBW:  What is HE doing here, Myers?  This is our night!  This is-

SBS:  You know something, Waterson?  You've got a reaaaaal big mouth.

[Big cheer!]

SBS:  I've been sitting back in the locker room all night... just
waiting for someone to step up and shut it.  You come out here talkin'
how you done this... how you done that... you run down good men's names
like Broussard and Rogers and my ol' friend Sweet Daddy...

You talk a real good game cause you got that big musclehead backin' ya
up.

[Another cheer.]

SBS:  And now you're talkin' even harder cause you got two big rednecks
runnin' interference for ya tonight.

[Duane Henry starts towards the ring but gets held up by Cousin Bo.]

SBS:  That's right, rookie.  You wanna tangle with this ol' dog?  Tell
your boy to cut your leash and we'll do this right now!

[More cheers.  Apparently the crowd likes the idea of that.  Cousin Bo
doesn't seem quite as eager though.]

SBS:  And then there's the champ...

[Stevie Scott steps out from behind Gary Bright, slapping the title belt
on his shoulder, screaming something inaudible towards the ring.]

SBS:  They call you the Hotshot, right?

[Samson nods to himself.]

SBS:  Well, pop quiz, Hotshot.  You got an ol' dog runnin' 'round
nipping at your heels.  A mean, nasty, tough ol' dog that don't have a
lot of days left and knows it.  A hungry ol' dog who is lookin' for one
shot...

ONE!  SHOT!

...to take that pretty gold belt off your scrawny waist.

[Cheers!]

SBS:  Oh, and one more thing, Hotshot...

That ol' dog?

[He holds up the big right hand.]

SBS:  His bite is a hell of a lot worse than his bark.

[Big cheer at the threat!]

SBS:  Whaddya do, Hotshot?  Whaddya do?

[An irate Stevie Scott takes the title belt off, tossing it down on the
announcer podium and starts to head towards the ring where Soup Bone
Samson has tossed the mic aside and is standing at the ready, fists
raised for a fight.]

GM:  Here we go!  The Hotshot is heading for-

ATTSBW:  Not so fast, Myers.  The last time I checked, this old relic
inside the ring isn't even RANKED in the Top 10, is he?

GM:  Well, no, he's not but-

ATTSBW:  Until he is, my client has no interest in defending his title
against him.  Mr. Samson, please remove yourself from our victory
celebration.

[Samson shakes his head inside the ring, still looking for a fight.]

ATTSBW:  Mr. Samson, you have two choices.  You can remove yourself from
our ring...

...or we can have you escorted out by security.

[Waterson jerks a thumb towards the Bishops who suddenly look a lot
happier.]

ATTSBW:  Consider.  Yourself.  Warned.

[Samson doesn't seem ready to move though, staying inside the ring. 
Waterson makes a gesture to the Bishops...

...which cuts the "leash" with Cletus Lee and Duane Henry sprinting
towards the ring, diving headfirst under the bottom rope.  Samson is
ready as they get there, smacking Cletus Lee with a left hook to the
side of the jaw that knocks him back into the ropes.]

GM:  And the ol' dog has come to fight!

[Samson peels off of Cletus Lee, tangling with Duane Henry who buries a
knee into his gut.  A few hard right hands knocks Samson back into the
ropes.  A whip sends him across...

...RIGHT into a big boot to the jaw from Cletus Lee!]

GM:  OHHHHH!

ATTSBW:  I think the ol' dog has been put to sleep, Gordo!

GM:  So funny.  So, so funny.  Samson has been put down by these two
maniaical rednecks - the Bishops!  Cletus Lee and Duane Henry are
stomping Samson into the mat... this is a mugging!

ATTSBW:  He had his chance to get out of there!  I warned him, Myers!  I
told him!  He's seen the body count - Sudakov, Broussard, Rogers, now
Houston... he knows what we're capable of!

GM:  We?  It looks like the Bishops are doing your dirty work now!

ATTSBW:  Like I said, we're sharing the wealth.

[Duane Henry drags Samson off the mat, cracking him with a back elbow to
the jaw that knocks the veteran back into the corner.  He quickly moves
to the opposite corner where Cletus Lee is waiting.  He grabs his
brother by the arm, whipping him across the ring...

...into a corner splash on Samson!]

GM:  Ohhh!  Big splash by Duane Henry Bishop and- oh no!

[Cletus Lee follows Duane Henry across the ring, charging at top
speed...

...and smashing all his weight into the stunned Samson!]

GM:  OHHHHH!  A series of splashes in the corner by the Bishops!

[Cletus Lee throws Samson facefirst down to the mat out of the buckles
as Cousin Bo shouts instructions from the floor.]

BW:  You hear that, Gordo?  Bo wants the Wheelbarrow!

GM:  I certainly did.  And we saw this at No Escape - that crushing
Wheelbarrow Suplex that put down Dave Cooper for a three count.  He's
leaning over, grabbing the legs of Samson and-

[HUGE CHEER!]

GM:  ROUGH N READY!  ROUGH N READY!

[Eric Matthew Somers and Dave Cooper waste no time in charging down the
aisle, diving under the ropes into the ring.  Cooper ERUPTS into a full
on spear tackle on Duane Henry to a huge cheer as he starts pummeling
the rookie relentlessly.  Cletus Lee tosses Samson aside as Somers
approaches, meeting the big man in another trade of blows.]

GM:  Duane Henry's down!  Cletus Lee and Somers are trading right hands
again!  The fight is on once more!  Fans, don't go away, we'll be right
back!

[The camera holds on the showdown between Cletus Lee and Eric Matthew
Somers before fading 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 as the scene opens on a clear, starry night out in
the open plains of West Texas.  The moon is full and bright, and the
camera pans down from the moon toward a campfire blazing below.  Sitting
beside said campfire is a man in a brown cowboy hat, plaid flannel
shirt, jeans, and brown cowboy boots.

Some Western-style, Rawhide-ish music plays as the man, who is now shown
to be rather large, looks down into the fire, the shadow of the brim of
his hat obscuring his face.  Still looking down, he begins to speak.]

VR:  AWA.  Please allow me to introduce myself, though many of you may
already know me.

[The most noticeable thing, so far, is his lisp.]

VR: My travels have taken me far and wide.  To the peaks of the highest
mountains.  In front of rulers of lands, in front of emperors, from the
middle of the plains to the beaches and oceans of America.

And now, my travels are bringin' me back home.

[The dude looks up at the camera finally, but the shadow from his hat
still partially hides his face.  From the looks of what we can see, he
ain't no spring chicken.]

VR: Ya see, Vernon Riley here, he's spent a lot of time in Florida.  In
the Carolinas.  Up in the Pacific Northwest.  But it's been a long time
since I've been back here in my native land.  With my native people here
in God's great country of Texas.  It's been a long time comin', and it's
very pleasin' to Big Vern here to be comin' home.

But the circumstances under which I've been brought back to Texas, I
have to say to ya'll, are not pleasin' at all.

[A pause to adjust the hat.  The shadows still stay over his face,
though.]

VR: Ya see, I've been spendin' my days here lately over in Florida and
the sweet Carolinas, if ya will.  So when the AWA came rollin' into
Greensboro a coupla weeks ago, I went to go check it all out first-hand.

And what I saw, it made me sick to my stomach.

Your champion tryin' to end a career, a career of a hard-workin' young
man who was always tryin' to do the right thing, always tryin' to give
back to the fans.  A young man whose daddy is an old friend of Big
Vern's, ya hear?

So when I saw that, I decided that punk champion over here needed to be
taught a li'l somethin'.

[Another pause.  A coyote can be heard howling in the background.
Spooky!]

VR: Vernon Riley's comin' home.

Vernon Riley's comin' to the AWA.

And it's time to start takin' out some of the garbage.

[The frame freezes on his still-shadowed face, as Hank Williams Jr.'s
"You Can't Judge A Book By The Cover" starts to play.  The scene soon
dissolves into a highlight package of Riley in various matches.

Now we get a better look at him.  He has sandy blond hair, curly but
short.  He is indeed a bit on the fat side, his belly-welly hanging over
his black tights.  He is in a small studio, taking on a shorter and
smaller wrestler in green tights.  Riley peppers him with four, five,
six left jabs, then spins his fists together in a rolling motion before
dropping his opponent with a right hand.]

# You can't judge the apple by looking at the tree
You can't judge the honey by looking at the bee #

[Same studio, new opponent.  Riley drives an elbow down onto the top of
his opponent's head, who drops to the mat.  He hops up and takes
another.  Repeat the process two more times, until the fifth and final
elbow smash takes the opponent down for good.]

