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American Wrestling Alliance
Proudly Presents
Independence Day

Live from FedEx Park
Memphis, Tennessee
July 4, 2010
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[As the sounds of the closing credits of "Good Times" are heard, we
slowly fade up to a slow-motion shot of the American flag blowing in the
breeze.  The voice of Gordon Myers is heard over the scene.]

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

[The shot of the flag fades to what is possibly a quite expensive
overhead aerial shot of FedEx Park in Memphis, Tennessee.  It looks
about like you would expect a college baseball stadium to look...

...except there's a friggin' wrestling ring somewhere around second base
surrounding by a sea of folding chairs that have been set up for special
"field level" seats as well as a bunch of portable metal bleachers that
have been constructed.  The crowd appears to be quite lively from the
overhead shot that is made even cooler by some of those big spotlight
thingies on the ground swirling about in the sky.

The voice of Gordon Myers is heard.]

GM:  Hello, fans, and welcome to Independence Day!

[The shot cuts to field level, panning through the screaming fans, many
clad in the shirts of their favorite AWA stars.  They are hootin' and
hollerin' and carrying on.

The panning shot shows no mats at ringside tonight - just a thin tarp to
cover up the dirt and grass.  A few ringside tables have been set up and
a camera cut shows us the announce table tonight where everyone's
favorite announce team is standing.]

GM:  We are LIVE here on WKIK in Memphis, Tennessee for what promises to
be a huge night of action here tonight!  I am Gordon Myers and by my
side as always...

BW:  It is I - your two-time Announcer Of The Year and the straw that
stirs the AWA's drink, Buckthorn Wilde, daddy!

GM:  I thought only your mama calls you Buckthorn.

BW:  She's here tonight, Gordo!  I love ya, mama!

GM:  Well, that's quite touching.  But we've got serious business to
attend to here tonight, Bucky.  Two big title matches as-

BW:  As that stuffed shirt "Big" Jim Watkins tries to pull the wool over
the eyes of the greatest National Champion this company's ever seen,
"Hotshot" Stevie Scott.  He won't even tell 'im who he's facin' tonight,
Gordo!

GM:  That is the punishment for Stevie Scott and the Southern Syndicate
for their actions last week on Saturday Night Wrestling when they
brutally assaulted both Raphael and Simon Rhodes.  Of course, Raphael
Rhodes was scheduled to challenge for the National Title here tonight
but that's not going to-

BW:  It's not gonna happen because the Southern Syndicate is a team,
daddy!  And when a member of the team stops playing FOR the team and
starts playing for themselves, they get the boot.  

GM:  Apparently so.  So, Stevie Scott WILL defend the title tonight but
we don't know who he'll be facing yet.

BW:  A total miscarriage of justice.

GM:  The National Tag Team Titles will be on the line as well when The
Bishop Boys defend the gold against the number one contenders and their
long-time rivals, Rough N Ready!

BW:  Cooper and Somers finally get their shot at the gold.  But my
money's on an epic choke job, Gordo.

GM:  Plus, we've got that huge six man tag team match with Todd
Michaelson, Juan Vasquez, and the returning Marcus Broussard taking on a
makeshift Southern Syndicate squad of Brian Von Braun, Adrian Freeman,
and MAMMOTH Mizusawa - and don't forget that Ron Houston will be the
Special Enforcer for that one.

BW:  Who could forget that?  Houston'll be out here trying to stick his
nose into the Southern Syndicate's business and if he's not careful, he
might get that nose ripped clear off.

GM:  It'll be the first time that Marcus Broussard has been inside an
AWA ring in about nine months and you just have to wonder if Juan
Vasquez has his work cut out for him teaming with two men who haven't
had a regular wrestling schedule in quite some time.

BW:  Broussard's heart isn't in it and Michaelson's body isn't in it. 
Vasquez sure knows how to pick friends, don't he?

GM:  It'll be a No Countout match when Calisto Dufresne meets-

BW:  Defends the gold, daddy!

GM:  Well, the gold will be on the line but it's not an officially
sanctioned title, Bucky.  Dufresne will be taking on Soup Bone Samson
who continues to be cheated out of his payback for his good friend, City
Jack.

BW:  Waah, waah, waah.  Samson has gone on and on about what he's gonna
do to Dufresne but all I've seen is the Ladykiller outsmart and smack
him around at every turn.  And I've seen nothing that convinces me we'll
see anything different tonight.

GM:  Plus, Eric Preston versus Brent Maverick, Vernon Riley versus the
Mist Angel, Vladimir Velikov and Baron Von Klauss with an open
challenge, and-

BW:  And I've got Bobby Taylor on The Call Of The Wilde and this time,
he promised me he's actually gonna talk.

GM:  We've got all that and you just never know what else will happen
here tonight.  Fans, we've got Jason Dane and Mark Stegglet both back in
the locker room area here tonight to get words from all of tonight's
competitors.  Let's check in with them now!  Mark?

[Our shot changes to a shot of Mark Stegglet standing in front of a door
marked "VISITORS."  He's dressed in a white sport coat with a blue shirt
and a red tie.  So patriotic.]

MS:  Thanks, Gordon!  I'm back here by the Visitors Clubhouse and I'll
be here all night long to catch people coming in and out of here on
their way to and from the ring to get their thoughts on all the
goings-on.  It's gonna be an exciting night and I'm proud to be here in
Memphis to do my part.  Jason?

[We cut to the other side of the diamond to where Jason Dane in a more
traditional all black suit is standing in front of a sign reading
"HOME."]

JD:  Thank you, my friend.  And it is an honor for me as well to be here
for the AWA on the 4th of July to help our fans keep track of everything
going on here tonight.  It truly is a special night here for everyone
involved with the AWA.  Who can forget last year on the 4th of July
when-

[The gravely voice of Vladimir Velikov interrupts.]

VV:  Who can forget the 4th of July last year when the Russian people
were... how you say... robbed of our title?  Robbed of our glory?  Was
that what you were going to say, Comrade Dane?

[Velikov, Russian chain draped over his shoulders, steps into the frame
along with the German who is slowly rubbing his hands together.  Dane
suddenly looks uneasy.]

JD:  Uhh, well, not exactly.

VV:  No, I did not think so.  You were going to talk about the triumph
of the Americans.  You were going to talk about their titles... their
glory.  You were going to-

[Another voice rings out from off camera - with a slight accent.]

"Enough."

[All eyes follow the sound of the voice and eventually, the camera pans
as well to reveal an older man, bald but with a firm glare etched on his
face as he stands in a black suit.]

JD:  I'm sorry, sir, but this is an interview for the AWA and I don't
think you-

[Velikov's arm flies up, grabbing Dane by the collar.]

VV:  You fool!  Do you not know who this is?

[The man walks closer, joining the three already by the "HOME" sign.]

VV:  This is... Ivan Kostovich... they called him the-

[The person apparently known as Ivan Kostovich speaks up.]

IK:  The Soviet Terror.

[Velikov nods, eyes wide with disbelief.]

VV:  But... what are you doing here?

[Kostovich arches an eyebrow.]

IK:  Are you questioning me, Vladimir?

[Velikov quickly shakes his head.]

IK:  I thought as much.  I have been sent here by our government.

Because of you.

[Velikov looks nervous.]

IK:  You are an embarrassment, Vladimir.  As much of an embarrassment as
your nephew was last year on this day... you have surpassed him.  You
have become soft.  You have become weak.  You no longer exhibit the
qualties that a true Russian warrior must.

[The usually-arrogant Velikov is thrown off.]

VV:  But.. but... I don't understand!

[Kostovich raises a large hand.]

IK:  Of course you don't.  If you did, you wouldn't be standing in front
of me with...

[He eyes Von Klauss.]

IK:  ... this.

[Von Klauss raises his "claw" hand high, taking a step towards Kostovich
but Velikov holds his partner back.]

IK:  A wise decision.  Tell your pet that I am not someone he wishes to
engage physically, Vladimir.  Tell him that if he steps out of line
again, I will put him back there... firmly.

[Kostovich smiles a cruel smirk in the direction of Von Klauss...

...then turns to Velikov.]

IK:  You have been warned, Vladimir.  If things do not change - and
drastically - immediately, you will be returned back to Mother Russia on
a more... permanent... basis.

VV:  We will win tonight, Comrade.  You will not be disappointed.

[Kostovich slowly nods.]

IK:  I hope not... for your sake, Vladimir.

[And with that, Kostovich glares at Von Klauss for one long moment...

...and then turns away from him, walking out of view.  Von Klauss
struggles against Velikov's grip.]

VV:  Come!  We have a match to deal with!

[Velikov somehow settles down the Baron and the duo walk off camera
together.]

JD:  Ivan Kostovich - here in the AWA?  

[Dane shakes his head.]

JD:  This night is already going crazy.  Gordon, Bucky - back to you!

[We fade back to ringside where Gordon Myers is also shaking his head.]

GM:  Ivan Kostovich, no one will ever forget his days here in the
Mid-South Wrestling promotion here in Memphis, Bucky.

BW:  The man was a terror - one of the most awesome forces this region
ever saw.

GM:  And while he's obviously well past his wrestling years these days,
he very obviously has a reason for being here... and it's Vladimir
Velikov!

BW:  Well, Vladimir has been on a bit of a slide for about a year now. 
Don't forget, he was a part of one of the biggest matches in AWA history
two years ago and now?  Now he and Von Klauss are begging for a match
here tonight.

GM:  They're going to get one and I understand that they've-

[Suddenly, the Russian National Anthem barks out from over the PA system
- a sound that sends the Memphis crowd into a deafening shower of
jeers.]

GM:  Here they come now!

[The boos intensify as Vladimir Velikov and Baron Von Klauss emerge from
one of the dugouts, making their way out onto the field.  A ring
entrance aisle has been created by AWA security - metal barricades
lining a path from the home plate area to the ring.  Velikov carries his
usual Russian chain but he's talking up a storm to his partner as they
head down the aisle towards the ring, ignoring the jeering crowd.]

GM:  It looks like Mr. Velikov has plenty on his mind right now.  He's
really talking the ear off of Baron Von Klauss, Bucky.

BW:  He sure is.  And you can bet it's got everything to do with the
arrival in the AWA of Ivan Kostovich.  You know Kostovich is the first
athlete from the Soviet Union that I can ever remember in the world of
pro wrestling, Gordo.

GM:  He certainly was.  He debuted in 1978 and while he was only around
for 18 months his first time in, it was an eventful 18 months.  One of
the most hated men the city of Memphis has ever seen and-

[Suddenly, the jeers get even louder as Ivan Kostovich walks up the
dugout steps as well.  Several feet behind Velikov and Von Klauss, he
rubs his chin in thought as he heads towards the ring with them.]

GM:  And here he comes, speak of the devil, right along with them to the
ring.  These fans are really letting him have it.

[Upon reaching the ring, Velikov and Von Klauss step through the ropes
as Kostovich takes up a spot at ringside.  Velikov shouts at the
ringside timekeeper "WHO IS IT?  BRING THEM OUT!"

...and suddenly, a familiar song hits the PA sending a roar through the
crowd.]

# GENERALS GATHERED IN THEIR MASSEEEEESSSSSS! #

[Yes indeed, the unique voice of Ozzy Osbourne blares out as Black
Sabbath's "War Pigs" starts up with the beginning of the Ozzman's
vocals.]

# JUST LIKE WITCHES AT BLACK MASSEEEEEESSSSSSS! #

GM: IT LOOKS LIKE THE WAR PIGS ARE ANSWERING THE CALL, BUCKY!

[Indeed they are, Gordon, as the muscle-bound, face-painted,
mohawk-sporting, black-leather clad Hammer and Sabre appear through the
curtain, followed closely behind by their manager, Richard E. Lee,
wearing his usual silk shirt and sunglasses.]

GM: It's a homecoming of sorts, in fact, for the War Pigs' manager
Richard E. Lee, who had quite a run of success himself as one of the
Dixie Fireballs in Memphis-based Mid-South Wrestling throughout much of
the 1980's.

[Sabre raises both arms in the air, garnering another big pop from the
Memphis crowd, while Hammer points that menacing finger we always
reference toward Velikov and Von Klauss in the ring.  Lee smirks,
walking a pace behind the big men as they...for once...walk to the
announce table, because that's where the microphones are.  And that's
what Hammer gets a hold of.]

H: We hear someone's lookin' for a fight, Gordon!  That true?

[Hammer doesn't bother waiting for an answer to his rhetorical
question.]

H: Because I figure, if it's true, there's one of two things going on.

Either those old foreign fossils didn't realize that me and Sabre were
hangin' out in the back with nothin' to do...

...or they knew and were just too stupid to realize what an open
challenge means to the War Pigs!

[Hammer slams his right fist into his left hand, glaring at Velikov and
Von Klauss as Sabre steps up to the microphone held by Myers.]

S: WEELLLLLLLLLL, Gordon Myers, it's like this.  When we hear someone's
lookin' for a fight?  We don't have to think about it for more than a
millisecond.  Like we've said before, the War Pigs are ALWAYS lookin'
for a fight ourselves, and if these two bald goofballs are willing to
take what's sure to be the worst physical and quite possibly emotional
beating of their lives?

[Sabre shrugs.]

S: We'll certainly be glad to give it to 'em!

[No sooner does Sabre finish his sentence than do the Pigs dash to the
ring and slide underneath the bottom rope, just as quickly hopping back
to their feet and meeting the team of Velikov and Von Klauss in the
middle of the ring, exchanging punches and kicks with the foreign duo.]

GM:  Here we go!

[The bell rings at Mickey Meekly's signal as the crowd roars at the
brawl inside the ring.]

GM:  Hammer is... well, hammering on Vladimir Velikov, beating him back
into the corner!

[In the opposite corner, Baron Von Klauss sneaks an eyegouge into Sabre,
temporarily blinding him.  A sledge hammer forearm blow across the neck
knocks Sabre down to a knee.]

GM:  The German is beating down Sabre in the corner while Hammer is in
total control on Velikov.  

[A big wind-up from Hammer blasts Velikov across the jaw, knocking him
down to a seated position in the corner.  Turning around and spotting
his partner in trouble, Hammer rushes across the ring, blasting Von
Klauss across the neck with a double axehandle.]

GM:  Ohh!  Hammer saves Sabre from the German!

[Grabbing Von Klauss by the tights, Hammer sends him sailing through the
ropes to the floor.  Slapping his partner on the shoulder, they move
across the ring together to pull Velikov off the mat.]

GM:  Double whip from corner to corner...

[Hammer grabs Sabre by the arm, whipping him across into a clothesline
on Velikov.  Hammer follows up with a big running clothesline of his
own, staggering the Russian!]

GM:  Good grief!  What a doubleteam by the War Pigs!

[Outside the ring, Richard E Lee is shouting at his two powerhouses,
pointing his thumb to the sky.]

GM:  Lee's calling for the WMD!

[Hammer ducks down behind the staggered Velikov, hoisting the Russian up
into an electric chair lift as Sabre exits the ring, quickly scaling the
ropes...

...and leaping from him perch, hooking Velikov around the neck, and
driving the back of his skull into the mat with a reverse bulldog
headlock!]

GM:  WMD!!  THEY HIT IT ALL!!

[And with a disgusted look on his face, Ivan Kostovich walks away from
the ringside area as Sabre throws himself across Velikov, reaching back
to hook a leg as the referee dives to the mat.]

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

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

MC:  Here are your winner... Hammer and Sabre... THE WAAAAAR PIGS!

[Sabre climbs up off the downed Russian where he's quickly joined by
both Lee and Hammer, all three men raising their hands to a big reaction
from the crowd.]

GM:  The War Pigs are back and they are back in a big way, shooting
right up the ladder of contention towards the National Tag Team Titles. 
But will they be aiming at Rough N Ready or the Bishop Boys?  We'll find
out more on that later tonight.  But for now, we're going to take a
quick break and we'll be right back with more AWA action!

[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 Jason Dane in front of the HOME locker room once
again.]

JD: Ladies and gentlemen, my guest at this time was recently voted as #6
on the Top Ten list by you the fans, and in a few moments he'll try to
add a win over Brent Maverick to his resume`. Eric Preston, welcome to
Independence Day.

[Preston walks into the shot, dressed to wrestle in his dark blue trunks
and white boots, with a cut off AWA t-shirt on top. He looks focused and
ready to wrestle as he speaks with Jason.]

JD: Your match with Brent Maverick is a few short minutes away, Eric, do
you have any last minute thoughts?

EP: It's a great day to be wrestling in Memphis, Tennessee, Jason.
Memphis is a cradle of wrestling history, it's a cradle of American
history in general, and there's no doubt in my mind that tonight more
history is going to be made. 

JD: How important is this match to you right now?

EP: Oh buddy, it don't get more important than this right here. I feel
like my career is going up, and Brent Maverick wants his career to stay
there. It's just about two guys fighting it out to say they're the
better man, and to get the boost that comes with it, and as far as I'm
concerned that's what makes wrestling great. It's a great sport at it's
very heart, and it just so happens that the heart of wrestling lays in
places like where we are today.

[The Memphis crowd cheers at the mention.]

JD: It seems like James Monosso, however, is not too thrilled about you
getting on with your career here in the AWA.

EP: Y'know, I don't know what that guy wants anymore. Maybe he wants to
be a prophet, or a wise man, or someone whose opinion matters. But what
he is right now is someone who can't accept the fact that his life is in
the gutter, and he just wants to bring more people down with him. Misery
loves company, brother, and James Monosso is about as miserable as it
gets. 

JD: He keeps saying that he's not done with you though, and he seems as
if he wants to severely injure you.

EP: Well you know what they say, Jason, you can't always get what you
want, but if you try you might get what you need. I've proven time and
again that Eric Preston can take a lickin' and keep on tickin', and if
Monosso tries to get in my face again he's going to get exactly what he
needs -- my fist or my boot upside his head until he's knocked back into
reality. I'm movin' on, baby doll, to bigger and better things. To that
de-lux apartment in the sky. James Monosso was just a bump along the
way, and I'll remember what I learned from him. 

And I'll use it to beat Brent Maverick and take the next step. Gas is
up, and so's Eric Preston. Time to hit the pay window, baby.

[As Preston walks away, he pulls an imaginary cash register lever and
shouts "cha-ching".]

JD: To quote a very wise man, he's so money and he doesn't even know it.
 Now, let's go up to Melissa for the introductions for that one!

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

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

[The opening chords of an a slow-paced, Southern rock-style theme begins
to play over the stadium's PA system.  It's forceful, full of 70's-era
sounding electric guitars and piano, and incorporates "The Good, The
Bad, and The Ugly" theme into something more modern.  

Brent Maverick emerges from the back, and the fans cheer his arrival. 
He wears rust-red colored knee-length trunks with a small golden Arizona
Sun logo on the upper right-hand side.  His footwear of choice is
reddish brown leather 'western' style boots with an engraved eagle motif
along the front sides.  A reddish-brown leather vest and wrist tape
completes his attire. 

Maverick storms down the aisle towards the ring.  His eyes lock on the
ring and do not waver, as he bee-lines for ringside at a pretty good
clip.]