# You can't judge a daughter by looking at the mother
You can't judge a book by looking at the cover #

[Now we are outside at what looks to be a huge event, as the stands are
completely packed.  Barbed wire surrounds the ring as Riley circles an
opponent that is about his height, also wearing dark tights, but is in
better shape and has dark hair.  The scene quickly cuts to Riley
knocking off a suited manager from the apron with the referee out, then
ducking a chairshot from his opponent, driving a knee into his stomach,
and DDT'ing him into the fallen chair.]

# Come on, can't you see?
No, you can't judge me #

[Riley covers while the groggy referee counts to three.  Though there is
no sound other than the Hank Jr. song, it's easy to tell that the fans
exploded into a huge pop upon the win.  Riley is handed a silver-plated
title belt, which he hoists into the air, blood running down his face.]

# I might look like a farmer but I'm a lover
You can't judge a book by looking at the cover #

[The frame freezes on the close-up of Riley holding the belt, as the
song fades out...

...and we come back to live action where "Superstar" Kevin Slater is
already inside the ring.  Melissa Cannon is holding the mic.]

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit.  Introducing first... in the corner to my right... from
Albuquerque, New Mexico... standing 5'10 and weighing in at 185
pounds... Jason Johnson!

[Mild reaction for the New Mexico native.]

MC:  And his opponent... he hails from Boston, Massachusetts... standing
6'4 and weighing in at 255 pounds... 

He is the "Superstar"...

KEVVVVINNNN SLLLLAAAAAAATER!

[Slater pulls down his sunglasses to the end of his nose as he looks out
at the jeering crowd.  With a smirk, he removes the glasses and the gold
chain hanging around his neck, handing them off to a ringside attendant
before turning back to the ring.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans, and thankfully, we're all alone out here for
this one.  Stevie Scott and his entourage have left us...

BW:  For now.

GM:  Unfortunately, you're probably right there.  But for the first time
tonight, we can really focus on the action inside the ring as
"Superstar" Kevin Slater takes on young Jason Johnson.  Slater defeated
Shane Taylor at No Escape in a performance that has put him in the Top
10 at #7 - and put him squarely in the sights of Pure X as he continues
to try to work his way through the entire Top 10.

[The bell rings as Kevin Slater eases towards his opponent, offering a
handshake to the youngster.]

GM:  I don't know about this one.

BW:  Oh come on, Gordo.  You're always harping on about sportsmanship. 
Why would you think Kevin Slater is less than genuine about this?

[Just as Johnson reaches his hand out, Slater buries a boot in his gut,
flashing a grin at the announce table before uncorking an elbow shot to
the side of the head, knocking Johnson back into the corner.]

GM:  Slater puts him in the corner...

[Holding Johnson by the hair, Slater throws his elbowsmash over and over
and over into the side of the young man's head.]


"TAYLOR!  OUTLAW!  THIS IS ON YOU!"


[He violently throws Johnson down to the mat by the hair.]

BW:  You heard him, Gordo.  This kid's blood is on Bobby Taylor's hands.

GM:  It seems like I've heard that before.  It didn't turn out so well
for Grant Stone, did it?  Perhaps Kevin Slater should be careful what he
wishes for.

BW:  A year ago, I'd agree with you.  But this is the Superstar, daddy. 
He can handle anything that the Outlaw can dish out.

GM:  Perhaps we'll get our chance to see about that one.

[Slater stomps Johnson a few times on the mat before reaching down to
drag him up by the hair.  He yanks him up into a fireman's carry,
walking around the ring with the much smaller man across his
shoulders...

...and then tosses him over his head, bringing the back of Johnson's
neck down across a bent knee as Slater drops to a knee!]

GM:  Ohhh!  That Fireman's Neckbreaker is put to good use... dangerous
use too if you ask me.  Anything that attacks the neck could be a
career-threatening move.

BW:  Just ask Adam Rogers.

GM:  Very funny.

[With the rookie down on the mat, Slater hits the ropes, and snaps down
to the mat in a flash elbow drop across the chest.  He pushes up to a
knee, putting a single palm on his opponent as the ref drops down to
count.]

GM:  We've got one.  We've got two... and Slater breaks the pin himself.
 What a jerk!

[Dragging him off the mat again, Slater pops him with a European
uppercut before spinning him around, hooking him around the waist with
his arms, hoisting him into the air, and dumping him down on the mat in
a belly-to-back suplex.]

GM:  Nice execution on the suplex and as much of a jerk as Slater has
turned into as of late, you can not question his ability inside the
ring.  He's still the wrestler who beat Curtis Hansen and "Crimson" Joe
Reed for his two World Titles. 

BW:  That's right.  He's been in the ring with men like Casey James,
Tiger Claw, and so many others.  Slater is a big time player in the
world of wrestling.

GM:  And now he's heading up top... we know what's coming here, Bucky.

BW:  Get your cameras ready because we're about to make the highlight
reel!

[Slater is slow to climb the ropes, taking time to jaw with the fans as
he steps to the middle rope.  He looks out at the fans, shouting at a
few particularly vocal ones as he reaches the top...

...and then leaps from his perch, BURYING an elbow in the heart of the
young man.]

GM:  ELBOW!  Perfectly executed flying elbowdrop!  And you know - you
absolutely know - he could finish the match right here and now if he
wanted to.

BW:  Possibly but then he'd deprive these fans of seeing a former two
time World Champion in action.

GM:  That'd be a real shame.

[Popping back to his feet, Slater spreads his arms wide, waving for the
fans to react.  He gets showered with boos, something that seems to
amuse him as he reaches down to drag a limp Jason Johnson off the mat,
pulling him into a front facelock...]

GM:  Here it comes... this is despicable...

[Slater has one more "ARE YOU WATCHING, OUTLAW?" before he yanks Johnson
up into the air...

...and JAMS him skullfirst into the canvas with a Cattlebuster DDT!]

GM:  He spiked 'em with that!  The trademark move of Bobby Taylor that
he-

BW:  That he stole from John Wesley Hardin?  

GM:  That wasn't exactly what I was going to say, no.

[Slater flips Johnson onto his back, moving up to a knee, and placing a
single finger on the chest of the New Mexico rookie.]

GM:  One.  Two.  And three.


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


MC:  Here is your winner... Keeeeevin Slaaaaaater!

[The boos continue to pour down on the "Superstar" as he climbs back to
his feet, allowing the referee to raise his hand before he starts
walking towards the ropes.]

GM:  And we're going to be joined here by Kevin Slater here in just a
moment.  I'll be very interested to hear his thoughts on Pure X who will
be looking to take on the "Superstar" very soon.

[After a couple moments, Kevin Slater approaches, dabbing at his
forehead with a white towel as he rests an arm over Bucky Wilde's chubby
shoulders.]

GM:  Kevin Slater, another impressive victory and you have got to be
happy with how things are going for you lately after your big win over
Shane Taylor at No Escape.

[Slater finishes wiping his forehead, tossing the towel over Bucky's
shoulder.]

KS:  Here you go, Buck.  Put that one on eBay and buy yourself something
nice.  Gordon Myers... happy?  Happy you say?  Why would I be happy? 
Just because I beat up on some scrub tonight?  That should make me
happy?  Or maybe I should be happy because I took Bobby's punk brother
and gave him a reality check.  I beat the kid so bad, his whole outlook
on life changed.  

[Slater nods.]

KS:  I guess that might make me happy, Gordon.  But you know what really
will make me happy?

GM:  What's that?

KS:  I will be happy... heck, I'll be _thrilled_... the day that Bobby
Taylor decides to crawl out of the shadows and face me one on one inside
the ring, Gordon Myers.

BW:  Come on, Kev.  Do you really think that'll happen?

KS:  Oh, it'll happen, Bucky.  I guarantee it.  I don't care how long it
takes.  I don't care what I have to do.  I've insulted him.  Nothing. 
I'm using his own move... and using it far better than he _ever_ could
by the way.  Nothing.  I've beaten up his little brother.  Still
nothing.

What's it gonna take, Outlaw?  What do I need to do to get you in the
ring?

[Slater scratches his chin.]

KS:  Do I need to dig up that old fossil Hardin and slap him in the face
to get you fired up?  Maybe I need to run around calling myself the
Outlaw to draw you out... worked for you.  I might be able to drag Simon
out of whatever smack house he's in these days, dig the needle out of
his arm, and beat him within an inch of his life right before your eyes.
 Would that do it?  

Maybe I could go old school like the D-Back and go after your kid. 
Maybe that'd get you fired up enough to paint that yellow streak off
your back and get inside the ring with me.

[Slater shakes his head.]

KS:  Nah, it wouldn't.  And you know why?

You don't care about your friends.  You don't care about your family. 
You don't care about anything but yourself.

So, that's what it's going to take.  I need to get at you.  Your name. 
Your history.  Your legacy.  That's exactly what it's going to take to
draw you into the ring.

And that's exactly what I'm going to do.

[Slater starts to leave when Gordon stops him short.]

GM:  Wait a second.  What about Pure X?

[The "Superstar" turns around to look at Myers.]

KS:  Who?

[Slater shrugs his shoulders and walks away, leaving a cackling Bucky
Wilde behind.]

GM:  Who indeed.  And I'm betting Pure X will have something to say
about that later tonight.  He will be in action as well but for now,
let's go backstage where Jason Dane is standing by with Tin Can Rust!

[Shot cuts to Jason Dane, standing by with one-half of the AWA National
Tag Team champions, Tin Can Rust. Dressed in street clothes, Rust seems
to not have gotten over his match with Calisto Dufresne and Adrian
Freeman as he's visibily angry.]

JD: Jason Dane here backstage with Tin Can Rust. Can we get an update on
your tag team partner, City Jack?

[Rust looks down on Dane, still with a near-steaming expression.]

TCR: Jack's a tough man. He'll be back.

JD: Do you know when?

TCR: Dane, what's the point? I said he'd be back. Leave it at that.

[Jason Dane gets taken aback for a moment at Rust's snappy reply.]

JD: Well, I -

TCR: Dane, I came here for just one reason.

[Rust pauses, breathing hard as he's full of emotions as he looks to the
camera.]

TCR: Dufresne. Freeman.

[The Central City, KY native lets the men's name linger for a bit.]

TCR: You two... 

[Rust shakes his head as he takes in a breath.]

TCR: You all better know - and better know it well... WE will get our
revenge. 

[Rust stares into the camera for a moment more before turning back
towards Dane.]

TCR: That's me AND City Jack, Dane.

[With all he needed to say, Rust leaves Dane and exits off the shot.  We
fade back to the ring where Melissa Cannon is standing.]

MC: The following match is scheduled for one fall with a fifteen minute
time limit. Introducing first and already in the ring, hailing from
Mesquite, TX and weighing in at 193lbs... Bill Burgess!

[A bald man with a black mustache and a decent build wearing black
trunks raises his hand as he gets some cheers from the locals in the
crowd.]

GM: Local wrestler Bill Burgess making his AWA debut today and seems
he's brought along a cheering section with him.

BW: 'Bout the only cheering he'll get today once Pure X's done with him,
daddy.

[The electronic crackling from "The Thing I Hate" by Stabbing Westward
sounds over the PA, bringing the fans to boo.]

MC: And his opponent, from Pittsburgh, PA, weighing in at 227lbs...

PUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE X!

[The boos grow louder as the young technical savant Pure X enters the
WKIK Studios.]

GM: Quite a different reception for Pure X since the last time that he
wrestled in the WKIK Studios.

BW: Whether the fans like him or not, takes nothing away from what he's
done so far in AWA.

[Pure X, dressed in his usual ring gear, walks down to the ring. He
looks around to the jeering crowd, but X walks past unfazed. Once in the
ring, X stands in his corner, awaiting the bell.]


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM: Burgess in the center of the ring, waiting on X to get out of his
corner.

BW: Don't have to wait, bell rang - match is on.

GM: But Burgess is looking to keep it respectful and do the honorary
start.

[The crowd gives X grief as he remains in the corner. X looks around
briefly as Burgess holds his hand out in center. A good ten seconds go
by before Burgess again extends the hand.]

GM: We saw this at No Escape against Houston with X not wanting to make
the first move, but this isn't even that. Just a handshake.

[Pure X rolls his eyes before finally making his way to the center and
very quickly shaking hands before turning around and backing off.
Burgess, however, with the formalities done, charges at X.]

GM: Burgess going for the Burgess Blas- No! X sidestepped the spear
attempt.

BW: Gambled wrong there Gordo.

[Pure X looks on with a bit of snear at the attempted blindside before
clubbing the off-balanced Burgess in the back of the head with a
forearm. X then locks in a full nelson on Burgess.]

GM: Full Nelson applied by Pure X and - Oh! X muscled and slammed the
locked in head of Burgess into the top turnbuckle!

[Right soon after, Pure X lifts Burgess off the mat and sends him
overhead.]

GM: X hits that full nelson suplex he calls Pure Impact! X with the
bridge - one, two, three!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


MC: Ladies and gentlemen, your winner of the match... 
PURE X!


GM: Pure X wasting no time today as he put away Bill Burgess in short
order.

BW: It was over before it began, Gordo. X is on a roll and it'll be hard
to see who can stop him.

GM: Well, it'll be Kevin Slater's turn next as X tries to climb up the
rankings...

[The crowd boos - especially those Bill Burgess fans - as X holds his
hands up briefly before looking down at his former opponent. Pure X gets
to one knee and says something to Burgess, who's too busy clutching his
head to really take notice. X then makes his way out of the ring makes a
path to the broadcast area.] 

GM: Pure X, making his way towards the booth after another win here in
AWA.

[Pure X nods to both Myers and Wilde as the crowd begins to boo again.]

GM: You hear them, Pure X. You hear the fans here in the WKIK studios,
so what are your thoughts? What do you have to say to them?

[Pure X looks around, nodding, before leaning in to the mic.]

PX: Myers, these fans have a right to what they want. They paid their
ticket, so they can boo.

[The nearby crowd continues their jeering.]

PX: But let me say this -

[X lifts Myers' arm a bit for the mic before continuing.]

PX: I'm not the villain, people. I'm not the bad guy, the madman, the
puppetmaster, the insane monster, the evil mastermind. And likewise? I'm
not your all-American hero or champion of the people.

[The crowd continues to boo X based on his past recent comments towards
his No Escape opponent Ron Houston.]

PX: Let me just define this, once and for all. Let me define just who I
am.

[X pauses, looking around before taking the mic up again.]

PX: I'm Pure X. I'm a man who's lived and breathed this sport. Every
moment in my young life, so far back as I can remember, has been for
this sport.

[Some of the crowd simmers down as X continues.]

PX: All the time in the gym and the ring, all the training, the
sacrifice, the pouring over hold after hold, counter after counter to
try to learn as much as I can... That this, right here, is what I've
built my life around.

[Pure X pauses, shaking his head.]

PX: Above all else, my life is dedicated to showing that I'm the best at
what I do when I step in that ring. Not just being the most skilled or
most knowledgeable or being the best technical wrestler in the ring. No,
no! My life is to show that - from bell to bell - I'm the best WRESTLER
competing today. My ultimate goal in life is to show that I'm the best
WRESTLER to have ever competed.

[Some of the crowd boos again at X's claim, but less than before.]

PX: Myers, I know I come off strong. I know I may speak my mind more
than I should... But my desire to be the best sometimes...

[X nods.]

PX: Sometimes it gets the best of me. But that's who I am, ok? Take the
good with the bad. You want to see me in the ring, you got to tolerate
my lip. You want to see what you all saw at No Escape - making my
opponent tap out with no weapons, no blood spilled, no cages, no
cheating, and no injuries caused? You'll have to put up with me talking
it all up.

GM: Well, Pure X everyone -

[Pure X holds his hands up, stopping Myers.]

PX: Myers, if you will, I have one more thing to say. A couple moments
ago, before my match, I heard Kevin Slater. I heard HIM talking it up
about beating the brother of Bobby Taylor. About wanting to face Bobby
Taylor. Bobby Taylor this and Bobby Taylor that.

[X points to himself.]

PX: Slater, get this straight - this man right here talking is the only
person you should be wanting to face right now cause it's me, Pure X,
who's going to face you next. And unless you want to end up tapping the
mat, you better start focusing on ME and be prepared for all that I can
do in the ring.

[And with that, Pure X walks away.]

GM:  You heard the man.  Pure X is on the prowl and Kevin Slater is the
next man being hunted.  Fans, don't you dare go away cause we'll be
right back!

[The camera holds on the grinning Gordon Myers before fading to black.

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

"Have you ever dreamed of fame?"

[Cut a little closer.]

"Of glory?"

[A little closer.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Two young students are grappling on the canvas.]

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

You want to wrestle!"

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

...and then come back up to live action where Scorchin' Shane Taylor is
standing with Jason Dane.]

JD:  Welcome back, fans, and at this time, I've been joined by Shane
Taylor here backstage in the WKIK Studios.  Shane, you told the world
after No Escape that we would be seeing a change in you here tonight.