MC:  From Tucson, Arizona... weighing in at 240 pounds... 

BRENNNNNT MAAAAAVERICK!

[Maverick slides underneath the bottom rope, moving like a torpedo.  He
hops up, removes his vest, and being pacing like the proverbial caged
animal.]

GM:  Brent Maverick looks like a man ready for action, Bucky.

BW:  Well, the Top Ten rankings came out last weekend and Maverick was
nowhere to be seen.  Don't you think that puts a burr under his saddle,
Gordo?

GM:  I'm sure it does.  And his opponent tonight is well-ranked so
Maverick just might find himself cracking into that Top Ten if he scores
a victory here tonight.

[The camera stays on Melissa as she continues.]

MC:  And his opponent...

[Audioslave's "Show Me How To Live" starts up to a huge cheer from the
Memphis crowd.]

MC: From Greenvile, South Carolina... weighing 248 pounds... 

ERIC PREEESSTTOOOOOOONNNN!!

[Eric Preston trots through the the curtains, holding his hands up to
acknowledge the crowd, and then zig zags down the aisle, slapping hands
and exchanging war whoops. The chiseled Preston is in his customary
purple tights with the orange and white waistband, and white boots with
orange and purple stripes around the top. His wrists are heavily wrapped
in white athletic tape, and as he climbs into the ring he lets the
officials check him out, before loosening up his shoulders in the
corner.]

GM:  This should be an outstanding matchup between two top flight
competitors, Bucky.  And don't forget, this all started because both of
these men were looking for competition.  Eric Preston decided to move on
from James Monosso and wanted a challenge here tonight.  Brent Maverick
laid down an Open Challenge for here tonight.  Big Jim Watkins played
"let's hook 'em up" and off we go.

[The two men move towards one another in the middle of the ring as the
referee calls for the bell...

...and Maverick rushes forward, landing a looping forearm to the back of
the neck!]

GM:  Ohh, look at that!

BW:  Don't make any mistakes here, Gordo.  Maverick and Preston may be
playing nice but Maverick plays rough.  He's not going to pussyfoot
around Eric Preston.  He's gonna kick the kid in the teeth and see if he
can crack the Top Ten.

[A boot to the gut follows the forearm, doubling up Preston.  Two more
sledgehammer-like forearms smashes connect, knocking Preston down to a
knee.]

GM:  A very physical assault by Maverick to start this one off.

[Grabbing a handful of hair, Maverick slams Preston's skull into the top
turnbuckle.]

GM:  Ohh!  Facefirst to the buckles!

[Spinning him around in the corner, Maverick delivers a hooking blow to
the gut.  A second one follows despite the referee's protests.  Maverick
reaches up, grabbing two hands full of hair, and crushes Preston with a
headbutt that knocks him back into the corner again.]

GM:  I'm a little bit surprised by the ferocity on display by Brent
Maverick in the early moments of this one.  He's just battering Preston
in the corner and-

[Preston, down on a knee from the headbutt, pushes back to his feet and
gets caught with a crowning elbowsmash to the top of the skull, knocking
him right back down.]

GM:  Good grief!  Nice elbow by Maverick!

[Reaching down, the Arizona native grabs Preston by the wrist,
attempting a whip...

...but Preston holds his ground, reversing it, and sending Maverick
CRASHING chestfirst into the corner!]

GM:  OHHH!  HARD HE GOES TO THE CORNER!!

BW:  Preston threw him so hard, he dropped down to his knees and
Maverick couldn't slow down a bit to cushion himself.  He went at full
speed into the turnbuckles, slamming his sternum right into them.  It's
a bad, bad way to hit the corner, daddy.

[A still-dazed Preston drags himself to his feet, nodding his head at
the cheering crowd and then pointing at Maverick who is using the ropes
to drag himself off the mat.]

GM:  Preston moving in...

[And winding waaaaaaay back...]


"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!"


GM:  Wooo!  What a chop, Bucky!


[Preston grabs Maverick by the hair, rocking him with a forearm smash on
the jaw that knocks Maverick down to a knee.  With the crowd roaring,
Preston looks around at the cheering fans before hauling Maverick back
to his feet.]

GM:  Both men back up once more... 

[Spinning Maverick around, Preston smashes his face into the buckles!]

GM:  Oho!  Payback's a son of a gun, Bucky.

BW:  Preston returning the favor a bit from earlier on in this one.

[Preston hauls Maverick up by the arm, twisting it into an armtwist, and
then hooking him by the elbow in an armbar.]

GM:  Armbar expertly applied by Preston!

BW:  It does look pretty nice.  Maybe Michaelson IS teaching them
something down there at the Combat Corner.

[The rookie steps on the back of Maverick's knee, forcing him down to a
kneeling position.  Preston stands over him, using his leverage
advantage to torque the arm.]

GM:  Preston's turning up the pressure on his opponent here tonight in
Memphis.  We talked about what a win for Maverick would mean to him and
his efforts to break into the Top Ten but... well, what does it mean for
Eric Preston?

BW:  Maverick's no slouch in there, Gordo.  He's part of a surefire Hall
of Fame tag team and as a single, while he's not top flight just yet, he
could certainly be on his way.  A win for Preston?  Number five?  Number
four?  Who knows?

[Preston adjusts his position as Maverick works his way back up to his
feet...

...where Preston twists the arm again, applying more torque to the limb.
 He grabs the twisted wrist with his left hand, smashing a forearm down
across the limb.]

GM:  A forearm to the arm!  Preston's trying to soften up that arm. 
Maybe he's hoping to take the Acey Deucy out of the equation, Bucky.

BW:  If he can't lift him up, he can't spike 'im down, Gordo.

GM:  Very true.

[The Combat Corner graduate twists the arm behind Maverick into a
hammerlock, pushing up on the wrist as the Tucson native.  With the
hammerlock applied, Preston rushes the corner, throwing Maverick
armfirst into the turnbuckles!]

GM:  OHHHHHH!

BW:  That'll do some damage to the shoulder.

GM:  And with each and every blow, it becomes more difficult for
Maverick to use that arm later in the match.

[Preston pulls Maverick up by the injured limb, flinging him towards the
ropes.]

GM:  Irish whip by Preston...

[Maverick ducks under a clothesline attempt, hitting the far ropes as
Preston rushes to the other side.  Both men rebound off, running towards
each other...

...and Preston drops down into a baseball slide, avoiding a running
punch from Maverick, popping to his feet.]

GM:  Maverick off the far side...

[And Preston deadleaps into a leapfrog, sending Maverick sailing under
him to the ropes once again.  Preston lands on his feet, facing away
from Maverick...

...and in one motion, he leaps up, spinning back towards Maverick and
DRILLING him with a dropkick on the chin!]

GM:  Ohh!  Dropkick on the button!

[Preston quickly applies a lateral press, reaching back for a leg.]

GM:  We've got one!  We've got two!  Maverick out at two with ease.

BW:  Did the kid really think he was going to get a three count off a
dropkick?

GM:  It's worth a shot, right?

[Preston claps his hands together as he gets up to his feet, reaching
down to pull Maverick back into the armbar...

...but Maverick replies with a haymaker to the midsection!]

GM:  Big shot to the breadbasket on Preston... and a big elbowsmash to
the back as well!  Maverick's trying to get something going here.  

[Hooking a loose side headlock, Maverick slams his fist into Preston's
skull.]

GM:  Ohh!  Big right hand to the head.

[Maverick tightens up on the side headlock but not enough as Preston
hurls him off into the ropes.]

GM:  Into the ropes goes the cowboy...

[Maverick's rebound keeps going as Preston leapfrogs over him.  The
Arizona native hits the far side, coming back, and getting avoided again
with another leapfrog.]

GM:  A pair of leapfrogs from Eric Preston...

[And this time, when Maverick rebounds, Preston goes to hook him for a
hiptoss.]

GM:  Hiptoss takeov- no, it's blocked!

[Preston attempts the hiptoss again but gets nothing.  With his left
hand, he throws a blow to the gut, doubling up Maverick.  Preston hooks
his right leg on the back of Maverick's neck, using it to backflip over,
landing on his feet...

...where he promptly finally gets Maverick over with a hiptoss!]

GM:  Haha!  And if you're an Eric Preston fan, you've gotta like what
we're seeing.

[Preston pumps a fist to the cheers of the crowd as he drags Maverick up
again.]

GM:  Another whip by Preston... backdro-

[But with Preston telegraphing the backdrop, Maverick stops short,
hooking a front facelock...

...and snapping Preston down to the mat with a swinging neckbreaker!]

GM:  OHHHH!  A beautiful counter out of nowhere by Brent Maverick!

[Maverick sits up on the canvas, breathing heavily as he looks out at
the partially cheering crowd.]

GM:  These fans seem to be pretty evenly split between Preston and
Maverick, Bucky.

BW:  Not that I care but these are two of the most popular men in the
company.  The fans are going to be solidly behind both of them, I'd
imagine.

GM:  Maverick pushing himself back to his feet...

[Falling back into the ropes, Maverick measures him...

...and then takes a few steps away from the ropes before dropping his
leg down on the back of Preston's neck!]

GM:  Ohh!

BW:  And right away, you see Maverick go after the neck.  He's showing
off his veteran instincts there.  As soon as you get the edge, you go
for what'll get you the winners purse, daddy.  For Maverick, he's gotta
go for the neck to set up Acey Deucy.  For Preston... well, he's got the
fishermanbuster as well as the top rope cross body.  And neither of
those go after the arm so you have to wonder if he's suffering bad
strategy.

GM:  Maverick's back to his feet... shouting at Preston to get up...

BW:  I like this side of Brent Maverick.  He's not the babykisser these
idiots in the crowd think that he is.  Maverick's got a dark side just
waiting to pop free.

[Preston gets hauled to his feet by the hair and creamed with a haymaker
that knocks him back into the corner.  Maverick quickly grabs the arm,
firing Preston chestfirst into the corner...

...and Maverick stampedes across, connecting with a clothesline to the
back of the neck!]

GM:  OHHH!  What a shot!

[Maverick grabs the staggered Preston by the hair, slamming him
backwards and down to the mat before applying a cover of his own.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  

[Preston fires the shoulder up at two...

...and Maverick promptly grabs him by the hair, peppering him with right
hands to the skull.]

GM:  Come on, ref!

[The ref steps in, counting to four before Maverick ceases in delivering
the closed fist blows.  Trading words with the official, Maverick hauls
Preston up to his feet.]

GM:  Big whip by Maverick... Preston off the far side...

[And as Preston quickly bounces back, Maverick buries a right hand into
the midsection - a blow that sends Preston stumbling across the ring
where he falls through the ropes and out to the floor.]

GM:  Ohhh!  Out to the floor goes Preston!

BW:  And he hit pretty hard out there.  It's grass and dirt underneath
that thin mat, Gordo.  You can ask any center fielder ever how it feels
to make a diving catch and then realize Preston just did that from about
eight feet high instead of two or three.

GM:  It was certainly a hard fall... and it looks like Brent Maverick's
coming out here after him.

[But before Maverick can exit the ring, the crowd begins to buzz.]

GM:  Oh, wait a second here... this can't be good, Bucky.

[The source of the crowd's buzz is made evident as the camera cuts to
the aisleway where James Monosso is walking down the aisle towards the
ring.  Spotting the madman, Maverick points him out from the ring,
shouting to the official.]

GM:  Brent Maverick is letting the referee know that Monosso is coming
out here.  James Monosso who defeated Eric Preston at Memorial Day
Mayhem has made it clear that he's not done with young Preston even
though Preston is trying to move on with his career.

BW:  Smart kid.  I wouldn't want to get tied up for years with Monosso
either.

GM:  Years?

BW:  You've talked to Monosso.  He strike you as the "forgive and
forget" type?  If you get into a blood feud with him, he might not let
you move on for years.

GM:  Good point.

[As Monosso slowly approaches, it seems to dissuade Maverick from his
original idea of following Preston out to the floor.  The Arizona native
balls up his fist, waiting for Monosso to arrive... just in case.]

GM:  Maverick's ready for a fight if Monosso's coming for him but
somehow I don't think that's the idea, Bucky.

BW:  You never know.  Monosso might be steamed at Maverick for taking
his opponent... for taking his chance to beat up on Preston.  That
sounds just logical enough for Monosso to buy into.

[With the madman at ringside, Maverick spots Preston pulling himself up
onto the apron and greets him with a haymaker.  Preston hangs on to the
top rope, trying to stay standing.]

GM:  Preston's trying to- ohh!  Another haymaker from Maverick!

[The referee steps in, backing off Maverick as Preston's arms hang over
the top rope...

...which allows Monosso to grab Preston by the ankle, yanking his leg
back so that Preston's face SMASHES into the ring apron as he plummets
down to the floor!]

GM:  OHHH!

BW:  Hehehe... I like his spirit, Gordo.

GM:  His spirit?  The guy is a lunatic!

[The referee turns around, questioning Monosso as he spots Preston on
the floor.  Maverick, hands on hips, is glaring at Monosso as well.]

GM:  Did Brent Maverick see that happen?

BW:  I'm not sure.  He could've been screened out from it by the
referee.  For all he knows, Preston might've come down with a case of
the clumsies and fell off the apron!

GM:  Not likely.

[Maverick approaches the ropes again, leaning over them to pull Preston
off the floor and up onto the apron.  Preston raises a hand to check his
mouth for damage as Maverick throws Preston's left arm over his neck,
reaching over to hoist him up and bring him back into the ring with a
crashing vertical suplex!]

GM:  Ohhh!  Big time suplex by Maverick!  Floats over into a cover -
that might be it!

[The referee dives down to count.]

GM:  We've got one!  We've got two!  We've got- just a two count there.

[As Maverick pushes out of the press, both of Preston's hands
immediately shoot up to his mouth.  Maverick, kneeling on the canvas,
again turns to glare at Monosso who is pacing back and forth at ringside
like a caged animal.]

GM:  Maverick pushing up to his feet, bringing up Preston now as well...

[Maverick grabs the arm of the young lion, going for a whip...

...but Preston reverses it, sending Maverick into the ropes instead.  As
the Tucson native rebounds, he ducks under a sloppy clothesline attempt
from Preston, dropping down into a baseball slide...]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[...and DRIVING both feet squarely in the mush of James Monosso!]

GM:  HE HIT MONOSSO!

BW:  Well, that was stupid.  Monosso might've actually helped him WIN
this match, Gordo.

GM:  Perhaps.  But maybe Brent Maverick doesn't want a win that way.

BW:  A win's a win, daddy!

GM:  Your motto may not hold true for these two men.

[Maverick smirks at the downed Monosso as he regains his feet, turning
back towards Preston who has spotted Monosso for the first time, looking
a bit surprised.]

GM:  Preston is thanking Maverick for- ohh!  Maverick suckerpunched him!

[The Arizona native goes quickly on the attack again, delivering a hard
series of punches that backs Preston into the corner.  With a whip,
Maverick fires Preston across the ring, charging after him...

...but Preston leaps up to the middle rope, blindly leaping back with a
twisting cross body!]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR- OHHHH!

[The crowd deflates at the near fall from Preston who desperately holds
up three fingers at the official who shakes him off.]

GM:  Eric Preston was a half a count away from winning this right there.
 He caught Maverick by surprise with that counter and he almost stole
this one right away from the veteran.

[And this time, it's Preston with a series of right hands on Maverick,
knocking him across the ring to the far set of ropes.]

GM:  Whip by Preston and- ohh!

[The crowd roars with disapproval as Maverick falls to the canvas,
victim of a trip by Monosso who was out on the floor...

...and this time, it's Preston who charges across the ring, grabbing the
top rope.]

GM:  What's he-  OHHHHHHHH!

[The crowd gasps as Preston slingshots himself over the ropes, crashing
down on top of Monosso with a body press!]

GM:  HE WIPED OUT MONOSSO!


"TEN MINUTES HAVE EXPIRED!!  FIVE MINUTES REMAIN!!"


[Preston fires off a few right hands as he gets off the downed Monosso
to the cheers of the crowd before heading back towards the ring.]

GM:  Preston's back up on the apron...

[Where Maverick is waiting with a right hand.  And a second.  And a
third.  But Preston ducks down before a fourth, driving his shoulder
forward into the midsection of Maverick.  Straightening up, he
slingshots over the top rope, taking Maverick down in a sunset flip.]

GM:  SUNSET FLIP FOR ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE- OHHHHH!

[The crowd roars again - this time as Maverick fires a shoulder up just
before the three count.]

GM:  What a battle these two men are having!  

BW:  We're down under five minutes left in the time limit and you can
really feel an increase in the sense of urgency from both of these guys
right now.  They want this win badly.

GM:  But the emergence of James Monosso has really played a part in the
last few minutes of this match.  Both of these men are having to watch
out for him and that's taking their focus off of each other.

[Preston hauls Maverick up again, this time hooking a front facelock.]

GM:  He's going for it!

BW:  If he hits the fishermanbuster, that should do it!

[The rookie reaches back, hooking Maverick's left leg in a cradle.]

GM:  He's got him hooked!  Can he get Maverick up for it?

[But before we can find out, Monosso is up...

...and this time he's on the ring apron!]

GM:  Monosso's on the apron!

[Preston shoves Maverick aside, moving in with a big right hand on
Monosso.]

GM:  Ohh!  What a shot by Preston!

[The crowd roars for Preston as the young lion tees off on Monosso,
throwing haymaker after haymaker at the madman's skull.]

GM:  Wait a second!

[The decibel level somehow rises as Brent Maverick walks over, joining
Preston in pummeling Monosso over and over and over.]

GM:  They're both trying to take him out of the picture!

BW:  This is unbelievable!  I can't even-

[At a word from Maverick, both men dash to the ropes together,
rebounding off towards the stunned Monosso...

...and CONNECT with a pair of running double axehandles to the face!]

GM:  WHAT A SHOT!!  THEY BOTH DRILLED THE BIG MAN!!

[The blow sends Monosso falling down to a knee on the ring apron.]

GM:  They took him down and-

[With Monosso temporarily stunned, Preston throws himself into a
schoolboy rollup on Maverick!]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR- 

[But Maverick again fires the shoulder off the mat at two.]

GM:  Preston got fooled the last time he let up to thank Maverick for
helping him with Monosso but this time, it was Preston who stayed on the
attack and almost got a three count for it.

[Preston is obviously a bit frustrated as he gets up, slapping his hands
together.  He reaches down, hauling Maverick off the mat by the hair.  A
well-placed right hand knocks Maverick back into the corner.  The crowd
roars as Preston leaps up to the middle rope, holding up a fist to even
more cheers...

...and lets loose a barrage of blows to the skull.]


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


"THREE MINUTES REMAIN!!  THREE MINUT-"

"DING!"


[But Melissa's words are cut off because just as Preston hops down off
the buckles, turning around...

...he gets CREAMED by James Monosso who is clutching the metal ringbell
in his hand - the source of the "DING!"]

GM:  OHHH!  HE HIT HIM!!  HE HIT HIM WITH THE BELL!!