[Shane Taylor has a grin a mile wide on his face.  He runs a hand across
his closely groomed beard before tugging down his sunglasses just a hair
so we can see his eyes.  A cigarette is tucked behind his ear as he
speaks.]

ST:  Not a change, Jason... a return to form if you will.  You see, the
AWA has never seen Shane Taylor... the real Shane Taylor.  Like I said a
few weeks ago, you've seen me shake hands, kiss babies, and defend my
brother's honor so far...

JD:  Speaking of which, what about Kevin Slat-

ST:  Not interested.

JD:  Huh?

ST:  As far as I'm concerned, what goes on between Kev and my brother is
between them.  I'm not interested in it anymore.  I'm done with it.

JD:  Okay, so what's on your mind then?

ST:  Money.  Gold.  Prestige. 

JD:  Not asking for much, are you?

ST:  I'm askin' for what I'm do, son.  I've been in this business for a
while now and I've fought up and down the nation, tryin' to get someone
to give me my big break.

Tonight, I start makin' my own damn breaks.

[Taylor strides off camera leaving Jason Dane behind.]

JD:  Shane Taylor appears to have turned over a new leaf outside the
ring.  Let's see how that changes him INSIDE the ring.  Melissa, take it
away!

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

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit.  Introducing first, already in the ring at this time, from
Dallas, Texas... he weighs in at 205 pounds... Randy Tyler!

[A decent reaction for the hometown kid.]

MC:  And his opponent...

[The sounds of Donna Summer's "Hot Stuff" sounds out over the PA
system.]

MC:  From Phoenix, Arizona... weighing in at 220 pounds... 

"SCORCHIN' SHAAAAAAANE TAAAAAAAYLOR!

[Taylor emerges from the curtain, clad in a pair of long white tights
with "SCORCHIN" written across the back.  He sports kneepads and
elbowpads, both red in color.  He's also wearing a black shiny vest with
flames on the back.  The sunglasses are still in place as is the
cigarette.  He quickly climbs the ringsteps, removing the glasses and
setting them on the mat before stepping into the ring.]

GM:  Shane Taylor preparing for action and I'm not sure I'm going to
like what we see here tonight.  This young man seems to have had quite
the attitude change after the past few weeks.

BW:  This is almost like a debut for him.

GM:  In a way, I suppose it is.

[Tugging off his vest, he hands it to the ringside attendant before
waving his arm in a gesture to the referee to start up the match.]

GM:  There's the bell and here we go!

[Taylor dances out of the corner, circling around as Randy Tyler tries
to do the same.  The two men lunge at one another, wrapping up in a
collar and elbow...

...which Taylor exits by raking the eyes.]

GM:  And it doesn't take long for us to see exactly what this attitude
change is all about.

[Taylor ignores the reprimand from the referee, grabbing Tyler by the
back of the head and slamming his face into the top turnbuckle.  A few
right hands to the midsection double up Tyler, allowing Taylor to snap
mare him down to a seated position on the mat...

...which puts him as a prime target for Taylor to drop down to a knee,
smashing his elbow on the crown of Tyler's skull.  He throws him down to
the mat, quickly applying a cover for a two count.]

GM:  Two count only right there.  Taylor- ohh!  Hard right hand to the
jaw of the downed Tyler... another cover!  

BW:  You've gotta like the tenacity we're seeing here.  Wasting no time
in going for pin attempts.  

GM:  Still just a two count.

[Taylor climbs to his feet...

...and leaps straight up, driving a knee down into the chest.]

GM:  Another cover - one, two.. nope.  Randy Tyler is fighting hard to
stay off his shoulders right now.

[The Phoenix, Arizona native climbs to his feet, sneering at the referee
as he pulls Tyler up with two hands full of hair, throwing him towards
the ropes where Tyler falls chestfirst over the middle rope.  Taylor
approaches from behind, pushing Tyler's throat down onto the second
rope.]

GM:  Choke!  That's a blatant choke, referee!

[The referee starts counting as Taylor leans on the back of the neck,
pressing the air out of the rookie's body.  The count reaches four
before Taylor backs away, immediately charging to the far ropes before
rebounding back...]

BW:  This kid's got a lot of quickness, Gordo.

GM:  Certainly does.  Baseball slide under the ropes and- OHHH!

[The crowd reacts as Taylor baseball slides under the ropes, spins
around, and CRACKS Tyler in the jaw with an uppercut, knocking him back
down to his back inside the ring.]

GM:  What a right hand that was.

[Rolling back into the ring, he climbs to his feet, looking down at the
prone Tyler...

...and leaps into the air, jamming both feet down into the gut of
Tyler!]

GM:  Ohh!  Vicious move right there by Shane Taylor!

BW:  And this kid is quickly making us forget he even has an older
brother.

GM:  I don't know about that.

[Taylor reaches down, dragging Tyler off the mat by the hair again, and
snapping off a big knife-edge chop that sends him falling back into the
corner.  A few more chops connect before Taylor squares up and smashes
down with a Mongolian double chop.]

GM:  Double chop by Taylor... not a lot on those...

BW:  Tell that to Randy Tyler.

GM:  Good point.

[Dragging Tyler out of the corner to the middle of the ropes, Taylor
fires him across the ring, squaring up as Tyler rebounds...

...and leaps into the air, hooking Tyler around the throat, and DRIVING
him down with a hooking clothesline!]

GM:  Ohhh!  That oughta do it.  One.  Two.  And three.


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


MC:  Your winner of the match... 

SHAAAAANE TAAAAAAYLOR!

[Taylor rolls out of the lateral press, jerking his arm away from the
referee who tries to raise it.  He reaches into his boot, producing a
lighter as he pulls the cigarette between his lips and lights it up.]

GM:  And apparently enjoying a postmatch smoke.  Give me a break.

[The camera cuts away from the ring to reveal the announce position
where Stevie Scott and Ben Waterson have returned.]

GM:  And as you can see, fans, we have been rejoined once again by Ben
Waterson and the National Champion, Stevie Scott.  No sign of Gary
Bright though - conspicuous by his absence.

[Waterson chuckles.]

ATTSBW:  Don't you worry about the Gold Bomber, Gordo.  He saw a couple
of ladies hanging around our locker room that needed some special...
attention.  He'll be back out here later.

GM:  I see.

ATTSBW:  We could probably arrange that if you'd like, Gordo.

GM:  That's not what I- anyways, what are you doing back out here?  We
actually have some business to attend to right now... 

HSS:  You don't have a single thing to do until we tell you to.  And
right now, we're telling you that we're going to give these fans a very
special treat.

GM:  Is that so?

HSS:  It is.  Tell 'em, Ben.

ATTSBW:  Dallas, Texas... who wants to see this man, Stevie Scott, YOUR
National Champion...

[Dramatic pause.]

ATTSBW:  ...DEFEND THE TITLE TONIGHT?!

[There's a pretty big cheer for that one!]

ATTSBW:  That's what we thought.  And that's exactly what we're going to
do right now.  Get a referee out here!

[Mickey Meekly comes charging from the locker room area, taking his
place inside the ring, looking puzzled as Stevie Scott and Ben Waterson
approach the ring with a mic in hand.  Melissa Cannon starts to get up
but Waterson waves her off.]

ATTSBW:  Don't bother, toots.  I gots this.

[The two men climb the ringsteps before getting inside the squared
circle where Stevie hands the National Title over to the referee as
Waterson takes a center ring spot.]

ATTSBW:  Ladies and gentlemen... the following contest is scheduled for
one fall with a ONE HOUR TIME LIMIT!

[Big cheer!]

ATTSBW:  And it is for the AWA National Championship!

[More cheers!]

ATTSBW:  Introducing first... he is the AWA National Champion and YOUR
hero...

Ladies and gentlemen...

The Saturday Night Delight...

The Hotshot...

STEEEEEEEEEEEEEVIE SCOTT!

[The champ does a little dance around the ring, hips a-thrustin' all the
while to the jeers of the crowd.]

ATTSBW:  And his opponent... he is the #2 contender to the AWA National
Title...

[The crowd buzzes - no one REALLY expected a top contender to get a
shot.]

GM:  Wait a second... Number 2?  Isn't that-?

[Waterson continues.]

ATTSBW:  Hailing from... some place in another country... 

[He shrugs.]

ATTSBW:  RAPHAEL RHOOOOOOODES!

[The fans cheer at the idea of Rhodes/Scott... but quickly realize
what's going on.]

GM:  That's what I thought!  Raphael Rhodes is suspended, Bucky!

BW:  Oh, that's right.  Shucks.  I bet Ben forgot that.