[The referee frantically signals for the bell...

...but Monosso's holding it in his hand.  The referee immediately
protests, trying to get the bell from Monosso who is now standing over
Preston, staring down at his motionless frame.]

GM:  He knocked him flat!  Heck, he may have knocked him OUT, Bucky!

BW:  I think he did!  Preston hasn't even budged since that bell hit him
right between the eyes!  James Monosso wanted a shot at Eric Preston
tonight and boy, did he ever just take it!

GM:  The referee is over here by us... I'm sure this match has been
stopped.

[The referee speaks to Melissa for a moment.]

MC:  The referee has stopped the match and has DISQUALIFIED Brent
Maverick for outside interference.  Therefore, your winner of the
match...

ERRRRRIC PRESSSSTON!

[The crowd roars for the decision...

...but Monosso isn't pleased, immediately charging towards the referee,
still holding the ringbell.  The referee dives from the ring and just
narrowly avoids the bell which is hurled in his direction.]

GM:  Whoa!  Look out!  That'll cost 'im!

[Monosso is screaming inside the ring, yanking at his own hair at what
he just heard.  After a moment, he steps from the ring to the apron and
starts pursuing the referee.]

GM:  He's going after the ref!  Get out of here, Mr. Meekly!

[And the official does exactly that, running for his life up the aisle
with a stalking James Monosso in hot pursuit.]

GM:  Wow.  What a match.  Eric Preston is your winner by
disqualification and I'm sure he won't be any happier with that news
than either Brent Maverick or James Monosso is.  

BW:  I'd actually like to see a rematch on this one, Gordo.

GM:  As would I.  Let's hope the Championship Committee can make it
happen.  Fans, we need to take a quick break but we'll be right back
with more of this 4th of July extravaganza!

[Fade to black.

And then quickly back up on a shot of the AWA logo.  A voiceover
begins.]

"Fans, it's that time of year again!  As the AWA hits the summer months,
we're going on the road!  No longer staying in the Lone Star State, the
months of July, August, and September are your chances to see
the AWA all over the Southern states!

That's right!  You heard me right!

[A scrolling list of dates and cities appears as the voiceover reads
along with it.]

July 17th - Charlotte, North Carolina
July 31st - Charleston, South Carolina
August 14th - Atlanta, Georgia
August 28th - Mobile, Alabama
September 6th - New Orleans, Louisiana

Get your tickets now by calling your local ticket outlet or by visiting
AWAShop.com!"

[We fade out of the commercial...

...and then back up to live action where we find The Prince of Darkness,
Anton Layton, standing in front of the "VISITORS" sign alongside his
"apprentice" Gino Moretti.  Layton is clad in a silky black cloak with a
hood that hangs partially over his face.  From the part of his face
peeking out, we can see smears of black facepaint.  Moretti's face is
completely covered in the stuff.  It's not a good paintjob either - just
streaked all over the place.  Weird.  Mark Stegglet is standing between
the men, looking a bit nervous about it.]

MS:  Welcome ba-

[Stegglet's cut off by Layton spewing out some gibberish from behind the
hood.]

MS:  Uhhh, Mr. Layton, do you have somethin-

AL:  He speaks!

MS:  Well, yes, I-

[Layton rips his hood back, his eyes rolled back in his head as he grabs
Dane by the tie.]

AL:  Not you, you moronic imbecile.  He.  The Master.  He speaks.

[Stegglet is all flustered now.]

MS:  What... uhh... what's he saying?

AL:  He says that the time is upon us.  He says that the clock has
struck midnight and as darkness falls, so does the soul of Vernon Riley.
 And when Riley's soul falls, his body is sure to follow.  Tonight,
Working Man... tonight, the Mist comes to claim you as it once did so
long ago.  Ehehehehehehe.

[Layton's unsettling laugh makes Stegglet try to back away but he's
completely unsuccessful as Layton hangs on to his tie.  Stegglet looks
pleadingly at Moretti who simply stands still with his head bowed.]

AL:  AND YOU!!

[He releases the tie, reaching out to slap Moretti across the chest.]

AL:  He calls to you too, child.  The Master calls you forth to pay
tribute to him... to do what he needs... and tonight?  Tonight, he needs
the blood of a local.  He needs someone from this filth-infested blight
known as Memphis to burn.

And he needs you to do it.

[Moretti nods his head rapidly, cocking his head back and forth as if
he's trying to hear the voices that Layton is apparently hearing. 
Layton thrusts his arm out, pointing off camera.]

AL:  Go forth, child.  Go to the battlefield that will soon be soaked
with the life's blood of the Working Man.  Prepare it.  Sanctify it. 
Cleanse it with your own sweat before we taint it with his blood.

[Another disturbing cackle emerges from Layton as a nodding Moretti
slowly turns and staggers off camera.]

MS:  Does he actually have an opponent?

AL:  He will.

[A hard exhales escapes from Layton before he slips the hood back over
his head, slowly backing away.]

MS:  This job gets weirder and weirder all the time.  Back to you,
Gordon.

[The shot fades back to ringside - more specifically to the dugout where
Gino Moretti, formerly the Disco Machine, stumbles up the steps towards
the aisle.]

GM:  Thanks, Mark.  And Gino Moretti is on his way out here.  Boy, that
Anton Layton really abuses him, doesn't he?  We've seen him slap the
man, strike him on more than one occasion now.  And now, he's sending
him out here for a match that he's not even prepared for.

BW:  Layton's just showing him some tough love - trying to make a man
out of him.

GM:  I don't buy that for a second.  He's torturing this kid because
he's a bully.  A sadistic, evil bully.

[Moretti reaches the ring, looking confused as he pulls himself up onto
the apron and Melissa begins the introductions.]

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit.  Introducing first, stepping through the ropes right now...
from...

[Melissa pauses, consulting her notes.]

MC:  He hails from the Dark Side... he is GIIIIINOOOO MOOOORETTI!

[The crowd jeers the announcement...

...and then jeers louder as Moretti storms across the ring, attacking a
masked man from behind.]

GM:  Ohh!  Here we go!

BW:  No time for introductions.  The Master needs him to get busy,
daddy!

[Moretti spins the masked man around in the corner, driving boots into
the midsection of the West Memphis Assassin.]

GM:  He's all over the masked man!  Kicks to the body!

[Grabbing the masked man by the arm, Moretti fires him across from
corner to corner.]

GM:  Big whip by Moretti... here he comes...

[Moretti sprints across the ring, running headlong into a pair of raised
boots!]

GM:  BOOTS TO THE FACE!!  HE COUNTERED THE CHARGE!!

[A snapping side kick to the ribs follows it up, doubling up Moretti as
the masked man hits the ropes, rebounding off with a hard leaping
kneelift up under the chin, knocking Moretti flat!]

GM:  KNEELIFT!!  MORETTI'S DOWN!!

[The West Memphis Assassin throws himself into a cover.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREEEEEEE!!

[The crowd cheers as Moretti's shoulders are pinned for the three
count...

...but quickly start booing as Anton Layton, the Prince of Darkness,
comes tearing down the aisle towards the ring.  He throws off his cloak
at ringside, rolling under the ropes.]

GM:  Uh oh - look out, Gino!

[A hard kick to the ribs of a downed Moretti sets the tone for what's
about to follow as Layton lays in kick after kick to the ribcage of his
"apprentice."]

GM:  The Assassin is out of there and I can't say I blame him one bit. 
Layton's on a warpath!

[A leaping kneedrop to the ribs allows Layton to grind his knee back and
forth on the ribcage while screaming at Moretti.]


"YOU DARE DISAPPOINT HIM?  YOU DARE?"


[A hard slap across the face rocks Moretti.  Layton climbs to his feet,
letting loose a wild scream before leaping straight up in the air,
driving both feet down into the ribcage of the former Disco Machine!]

GM:  OHHHH!

[Layton snarls at the protesting referee before dropping back down to
the mat, wrapping his hands around Moretti's throat.]

GM:  He's choking him!  He's choking the life out of Moretti and-

[BIG CHEER!]

GM:  VERNON RILEY!!  HERE COMES THE WORKING MAN!!

[Riley comes charging down the aisle, diving headfirst under the ring. 
He springs to his feet, ready to strike just as Layton gets up as well. 
A trio of hard right hands connect to the jaw of the Prince Of Darkness
and a big overhead elbow smash knocks Layton down to the canvas, forcing
him to roll under the ropes to the floor.]

GM:  Riley clears him out!  He just saved Moretti!

[Shaking his head at Layton, inviting him back into the ring, Riley
edges closer to the downed Moretti...

...who throws himself at the legs of Riley, trying to take him off his
feet.]

GM:  What the-?!

BW:  Well, I guess we know where Moretti's alliegances lie, Gordo.

GM:  After all that?  After the beating he took from Layton, he's stil
going after Riley?

[Riley throws a few right hands at Moretti, breaking his grip, and a
boot to the ribs since Moretti rolling under the ropes to the floor
where he drops down to the thin padding.  Layton is pacing back and
forth, shouting off camera at the ring.  Suddenly, he grabs the house
mic from Melissa.]

AL:  YOU!  WORKING MAN!!

[Layton is seething as he glares at his rival.]

AL:  You've crossed a line, Riley.  You're a Working Man no more.  From
this moment on, you are known as Dead Man to me.  So, Dead Man, you want
to interfere in the business of myself and my Master...?

[Layton slaps himself in the face.]

AL:  YOU THINK YOU CAN GET IN OUR BUSINESS?!

[The crowd cheers as Riley shouts back at Layton, ordering him into the
ring.]

AL:  Not I, Dead Man.  You're not worth my time inside that ring.  Not
yet.  But what you are worthy of...

[A sick grin crosses his face.]

AL:  ...is the Mist.  Ehehehehehe.  Bring forth the Mist!  Let the seas
of carnage and heartache combine before our eyes and cover the entire
South with a cold, dark Mist.

What has come before shall come again, Dead Man.  

Once, this man nearly ended you and your friends.  Tonight, he does it
again.

BRING HIM, OHHHH MASSSTER!  BRING HIM FORWARD!!

[Layton throws his head back, howling to the sky as Moretti crawls to a
knee next to him.]

AL:  BRING HIM TO MEEEEEE!

[The crowd begins to buzz as a heavy amount of smoke and mist emerges
from the dugout, pouring out into the night sky.]

GM:  Wait a second...

BW:  Would you look at that?

GM:  Here comes... well, something...

[Layton cackles at the sight.]

AL:  BRING HIM, OH GREAT ONE!!  BRING HIM, MY MASTER!!

[After a few more moments, someone emerges from the dark shadows.  The
first feature noticed is horrifically long stringy hair that is soaking
wet.  He wears bright green facepaint and a pair of full-length
loose-fitting pants... well, loose-fitting except on his growing
waistline.]

BW:  That's the Mist Angel?  The killer from Florida?

GM:  Well, it's been years, Bucky.  He looks to have... uhh... well,
enjoyed his retirement.  I haven't heard anything from this guy in years
so he MUST have been retired.

BW:  Do creatures from the mist that are called forth by Satan ever
REALLY retire?

[The Mist Angel slowly makes his way to the ring, much to Vernon Riley's
amusement.  Riley just can't seem to contain his grin as the Mist Angel
makes his way up the ringsteps, climbing through the ropes.  The referee
steps between the two men as the Angel settles back in the corner,
listening to the rumblings from Anton Layton who is at ringside.]

BW:  I've gotta say - as much as I hate to - Vernon Riley might have
been right about this one, Gordo.

GM:  What do you mean?

BW:  The Mist Angel doesn't look like he's in any shape at all to
compete here tonight.  Riley's not exactly a male model in there but he
looks anorexic next to the Angel.  Riley said that Layton was wasting
his time with reliving the past and I think he may be right.  Maybe
Layton's not the man you remember from Florida, Gordo.

GM:  You could be right.

[The bell sounds and Vernon Riley, an upset Vernon Riley, rushes across
the ring, launching into right hands on the Angel.]

GM:  Right hand!  Right hand!  Right hand!

[Grabbing the Angel by the wrist, Riley fires him across the ring,
rushing across to meet him...

...and blasting him with a running clothesline in the corner!]

GM:  Ohhh!  What a clothesline!

[Riley quickly hooks a side headlock, swinging an arm around in the air
to rally the crowd...

...and charges out of the corner, leaping into the air to smash the Mist
Angel's face into the canvas!]

GM:  Riley's Roundup!  

[Riley quickly flips him over into a cover.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREEEEEE!!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  Riley wins it!  Vernon Riley is your- wait a second!

[The crowd begins to buzz as Anton Layton lifts up the ring apron,
allowing someone to roll out from under it at his feet.  The individual,
clad in a hooded satin robe, rolls under the bottom rope, taking a knee
behind the rising Riley.]

GM:  Look out, Vern!

[And as the Working Man turns around, the hooded man springs to his
feet, throwing his arms back as he spews a green mist out of his mouth,
catching Riley squarely in the face with it.  The fan favorite screams
out in pain, collapsing to the canvas as he reaches up to grab at his
eyes with both of his hands!]

GM:  It's Nenshou!  It's Nenshou, Bucky!

BW:  We haven't seen him in weeks!  

GM:  I... I don't think we've seen him since before Memorial Day Mayhem
and what in the world did he just do to Vernon Riley, Bucky?!

BW:  Some kind of a green substance... he spit it into Riley's eyes and
face!

[Riley is rolling around on the mat, screaming in pain.  Nenshou stands
over him, his face painted a bright red - now with the same green
substance staining the area around his mouth.  He glares down at Riley,
dragging a taped thumb across his throat and then pointing it down as
the ring floods with AWA medical team members.]

GM:  We've gotta get Riley some medical help.  Those men need to get in
there and work on-

[Suddenly, a loud "THUNK!" is heard.  The camera cuts to show Layton
ripping the mic out of Gordon Myers' hand.  By his side is a grinning
Percy Childes - the Collector of Oddities.]

AL: Tell me, Vernon Riley...ARE WE WASTING YOUR TIME NOW?

[Evil laugh?  Check.]

AL: You so easily fell for my trap, Riley.  Ten years have not changed
the amount of arrogance and narcissism you possess!  Too predictable,
Working Man!  Too predictable!  All along, it was _I_ who was
controlling the pieces in this game of human chess, Riley!  Not you! 
Not yooooooouuuuuuu!

[Layton rolls his eyes back in his head.  Yep, still kinda gross.]

AL: As I foretold, you are no longer a king in the AWA.  You do not
control the locker rooms as you did in Florida, Riley!  There were many
men lined up, waiting for the chance to join my Master and assist in
your downfall!

But there was one...one who rose above all the others...one who brought
with him...a unique mist of his own!

[Another evil cackle, with a touch of satisfaction as Percy Childes pats
Nenshou, who has now joined Layton, Moretti, and Childes at ringside, on
the shoulder.]

AL: Underestimate me no more, Working Man!  For this battle, for this
WAR is only beginning!  And when it ends...when I have laid your career
to waste...

...you will wish that it was only your time that I had wasted.

So it is written!  So it shall come to pass!

[Layton throws the mic down on the floor.  A disgusted Gordon Myers
glares at the evil foursome as they walk away.]

BW:  I've always wanted to do this!  We'll be right back, fans!

[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:  You know, Mark... the AWA Access iPhone app has been so popular
over the past year, I hear we're making a sequel!

MS:  Jason, that kind of news is so hot, it should be on the app!

[The two men laugh very awkwardly as a giant iPhone appears.]

JD:  Hello, Mr. iPhone.

[The iPhone speaks.  Yes.  Yes it does.]

iPhone:  Hello, Jason Dane.  Did you know that former AWA National
Champion Kolya Sudakov was a former Mixed Martial Artist?

JD:  Well, actually I did.

iPhone:  Mark Stegglet, did you know that Calisto Dufresne was the first
and only champion in Pro Wrestling Revolution?

MS(in his best Johnny Carson impression):  I did not know that!

[Thankfully, a voiceover starts.]

VO:  Starting today, you can download AWA Access Version 2.0!  This new
app contains a brand new TRIVIA mode where you can get all the details
on your favorite AWA superstars!  Plus, be the first to see our brand
new BEFORE THE AWA section where you can find matches from the best of
the AWA - before they were AWA!

AWA Access Version 2.0 - coming to an iPhone near you!

[Fade back to black...

...and then we fade back up to live action where we find Adrian Freeman
sitting in front of a AWA backdrop, wearing a dress shirt.  No Ben
Waterson, no gimmicks, just Freeman staring straight into the camera
with icy blue eyes.]

AF: Tonight, I'm going to get into the ring and stare across it at three
broken men.  Juan Vasquez, mentally broken, who dared to challenge us
and has only been humiliated since.  Now he's reduced to getting down on
his knees and begging Jim Watson for a shot, like a six-year-old girl
asking her daddy to clean up the mess she made.  Then we have Todd
Michaelson, physically broken, who has no business being in the ring at
this age.  And poor Marcus Broussard, broken mentally AND physically,
who tried to do the smart thing and slink into retirement, but you
people... Michaelson, Vasquez, the fans... you wouldn't let him.

How many people do you have to sacrifice for your vendetta, Michaelson? 
You put two Combat Corner kids who weren't ready for primetime on OUR
show, and they paid the consequences.  If our piddly little initiation
put them on the shelf for good then they simply weren't ready for this
ring.  How many men are you going to drag out of reasonable retirement
again and again until they can't walk to the ring anymore?  When will
enough be enough?

[Freeman doesn't even try and pretend to be concerned.]

AF:  It's not like I'm a sadist or anything.  But you have people who
stand up and say that they're going to destroy the Southern Syndicate
and well, what are we supposed to do?  Let them? It's the law of the
jungle, folks, and that means that all of the small herbivores should
learn to keep their heads down and be content with their undercard spots
while we rule the roost.

I know it's the popular thing now to call out the Southern Syndicate on
your debut. But think about how getting on our bad side ended for Gary
Bright, Adam Rogers, City Jack, Sweet Daddy Williams, the Rhodes
brothers... the list goes on and on, and tonight we're going to add
three more men to it.

And then maybe you kids will learn your lesson.  I don't want to see any
more broken men.

[Freeman smirks as the shot fades to ringside.]

GM:  Adrian Freeman with some strong words for the three men who will
stand across the ring from him later tonight.  But you just have to
wonder how well that Southern Syndicate team will work together. 
Freeman is actually the only Southern Syndicate member in the match. 
Brian Von Braun is still considered an associate of the group and
MAMMOTH Mizusawa is, to be blunt, a hired gun.  How well will they work
together?

BW:  It's not like Michaelson, Broussard, and Vasquez are best friends,
Gordo.  This one's not gonna be won by teamwork anyways.  It's gonna be
a fight.  

GM:  That match is still to come later tonight as is-

[The crowd jeers as the AWA National Champion his own dang self,
"Hotshot" Stevie Scott, decked out in a charcoal gray three-piece suit,
sunglasses covering his eyes, and the National Title draped over his
shoulde, walks into view.  Grinning his standard cocky grin, he looks
toward the crowd as Myers speaks.]

GM:  Well, fans, apparently we are now going to be joined by the AWA
National Champion, who will defend that title later tonight, "Hotshot"
Stevie Scott.

[Still grinning, Scott leans toward Myers and the now-extended
microphone.]

HSS: Gordon...MYERS!

For weeks, you have been asking the same question over and over...is
there trouble within the Southern Syndicate?

[The champ smirks as he hands Myers a folded slip of paper.]

HSS: Here's the phone number for the hospital room that Raphael and
Simon are sharing.  Why don't you give 'em a call and ask them how much
trouble we have?

[Heel pop!  Another smirk as Stevie again faces the camera.]

HSS: You see, boys...there IS no such thing as trouble within the
Southern Syndicate.  Because when there's a hint of it on the horizon?

We make SURE the trouble is dealt with quickly and forcefully.

Raphael Rhodes...last week I said I respected you, and I meant it.  But
when you decided to put yourself above the Southern Syndicate, despite
being given chance after chance to step back and give up your title
shot?  That respect went by the wayside.

And so did your spot in the group.

So no, Myers.  There IS no trouble within the Southern Syndicate.  But
later tonight, there's going to be plenty of trouble for our old friends
Juan Vasquez, Todd Michaelson and Marcus Broussard.

[The crowd pops at the mention of those three names.  Stevie ignores it
and keeps ranting on.]

HSS: Vasquez...you've been fighting a losing battle for nearly a year
now.  And yet you keep coming out here, week after week, and talking
about how your goal...your ambition is to bring down Stevie Scott and
the Southern Syndicate.

[The Hotshot shakes his head.]

HSS: Big boy, when are you ever going to get it through that thick skull
of yours that you...can't...do it.  You've tried...and failed.  You've
tried again...and failed.  Every time you think you've got the upper
hand, every time you think you've got it figured out and the war won...

...you run into another roadblock.

You've found out at turn after turn after turn that the Southern
Syndicate is just BETTER than you.

[Stevie pats the National Title belt slung across his shoulder.]

HSS: I know it's tearing you up, too, Juan.  Tearing you up because no
matter where you've gone, you've had success.  You've gotten what you've
wanted.  But here?  Hasn't quite worked out that way, has it?

Get used to it.  Because that ain't going to change.

Todd Michaelson.

[Again, the champ shakes his head.  This time, it almost looks like he's
got pity on his newest subject of verbal barbs.]

HSS: What the hell are you doing?

You're supposed to be one of the "big six" or whatever it is you call
yourselves.  You're in MANAGEMENT for pete's sake.  And yet here you
are, years upon years after your retirement, strapping it up to get in
the ring with three of the very men YOU helped bring to the AWA.

How ironic is it going to be when your own creation sends you back to
the retirement home where your tired old carcass belongs.

But hey, don't worry about your lovely wife, Lori.  While you're stuck
there, I believe I can go, how shall we say it...take care of her needs
in a way that YOU never could.

[Big heel pop!  And, of course, a STEVIEGRIN~!]

HSS: And speaking of guys that belong in a retirement home, Marcus
Broussard.  The man who claims he put the AWA on the map.

Two things, Markie.

Number one, while you may have put the AWA on the map...it's no
accomplishment to brag about when that spot on the map is that of a
third-world country.  It's because of Stevie Scott and the Southern
Syndicate that the AWA is where it is today, pal.  So don't be taking
credit for stuff you didn't do.

Number two...while you're making your grand return to professional
wrestling and making all these bold claims about what you've done, just
remember what the Southern Syndicate has done.  Especially to YOU.  You
may think you put the AWA on the map...

...but the Southern Syndicate put YOU on the SHELF for damn near nine
months.

Don't think we won't do it again.

[The champ pauses, removing his sunglasses.]

HSS: And then, there's the issue of my title defense tonight.

It seems that Jim Watkins still wants to see me in the ring, defending
the AWA National Title.  No problem, Jim.  I mean, what good is having
one of the biggest shows of the year without your biggest star wrestling
on the card?

But...

[Stevie raises an index finger.]

HSS: There IS a problem when you won't tell your biggest star who his
opponent is going to be.

Now, don't misunderstand.  It's not a problem for ME, because quite
frankly, Watkins... who are you going to get that can beat me?  What IS
a problem is the blatant disrespect you showed your champion, the
cornerstone of your business, by refusing to tell me who I'm facing
tonight.

And if there's anything that I don't like?  It's being disrespected.

I don't care if you're the man in charge here, Watkins.  Because now?

[And a point directly toward the camera.]

HSS: You're treading on thin ice with Stevie Scott and the Southern
Syndicate.

And things never work out well for those who end up there.  Remember
that...

[Sarcasm coupled with disdain drips from Stevie's voice with his final
two words.]

HSS: BIG JIM.

[And with that, the National Champion slaps Gordon on the shoulder,
striding confidently out of view and leaving the announce team behind.]

GM:  Never lacking for confidence, the National Champion, Stevie
Scott... but if I were him, I'd be a bit more concerned about who'll be
challenging for that title later tonight.

BW:  Who is it?!  You know?!

GM:  No, I don't.

BW:  You better not, daddy.  I'm the one who gets the scoops around
here!

GM:  Speaking of which, you'll be talking to "The Outlaw" Bobby Taylor
later tonight.  Any preview on what he might have to say to all these
people tonight in Memphis?

BW:  He wouldn't give me a single hint.  Just said it was something he
had been thinking about since before Memorial Day Mayhem and it was
something he NEEDED to do publicly.  

GM:  Hrm.  Well, I suppose we'll all find out together soon enough.  But
now, let's go up to the ring for a special added attraction.

[We fade up to the ring where Melissa is standing.]

MC:  The following tag team contest is scheduled for one fall with a
fifteen minute time limit.  Introducing first... already in the ring at
this time... the team of The Memphis Master and Super Crusher!

[Two masked men climb up on adjacent corners, raising their arms to the
jeers of the crowd.]

MC:  And their opponents...

[The crowd roars to life at the sound of "Shout At The Devil" by Motley
Crue.]

GM:  And here they come... arguably the best tag team for the past few
years in Japan...

[With the music blasting, the powerful duo makes their way into view.]

MC:  At a total combined weight of 595 pounds... Danny Morton and "The
Hammer" Jackson Haynes...

VIOLENCE!  UNNNNNNLIMITED!

[Morton and Haynes stride down the aisle with a purpose, ignoring the
ringside fans.  Morton repeatedly pumps a fist in the air to the "SHOUT!
 SHOUT!  SHOUT!" of the song, drawing some cheers.  As they hit the
ring, Haynes dives under the bottom rope while Morton hops up on the
apron, hanging onto the top rope as he runs back and forth on the apron
a few times.]

GM:  These two men are intensity to the very core, Bucky.

BW:  One of the toughest tag teams in the entire wrestling world and
now, they're HERE in the AWA.  

[Haynes wastes no time in rushing across the ring...

...at both opponents as the referee calls for the bell!]

GM:  Haynes is after both of them!

[The crowd cheers as Haynes throws a clubbing forearm to the ear of the
Super Crusher.  He spins around, burying a knee into the gut of The
Memphis Master.  With the masked man doubled up, Haynes pounds down
forearm after forearm after forearm onto the back of the head and neck,
knocking him down to the mat.  He spins back the other way, grabbing the
recovering Super Crusher and flinging him sloppily into the ropes.]

GM:  The Crusher off the ropes and-

[Haynes sidesteps the rebounding Super Crusher, throwing his arm
violently at the back of the masked man's head as he sails past,
flooring him facefirst to the mat.]

GM:  Good grief!

BW:  These two hit hard and they show no mercy, daddy.

GM:  Haynes drags the Super Crusher off the mat...

[A stiff jab to the jaw knocks the Crusher back into the ropes.  Moving
in with both fists balled up, Haynes throws a right hand... then a
left... then a right... then a left.  He switches to a series of hard
jabs to the jaw, staggering the masked man...

...and then uncorks a beautiful left hand, knocking the masked man
flat.]

GM:  Ohhh!  Down goes the masked man!

[Haynes throws both arms into the air, drawing a cheer from the crowd as
he turns around, spotting the Memphis Master slowly dragging himself off
the mat to his feet...

...and rushes across the ring, obliterating the other masked man with a
running clothesline in the corner!]

GM:  OHHHH!

[He flings the Memphis Master across the ring again, this time into the
Violence Unlimited corner, and barrels across the ring once more,
connecting with another running clothesline!]

GM:  Back-to-back clotheslines from Jackson Haynes!  The Hammer is in
full effect here tonight in Memphis!

[He slaps the hand of his waiting partner who climbs into the ring.]

GM:  In comes the man they call the Professor of Pain...

[With the masked man trapped in the corner, the two men unleash a brutal
series of clubbing forearms in the buckles.]

GM:  Look at that!

BW:  The referee's trying to get Haynes out of there... but I don't even
know if Haynes cares.  He's being threatened with a DQ but I think
Haynes would take that as long as he gets to beat someone up.

GM:  Morton drags him from the corner...

[And the barrel-chested battler hoists the Memphis Master up into a
military press.]

GM:  Took him straight up!  What power from Morton!

[The crowd "oooohs" as Morton presses the masked man up...

...and brings him back down.

...and takes him back up.

...and brings him back down.

...and takes him back up.

...and hurls him onto the rising Super Crusher!]

GM:  OHHHH!

[The big man from Oklahoma throws his arms apart as the crowd roars for
his display of power.  Stalking across the ring, he yanks the Super
Crusher off the mat.]

BW:  Most tag teams try to keep the injured man on the mat but Violence
Unlimited is just going back and forth between the two men at will. 
They just don't care who is in there with them.

GM:  Backing the masked man to the corner...

[Morton winds up, lashing out with a chop across the chest.]

GM:  Good grief!  What a knife edge chop!

[Morton follows it up with a right hand to the jaw.]

GM:  And a right hand to the head.  Ohh!  Back to the chop!  And another
right!

[Morton continues for a bit, rocking the Super Crusher with blows to the
chest and head.  He grabs him by the wrist, firing him across the ring. 
He raises his right hand high, and then drops down into a three point
stance.]

GM:  Uh oh.

[And as the masked man staggers out, Morton rushes forward, connecting
with a shoulderblock that flips the masked man up and over, taking him
down to the mat.  Morton pops right back up, beating his chest a few
times before slapping the hand of Haynes once more.]

GM:  In comes the Hammer...

[Haynes winds up his right hand, sticking out his tape-covered thumb.]

BW:  Time to go to sleep!

[And as the masked man staggers up, Haynes wildly throws the arm towards
him, lashing out with perfect precision to drive his thumb into the side
of the Super Crusher's throat, knocking him flat to the mat.]

GM:  He calls that the Whiskey Lullaby!

[Haynes drops down on top of the Super Crusher as Morton sprints across
the ring, connecting with a clothesline on a rising Memphis Master!]

GM:  Ohh!  There's one!  There's two!  And there's three!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


MC:  Ladies and gentlemen, here are your winners... VIOLENCE UNLIMITED!

[Haynes and Morton meet in the middle to share a quick embrace before
making their exit from the ring, heading right back up the aisle towards
the locker room area.]

GM:  Big win for Violence Unlimited here on Independence Day as they get
their chance live here on WKIK to show the entire world that they mean
business inside that ring.  The tag team scene here in the AWA is hotter
than ever and Violence Unlimited is a big part of that.  Fans, let's go
backstage where Jason Dane is standing by with-

BW:  The champ!

GM:  He is not.

BW:  He's got a belt!

GM:  Would you stop?  Fans, let's go to Jason.

[We cut backstage once again to where Jason Dane is standing by the
unrecognized AWA Pacific Champion, "Ladykiller" Calisto Dufresne. 
Dufresne is clad in a light blue, checkered shirt doused in starch with
the sleeves rolled to his elbows and a pair of white linen pants.  His
blonde hair hangs down past his shoulders, upon which rests the PWR
Pacific Championship belt, which is on the line later this evening
against Soup Bone Samson.  Dane is given the cue that he's live and
begins.]

JD: I'm here with Calisto Dufresne who, for the second straight show, is
set to put his unrecognized, unsanctioned championship belt on the line
against Soup Bone Samson.  Before we get to Soup Bone, though, I'd like
to get your thoughts on your heinous attack on your fellow Southern
Syndicate member, Raphael Rhodes and his brother Simon.

[Dane offers the microphone to Dufresne, who pauses, staring solemnly
for a few seconds before speaking.]

CD: Think of it like this, Dane.  Let's say you have a guard dog in your
backyard.  A big, mean, nasty thing.  It makes sure no harm comes to
your valuables while you're not looking.  But as mean and nasty as that
dog is, you love it.  You treat it right.  You make sure he's eating
Kobe beef instead of Kibbles & Bits. 

That's Raphael Rhodes.

He was the big, mean guard dog whose duty it was to protect the
valuables of the Southern Syndicate.  The valuables being the
_champions._  Men like Stevie and Adrian.  And of course, yours truly.

[A slight bow from Dufresne.]

CD: But let's say one day that dog decides he wants to bite the hand
that feeds him.  What do you do?  You love the dog like a brother, but
it's clear you can't control him anymore.  So what do you do?  What
_can_ you do?  I'll tell you what you do. 

[Dufresne stares hard at the camera.]

CD: You take him out back to the woodshed with your .45 and you put him
down.

And that's what we were forced to do.  For the greater good.

[Dane shakes his head in disgust.]

JD: And what of Soup Bone Samson, who nearly took that gold off of your
waist two weeks ago before you were saved by Ben Waterson insuring you
were counted out?

CD: Let's get something straight, Dane.  I was just fine.  I was merely
pretending to be mortally wounded by that haymaker to lure Samson into a
trap.  I had him right where I wanted him, but Ben suggested to me that
I take a breather first, and then I ended up conversing with a fine
co-ed at ringside - whom I later took home, I might add - and next thing
I knew, the bell had rung and I had been counted out.

But fear not, my adoring fans.  Calisto Dufresne will right that wrong
this evening.  I single-handedly demanded that Samson and I be pitted
against one another in a no countout match so that such a travesty where
they try and have me beaten via countout could not happen again!

JD: But it was Samson who asked for the no coun-

[Dufresne cuts Dane off.]

CD: -Zip it, pal.  And since there's no countouts in this match, I'm
thinking that we might just take a ride up to Kentucky and I can finish
Samson off right in front of City Jack's trailer.  How fitting would
that be?  Samson wants to defend City Jack's honor and instead ends up a
cripple on his doorstep.

There's still time to back out, Samson.  You somehow have walked away
from our last two meetings.  Think this through before you show up
tonight.

Don't tempt fate.  It's not worth your career.

[And with that, Dufresne storms off.]

JD:  What a showdown that's gonna be.  Fans, we'll be right back with
more AWA action!

[Fade to black...

...and then back up on a shot of the AWA National Title belt.  The
super-excited voice of Mark Stegglet is heard over it.]

"You've seen it on Saturday Night Wrestling!"

[A shot of Marcus Broussard with the belt over his shoulder.]

"You've seen it on AWA supercards like Memorial Day Mayhem and The Last
Stampede!"

[A shot of Ron Houston wearing the belt in a promo picture.]

"You've seen the best the AWA has to offer wearing it!"

[Now a shot of Kolya Sudakov in a fighting pose with the belt hanging
over his shoulder.]

"And now, it can be yours!"

[A shot of Stevie Scott holding the belt high in the air fades into a
shot of a young fan doing the same.]

"Available NOW on AWAShop.com, get the official replica of the AWA
National Title belt that only the best and brightest of the AWA
superstars have held!"

[A closeup of the AWA National Title slowly fades to black...

...and then fades back up on the locker room area where Mark Stegglet is
standing alongside Soup Bone Samson who has a heavy metal chain draped
over his neck.]

MS:  We are LIVE here in Memphis, Tenessee - and this man, Soup Bone
Samson... well, Soup Bone, you've fallen on some hard times in the ring
against Calisto Dufresne lately.

[Samson glares at Stegglet.]

SBS:  Hard times, huh?

[Samson nods.]

SBS:  Things haven't worked out like I wanted 'em to.  I'll give ya
that.  I wanted to walk into Memorial Day Mayhem and beat that yellow
dog all over the damn building.  I wanted to make him hurt.  I wanted to
make him bleed.  And in the end, I wanted to rear back my right hand and
turn his lights out.

I wanted to do that for my friend.

[Samson looks down.]

SBS:  And I failed.  I'll admit that, Stegglet.  I failed my friend.

[Samson looks up, pointing a finger at the camera.]

SBS:  Last week, I got another shot...

...and I failed again.  This time though, I got closer.  I had him beat.
 I know it, you know it, Stegglet - the people know it and most of all,
HE knows it.

He ran.  He ran like the yellow, mangy dog that he is.

But tonight?  There's no running. 

Tonight?  There's no way out.

And tonight, vengeance - at long last - belongs to me.

[Samson lifts up his big right hand, stalking off camera.]

MS:  Soup Bone Samson is ready for a fight.  Is the Ladykiller?  We're
about to find out so let's go up to Melissa for all the announcements!

[We fade from the locker room area to the ring where Melissa Cannon is
standing.]

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit and there will be NO COUNTOUTS!

[Big cheer!]

MC:  Introducing first... 

[ZZ Top's "Sharp Dressed Man" kicks in to a huge negative reaction.]

MC:  Representing the Southern Syndicate... from Avery Island,
Louisiana... he is the self-proclaimed AWA Pacific Champion... he is the
Ladykiller...

CAAAAAALIIIISTO DUUUUFRESNE!

[The music continues to play as Dufresne walks into view, the crowd
jeering wildly.  The PWR Pacific Title belt is secured around his waist,
just over his presumably tearaway pants.  Hands on hips, Dufresne looks
around at the booing crowd.  With a grin, he pats the title belt and
starts to make his way down the aisle towards the ring.]

GM:  One of the most despised men in the world of professional wrestling
- Calisto Dufresne disgusts me, Bucky.

BW:  Strong words, Gordo.

GM:  After all he's done to so many people, how can I use any other word
to describe my feeling for him?  Disgust.

[Dufresne climbs up the ringsteps, moving through the ropes.  He undoes
the title belt, handing it over to the official who looks at it, shaking
his head.  The Ladykiller shouts at him, ordering him to hold it up in
the air.  After a few moments, Mickey Meekly reluctantly raises the
title belt high in the air, then pulls it down, handing it to a ringside
attendant.]

MC:  And his opponent...

[Dufresne can be heard saying "Challenger!  He's the challenger!" to no
reaction as LL Cool J's "Mama Said Knock You Out" starts up to a roar
from the Memphis crowd!]

MC:  From DEEEEEEETROIT, Michigan... 

SOUP!  BONE!  SAMMMMMSON!

[A big roar gets louder as Samson walks into view, steel chain hanging
around his neck.  He throws up a fist to the cheering crowd, eyes locked
on the ring where a nervous-looking Dufresne is pacing back and forth.]

GM:  And there he is, Bucky.

BW:  The challenger!