GM:  I highly doubt that!

[Waterson looks around puzzled.]

ATTSBW:  Maybe he didn't hear me.  The challenger is...

RAPHAEL RHOOOOOOOODES!

[Of course, there's still no response.  Waterson shrugs.]

ATTSBW:  Well, I guess he doesn't want to fight the champ. 

[Stevie decides to speak up.]

HSS:  Can't blame him for that, can we?

[Waterson chuckles.]

ATTSBW:  I suppose not.  But this is a legally sanctioned match...


GM:  I doubt that.


ATTSBW:  ...so we need to have a winner and a loser.  So, Mr. Meekly...
if you would please ring the bell and start the ten count.

[You would expect the AWA's Senior Official to protest that...

...unfortunately this Senior Official's son had his nose busted by
Raphael Rhodes a few weeks ago.  So, he gladly calls for the bell and
starts a ten count as the fans jeer.]

GM:  This is a sham, Bucky.  A total disgrace.  Raphael Rhodes vs Stevie
Scott?  Sign me up to see that one but this is just a joke.  They're
just messing with our fans here tonight in Dallas.

[The count is swift... and the bell rings.]

ATTSBW:  Your winner of the match by a countout...

AND _STILL_ AWA NATIONAL CHAMPION...

"HOTSHOT"

STEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEVIE SCOTT!

[The crowd jeers as the Hotshot and Waterson trade high fives,
celebrating in the middle of the ring.]

GM:  Ridiculous.  Absolutely ridiculous.  Fans, we're going to take a
quick break and try to get these two out of the ring.  We'll be right
back.

[The camera holds on a shot of Stevie Scott, arms raised in victory as
we fade to black...

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

"Have you ever dreamed of fame?"

[Cut a little closer.]

"Of glory?"

[A little closer.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Two young students are grappling on the canvas.]

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

You want to wrestle!"

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

...and then back up to live action where Gordon and Bucky have been
joined at ringside by Waterson and Scott.]

GM: Welcome back to AWA Saturday Night, where it seems that the victory
celebration is still going.

ATTSBW: Why should it stop, Myers?  You know, Stevie and I were talking
during the break and decided that we're feeling generous at the moment.
So tonight, for one night only, we will bring back one of the most
successful, critically-acclaimed segments that professional wrestling
has ever seen.

[Stevie grins and slaps Gordon on the back.  Myers thinks for a moment,
and judging by the exasperated look on his face, he's figured it out.]

GM: Mr. Waterson...really...we don't have time for-

ATTSBW: We've got time for whatever we say we've got time for.  Gordon
Myers and the AWA, it is my pleasure to bring back to you the one, the
only...

STEVIE'S HOTSPOT!

[Stevie has already climbed into the ring with a microphone, smiling and
nodding to his manager.]

HSS: Thank you, Mr. Agent To The Stars Like Me.  It is indeed a treat to
bring back the Hotspot.  And let's get right down to business.

There is one little tiff in particular that has drawn my attention.  I'm
talking about the deal going on between Shane Destiny and Tumaffi.  What
I really want to do tonight is talk to one of those two competitors.
Preferably, the one who speaks better English.  So Shane Destiny...come
on down to the Hotspot!

[Shane Destiny walks from the entrance, dressed in a black suit with
powder blue shirt and black tie.  He calmly steps into the ring and
offers a hand to Stevie, who readily accepts.]

HSS: Now Shane, I have to ask you...Tumaffi is one big, fat individual.
What possessed you to go after him upon your arrival in the AWA?  Are
you getting to be as kooky as that Bailey character that I think you are
related to or something?

[Destiny smirks at the mention of Michelle Bailey.]

SD: Well, think of it this way... I've said Tumaffi was one giant myth
for a long time, right?  What better way to make an impact in the AWA
than prove what I've been saying?  Now, his legend of being unbeatable
is down the tubes, just like I'm sure his career will be now too.  And
the best part?  I took his money!  But, well... that means I need
something to do now, right?  Well, I had an idea... hear me out on this
one, okay?

[The crowd buzzes with anticipation.]

SD: Now, there's a lot going on, people throwing out challenges to your
title and whatnot.  Heck, you even just put down the #2 contender, and
what a punk he is.  Surely not championship caliber, to say the least. 
I mean, he doesn't even project himself as a champion, right?

[Stevie scoffs.  Yep.  That's what he does.]

HSS: Is that what he's ranked?  Really, I don't pay that much attention.

SD: And then there's other men like Juan Vasquez that want to present
themselves as a top contender... you've got a lot on your plate, Stevie!
 But let me make this offer to you, because I know you're a smart and
reasonable businessman.  Think about this on the marquee of a sold-out
arena... "'Hotshot' Stevie Scott... versus Shane Destiny."

[The crowd seems amazed.]

SD: Now, I'm not saying this would have to happen immediately... after
all, I would _only_ want to face Stevie Scott at his absolute best.  But
think it over, Stevie... clearly you're the top in the AWA, but you'd
get the chance to do what I did to Tumaffi.  You'd get the chance to be
the man who puts down a former two-time World champion!  And sure,
beating Adam Rogers is a big deal, but if you can beat Shane Destiny...
well, that's something altogether different.  You don't even have to
give me an answer right now!  You can think it over, Mr. Waterson can
crunch some numbers, we can discuss it over lunch... but just think...
"Stevie Scott beats the man who beat the man everyone else was scared
of!"  You'd be a _legend_, Stevie.

[Stevie holds Destiny's hopeful look for a moment, then cracks a smile.]

HSS: Shane Destiny...Stevie Scott.

A legend, you say?

Now, correct me here if I am wrong, Shane-o, but beating _you_ would
make _me_ a legend?

[Head shake.]

HSS: Not seeing it.

But since I like you for the most part, I'll give you the chance to
explain.  To sell me if you will on the match.  Obviously, you won your
match at No Escape but... well, let's face it... you beat some big,
overgrown Samoan piece of trash who-

[And cue the sound of thunder.]

GM:  Uh oh!

[Stevie Scott suddenly looks very nervous.  Shane Destiny doesn't look
too pleased either.]

GM:  You can hear these fans all the way out on Main Street, I bet! 
Stevie Scott and Shane Destiny have run their mouths and they may be
about to have their mouths shut permanently!

[The crowd ERUPTS as Tumaffi strides through the curtain, looks towards
the ring, slaps himself across the chest as he lets loose some god-awful
bellow...

...and heads straight for the ring with as much speed as his massive
body can manage.  He scales the ringsteps, going through the ropes into
the ring.]

GM:  TUMAFFI IS IN THE RING!

BW:  Get out of there, Stevie!

GM:  Tumaffi is in the ring with Stevie Scott AND Shane Destiny and they
both look like they just had big time second thoughts about this moment!

[Tumaffi stares across the ring at the two men...

...and then moves towards them!]

GM:  Here we go!  Here we go!

[Stevie Scott narrowly avoids the grasp of Tumaffi as he peels away,
allowing Shane Destiny to throw body blows from behind on the big
Samoan...

...who simply spins around, shoving Destiny back to the corner.]

GM:  Pure power by the big man...

[Moving in on Destiny, Tumaffi winds up...

...and DRILLS Destiny with a chop across the chest that very nearly
seems to cave in the sternum of the Las Vegas native.  Tumaffi grabs
Destiny by the wrist, firing him across the ring to the other corner.]

GM:  Oh my god... HERE!  COMES!  THE!  SPLAAAAAASH!

[The big running splash connects in the corner, smashing Shane Destiny
against the turnbuckles.  Tumaffi steps out of the corner, throwing out
another huge bellow as Destiny falls facefirst to the canvas.  The big
Samoan turns around...

...and finds himself face to face with the Gold Bomber!]

GM:  Whoa!  Gary Bright's back out here!

ATTSBW:  Of course he is!  Stevie was in trouble!

GM:  And listen to these fans!  You can bet they've been thinking about
this showdown for a while!

[But before any blows can be thrown, a sea of AWA officials hit the
ring, throwing themselves between the two massive bodies.  The crowd
roars with disappointment, jeering the officials who are trying to
prevent these two forces from going at one another...

...for now.]

GM:  The ring is overflowing with people trying to keep these two apart
but you've gotta think that there will be a time... there will be a
place... and at some point, Tumaffi and Gary Bright WILL collide when
there's no one to keep them apart!  Fans, we'll be right back!

[The camera holds on the full ring, Tumaffi and Bright still shouting
back and forth at one another as we fade to black.

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

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

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

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

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

JD & MS:  NOW WE CAN!

[A voiceover takes over - thank God.]

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

[Fade back to black...