GM:  He's not the challenger!  Dufresne's not a champion!

BW:  He's got a belt!

GM:  I'm not arguing this with you anymore.  Fans, this match will have
no countout but it also has a ten minute time limit.

BW:  It's a title match.  Pacific Title matches are conducted only under
ten minute time limits unless specifically changed by the champion.

GM:  Would you stop?

[Samson reaches ringside, shrugging off his heavy metal chain, dropping
it on the ring apron as he climbs up on the apron...

...and promptly gets attacked by Dufresne who frantically orders the
referee to ring the bell which he promptly does.]

GM:  Here we go!  And I have to say, conspicuous by his absence is the
Agent To The Stars, Ben Waterson, Bucky.

BW:  Ben's got a lot to take care of tonight.  Dufresne's had no trouble
with Samson yet so why waste time being out here for this one. 
Waterson's got a title match to plan for plus that big six man tag. 
This one's in the bag.

GM:  We'll see about that.

[Dufresne continues to hammer Samson from inside the ring, knocking the
veteran down to a knee.  A hard knee to the face through the ropes sends
Samson falling down to the floor.]

GM:  Ohh!  The Ladykiller puts him out to the floor... and he's going
out there after him!

BW:  And this is totally legal, Gordo.  There are no countouts so
Dufresne can keep him out there all night if he wants to!

[Dufresne pulls Samson off the floor, grabbing him by the arm...

...and FIRING him chestfirst into the steel ringpost!]

GM:  Ohhh!  Into the steel he goes - and Dufresne needs to be careful,
Bucky.  There are no countouts in this one but he can still be
disqualified for sure.

[Out on the infield, Dufresne drops to a knee, pulling Samson's head off
the tarp...

...and drills him with a right hand near the left eye socket!]

GM:  And look at that, Bucky!  This sick son of a-

BW:  Easy now.

GM:  He's going after Samson's eye!

[The Ladykiller delivers a few more right hands to the eyesocket,
drawing the jeers of the crowd - especially a familiar young blonde
woman in the front row who is screaming at Dufresne.]

BW:  Hey!  Isn't that-

GM:  It's that young lady who had a verbal confrontation with Kandi Kane
a few weeks ago on Saturday Night Wrestling.  Now she's shouting at
Calisto Dufresne.

BW:  Every lady wants a piece of the Ladykiller, daddy.

GM:  I'm not sure she does.

[A closeup of the good-looking young lady shows her verbally tearing
into Dufresne from a distance.  The Ladykiller climbs to his feet,
glaring at the source of the voice, shaking his head before dragging
Samson off the floor.]

GM:  He pulls Samson back up...

[Aiming Samson's face, Dufresne SMASHES his left eyesocket into the
ringpost!]

GM:  OHHHHH!

[Inside the ring, the referee shouts at Dufresne, ordering him back into
the ring.]

GM:  Mickey Meekly wants this fight back inside the ring but I don't
know if he can do anything about it.  This match has no countouts so
this stays on the floor until Dufresne or Samson change their minds.

[Dufresne spins away from Samson who is still leaning against the
ringpost, moving to the timekeeper's table...

...and shoves the timekeeper down to the ground, snatching up the steel
chair, folding it up.]

GM:  Wait a second!

BW:  Dufresne's gonna get himself disqualified!

[Meekly slides to the floor, putting himself between an approaching
Dufresne and a still-leaning Samson.  He waves his arms back and forth,
shouting at the Ladykiller.]

GM:  He's telling Dufresne that if he uses that chair, he's going to be
disqualified.  He's telling Dufresne that if he hits Samson with that
chair, he's going to be disqualified.

BW:  Now the question is - does Dufresne care?

[The Ladykiller pauses, apparently considering exactly that for a long
moment...

...and then throws the chair aside, grabbing Samson by the back of the
head.  He pulls Samson's head back, ready to slam it home again...]

GM:  Again to the pos- blocked!

[The crowd roars as Samson's arms come up, blocking the smash into the
post.  He holds firm as Dufresne tries to muscle him into the steel...

...and then slams his elbow back into the ribs of Dufresne, breaking up
the attempt.  Samson grabs the Ladykiller by the hair, rearing up, and
SLAMS him skullfirst to the steel!]

GM:  OHHHHHHH!

[Dufresne crumples in a heap on the baseball diamond, clutching his
skull as Samson stands over him, nodding his head to the cheering
Memphis crowd.]

GM:  Soup Bone Samson just returned the favor!  Samson sent him into the
steel!

[Samson reaches down, hauling Dufresne up off the floor.  He frantically
waves his arm to the crowd, clearing the fans out of a section of
seats...

...and then HURLS Dufresne over the barricade and into the steel chairs
at ringside!]

GM:  SAMSON PUTS HIM IN THE CROWD!!

[The crowd is roaring at the idea of Samson finally getting some payback
as the aging veteran pursues Dufresne, climbing up onto the front row of
seats and stepping over the chairbacks into the second row where
Dufresne is crawling towards the aisle.]

GM:  Samson and Dufresne are in the fans here in Memphis!  This fight is
going into the fans and these people are loving it, Bucky.  They're
finally seeing Calisto Dufresne get a little of what he has coming to
him!

BW:  They're as bloodthirsty as you are, Gordo.  This is supposed to be
a wrestling match and they're excited to see these two fighting in the
crowd like a couple of drunks on a Saturday night.  If I wanted to see
this, I'd go to your house!

[Samson grabs a fleeing Dufresne by the back of the tights, pulling him
into a side waistlock.  The crowd roars as Samson hoists him up into the
air...

...and then drops him back in a side suplex on the tarp-covered field!]

GM:  OHHHHH MY STARS!!

BW:  In any other place that the AWA has shows, Dufresne might be in a
wheelchair after that!  Thank god it's not concrete but... well, the
second base area here in FedEx Park.

[Samson rolls over on top of Dufresne in a straddle, pulling the
Ladykiller up by the hair...

...and smashing home a left hand to the temple!]

GM:  Ohh, what a left hand by Samson!

[Still holding the hair, Samson delivers left hand after left hand to
the skull of the self-proclaimed Pacific Champion.  Finally, he hauls
Dufresne back up to his feet, grabbing a handful of hair...

...and SMASHES his face into a chairseat!]

GM:  INTO THE STEEL AGAIN!!

BW:  This isn't right.  Meekly should stop this right now.  Isn't that
worthy of being DQd?

GM:  Not according to Mickey Meekly.  He's being very lenient with the
rules at this point and I think you have to give him credit for that.

BW:  WHAT?!

GM:  The fans want to see this match as much as we do and they deserve
to see it go on.  

BW:  So you want to throw out your precious rulebook for what these
idiots want?  You're a real piece of work sometimes, Myers.

[Samson drags Dufresne back over the barricade, heading back towards the
ring.  He hurls Dufresne under the ropes to the cheers of the crowd
before rolling back in himself.]

GM:  And for the first time in this one, both of these men are inside
the ring.  Soup Bone Samson got the better of the fight on the outside
and he's in control of this one so far.

[With Dufresne crawling away, Samson rises to his feet to pursue. 
Catching up to Dufresne, he pulls the Ladykiller back to a kneeling
position.  Standing behind him, he raises his arm up...

...and DRIVES the point of his elbow down into the eye region of
Dufresne!  The Ladykiller flails about on the canvas, clutching his eye
area.]

GM:  He got him in the eye!  Samson's going for the eye!

BW:  An eye for an eye, huh?  Never knew Samson was such a theologian!

[He pulls Dufresne's head back again, exposing the face...

...and delivers another elbowsmash to the eye area!]

GM:  This is payback for City Jack!  We're seeing payback for City Jack
right here tonight in this one, Bucky!

BW:  Well, as long as he's been talking about avenging City Jack, I
guess it's about time.

GM:  It's a day that I'm sure Dufresne was praying would never arrive.


"FIVE MINUTES HAVE EXPIRED!  FIVE MINUTES REMAIN!"


GM:  We've hit the halfway point in this one, Bucky.

BW:  Calisto should switch this into survival mode.  It's an off night
for him obviously and all he needs to do is last five more minutes to
keep his title.  Come on, Ladykiller!

GM:  What a cowardly strategy that is.

BW:  A win's a win, damn it!

[Dufresne is immediately crawling away again, trying to escape from Soup
Bone Samson who is slowly pursuing him.]

GM:  Samson taking his time in there, measuring his moves.  At his age,
he doesn't have a lot of spare energy to burn up in a match like this. 
He needs to make every move count.

[Reaching down, he grabs Dufresne by the ankle.  The Ladykiller promptly
rolls to his back, lashing up with his free foot and catching Samson in
the gut.  The blow stuns the veteran, allowing Dufresne to get up to his
knees where he slams a right hand into the jaw of Samson, knocking him a
few steps back into the ropes.]

GM:  And look at this, the Ladykiller's throwing the big leather right
now.

[Back on his feet, Dufresne is teeing off on Samson against the ropes,
repeatedly throwing big right hands into the upper body and head of the
veteran.]

GM:  Samson's getting rocked by Dufresne...

[Grabbing Samson by the wrist, he fires him across the ring.]

GM:  Whip by Dufresne... clothesli- ducked by Samson!

[And the veteran slams on the brakes, spinning around with his right
hand cocked back...

...a fist that makes Dufresne drop down to the mat, rolling under the
ropes to the floor as he spots it.]

GM:  Ohh!  So close!  If he throws that right hand, this match is over
and Dufresne knows it.  That's why he got out of the ring.  That's why
he got the heck out of Dodge, Bucky.

BW:  The right hand is dangerous.  Only a fool doesn't know that and
Dufresne is certainly no fool.

GM:  The Ladykiller's out on the floor, walking around ringside, trying
to regroup.

[The camera following Dufresne catches him stop to ask the timekeeper -
"How much time is left?"]

GM:  Did you hear that?  He asked how much time is left!

BW:  So?

GM:  He's taking your strategy!  He's trying to run out the clock! 
We've got under four minutes to go in the time limit for this one and
look at him.

[With a big grin on his face, Dufresne stands outside the ring, looking
up at a frustrated Samson who is shouting at him to get back inside the
squared circle.]

GM:  Samson wants this back inside the ring but Dufresne's having no
part of it.

BW:  Time is tickin', daddy!

GM:  Samson's coming out after him!

[The crowd roars as the veteran exits the ring, stepping out on the
apron.  He hops down to the tarp-covered field, pursuing Dufresne who
quickly moves around the ring to avoid him.]

GM:  The chase is on!

[But the youthful Dufresne has no trouble staying away from Samson...

...until he nearly runs right into a suit-wearing Joe Petrow.]

GM:  What the- Petrow's out here!  Joe Petrow's out here!

[Spotting Petrow, Dufresne freezes in his tracks with a "What are YOU
doing here?"  Petrow simply grins, waggling his finger at Dufresne in a
disapproving fashion...

...which allows Samson to catch up to Dufresne, grabbing him by the back
of the tights and firing him back into the ring.]

GM:  Samson's got him back in!

BW:  What the hell is Joe Petrow doing out here?

GM:  I don't know, Bucky.  Maybe he's here to make sure everything goes
fair.  Maybe he's even got some resentment towards Dufresne for
eliminating him from the Rumble.

BW:  I don't like the looks of this at all, Gordo.  Can someone get him
out of here?

[Inside the ring, Samson shoves Dufresne back into a corner, lighting
him up with hooking blows to the body.]

GM:  Right hand to the ribs... now a left to the other side... he's
tearing up Dufresne!

[Grabbing the Ladykiller by the wrist, Samson fires him across the ring.
 Dufresne hits the corner hard, stumbling out into Samson's waiting arms
who lifts him high, pivots, and DRIVES him down with a thunderous
powerslam!]

GM:  POWERSLAM!!  HE'S GOT ONE!!  HE'S GOT TWO!!  HE'S GOT- 

[The crowd deflates as Dufresne fires the shoulder off the mat at two. 
Samson again grabs him by the hair, driving left hands into the temple
until the referee forces him to break it up.  He gets back to his feet,
dragging Dufresne up as well.]

BW:  Get him off the hair, ref!

GM:  Mickey Meekly is doing an outstanding job in this one, I would say.

BW:  Of course you would.

[Samson fires Dufresne into the ropes again...

...or attempts to as Dufresne reverses the whip attempt.  On the
rebound, Dufresne hooks an arm around Samson's neck as he passes,
slapping on a sleeperhold!]

GM:  SLEEPER!  DUFRESNE'S GOT THE SLEEPER ON!

[Immediately upon securing the hold, Dufresne shouts to the official -
"How much time?!"  The referee turns to check...

...which allows Samson to mule kick Dufresne right in the groin!]


"OHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  I think this Memphis crowd said it all right there, Bucky!

BW:  An illegal low blow by Samson and you go for the punchline? 
Unbelievable!

GM:  Samson's out of the sleeper.  Both men are down.


"TWO MINUTES REMAIN!  TWO MINUTES!"


GM:  We're down to two minutes!  Can either of these men score a victory
in that time?

[Samson rolls over to all fours, breathing heavily as he grabs Dufresne
by the hair, hauling him to his feet.  A left haymaker catches Dufresne
on the chin, knocking him back to the ropes.  Samson is slow to pursue
but gets there, grabbing the wrist.]

GM:  Irish whip again...

[Samson rears back with the right hand, throwing it on target but too
high as Dufresne ducks under, hitting the far ropes where he grabs the
top rope, slamming on the brakes.]

GM:  Dufresne's trying to avoid the right hand!  He saw the knockout
punch coming again and-

[The Ladykiller ducks between the ropes, trying to escape the ring but
Samson rushes over, tangling up with him, trying to get him back in.]

GM:  The referee's trying to keep this under control...

[Samson pulls Dufresne back in, throwing a left hand to the body, then a
right to the other side.]

GM:  Two big body blows on the ropes!

BW:  Back him off, ref!

GM:  The referee is trying to do exactly that and-

[But as Samson rears back to throw the right hand, his elbow catches the
referee on the jaw, knocking him flat.]

GM:  Ohhh!  Down goes the ref!  Meekly got flattened and-

[HUUUUUGE ROAR!]

GM:  SO DID DUFRESNE!  THE KNOCKOUT PUNCH LANDS AND DUFRESNE IS OUT!!

[Samson dives atop the downed Dufresne.]

GM:  We've got one!  We've got two!  We've got three!  

BW:  The ref is out though!  There's no one to count!  Samson knocked
out the ref as well!

GM:  This should be over, Bucky!  Soup Bone Samson has won this match!

BW:  Not yet he hasn't.

[Joe Petrow rolls under the ropes, moving to check on the official.  He
physically shakes Meekly, trying to revive him.  Samson gets up off the
downed Dufresne, moving over to check on Meekly as well...]

GM:  Samson's trying to revive the official too.


"ONE MINUTE REMAINS!  ONE MINUTE!"


[A frantic Samson shakes the referee harder, turning away to check to
make sure Dufresne's still down...

...and giving Joe Petrow a moment to stand up and kick Samson low!]

GM:  OHHHH!  ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!

[Samson, clutching his nether regions, is stunned.  Petrow quickly hooks
a side waistlock, hoisting Samson up into the air...

...and dropping him straight down on his tailbone!]

BW:  You know what that's called!

GM:  I do but I'm not calling it that.  In my world, that's an atomic
spine crusher, Bucky!  But why in the world is Joe Petrow doing this? 
What did Soup Bone Samson do to him?

[A dazed Calisto Dufresne is pulled up off the canvas by Joe Petrow...

...who hands him a set of brass knuckles.]

GM:  What in the world is going on here?  What are we witnessing?

[A woozy Dufresne slips the knuckles on his hand as Petrow drags Samson
off the mat, holding him around the waist...

...and Dufresne unleashes a knucks-covered right hand, catching Samson
right on the chin and knocking him flat.  Still dazed, Dufresne chucks
the knucks out of the ring as he collapses on top of Samson.  Nearby,
Petrow drags the referee back over by the two men.]

GM:  No, no... not like this...


"THIRTY SECONDS!"


[The dazed official slowly raises his arm, slamming it down on the
canvas once.]


GM:  ONE!


[Petrow assists the referee, lifting his arm up the second time, and
allowing the referee to slam it down.]


GM:  TWO!

[One more assist, lifting the arm high...

...and watching it hit the canvas for the third time.]

GM:  THREE!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  I don't believe this.  

[A smirking Petrow dusts himself off, simply walking out of the ring as
Dufresne rolls off the downed Samson, neither man able to immediately
stand.]

MC:  Here is your winner...

CAAAAALIIIISTO DUUUUUUFRESNE!

[The crowd jeers the decision - and continues to jeer as Joe Petrow
makes his way to ringside, snatching the house mic away from Melissa
Cannon.  He straightens his tie before speaking.]

JP: What I'd like to have right now, is for all you boys in the back to
listen to what I have to say.  What you have just seen is the last free
sample of Joe Petrow's Executive Consultancy services.  My
qualifications are well-documented, and speak for themselves, but I will
enunciate them anyway.  I entered this sport 17 years ago, immediately
rose to its pinnacle, and have remained there ever since!  I have taken
a perennial loser, and turned him into a champion!  Things that were
thought to be impossible, I have made a reality!  And I can do the same
for each and every one of you!

[Petrow grins at the jeering crowd.]

JP:  I am not beholden to any friendships or ideologies. My services are
available by the hour, and are customized to meet your needs. If, like
last week, you need someone to watch your back, and to make sure your
match is as fair as humanly possible, then I will do that.  Or, if you
simply need to win, by ANY [points to the ring] means necessary...that's
gonna cost you, but I will do the wet work and leave your hands clean! 
No hassle, no long-term commitments.  Just that little something extra
that you need.

[Petrow reaches into his pocket]

JP:  So, whichever of you is ready to step up and become the man,
[Petrow
pulls out the cell phone from him pocket] just pick up the phone.  And
let's talk.

[And with that, Petrow walks away from ringside to a shower of jeers
from the capacity crowd.]

GM:  I don't believe it.  I still don't believe it.  Calisto Dufresne
has won the match-

BW:  And retained his title!

GM:  Don't even start on that mess again.  Dufresne won the match thanks
to those brass knuckles but perhaps more importantly, thanks to Joe
Petrow who says he's up for hire.  Anyone, anywhere, anytime - Joe
Petrow will do your dirty work for you.

BW:  And do it quite well judging by Soup Bone Samson STILL being flat
on his back.

GM:  What in the world is going on here?  What will Ben Waterson have to
say about all of this?  Fans, we've gotta take a quick break but we'll
be right back with more AWA action!  Don't you dare go away!

[And 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 live action backstage where Jason Dane is
once again trying to catch up with a victorious Calisto Dufresne.]

JD: Calisto... your thoughts on your match with Samson?

[Dufresne stops and begins to laugh.  After a few moments he composes
himself.]

CD: I was going to take him to see City Jack and figured that would have
been irony.  But this was even better.  After all the years and all the
people that Samson put to sleep with one punch...

[Dufresne chuckles again.]

CD: ...Only to end up on the receiving end of the hardest right hand in
the business.  

[Dufresne holds up his fist.]

CD: Anybody else want to stick up for City Jack?  

[A rhetorical question, obviously.]

CD: I didn't think so.

[With that, Dufresne continues off camera as we cut back to ringside.]

GM:  Unbelievable.  That man is pure ego and arrogance for sure.  To say
that he knocked out Soup Bone Samson is one thing but to claim it's
because he has the hardest right hand in the business?  Just incredible.
 We all know what happened.  We all saw Joe Petrow interfere and we saw
those brass knuckles put to use once again.  Dufresne beat Soup Bone
Samson but it was the usual Southern Syndicate games that got the job
done.

[Gordon glances up to the ring, shaking his head.]

GM:  And at this time, it is my... pleasure, I suppose... to throw
things up to the ring where my colleague Bucky Wilde is standing.  Take
'er away, Bucky.

[Up to the ring we go where Bucky Wilde is standing, holding the house
mic.]

BW:  Thank you, Gordo, and welcome you Memphis manure-breath misfits to
another edition of THE CALL OF THE WILDE!

[The crowd jeers - manure-breath misfits?  Really?]

BW:  Thank you, thank you.  You're too kind.  I was sitting around a few
weeks ago thinking about this night and what a big lineup the AWA brass
had put together.  But there was something missing, wasn't there?

[Bucky snaps his fingers, looking around "puzzled."]

BW:  What was missing, people?

[More puzzled looks.]

BW:  Me!  I was missing!  More specifically, the Call Of The Wilde was
missing!  And you just know it's not a big AWA show without The Call Of
The Wilde!

[A few cheers this time.  Bucky looks pleased.]

BW:  I know, right?  So, I told the brass to clear me a slot which they
did because I'm the man who delivers the ratings much like Cyndi Lauper
does - time after time.  But who, I thought.  Who should join me on The
Call?  And then it hit me.  The last time on the Call didn't go so well
thanks to Bobby Taylor.  And I knew he owed me one for it.  So, I called
up Taylor and I told him to get his FORMER Outlaw self down here tonight
to Memphis to tell the whole world what's going through his head after
he got put down by his former best friend and little brother at Memorial
Day Mayhem.  He agreed.  

And this time?  He promised he'd say something.

[Bucky nods.]

BW:  So, if you would please welcome to the FedEx Park here in Memphis
for THE CALL OF THE WILDE... BOBBY TAYLOR!

[After a moment, Bobby Taylor emerges from one of the dugouts.  No
music, no fancy entrance.  It's just Taylor.  But it's not the usual
Bobby Taylor either.  He's in a suit.  Not one of those fake "I'm still
the Outlaw" kind of suits either.  A suit suit.  He looks like he hasn't
shaved in a month or so and may not have slept much lately either as he
walks very slowly down the aisle.  The crowd buzzes with concern as
Taylor steps through the ropes, shaking Bucky's offered hand.]

BW:  Uhh, Bobby, I hope you don't take offense but... you look awful.

[Taylor smirks, nodding his head.]

BT:  Yeah, kinda figured that.

BW:  You look like you haven't shaved... haven't slept... heck, your
suit's even all wrinkled.  What's goin' on, kid?

[Taylor's gaze falls on the mat.]

BT:  I don't know what to say, Bucky.  I really don't.

BW:  Now, don't start that again.  You promised-

BT:  I know, I know.  I promised I'd tell everyone what I was thinking
lately.  So, here goes.  A little over a month ago, I told the world
that Brent Maverick and I were going to step into the ring at Memorial
Day Mayhem with Kevin Slater and my brother, Shane, and we were going to
teach them what it was like to be Outlaws.

We failed.

[Taylor pauses.]

BT:  Nah, I can't blame Brent for this.  He didn't fail anyone.

_I_ failed.

I told everyone that being the Outlaw meant doing what had to be done
even when you didn't want to do it.  At no point in my life did I ever
think I'd want to get in the ring with my own flesh and blood and try to
put him out.  But as the Outlaw, I didn't much have a choice.

[Another pause.]

BT:  Or so I thought.

But the truth is, Bucky, when the moment came.  When the time to spike
my brother's skull into the mat with the Cattle Buster and put him down
came, I just couldn't do it.

I know I let everyone donw.  I let the fans down.  I let Brent down.  I
let myself down.

And hell, wherever he is, I let John down.

[The crowd buzzes again, wondering what they're seeing.]

BW:  John?  You mean John Wesle-

BT:  Exactly.  Jay Dub... wherever he is... he left this name to me.  He
left this legacy to me.  Being the Outlaw has never been about a clever
nickname.  It's never been about a fancy gimmick to put people in the
seats.

It was being the best.  It was being the toughest.  It was being the
man.

[Taylor shakes his head, still looking down.]

BT:  That's not me.  Not anymore.  Hell, maybe it never was.  Maybe all
those people for years who told me I was giftwrapped that name - that I
never deserved that name.  Maybe they were all right all along.  

Maybe I've never been worthy of carrying that legacy.

[The crowd booes a bit at that analysis.]

BW:  What are you saying, Bobby?  What are you telling the people here
in Memphis?

BT:  What I'm saying is that everytime I think about Memorial Day
Mayhem, it makes me sick.  I knew what had to be done and I just
couldn't do it.  John would have done it.  Brody would have done it. 
Casey damn sure would have done it.

But me?  I couldn't do it and deep down, I knew I couldn't do it.

[Taylor digs into his pocket, producing a piece of cloth.]

BT:  So, when it was all said and done and I called Brent up to
apologize to him, I knew there were only two things left to do.

And I'm going to do one of those things right now so I would like to
invite my brother out here to the ring to face me man to man.

[Taylor steps back, looking towards the entrance.]

BW:  You heard the man.  Shane Taylor, if you're in the building, please
come out to-

[The crowd jeers as the sounds of Donna Summer's "Hot Stuff" starts up
over the PA system.  After a moment, a trio makes their way into view. 
"Scorchin" Shane Taylor, Kandi Kane, and Kevin Slater.  All three seem a
bit giddy as they walk down the aisle towards the ring where Bobby
Taylor and Bucky Wilde are waiting.]

BW:  Well, here they are, Bobby...

[Taylor waits until all three are in the ring, staring across at him. 
Slater leans over to Shane, whispering something that makes the
Scorchin' One laugh.]

BT:  You shouldn't have brought them, Shane.  This was between us.

[Slater produces a second mic.]

KS:  Why wouldn't he bring us?  We're his family now!

[Bobby shakes his head again, clutching the cloth in his hand tightly.]

BW:  Bobby, you said you had two things left to do...

[The Outlaw nods, finally lifting his head to look Shane Taylor dead in
the eye.]

BT:  The problem with Memorial Day Mayhem is that Kevin knew exactly
what he was doing.  Kevin Slater, my former best friend, knew that if he
put Shane in front of him, I'd never get to him.  He knew that I would
never put Shane on the shelf with my own hands.

Kevin knew me better than I knew myself.

[Slater cackles with a "You know it!", patting Shane on the shoulder - a
Shane who is looking a little less confidant as he stares at his older
brother.  Nearby, Kandi Kane trades a few words with the vocal young
blonde in the front row.]

BT:  Kevin knew that when the moment arrived, I could not and would not
put Shane down.

[Taylor nods again.]

BT:  We both know this doesn't end until you and I get in the ring
together, Kevin.  That much is clear.

[The crowd cheers.]

BT:  But we also both know that that match will never happen until Shane
is out of the picture.  You'll keep ducking and hiding behind him until
somehow, he's no longer in my way.

It's a bad spot to be in.  To get to you, I have to take him out but we
both know that I can't do it myself.

[Taylor pauses, glaring dead in Shane's eyes.]

BT:  Key word... myself.

[The crowd begins to buzz as a slight grin crosses Bobby's face.]

BT:  If I can't take Shane out of the picture myself, then I have to do
the next best thing.  I've got to find someone who will.  I've got to
find someone willing to put Shane on the shelf so I can get to you,
Kevin.

Someone willing to break his leg...

[Big cheer!]

BT:  Someone willing to piledrive him...

[Another big cheer!]

BT:  Maybe beat him over the head with a chair...

[More big cheers!]

BT:  I need to find someone who can be the Outlaw when I can't.

And then it hit me.  Inspiration.  Inspiration drawn straight from you.

[Taylor points a finger right at Slater.]

BT:  Right here and now, I'm putting a bounty on the head of Shane
Taylor.

[BIG CHEER!]

BW:  WHAT?!

[Taylor nods, smirking a bit now.]

BT:  I'm putting a bounty out for whoever can take him out of the
picture and clear a path between me and Kevin Slater.  I want him out of
the way and I don't care what methods you use to do it.

I've only got one rule.

[Taylor points at Slater again.]

BT:  Leave him out of it.  He's mine.

[An irate Slater grabs the mic.]

KS:  A bounty?!  A BOUNTY?!  I'm The Man With The Money!  I'll outbuy
any bounty hunter that you hire, Taylor!  I'll-

[Taylor shakes his head.]

BT:  It's always been about money to ya, Kev.  But to me?  It's about
power.  Don't forget...

[Taylor tugs on his sportscoat.]

BT:  I own this place.

[BIG CHEER!]

BT:  And that means that whoever is able to get Shane out of the picture
is owed a big favor from me.  Whether that's money... whether it's a
match you want... heck, whether it's a shot at the title...

I.

Owe.

You.

[The crowd is roaring now as Slater kicks the ropes in rage.  Shane
Taylor is clutching to Kandi Kane, looking around with a panicked
expression on his face.]

BW:  Wait, wait, wait... you said you had two things to do...

[Taylor snaps his fingers.]

BT:  There's a reason you're the Announcer Of The Year.

[Taylor holds up the cloth in his hand, revealed the mask of the Masked
Outlaw.]

BT:  I'm not worthy of being the Outlaw.  Not right now anyways.

[Taylor tosses the mask to Bucky.]

BT:  Hold on to that for me, Buckthorn.  When I'm done with him...

[Another point at Slater.]

BT:  ...I'll be back for it.

[And with that, Bobby Taylor turns his back and walks away from the ring
where a shocked Shane Taylor, Kandi Kane, and Kevin Slater are verbally
all over Bucky Wilde.]

BW:  Now THAT'S The Call Of The Wilde, daddy!  We'll be right back!

[Fade to black...

...and then back up on a shot of the AWA National Title belt.  The
super-excited voice of Mark Stegglet is heard over it.]

"You've seen it on Saturday Night Wrestling!"

[A shot of Marcus Broussard with the belt over his shoulder.]

"You've seen it on AWA supercards like Memorial Day Mayhem and The Last
Stampede!"

[A shot of Ron Houston wearing the belt in a promo picture.]

"You've seen the best the AWA has to offer wearing it!"

[Now a shot of Kolya Sudakov in a fighting pose with the belt hanging
over his shoulder.]

"And now, it can be yours!"

[A shot of Stevie Scott holding the belt high in the air fades into a
shot of a young fan doing the same.]

"Available NOW on AWAShop.com, get the official replica of the AWA
National Title belt that only the best and brightest of the AWA
superstars have held!"

[A closeup of the AWA National Title slowly fades to black...

...and then back up to live action backstage where Jason Dane is
standing in between the members of Rough N Ready. Dave Cooper and Eric
Matthew Somers are already dressed in their wrestling attire.]

JD:  In just mere moments, Rough N Ready will finally get their shot at
the National tag team championship as they face The Bishop Boys... Dave
and Eric, after what went down on the last episode of Saturday Night, it
looks like those issues between you and the Bishops are heating up
again.

[Eric laughs slightly at Jason's remarks, then his eyes narrow.]

EMS: Heating up again... honestly, I don't think they ever died down in
the first place. But here we are... as some would say, it's just like
old times.

[His voice then rises.]

EMS: Except now, some people seem to think the Bishops have changed...
well, after what happened last time, it's evident they haven't
changed... they are still a couple of punks who need to be taught a
lesson... a lesson Dave and I thought had been taught to them some time
ago. Guess we were wrong.

Well, Bishops, it's gonna be just like old times tonight... when we kick
the crap out of you, just like we've done before!

[And despite Eric's agitated tone, Dave makes no attempt to step in...
the only reason Eric doesn't keep talking is because now Jason turns to
Dave.]

JD: Dave, were you not aware that Cousin Bo was simply trying to calm
your tag team partner down?

DC: What are you talking about, Jason? The only thing I remember was me
getting into the ring to watch the backs of the Bishops, just like we
agreed to, and then I see Cousin Bo jumping on Eric's back.

JD: But Eric was...

DC: If Cousin Bo really did trust us to watch their backs, then he would
have allowed me to settle Eric down... but when he decided to jump on
his back, I knew at that point all bets were off.

[He then turns to the camera.]

DC: Cletus Lee... Duane Henry... I was at first willing to let that boot
to the face slide. But then when I was what was happening after I chased
off those Samoans, it dawned upon me that you just can't be trusted.

But now that it's match time, all bets are off... no more watching your
backs and certainly no more trusting you. Tonight, we settle this, once
and for all, and at long last, we will become the National Tag Team
Champions. This opportunity has been long overdue for Eric and myself...
and we don't plan on letting it slip by.

Not after what happened the last time we had that opportunity... this
time, we make good on it.

Let's go, Eric.

[With that, the members of Rough N Ready walk off camera.]

JD:  The challengers are ready to claim the titles they believe should
have been theirs a long, long time ago.  Gordon, Bucky - back to you!

[We fade back to the ringside area where our announce team is standing.]

GM:  Thanks for that, Jason.  The challengers seem to be ready for
anything, Bucky.

BW:  They'd better be because that's exactly what they've got comin'
their way.  The Bishop Boys will bring the fight to them - and if
they're anything at all like the Bishops of old - they'll bring the
whole kitchen sink down with 'em.

GM:  It's the National Tag Team Titles on the line and it's right now! 
Take it away, Melissa!

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

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

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

MC:  From Albuquerque, New Mexico... weighing in at a combined weight of
615 pounds... they are the team of Dave Cooper and Eric Matthew
Somers...

ROUGH!  N!  REAAAAAADYYYYY!

[Dave Cooper wears black wrestling trunks, matching kneepads and white
wrestling boots, and also wears a black T-shirt that says "Rough N
Ready" in white lettering. Eric Matthew Somers wears a black singlet and
white wrestling boots.]

GM:  And there they are, the Number One contenders to the National Tag
Team Titles are headed to the ring to battle their long-time rivals with
the gold on the line.  

BW:  Obviously, there's no sign of Sarah Sharpe who was given her
walking papers by the old fossils a few weeks ago.

GM:  That's not... exactly... how that went down.

[Somers and Cooper are all business as they hit the ring.  Cooper tears
off his t-shirt, throwing it to the floor as they turn their focus
towards the aisleway.]

MC:  And their opponents...

[The music changes to "Nothin' To Lose" by Rebel Meets Rebel kicks in to
a HUGE cheer from the four thousand Memphis fans in the baseball
stadium.]

MC:  At a total combined weight of 568 pounds... being accompanied to
the ring by their manager Cousin Bo... they are the AWA National Tag
Team Champions...

Duane Henry and Cletus Lee...

THE BISHOP BOOOOOYS!

[The crowd roars once more as the trio emerges from one of the dugouts,
the title belts slung over their shoulders.  Together, they walk in
unison down the aisle, heading towards the ring where their challengers
await them.  They appear to be just as focused as the challengers, eyes
locked on the ring and not the cheering fans alongside the aisle.]

GM:  The Bishop Boys have held the titles since the beginning of April
but they have yet to face a top contender.  Tonight will change all that
for sure.

BW:  I may not like either of these teams at the moment, Gordo, but I'm
more than excited to see these two teams beat each other into a bloody
pulp.

[The Bishop Boys climb into the ring, leaving Cousin Bo to take his spot
in their corner.  Eyes locked on the opposition, they hand off the belts
to the official who holds both belts up before giving them out to an
attendant.]

GM:  Referee Marty Meekly has drawn the short straw to try and keep this
one under control.  These four men just do not like one another and
their rivalry goes back over a year now.

[Cletus Lee Bishop walks to the middle of the ring, shoving the official
aside...

...and points right at Eric Matthew Somers.  Big cheer!]

GM:  What in the-

BW:  The big man wants the other big man!  They're not messing around
here tonight in Memphis!

GM:  Cletus Lee Bishop just demanded that Eric Matthew Somers start this
match off with him...

[The referee spins to the side, calling for the bell.]

GM:  And here we go!

[Somers nods his head, accepting Cletus Lee's challenge to start the
match.  Cooper and Duane Henry head out to the apron, leaving the two
titans to start the match off.]

GM:  Look at this, Bucky.

[The crowd roars as the two six foot nine grapplers come to the middle
of the ring, squaring off.]

GM:  Two monsters ready to throw down in the middle of the ring and-

[Without warning, Somers takes the first shot, a right hand to the jaw
that knocks Cletus Lee back a step.  Staying on the attack, Somers
throws two more before Cletus Lee can recover.]

GM:  Somers is all over him!

[With Cletus Lee backed against the ropes, Somers uncorks haymaker after
haymaker into the skull of the redneck...

...but after one blow gets blocked, Cletus Lee manages to hook Somers'
massive arms with his own.]

GM:  Uh oh!

[The first headbutt from Cletus Lee Bishop catches Somers on the right
cheekbone.  The second splits his lip.  The third drills him on the
bridge of the nose, knocking him down to a knee.]

GM:  Good grief!  Three of the hardest headbutts I've ever seen and that
includes Raphael Rhodes!

[With Somers down to a knee, Cletus Lee winds up with both arms...

...smashing them down on the shoulders of Somers, trying to knock him
the rest of the way down but the big man from New Mexico won't budge. 
Grabbing Somers by the hair, Cletus Lee slams a right hand into the jaw.
 A second one hits him in the temple.  He yanks Somers off his knee,
dragging him to the corner, and smashing his skull into the top
turnbuckle of the neutral corner.]

GM:  Ohh!  Headfirst to the buckle!

[Cletus Lee spins Somers around in the corner, burying a knee into the
midsection.  A double axehandle blow across the broad back of Somers
again knocks him down to a knee.]

GM:  Cletus Lee backs away...

[The big Bishop sprints across the ring, lifting his leg at the last
moment.]

GM:  BIG BOOOOO-

[But Somers pops up to his feet, snatching Cletus Lee's leg in his arms.
 He holds him at bay for a moment, shaking his head to inform Cletus Lee
that that big boot won't be landing...

...and then lunges forward, knocking Cletus Lee flat with a lunging 350
pound clothesline that takes both men off their feet and down to the
canvas!]

GM:  GOOD GRIEF!!

BW:  It took months, Gordo - MONTHS - before we saw Cletus Lee Bishop
EVER knocked off his feet here in the AWA.  Eric Matthew Somers just did
it just over sixty seconds into this one!  

[Somers pops up to his feet, throwing his arms apart and shouting,
"YEAAAH!" to the cheers of the crowd as he looks down at the stunned
Cletus Lee Bishop.  The big man turns to Cousin Bo who looks just as
surprised out on the floor.]