...and then back up to live action where we now find Stevie Scott and
Ben Waterson standing inside the ring.  The Hotshot is still dressed for
action and is leaning against the ropes as Waterson paces, holding a
mic.]

ATTSBW: As we stand in the ring now, after a long and enjoyable night to
celebrate our victory at No Escape, I can only think of how successful
it has been.  Not that we would expect anything less, of course. 
Nothing but the finest for the AWA National Champion.

[Stevie nods, like Waterson is actually right.]

ATTSBW: And speaking of the finest, we've got that lined up for after
the show tonight.  The finest limousine awaiting us in the parking lot
with the finest Merlot and finest women of Dallas, Texas, ready to take
a ride on the Hotshot Express!

[This time, Stevie grins and takes the microphone from Waterson.]

HSS: Oh yes, Ben, it's about to be a wild ride on the Stevie Scott side
in the penthouse suite at the downtown Hilton in T-minus 60 minutes. 
But before we pack it up and leave, I think the people of the AWA need
to be reminded...just one more time...of the star power that has been
out here all night long.  In the form of myself, Ben, and Gary Bright,
that is.

Another successful title defense tonight makes three in three shows,
doesn't it?  Tell me, Ben, when is the last time that an AWA National
Champion defended his title so early and so often as I have?

ATTSBW: Hasn't happened.

HSS: Of course it hasn't.  Because no one..._no one_...in the AWA -
past, present, or future - can or will ever measure up to the Hotshot.

In fact, let's prove it one more time tonight before we head to the
biggest party of the night in Dallas, Texas.

[Curious pop, if there is such a thing.  Stevie holds up an index
finger.  His, of course.]

HSS: One minute.

That is all it will take for me to defeat ANYONE in the locker room that
wants to come out right now and step into the ring with the AWA National
Champion.

That is, if there's anyone left back there who even _can_.

Marcus Brou- no, he's gone.  Adam Rog- no, he's gone.  Sweet Daddy-

[Stevie starts laughing.]

HSS: Sorry.  Can't say that with a straight face.

One minute.  That's the challenge.

[The crowd boos the champion's arrogance, but there doesn't seem to be
anyone willing to accept Scott's challenge. However, just then...a voice
booms over the PA system...]

"THAT'S THE CHALLENGE?"

[...and the crowd erupts with cheers as Juan Vasquez steps through the
curtains! Vasquez is dressed in his usual white tracksuit with black
trim. His still healing face remains slightly bruised from his ring war
with Raphael Rhodes, with a small bandage stuck on the side of his
forehead. He remains at the top of the aisle, eying the group in the
ring warily. Juan gives them a little wave.] 

JV: Hey there, fellas.

[The mood inside the ring has soured considerably, as the look of shock
and anger on Waterson's and Scott's faces says it all.]

JV: So, the doctors told me to take it easy for a couple of weeks after
that cage match and I was gonna' let you have your little moment of
glory, guys...but when ya' imply that you're a bigger star than Juan
Vasquez...when ya' plan to throw the biggest party in all o' Dallas and
forget to invite the LIFE OF THE PARTY...

[There's a loud cheer for that...for whatever reason. Meanwhile, Juan
begins to make his way down to the ring.]

JV: ...when ya' tell the whole world that I can't survive for sixty
seconds with you?

[Juan climbs up onto the ring apron and steps through the ropes, as the
crowd begins to cheer even louder, anticipating the coming
confrontation.]

JV: I consider that an insult...

[Juan strides up to Scott, staring him face-to-face. And then he does
the unexpected. Treating Scott much like a small child, he lightly slaps
him on the cheek! Big shocked pop!]

JV: ...I consider that a slap in the face! 

[Scott's eyes flare up with anger, as Waterson tries to hold him back,
not wanting to escalate the situation. Juan 

JV: Now, as far as your challenge goes? You know me...

[He grins.]

JV: ...I just can't ever resist an open challenge! 

[And with that, Vasquez tosses his microphone aside and charges as
Waterson lets Stevie Scott go and the crowd explodes!]

GM:  And Bucky Wilde, this night, this so-called victory celebration
just got a lot more interesting!  Stevie Scott says he can beat anyone
in the locker room in sixty seconds and Juan Vasquez is gonna make him
prove it!

BW:  I'm not so sure... did Stevie really mean ANYONE?

GM:  That's what he said!  Should we roll back the tape?

[Referee Michael Meekly hits the ring in a hurry...

...and signals for the bell as a countdown clock appears in the bottom
right corner of the ring reading :60 and starts counting down.  Stevie
Scott lunges towards Vasquez, wrapping him up in a collar and elbow,
shoving him back into the ropes.]

GM:  Irish whip by the champ...

[The Hotshot sets, arm reared back for a big punch...

...but Vasquez drops down into a baseball slide, flying right through
the legs of Scott, popping up to his feet behind him, and popping him
across the face with another light slap as the clock hits :45.]

GM:  45 seconds to go!

[A furious Stevie Scott lunges at Vasquez again, desperately raking his
eyes before drilling him with a right hand across the side of the face
that knocks the LA native back against the ropes.  A second haymaker
follows as the Hotshot measures him...

...and races to the ropes, running parallel to the ropes Vasquez is
leaning against.]

GM:  Clothesli- ducked by Vasquez!

[With his back still to the champ, Vasquez blindly reaches back,
catching the turning Hotshot under the arm...

...and taking him down with a hiptoss as the clock reaches :22!  Big
cheer!]

GM:  HIPTOSS!  The clock is still ticking and we're almost under the 20
seconds mark.  If Stevie Scott is going to win this 60 second challenge,
he needs to come up with something and he needs to do it quickly.

[Scott scampers up to his feet, throwing himself at Vasquez in a tackle
that knocks him back to the corner.  He throws a few shoulder drives
into the midsection before grabbing the wrist again.]

GM:  Irish whip by Scott from corner to corner... look out!

[The National Champion stomps his foot a few times, waiting for Vasquez
to stagger out of the buckles...

...and lunges forward with what could be a match-ending Heatseeker.]

GM:  HEATSEEK-

[There's a huge cheer as Vasquez ducks under the thrown kick, smirking
as a shocked Stevie Scott turns around...

...and lightly slaps him across the face one more time as the clock hits
:03.]

GM:  THREE!  TWO!  ONE!  THAT'S IT!


"DING DING DING!"


MC:  Ladies and gentlemen... Stevie Scott has FAILED to defe-

[Reaching through the ropes, Stevie Scott snatches the mic away from
Melissa Cannon.]

HSS:  NO!  NO!  NO!  NO!  NOOOOOO!  This wasn't supposed to happen. 
This... this... we can't end the night like this!  This is OUR night,
damn it!

[The fans cheer the champ's temper tantrum.]

HSS:  Vasquez... you got lucky, punk.  Complete luck.  I... the
people... they want to see a rematch!  Another sixty seconds!  I almost
had you right there at the end and this time, I'll put you down for
sure.

[Vasquez grins at the champion's challenge, taking an offered mic from a
ringside attendant.]

JV:  No deal.

[The crowd cheers as Stevie Scott kicks the ropes in frustration,
pointing at Vasquez, calling him every name he can think of.]

JV:  No deal, champ.  Because I know these people don't want to see us
fight for a minute at a time all night long.

[More tantrum throwing across the ring.]

JV:  BUT!

[Ohhh?]

JV:  How about this?  Since you obviously couldn't get the job done in
one minute, I'll go one better with ya... nah, I'll go TEN better with
ya, champ.  

Ten minutes.  You've got ten minutes to beat me right here, right now,
in this ring.

[Big cheer!]

JV:  And let's raise the stakes.  If you can beat me in 10 minutes, I'll
NEVER ask for a shot at the National Title as long as you've got it
wrapped around your waist.

No Broussard, no Rogers, no Sudakov, no Sweet Daddy, no Houston...

...and no Vasquez.

[The crowd buzzes with concern.]

JV:  You pretty much would have run the table at that point, no?

[Stevie looks intrigued at the idea as Vasquez continues.]

JV:  BUT!

[There's that word again.]

JV:  If you don't beat me in ten minutes?

[Cheers!]

JV:  I get my shot at the title.  Whenever I want it.  Wherever I want
it.  However I want it.

[Big cheer!]

JV:  Whaddya say, champ?

[The Hotshot dips his head between the ropes, listening to the advice of
Ben Waterson.  After a couple moments, he straightens up, glaring across
the ring at Vasquez...

...and utters three magic words.]

HSS:  Let's do this.

[The crowd roars as both men toss aside their mics.  Referee Michael
Meekly stands in the middle of the ring, signalling for ten minutes to
be put on the clock...

...and then calls for the bell as the clock drops from 10:00 to 9:59.]

GM:  Here we go!

[The two competitors lunge at each other, coming together in a collar
and elbow tieup.  Stevie Scott doesn't waste a second in raking the eyes
of Vasquez to gain an early edge.  A forearm to the back of the head
causes Vasquez to fall forwards into the corner.  The Hotshot grabs a
handful of hair...

...and slams Vasquez' face into the top turnbuckle.]

GM:  Hard to the buckles... schoolboy!

[The Hotshot seizes the moment, pulling Vasquez down in a schoolboy
rollup.]

GM:  One!  Two!  Kickout at two.

[Both men scamper to their feet, trying to beat the other there...

...but the Hotshot gets up first, blasting Vasquez with a right hand to
the jaw.  As Vasquez falls back into the ropes, the Hotshot wraps his
hands around the throat of his opponent, choking the life out of him
against the ropes.]

GM:  Come on, ref.  Get in there and break that up!

[The count reaches four before the champion backs off, thrusting a
warning finger at Meekly before reaching down to grab the wrist of
Vasquez as the clock hits 9:19.]

GM:  The champ with a whip...

[The Hotshot charges towards him with a clothesline but Vasquez ducks
under it, the momentum carrying him towards the far ropes where he leaps
up to the middle rope, springing back...

...and DRILLING the Hotshot on the jaw with a dropkick!]

GM:  OHHHH!

BW:  This can't be happening.  Get him out of there, Ben!  

GM:  If he gets counted out, this match is over, Bucky.  And he'll have
to defend the gold against Vasquez down the road!

BW:  Are you serious?  Vasquez doesn't have to pin him?

GM:  Nope!  The Hotshot's got ten minutes to beat Vasquez or it's all
over.  He'll be defending that title against Juan Vasquez on any given
Saturday night!

[As the champ staggers back to his feet, Vasquez hooks in a side
headlock, taking the champion down to the mat.]

GM:  Nicely executed headlock takedown by Vasquez and-

[The crowd roars as Vasquez holds the headlock, miming looking at a
watch while tightening it up.]

GM:  Haha!  This is a good way to kill some time off that clock, Bucky!

BW:  That's not fair!  This isn't fair to Stevie!

[Vasquez holds the headlock in place, Stevie Scott flailing at him,
trying to break the hold.  He wraps his arms around the waist of
Vasquez, rolling him over to his shoulders...]

GM:  One!  Two!  Whoa!  I don't think Vasquez was ready for that one,
Bucky.

BW:  He almost got caught!

GM:  Eight and a half minutes on the clock.  Lots of time to get the job
done for the National Champion.

[Vasquez clinches down tighter on the headlock, squeezing the skull as
the Hotshot gets his legs underneath him, trying to get up to his feet. 
As soon as he gets his feet under him, he hoists Vasquez up off the
mat...

...and drops him down on the back of his head and neck with a
belly-to-back suplex!]

GM:  Big suplex!  Nicely done by the champion!

[The Hotshot immediately throws himself on top of Vasquez, reaching back
to hook a leg.]

GM:  One!  Two!  And another kickout!  

[The champion pushes up to his knees, throwing a hard right hand to the
jaw.  A second punch connects as well - and a third and fourth and fifth
and sixth before a wild-eyed Hotshot reaches down, hooking his hands
around the throat again.]

GM:  Referee, get in there!  That's a choke!

[Scott again breaks the choke at four.  The Hotshot climbs to his feet,
stomping down hard on the chest of the downed Vasquez.  A big leaping
kneedrop follows...

...and another lateral press, hooking the leg.]

GM:  One!  Two!  Still not enough for a three count.

[A fired-up Stevie Scott drags Vasquez up off the mat, hooking a front
facelock...

...and gets pulled down in an inside cradle!]

GM:  ONE!  TWO!  TH- WHOA!

BW:  Too close.  Way too close.

GM:  Vasquez nearly got the three count on the National Champion right
there.  He was a half count away from beating the champion live here on
WKIK on this special homecoming edition of Saturday Night Wrestling.

[The clock hits 7:30 as both men struggle to their feet, Scott catching
Vasquez with a knee to the gut as they rise.  The Hotshot hooks a front
facelock, slinging Vasquez' arm over his neck...

...and hoists him into the air, getting him horizontal to the canvas
before falling back down, smashing him facefirst to the canvas with a
front layout suplex!]

GM:  OHHHHH!

[The Hotshot rolls Vasquez to his back, reaching back to hook the leg.]

GM:  One!  Two!  Shoulder up!

[A few more right hands to the jaw by the Hotshot before getting to his
feet, hauling Vasquez up by the hair.  A knife-edge chop sends Vasquez
falling back into the corner.  Grabbing the hair again, the Hotshot
smashes his skull into the top turnbuckle a few times...

...and then uses the hair to throw Vasquez down to the mat, his head
smashing into the mat.]

GM:  Good grief!

BW:  Maybe that'll take that smirk off his face, Gordo.  

GM:  The Hotshot threw him down by the hair, his head snapping forward
in a whiplash-type motion.

[The champion backs to the corner, hopping up to the midbuckle...

...and then leaps off, dropping a leg down across the chest of Vasquez!]

GM:  Ohh!  Middle rope legdrop by the champion... another cover...

[The referee hits the mat twice before Vasquez shoots his shoulder off
the canvas again, getting more cheers from the crowd.  A frustrated
Hotshot hauls Vasquez off the mat by the hair again, flinging him
towards the corner.]

GM:  Ohh!  Big right hand by the Hotshot...

[Grabbing Vasquez by the wrist, Scott fires him from corner to corner. 
The champion stands in the corner for a moment, then charges across the
ring...

...and SMASHES facefirst into the buckles!]

GM:  OHHHH!  HE MOVED!

[A dazed Vasquez reaches back, grabbing Scott around the head and neck,
snapmaring him down to the mat into a seated position.  Vasquez quickly
moves to the corner before sprinting back across the ring...

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

GM:  OHHHH!  He'll be checking the front row for his teeth after that
one!  We're down to six minutes on the clock and for the first time in
this match, Juan Vasquez is fully on the offensive!

[The National Champion rolls under the ropes, clutching his jaw from the
impact.  The Agent To The Stars rushes to be by his side, kneeling down
next to his client...

...which gives Juan Vasquez the chance to grab the top rope,
slingshotting himself over the ropes into a crossbody on a shocked Ben
Waterson to the cheers of the crowd!]

BW:  What the-?  There's absolutely no call for that, Gordo!  None at
all!

GM:  I kinda enjoyed it.

BW:  I bet you did!  Ben Waterson is a legally licensed manager who has
every right to be at ringside to give advice to his client.  Juan
Vasquez just assaulted a man who is not a participant in this match and
he should be disqualified for it!

GM:  Highly unlikely in my opinion, Bucky.

[A smirking Vasquez regains his feet, dragging Stevie Scott off the
barely-padded concrete floor and fires him under the ropes into the
ring.  The Los Angeles native climbs up on the ring apron, stepping
through the ropes...

...which allows Ben Waterson to grab him by the leg still outside the
ring, preventing his advance.]

GM:  Hey!

BW:  He had this one coming, Gordo!  Absolutely had it coming!

GM:  That's your opinion but-

[The crowd groans as Stevie Scott lunges forward with a knee lift,
popping the trapped Vasquez under the chin.  With Vasquez still half-in,
half-out of the ring, the National Champion batters him with rights
hands before dragging him back inside the ring.]

GM:  Stevie Scott regains the edge in this one thanks to Ben Waterson's
interference out on the floor... 

[With Vasquez doubled up thanks to a boot to the gut, Scott hooks a
front facelock...

...and snaps off a swinging neckbreaker, flipping Vasquez to his
shoulders to attempt a pin.]

GM:  Another cover - we've got one... two... and th- shoulder up!

[The National Champion pushes up to his knees, his face covered in
frustration as he glares at Vasquez.  A shout of "Time?" to Waterson
gets the answer of 4:40.]

GM:  Four minutes and forty seconds remain, Bucky.  

BW:  Less than five minutes left to put away Juan Vasquez and to cement
himself... well, who will be left to challenge him?

GM:  I can think of a few names.

BW:  Bah.  Vasquez is it!  If Stevie wins this, he'll reign forever!

[Stevie batters Vasquez with a series of right hands on the canvas
before pushing back up to his feet.  A few hard stomps follow before
Stevie drops a knee across the chest...

...and then points to the corner.]

GM:  Uh oh!  The Hotshot's heading to the ropes!