"Ya like that, punk?"

[Somers slaps himself across the chest, inviting Cletus Lee to get back
to his feet to continue the fight...

...and that's exactly what happens, Cletus Lee tearing up to his feet,
and lunging into the fray.]

GM:  Whoa!

[The crowd EXPLODES as Cletus Lee Bishop and Eric Matthew Somers
disappear in a sea of limbs, flailing at each other with arms and fists
and elbows thrown at maximum impact.

And then the bigger Bishop brother throws himself at Somers, wrapping
his arms around his upper body to tie him up while sinking his teeth
into Somers' forehead!]

GM:  Ahhh!

[The referee lunges into the fray, trying to force a break.  Bishop
breaks at four, leaving Somers reeling from someone trying to gnaw on
his skull.]

GM:  I think that just shows how badly both of these teams want to win
this match and how much the National Tag Team Titles means to them both.

BW:  Are you saying both of these teams willing to do ANYTHING to win
the titles here tonight?

GM:  That may be exactly right, Bucky.

[Measuring Somers, Bishop snaps off a straight right hand to the jaw
that sends Somers stumbling backwards, falling into the corner where his
arms wrap around the top rope, leaving his upper body fully exposed...

...where Bishop lights him up with a knife-edge chop across the chest!]

GM:  Ohh!  What a chop by Cletus Lee!

[Bishop holds up his hand, spreading his fingers wide...

...and SLAPS his hand down across the chest, leaving a red palm print on
Somers' pectorals.]

GM:  Good grief!  

[Cletus Lee does it again, leaving a matching red welt right next to the
original.  With Somers reeling, Cletus Lee grabs him by the massive arm,
whipping him across the ring to the opposite neutral corner.]

GM:  Cletus Lee backs to the corner... here he comes!

[The big man barrels across the ring towards Somers...

...and smashes chestfirst into the buckles when Cooper yanks Somers by
the arm, pulling him to safety!]

GM:  Ohhh!  Cooper saved his partner there!

BW:  And I've gotta think that's not a typical thing we'd see from Rough
N Ready.  I don't think Cooper would pull Somers out of an attack
ordinarily.  It's just not the "by the book" kinda thing we see from
them.  

GM:  It's just so important to them to win this thing, Bucky.  They want
to be the National Tag Team Champions so badly it hurts.

BW:  Yeah, but does it hurt them or the Bishops?

[With Cletus Lee reeling from the collision in the corner, Cooper tags
himself into the ring.  He rushes to corner Cletus Lee, throwing a
hooking right hand to the ribs.  A second one connects as well.  A hard
kick to the gut doubles up the big man.  Cooper grabs him by the hair
and delivers a kneelift that snaps him back into the buckles.]

GM:  Cooper grabs him by the wrist... big wh- reversed!

[Cletus Lee Bishop's power sends Cooper flying into the buckles instead.
 The big man stampedes forward, connecting with the running clothesline
he missed moments earlier.  Fired up, Cletus Lee drags Cooper to his own
corner where he slaps the hand of Duane Henry Bishop.]

GM:  Duane Henry coming in... climbing the ropes...

[And he leaps off the top, bringing a forearm crashing down across the
back of Cooper, knocking him down to the mat.]

GM:  Ohh!  Down goes Cooper and-

[A ferocious Duane Henry starts stomping and stomping and stomping until
Cooper rolls under the ropes outside the ring.  Duane Henry promptly
steps out on the apron, leaping off with a double axehandle that takes
Cooper down to the grass.]

GM:  We're only a few minutes into this one and we're already outside
the ring - out on the grass here in center field.

[Duane Henry kneels down, battering Cooper over and over with right
hands.  He promptly wraps his hands around Cooper's throat, choking him
on the ground.  Nearby, Cousin Bo is shouting encouragement to his
cousin while Cletus Lee and Eric Matthew Somers glare at one another
from their respective corners.]

GM:  Duane Henry pulls him up...

[Dragging Cooper back towards the ringside area, Duane Henry goes to
throw him back into the ring but a hard back elbow to the gut blocks
him.  Cooper grabs Duane Henry by the back of the head, slamming his
head into the ring apron.]

GM:  Ohh!  He sends him hard into the apron!

[With Duane Henry dazed, Cooper rushes towards him...

...and gets backdropped waaaaaay up into the air before crashing down on
the center field grass once more!]

GM:  GOOD GRIEF!!  What impact!  Cooper's back just slammed down onto
the ground here in FedEx Park in Memphis and while it's not concrete,
you'd better believe it'll hurt ya!

[A slightly-wobbly Duane Henry stumbles over to the ring apron, using
the ropes to pull himself up on the apron.  He leans on the ropes,
shaking the cobwebs as he glares down at the still-floored Dave Cooper.]

GM:  The referee's count is up to six... now to seven... can Cooper make
it back in and beat the count?

BW:  And what an awful way to lose your shot at the titles - a countout
loss early in the match.  That just might put Rough N Ready through the
roof if that happened.

[Cooper staggers to his feet at the count of eight, stumbling to the
ring apron...

...where Duane Henry runs down the apron, stomping Cooper in the back of
his head, smashing his face into the apron!]

GM:  Ohh!  Absolutely brutal!

[Duane Henry steps in at the count of nine, waiting, waiting...

...and then grimacing as Cooper throws himself under the ropes into the
ring, just narrowly beating the count.]

GM:  Whoooooa - so close, Bucky.

BW:  And that also shows how badly the Bishops want to keep their
titles.  Duane Henry Bishop was willing to let Dave Cooper get counted
out in order to keep those shiny gold belts.  

GM:  The titles are the most important thing in the world to both of
these teams.

[Duane Henry immediately goes to work with more stomps to the head and
body of Cooper, knocking him under the ropes again.]

GM:  Right back out to the floor...

BW:  This is starting to look like Samson and Dufresne.

[Bishop steps out on the apron, backing down to the neutral corner
ringpost.]

GM:  Duane Henry's measuring him...

[The smaller Bishop barrels down the apron, leaping high into the air,
tucking his legs...]

GM:  BAAAACKSPLAAAAS-


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[The crowd roars as Cooper rolls aside, causing Bishop to smash
spinefirst down to the outfield grass.]

GM:  DID YOU SEE THAT?!

BW:  Duane Henry Bishop may have just put HIMSELF in the hospital with
that one!  A daredevil type move and he paid the ultimate price for it. 
From about six feet in the air, he just slammed backfirst on the grass
here in FedEx Park!

[Cooper rolls to his feet, pulling a motionless Duane Henry off the
ground and firing him under the ropes into the ring.  The veteran rolls
in right after him, applying a lateral press.]

GM:  Cover for one!  For two!  For th-

[The crowd responds with a mixed reaction as Cletus Lee steps in,
pulling Cooper off of Duane Henry to break the pin attempt.]

GM:  Cletus Lee breaks up the pin!

BW:  And in my estimation, Cletus Lee Bishop just saved the National Tag
Team Titles, Gordo.

GM:  We're just over six minutes into this match and what a shocker that
would've been to see the titles change hands that quickly.  Duane Henry
Bishop took a big risk and it came up snake-eyes for the National Tag
Team Champions.

[Cooper hauls Duane Henry back to his feet, glaring at Cletus Lee as he
gets up.]

GM:  Irish whip by Cooper...

[And as Duane Henry rebounds, Cooper drops his shoulder, tossing the
Bishop through the air and down to the mat in a big backdrop!]

GM:  Another backdrop by Cooper - this one inside the ring!

BW:  But right down on the injured back.  Duane Henry's gotta be feeling
it.

GM:  Cooper with another cover!

[The referee counts one... counts two... and is about to count three
again when Cletus Lee Bishop intervenes, stomping down on the back of
Cooper's head.  This time, Somers steps into the ring, ready to continue
his fight with Cletus Lee...

...but somehow, the referee manages to convince Somers to back off.]

GM:  Cletus Lee breaks up the pin again.  And how many times is he going
to be able to do that, Bucky?

BW:  He can do it as much as he wants until Somers manages to stop him.

GM:  Cooper pulls him up... big right hand puts Duane Henry back on the
ropes...

[Cooper grabs the wrist, firing him across the ring.]

GM:  Off the ropes...

[Cooper hoists up Duane Henry by the upper thighs, rotating, and SPIKING
the smaller Bishop down to the canvas with a spinebuster!]

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

[And immediately dives into another cover.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!!  THRE-

[The crowd jeers this time as Cletus Lee breaks up the pin yet again.]

GM:  Uh oh... the crowd is starting to turn on the Bishops a bit here in
Memphis.

BW:  Cletus Lee has broken up the pin three times now and-

[BIG CHEER!]

GM:  SOMERS TACKLES HIM DOWN!!

[The crowd roars as Somers double leg tackles Cletus Lee down to the
mat, hammering him from the mount as Cooper gets up, glaring across the
ring at the man who his partner is pummeling.]

GM:  Somers is pounding Cletus Lee Bishop into the canvas!

[Cooper drags Duane Henry off the mat by the hair, chucking him through
the ropes to the floor.]

GM:  He throws Duane Henry out to the floor again!  What in the world
has gotten into Dave Cooper?

[The veteran rolls out to the floor, greeting a rising Duane Henry with
an elbowsmash to the back of the head.  Grabbing his opponent around the
waist, Cooper rushes forward, driving the lower back of Duane Henry
Bishop into the edge of the apron!]

GM:  TO THE BACK AGAIN!!

[Cooper balls up his fist, driving right hand after right hand into the
skull of the injured Duane Henry Bishop.  From a few feet away, Cousin
Bo vocally protests...

...and gets threatened with a clenched fist from Cooper.]

BW:  That oughta shut up Cousin Bo.

GM:  You think Bo's never been threatened with a right hand before?

[Cooper drags Duane Henry away from the apron, hooking him around the
waist again...

...and DRIVES him spinefirst into the steel ringpost!]

GM:  OHHHH!  TO THE STEEL!!  COOPER DRIVES HIM TO THE STEEL!!

[The camera cuts inside the ring where Eric Matthew Somers stomps Cletus
Lee under the ropes to the floor.  Somers heads out to the apron, going
after him as he hopes down to the grass as well.]

GM:  We've got all four men outside the ring on the grass and-

[Somers drags Cletus Lee up by the hair, pasting him with a right hand
that knocks him back towards the crowd.

On the other side of the ring, Cooper drills Duane Henry with a right
hand as well, knocking him down to a knee.]

GM:  Somers with another right hand... he's backing up now...

[With a bellow, Somers rushes towards him in a clothesline...

...but Cletus Lee lashes out with a right hand, blocking the clothesline
attempt and knocking Somers down to a knee.]

GM:  Ohh!  What a shot that was!  Straight right on the chin and-

[Cletus Lee Bishop backs off, glaring at a dazed Somers...]

GM:  HERE HE COMES!!

[The larger member of the Bishop Boys comes dashing across the grass,
lashing out with a big boot to the jaw, sending Somers sprawling into
the ringside seats!]

GM:  BIG BOOT!!  CLETUS LEE CAUGHT ALL OF THAT!!!

[Cooper rolls Duane Henry back into the ring, promptly hopping up to the
middle rope...

...and leaps off, driving a knee down into the skull of Duane Henry!]

GM:  KNEEDROP!!  COVER FOR ONE!!  FOR TWO!!  FOR TH- 

[The crowd roars again as Cletus Lee Bishop drops a leg across the back
of Cooper's neck, breaking up the pin attempt.  Bishop quickly drags
Cooper up off the mat before he has a moment to recover.]

GM:  Cletus Lee pulls him up...

[A boot to the gut doubles up Cooper, allowing Bishop to hook the
standing headscissors.  He reaches down with both arms, grabbing Cooper
around the waist and hoisting him up off the canvas...]

GM:  He's got him up!  He's got Cooper up in the air!

[Cletus Lee charges across the ring, holding Cooper up in a crucifix...

...and HURLS him halfway across the ring, sending him crashing to a stop
in a tossing powerbomb!]

GM:  OHHHHH!  HE THREW HIM HALFWAY BACK TO DALLAS, BUCKY!!!

[The big Bishop drops down to his knees, reaching back to hook a leg.]

GM:  He's got a cover!  

[But Marty Meekly waves his arms, shaking his head.]

GM:  No, no - Cletus Lee is not the legal man!  The referee is telling
Cletus Lee Bishop that he's not the legal man.


"TEN MINUTES HAVE EXPIRED!  TWENTY MINUTES REMAIN!"


[Cletus Lee grabs his own head in frustration, shaking it back and forth
as he climbs to his feet.  He quickly moves over to Duane Henry who is
still down and hurting on the mat.]

GM:  Cletus Lee is trying to get his brother revived.  

BW:  He's trying to shake some life into him, Gordo.  They've got Somers
out of the picture for the moment and they might be able to finish this
thing if Duane Henry wakes up.

GM:  He's shaking him back and forth.  Duane Henry has been punished
severely for the first ten minutes of this match and-

[Nodding his head, Duane Henry stumbles across the ring, dragging Dave
Cooper off the mat at Cletus Lee's instructions.  Cletus Lee pantomimes
hoisting Cooper up in a torture rack before backing away.]

GM:  Cletus Lee is calling for it!  He wants the Elixir!

[A weary Duane Henry grits his teeth, powering Cooper up into the
torture rack, holding him high as Cletus Lee rushes to the ropes...]

GM:  CLETUS CHARGES!!

[But as Cletus Lee prepares to deliver the big boot, Cooper starts
wriggling, breaking out of Duane Henry's grip.  The injured back forces
Duane Henry to let go...

...and allows Cooper to shove Duane Henry RIGHT into Cletus Lee's path!]

GM:  BIG BOOT!!  BIG BOOT ON HIS OWN BROTHER!!

[Duane Henry Bishop collapses to the canvas from the impact of the
Charging Big Boot.  A stunned Cletus Lee looks on in shock...

...and makes himself prone to Dave Cooper who rushes towards him,
throwing fists as fast as he can.]

GM:  Cooper's battering Cletus Lee!  He's gotta get him out to cover
Duane Henry!

[But through the barrage of blows, Cletus Lee Bishop reaches out with
his right hand, grabbing Cooper around the throat...

...and hoists him high, DRIVING him down with a thunderous slam!]

GM:  CHOKESLAM!!  MY STARS, THE CHOKESLAM BY CLETUS LEE!!

[The larger Bishop collapses to a knee as Cooper gets driven down to the
mat just a few feet from where Duane Henry Bishop lies motionless after
getting hit with the Charging Big Boot.]

GM:  Duane Henry's down!  Dave Cooper is down as well!  Cletus Lee
managed to take them both out of the picture and-

[The crowd ERUPTS as Somers snakes an arm under the ropes, yanking
Cletus Lee out to the floor by the ankle where he drills him with a
right hand.]

GM:  And the two big men are brawling on the floor once again!  Somers
and Cletus Lee started this whole thing off and now they're tearing into
one another again!

[And suddenly, a buzz begins to build throughout the Memphis crowd.]

GM:  Somers with a big double axehandle across the head... and
another... he's trying to knock him down to the ground and- wait a
second!

[The buzz grows louder as Joe Petrow comes slowly walking down the aisle
.]

GM:  Joe Petrow!  Hasn't he done enough damage here tonight?

BW:  Someone made a phone call, Gordo!

GM:  What?  How do you know?!

BW:  He said he was open to the highest bidder!  All he needed was a
phone call.  And I can guarantee you that his phone was ringin' off the
hook ever since then.  Some AWA superstars put this man on speed dial
immediately and it looks like someone used it!

[Petrow, a suitcase handcuffed to his wrist, slowly emerges from the
aisleway to the ringside area, soaking up jeers from the Memphis crowd.]

GM:  These fans are letting him have it... but I want to know why he's
here!

[Slowly, Duane Henry Bishop crawls to his feet, shaking his head back
and forth to try and clear the cobwebs...

...and spots Joe Petrow at ringside.  He immediately points at Petrow.]


"YOU!  What are you doing here?"


[Petrow simply raises his hands, begging off as Duane Henry approaches
the ropes, glaring over them.]

GM:  Duane Henry Bishop has no idea why he's here!

BW:  That or he's one hell of an actor, Gordo.

GM:  I don't know if- look at this!

[Cousin Bo walks around the ringside area, reading Petrow the riot act
from ringside.  Petrow ignores Cousin Bo, waving him off as he
approaches the ring apron.]

GM:  Cousin Bo is really letting him have it!

BW:  Okay, maybe the Bishops didn't call him.

GM:  Bo is screaming at Petrow and he's not even looking at him!

[A dazed Dave Cooper gets up to his feet, slipping up behind Duane Henry
and dragging him down in a schoolboy.]

GM:  SCHOOLBOY!!  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE- OHHHH!

[Duane Henry Bishop kicks out of the pinfall attempt, bursting up to his
feet...

...and tackling Cooper down to the mat, throttling him with rights and
lefts!]

GM:  HE'S ALL OVER COOPER!!

BW:  But did you see that, Gordo?  Cooper used Petrow's distraction and
almost won the titles!  Joe Petrow almost hand-delivered the National
Tag Team Titles to Rough N Ready!

GM:  I saw the rollup but Cooper didn't even look like he knew Petrow
was there!

[Cooper rolls Duane Henry to his back, battering him with right hands on
the mat.  The technician gets up to his feet, dragging Duane Henry off
the mat.]

GM:  Irish whip...

[As the champion rebounds, Cooper scoops him up, pivoting, and DRIVING
Duane Henry down to the mat!]

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

[Cooper pops up to his feet, throwing his arms apart with a roar.  He
reaches down, grabbing both feet, lifting the legs up off the mat.  The
veteran crosses the legs, stepping through...]

GM:  TEXAS CLOVERLEAF!!

[The crowd ERUPTS as Cooper turns the submission hold over, leaning back
to further wrench Duane Henry Bishop's injured back.  The champion
screams out in pain, clawing at the canvas.]

GM:  He's got him trapped in the middle of the ring!  He's got the
Cloverleaf hooked in in the center of the ring and Duane Henry Bishop
has absolutely nowhere to go!

[Joe Petrow slaps the canvas with his hand, shouting in Dave Cooper's
direction.]


"YOU WANT THE GOLD?  BEND HIM!!  BREAK HIM!!"


[Cousin Bo is slapping the canvas on the other side of the ring as fast
as he can.]


"HANG ON, DUANE HENRY!!  DON'T YOU GIVE UP!!"


[The crowd is roaring for both men - fans of Rough N Ready driving Dave
Cooper to pull back harder, to stretch the spine of his opponent, to
force a submission out of him that'll cough up the National Tag Team
Titles.  Fans of the Bishop Boys trying to inspire Duane Henry to hold
out, to not give up, to not surrender the gold with every fiber of his
being.]

GM:  Marty Meekly's right there - he wants to see if he gives up... he
wants to see if he quits...

[Suddenly, Cousin Bo leaps up on the ring apron, screaming at his man. 
The referee peels away, shouting at the manager to get down off the
apron.  On the other side of the ring, Joe Petrow hops up on the apron,
uncuffing the briefcase from his wrist...