BW:  He's gonna put this guy away right now, Gordo!  Forget about the
four and half minutes or whatever's left.

GM:  Four minutes, fifteen seconds to be exact.

[The National Champion walks all the way across the ring, looking back
at Juan Vasquez who is about half the distance away.  Grinning, Scott
steps outside the ring, putting one foot on the bottom rope as he starts
to climb.]

GM:  The champ is heading for the high rent district.  To the middle
rope... now to the top... 

[The Hotshot stands atop the ropes, arms raised as the fans jeer...

...and then leaps from the top rope, flying through the air, and DRIVING
his elbow down into the chest of the prone Vasquez!]

GM:  ELBOW!!  OFF THE TOP!!

BW:  That's it!  Ring the bell!

GM:  Stevie a little slow to cover... one!  Two!  THR- OHHHH!

[The Los Angeles native fires his shoulder off the mat just before the
three count falls to the cheers of the crowd and the total rage of
Stevie Scott and Ben Waterson.]

GM:  The champ can't believe it!  He thought he had Vasquez right there,
Bucky.

BW:  Didn't you?

GM:  Well, I knew it'd be very close.  That's for sure.

[The Hotshot drags himself back to his feet, kicking the ropes in
frustration as he backs to the corner...

...and stomps his foot on the canvas.]

GM:  Uh oh!

BW:  He's calling for the Heatseeker!  And if he hits that, you KNOW
it's over, Gordo!

GM:  Vasquez rolls to his stomach, trying to shake the cobwebs.  Stevie
Scott is stomping that foot... letting the whole world know what's
coming...

[As Vasquez staggers to his feet, the National Champion uncoils out of
the corner, lashing out with the superkick as the clock hits 3:15...]

GM:  HEATSEEK-

[The Los Angeles native ducks under the superkick attempt, spinning
around to step up on the thigh of the surprised National Champion,
lashing out with his own kick...

...RIGHT to the back of the Hotshot's skull!]

GM:  OHHHH!

BW:  ENZUGIRI!  HEADKICK BY VASQUEZ!

[Both men crumple to the canvas from the impact of the blow.  The crowd
roars, trying to get Vasquez back to his feet while Ben Waterson pleads
with Stevie Scott from outside the ring, trying to get him up.]

GM:  The headkick by Vasquez - and that turns the tide in this one. 
Vasquez pushes up to his knees...

[The fan favorite pumps a fist as he climbs to his feet, reaching down
to drag the champion off the mat.  Once to his feet, Vasquez hoists
Scott up in a fireman's carry...

...and shoves him up and over, bringing Scott crashing down gutfirst
across his own bent knee!]

GM:  OHHHHH!  GUTBUSTER BY VASQUEZ!

[With the Hotshot prone on his back, Vasquez hits the ropes, rebounding
back and hurling himself into a big time senton!]

GM:  Backsplash!  

BW:  Shades of Tommy Stephens!

[Vasquez flips over into a lateral press, reaching back to hook a leg.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR- OHHH!

[The National Champion fires a shoulder off the mat before the three
count can come down.  The crowd groans with disappointment as Vasquez
shakes his head, climbing back to his feet...

...and stomps Scott hard across the chest before leaping up with an
elbowdrop to the chest.  Vasquez scampers back to his feet, dropping
another quick elbow.  He's right back up, doing the same over and over
again.]

GM:  Elbow after elbow after elbow to the upper body of the Hotshot! 
Stevie Scott is taking a pounding at the hands of Juan Vasquez right
now, Bucky!

BW:  Get some help in there for Stevie!

[Vasquez drops one final elbow, attempting another cover.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR- AGAIN!  AGAIN HE GETS THE SHOULDER UP!  We're
down to two minutes left in this one!  Stevie Scott has 120 seconds left
to try to win this match or he's gonna have to defend the title against
Vasquez, Bucky!

BW:  Come on, Stevie!

[Vasquez climbs to his feet, dragging Stevie Scott up by the hair to his
knees...

...which is Ben Waterson's cue to climb up on the ring apron.  Vasquez
points him out to the official who quickly moves to intervene.]

GM:  Get him down from there!  He's got no busi- OHHHH!

[The crowd groans as Stevie Scott uses the momentary distraction to SLAM
his forearm up into the groin of Juan Vasquez!]

GM:  LOW BLOW!  STEVIE GOT THE LOW BLOW!

BW:  What?  I didn't see that!

GM:  Of course you didn't but it happened!  Stevie Scott with an illegal
low blow and we've got Juan Vasquez in serious trouble, down on a knee.

[With his opponent hurting, Stevie Scott climbs back to his feet,
nodding to the crowd...

...and steps forward, hooking a standing headscissors on Juan Vasquez.]

GM:  No!  Not the piledriver!  For the love of God, Stevie Scott - don't
you even think about it!  Don't you even think about going for that
piledriver again!

BW:  That's exactly what he's gonna do!  He's gonna put Juan Vasquez in
a hospital bed right next to Adam Rogers!  He's gonna break his damn
neck just like he did to Rogers!

GM:  Under 90 seconds!

[The Hotshot reaches down, hooking his arms around the waist of
Vasquez...

...who replies by standing straight up, holding onto Stevie's legs to
keep the champion draped over his shoulders.]

GM:  Oh my god!  Oh my god!  What a counter!

[Vasquez reaches back with his left arm, cradling the head of Stevie
Scott.]

GM:  CITY OF ANGELS!  HE'S GOT IT SET!

[The fan favorite runs out of the corner, ready to drive his opponent
down with the Air Raid Crash...

...but Stevie Scott goes right through it, pulling Vasquez down into a
sunset flip!]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE- OHHHH!  Vasquez got the shoulder up!  Barely! 
Just barely!  

BW:  I thought he had- listen to Waterson!

[Waterson is screaming "60 seconds!" over and over at the champion.]

GM:  Only sixty seconds to go!  Stevie Scott's gotta get him down in
under a minute if he wants to win this special ten minute challenge
match!  

[The champion, a sense of urgency in the air now, scampers to his feet
just as Vasquez does the same.  A boot to the gut by the Hotshot allows
him to quickly drags Vasquez down in an inside cradle.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR- NO!  NO!

[Scott slaps the mat in frustration but quickly gets up again, grabbing
the legs of Vasquez before he can get up, and flips over into a double
leg cradle.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE- NO!  Scott's giving it everything he's got but
he may not have enough!  We're down to just under forty seconds!  Just
under forty seconds to go!

[The National Champion gets up again, this time Vasquez getting up at
the same time.  The Hotshot throws a right hand that Vasquez blocks...

...then grabs Scott under the arm, turning him into a backslide!]

GM:  BACKSLIDE BY VASQUEZ!  ONE!!  TWO!   THRE- NO!  And this time it's
Stevie who gets the shoulder up in time!

BW:  Come on, Stevie!  Do something!

GM:  Juan Vasquez just needs to play beat the clock!  He's got about
thirty seconds left.  If he can survive, the ball's in his court!  He'll
get the title shot whenever and wherever he wants it!  

BW:  Don't forget however - whatever that means.

GM:  Both men to their feet again... right hand by Stevie... a second
right knocks Juan back to the ropes...

[Grabbing Vasquez by the wrist, the National Champion executes an Irish
whip, immediately getting ready for another Heatseeker attempt...

...but Vasquez hooks the ropes, preventing the rebound.  He grins at the
champion, pointing to a "wristwatch" as the clock hits :15.  A furious
Hotshot sprints towards him.]

GM:  Here comes Stev- OHHHHHHH!

[The crowd gasps as Vasquez sidesteps, HURLING Stevie through the ropes
and out to the floor!]

GM:  We're down to ten!  Nine!  Eight!  Seven!

[Out on the floor, a frantic Ben Waterson is shaking his client,
physically dragging him to his feet, shoving him back towards the ring
as the fans count along with Gordon Myers.]

GM:  FIVE!  FOUR!  THREE!  TWO!  ONE!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


[The crowd EXPLODES as a smirking Vasquez throws both arms into the air
in triumph.  Waterson lets go of Stevie Scott who slumps down to a knee,
glaring up inside the ring at a celebrating Vasquez.]

GM:  Vasquez wins!  Vasquez wins!

BW:  He did not!  He didn't beat Stevie!

GM:  He didn't have to!  Stevie had to beat him!  Stevie couldn't beat
him!  Fans, the champ could not beat Juan Vasquez!  The champ couldn't
beat him!  We're out of time!  We'll see you next time!  So long
everybody!

[And with a grinning Vasquez making the "I want the belt" gesture at
Stevie Scott...

...we fade to black.]