...but Cletus Lee Bishop grabs Petrow from behind, yanking him down off
the apron!  He drills Petrow with a right hand, knocking him flat, and
then slides into the ring.]

GM:  Cooper breaks the hold!  He saw Cletus Lee coming!

[The two men start battling once again, trading blows in the center. 
Out on the floor, an angry Joe Petrow storms over to the timekeeper's
table, snatching a steel chair out from under the timekeeper.]

GM:  Petrow's got a chair!  Look out!

[The Executive Consultant gets up on the apron, chair in hand...

...and has it ripped out of his hand by Duane Henry Bishop who takes a
wild swing at Petrow with it.  Petrow narrowly avoids the swing,
dropping down to the floor.]

GM:  Duane Henry's got the chair now and-

[Spinning around, Duane Henry spots Eric Matthew Somers approaching
Cletus Lee from behind...

...and SMASHES the chair across Somers' back!]

GM:  OHHHH!  HE HIT SOMERS WITH THE CHAIR!!

[An angry Duane Henry spikes the chair on the canvas, roaring as he runs
into the fray, drilling Cooper with a spinning leg lariat.  He rolls
over on top of Cooper, battering him with right hands as Cletus Lee
takes advantage of Somers being hit with the chair to knock him flat
with a standing lariat!]

GM:  We've got a fight still going in the ring and-


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


[The crowd buzzes at the sound of the bell.  Marty Meekly exits the ring
to chat with Melissa for a moment.]

MC:  Ladies and gentlemen... the referee has DISQUALIFIED The Bishop
Boys for their use of a steel chair.  Therefore, your winners of the
match as a result of a disqualification... ROUGH!  N!  READY!

[Some cheers go up for Somers and Cooper, the crowd still confused by
the appearance of Joe Petrow and everything else that's gone on from
that point on.]

MC:  However, in the American Wrestling Alliance, the title CAN NOT
change hands on a disqualification.  Therefore, still the National Tag
Team Champions... THE BISHOP BOYS!

[Another moderate amount of cheers as the battle continues inside the
ring between the two tag teams.]

GM:  Rough N Ready wins the match but not the titles and we need to get
security out here!  This is out of control!  Fans, we'll be right back!

[A flood of AWA security hits the ring to restore order as we fade to
black.

And then quickly back up on a shot of the AWA logo.  A voiceover
begins.]

"Fans, it's that time of year again!  As the AWA hits the summer months,
we're going on the road!  No longer staying in the Lone Star State, the
months of July, August, and September are your chances to see the AWA
all over the Southern states!

That's right!  You heard me right!

[A scrolling list of dates and cities appears as the voiceover reads
along with it.]

July 17th - Charlotte, North Carolina
July 31st - Charleston, South Carolina
August 14th - Atlanta, Georgia
August 28th - Mobile, Alabama
September 6th - New Orleans, Louisiana

Get your tickets now by calling your local ticket outlet or by visiting
AWAShop.com!"

The graphic fades and after a moment, we're back to live action where 
Jason Dane is standing with Brian Von Braun.  BVB is decked out in his
wrestling gear along with an button down green shirt left open.  He has
no t-shirt underneath.]

JD:  Tonight, you team up with fellow Syndicate member Adrian Freeman
and MAMMOTH Mizusawa in a six-man tag team match against Todd
Michaelson, Marcus Broussard, and Juan Vasquez.

[BVB can't help but smirk.]

JD:  Ron Houston will be the Special Enforcer for this match.

BVB:  Ron think he's stackin' tha deck against me, Jason.  Let tha
Rocket City Badboy tell ya how well Ron Houston plans things.

[BVB looks at Jason Dane.]

BVB:  Eight days ago, he came out an' told tha world BVB ain't done
nothin' of note.  I walk 'round with my chest puffed out with some
imagined bravado.  In tha same breath, Ron Houston felt tha need ta tell
me that Ron Houston has beat men like Juan Vasquez, men like Marcus
Broussard.

[BVB looks back at the camera.]

BVB:  It's tha same ol' tried an' true method, Ron.  Ya run down yer
opponent sayin' he ain't done jack.  Then ya brag about all yer
accomplishments.  I'm not impressed, Ron.  Know why?  Tha difference
between us, y'ain't go no gumshin.

[BVB shakes his head.]

BVB:  Ya're hidin' behind yer injury.  I put my hands on ya, ya go
runnin' ta Jim Watkins, puttin' yer face between Watkins' moobs.  Ya
get him ta give ya a piece of paper that says if I put my hands on ya,
ya get ta hit me back.

[BVB scoffs at this and then starts laughing.]

JD:  As the Special Enforcer...

BVB:  [interrupting and ignoring Jason Dane] Ya know what a man does,
Ron?  He don't find an excuse ta get even, he jus' does.  I'd suggest
ya do yerself a favor, Ron.  I suggest ya find out 'bout tha Rocket
City Badboy.  Ya think this bravado is a facade.  It ain't, Peach.
Deep down inside ya know that.  Ya know ya can't press my buttons.  Ya
know I'm tha one in control.

[BVB's eyes go wide and wild.]

BVB:  Look right here, Ron.

[He points to himself.]

BVB:  Right in my eyes, Ron.  Take a look.  Ya think ya can outsmart
me?  Look at what happened to Raphael Rhodes.  Tell yerself I ain't
had nothin' ta do with that.  Keep on foolin' yerself into a safety.
After you see what I do ta Todd Michaelson, Marcus Broussard, an' Juan
Vasquez, ya're gonna continue hidin' behind ya're Special Enforcer
gig.  Like I told ya eight days ago, watch yerself carefully, Ron.
Accidents will happen.

[BVB looks at Jason Dane.]

JD:  Any words for your opponents?

BVB:  They'll figure out what ol' "Hot Stuff" has ta say in tha ring.

[BVB walks off camera.]

JD:  Let's head over to the other side of the backstage area where my
good friend, Mark Stegglet, is standing by with some of the folks we saw
in action earlier tonight.  Mark?

[OK, Jason, let's do that.  And in the dressing rooms we are, where
indeed Mark Stegglet is standing beside the manager of the Pigs, Richard
E. Lee,  with Hammer and Sabre flanking him on each side.]

MS: Thanks, Jason.  Richard E. Lee, an impressive victory for your men
earlier tonight against the team of Vladimir Velikov and Baron Von
Klauss, continuing what has been an impressive streak since your return
to the AWA from Japan.

[Lee nods.  No smile.]

REL: If you think we've been impressive so far, Stegglet, just keep your
eyes on the War Pigs because in the words of a favorite band of mine
from the old days, Bachmann-Turner Overdrive, you ain't seen nothing
yet.

[Hammer nods, Sabre smirks, Lee continues.]

REL: We said we came here to do two things: look for fights and separate
the men from the boys.  Tonight, we accepted the challenge of two _boys_
who claimed they were the best tag team in the AWA and taught them a
little lesson about what happens when you give the War Pigs a chance to
get in the ring with you.

You get DESTROYED.

There's a lot of teams and managers here that like to talk, Stegglet,
but only a few can back it up.

[And almost if on cue (imagine that), two wild-haired men burst into
view, going after the closest War Pig, Sabre.  A few blows land before
Hammer can intervene, his manager trying to clear out of the way. 
Hammer and Sabre seem to hold their own for a few moments with these
crazed, flailing brawlers...

...but suddenly a third man rushes in from behind, swinging a garbage
can that connects with the back of Hammer's skull, knocking him down to
the floor.]

MS:  What the-

[Mark Stegglet gets shoved aside by the third man who swings the
now-dented trash can a second time, smashing it over the skull of Sabre,
a blow that knocks him down to a knee.

For the first time, the camera gets a clear shot of all three men.  The
original two both are wearing tattered, ripped blue jeans that look like
they haven't seen a washing machine in years.  Both men sport bleached
blond hair... almost white in brightness... along with beards to match. 
They are both broad-shouldered and barrel-chested and... well, they kind
of have beer guts.

The third man looks quite similar but he's sporting a leather biker's
vest along with it and seems to be the "brains" of the operation,
shouting unintelligble words to the others who deliver stomps and kicks
at his instructions.]

MS:  Who are you-

[The third man grabs Stegglet by the tie, shoving him back against the
wall rather hard.  He wraps a hand around the announcer's throat.]

"Hush now, pretty."

[And as Stegglet looks on in horror, the other two men each grab Sabre
by the head...

...and SLAM his skull into the concrete wall that makes up the dugout
behind them!  The crowd's "OHHHHH!" can be heard from the announce area
as Sabre crumples down to the floor.  Hammer crawls over his downed
partner, taking a few more kicks and stomps from the trio before they
walk out of view, leaving a gasping Stegglet to stand over the beaten
War Pigs.]

MS:  What in the world was that?

[A shocked-looking Richard E. Lee walks into view, staring down at his
two men.]

REL:  That... was the Moonshiners.

[Lee drops down to his knees, trying to check on Sabre as Stegglet looks
on in shock.]

MS:  The... Moonshiners?

[And with a puzzled Stegglet looking on as a couple medical guys rush
into view and we fade back to ringside.]

GM:  Wow.

BW:  It's a reunion night here in Memphis!  The Moonshiners, Gordo!  I
haven't seen them in years!

GM:  The Moonshiners, for those that don't know, are a tag team from the
late 70s that arrived here in Memphis in Mid-South Wrestling.  They
really took the world by storm and have battled in and out of wrestling
for the... wow, thirty years since!  

BW:  I ran across their paths a few times in my years.

GM:  Me too.  But I never enjoyed it.

BW:  Hey, whenever the Moonshiners are around, a good time is comin',
daddy!  I love watchin' those guys throw down.  They may not look like
much but they can fight with the best of 'em.

GM:  But what do they have against the War Pigs?

BW:  Maybe they just were lookin' for a fight and went after the guys
wearin' makeup.

GM:  Oh, the Pigs aren't going to like that.  Fans, it's been a wild
night here in Memphis and we're nowhere near done yet.  We've got two
big matches still to come including our National Title match... which
we're being told is coming up right now!  Big Jim Watkins, come on in
here...

[Jim Watkins, the Chairman of the Championship Committee, does exactly
that, striding into view.  He's wearing a sportscoat and blue jeans with
his cowboy boots - fine attire for Big Jim.]

GM:  Jim, I hear it's National Title match time.

JW:  You got that right, Gordon.  I think we've made ol' Stevie wait
long enough back there.  I hear he's pacin' the floor something fierce. 
We may have to pay for some new carpet after he's done walkin' back and
forth.

[The two veterans chuckle.]

BW:  I don't see a single thing funny 'bout any of this!  It is not
right to keep the National Champion in the dark about who he's going to
have to face here tonight.  It's not right for Stevie Scott to not know
who he's defending against.  And it's not right for Ben Waterson to not
have sufficient time to form a gameplan.

[Watkins points a large finger at Bucky.]

JW:  Look here, Bucky.  They brought this on themselves.  They knew who
their opponent was tonight and they didn't like it.  So, they put that
kid in the hospital... him and his brother.  So now, they get to face
whoever the heck we decide they're gonna face and they get to find out
whenever the heck we decide they're gonna find out.  

And if they've got a problem with that, I've got no problem in strippin
'em of the gold tonight!

[Big cheer!]

JW:  Now, if you can hear me in the production truck, let's get the
champ out here.  I think he'll enjoy this.

["Gimme Back My Bullets" by Lynyrd Skynyrd starts up to a super-loud
explosion of boos.  After a moment, "Hotshot" Stevie Scott emerges from
the dugout alongside his manager, Ben Waterson.  Scott's ready for
battle, dressed in his wrestling trunks.  Waterson is right there with
him - the two men trading words as they head down the aisle.  By the
way, neither man looks like they're going to enjoy this.  As they hit
the ringside area, Scott climbs the steps as Waterson pauses to shout a
few words in Watkins' direction.]

GM:  Well, Jim, here they are...

[Watkins grins a bit.]

JW:  Yep, here they are.  How ya feelin', champ?

[Stevie shouts something unheard by the cameras.  Probably a good
thing.]

JW:  Sorry to hear it.  The suspense will be over in just a second.  I
promise ya.  Now, here in the AWA, we're always about giving the people
what they want to see.  And what they want to see is someone give ol'
Hotshot there a run for his money.

But you know what else I'm about?  I'm about giving people an
opportunity.  Maybe even giving them an opportunity that they may not
have usually gotten.

[A bigger grin this time.]

JW:  Bring 'em out, boys.

[A big cheer comes out as the dugouts empty...

...and a stream of AWA superstars come walking down the aisle towards
the ring.]

GM:  What in the world...?

[The cameras catch about twenty different AWA stars walking down the
aisle - men like Shane Destiny, Jack Snyder, Anton Layton, Scola & Mafu,
Kevin Slater and many others.  Slowly, they continue to file out of the
dugouts until they are completely surrounding the ring.]

JW:  Stevie Scott... somewhere around this ring is the man who will
challenge you for the National Title here tonight.

[The crowd buzzes with anticipation.]

JW:  But I thought we'd play a little game to... build the suspense.

There are twenty AWA competitors surrounding the ring and I've put all
twenty of those names inside this hat.  So, I thought we'd have
ourselves a little drawing...

[Cheers!]

JW:  But unlike your normal drawing, the first name drawn is NOT your
opponent, Stevie.  Rather, it's the last man standing.  The last name
left in the hat will be your opponent here tonight.  So, let's get to
it...

I'm going to draw four names right off the bat.

[Watkins digs into the hat, pulling out four slips of paper.]

JW:  When I call out your name, please leave the ringside area...

[He unfolds the first sheet of paper.]

JW:  Nenshou.

[The Asian Assassin, his facepaint still stained red from his attack on
Vernon Riley earlier in the night, walks away from ringside accompanied
by Percy Childes back up the aisle.]

JW:  Shane Taylor.

[Taylor, constantly looking over his shoulder, makes his exit alongside
Kandi Kane.]

JW:  From Violence Unlimited, Danny Morton.

[Morton slaps the apron in anger, high-fives his partner and then makes
his exit.]

JW:  And finally, the Prince of Darkness, Anton Layton.

[Layton creeps off into the night as Watkins surveys the scene.]

JW:  Sixteen men left.  Some real bruisers too, huh, Ben?

[Waterson looks outraged as he looks over the men on the floor - still
looking at men like Grant Stone and James Monosso among others.]

JW:  Alright, let's narrow this down a bit more.  Gordon, you want to
give me a hand here?

[Gordon reaches in to pull out a name.]

GM:  Baron Von Klauss.

[The German glares long and hard at Gordon as he walks past.  The
veteran announcer reaches in for another.]

GM:  From the Samoan Hit Squad, Scola!

[James J. Dallas pats his big man on the shoulder as Scola makes his
exit.  Inside the ring, Stevie Scott looks a little bit relieved as he
whispers to Ben Waterson.]

GM:  The other half of Violence Unlimited, Jackson Haynes.

[Haynes shakes his head with disappointment as he lopes out of the
scene.]

GM:  And finally...

[He draws one more name, unfolding it.]

GM:  Grant Stone.

[The big man makes his exit - leaving both Waterson and the Hotshot
looking like they just won the lottery.]

JW:  Nice work, Gordon.  I think Ben and Stevie would like you to keep
drawing cause you took out some big guns there.  But, I think it's ol'
Buckthorn's turn.  Take your shot, Mr. Wilde.

[Bucky looks disdainful as he reaches into the hat.]

BW:  Jack Snyder!

[NOW Bucky looks happy.  So does Stevie and Waterson.]

BW:  Gimme that hat... 

[He digs in again.]

BW:  Marty Morgan!

[One-half of the Rockstar Express exchanges an embrace with his partner
before making his exit.]

BW:  One-half of the Bombers, Johnny Nova.

[Larry Doyle lets loose a wail of "SAY IT AIN'T SO!" as Nova makes his
exit.]

JW:  Hold up there, Bucky.  We're down to nine names now so let's savor
this.  Take a look, Stevie.  One of these nine men will face you for the
National Title.

[The camera pans around the ring showing Mark Langseth, Mafu, Kevin
Slater, Scotty Storm, Aaron Anderson, Bobby Baldwin, Shane Destiny,
Jesse Ewiak, and James Monosso.]

JW:  My turn...

[Watkins digs deep.]

JW:  James Monosso!

[The madman seems to barely care as he slips off into the shadows.]

JW:  How 'bout one more?  

[He draws another piece of paper.]

JW:  Kevin Slater!  A two-time former World Champ.  That's gotta make
you happy, huh, champ?

[Stevie Scott looks around at the seven men left, nodding his head as he
appraises them all.]

JW:  Jesse Ewiak is the next to go.  

[The recently-debuted Ewiak shakes his head with disappointment as he
makes his exit.]

JW:  Mafu!

[Mafu slams his arms into the mat, uttering something in Samoan as his
manager leads him away.]

GM:  We're down to five men!

JW:  We sure are - and how 'bout we get those five in the ring with the
champ?

[The crowd roars and Stevie Scott backpedals, title belt in hand as Mark
Langseth, Aaron Anderson, Scotty Storm of the Rockstar Express, Shane
Destiny, and Bobby Baldwin of the Blonde Bombers climb into the ring.]

JW:  Alright.  Let's drop down to the Final Four.  You do the honor,
Gordon.

[Myers reaches into the hat.]

GM:  Bobby Baldwin!

[Larry Doyle again wails in agony as he walks his man back up the
aisle.]

JW:  We're down to four.  I think I'll come up there as well.

[Holding the mic, Watkins enters the ring, smiling at Waterson as he
walks past him.]

JW:  Champ, one of these four men will challenge you for the title
tonight.  Whaddya think?

[He offers the mic to Stevie who says nothing.]

JW:  No comment, huh?  Fair enough.  Let's draw.

[He digs in again, pulling out another name.]

JW:  Aaron Anderson!

[The All-American slaps his hands together in disappointment as he turns
to exit the ring.]

GM:  Down to three, Bucky.

BW:  Scotty Storm, Mark Langseth, and Shane Destiny - an interesting
three.

GM:  Who's it gonna be?

[Watkins speaks again.]

JW:  It's getting to be nervous time up here in the ring, fans.  So,
let's put someone out of their mise-

[Suddenly, Mark Langseth grabs the mic away.]

ML:  I'm sorry to interrupt.  But I've got an offer to make... to you.

[Langseth points at Destiny.]

ML:  I'll bow out of this right now.  I'll take you from a thirty-three
percent chance of winning this little drawing to a fifty percent right
now.  

[Destiny looks uneasy at Langseth.]

ML:  All you have to do is sign the contract - one-on-one against me.

[The crowd cheers.]

ML:  You and me... Labor Day in New Orleans... let's make it happen.

[Destiny eyes Langseth for a long moment, looking over at Stevie Scott
who seems to be just as eager to see what happens...

...and curtly nods his head.  Big cheer!]

JW:  Hold on, hold on... Shane Destiny... do you accept Mr. Langseth's
terms?  He'll back out of this drawing in exchange for you agreeing to
meet him on Labor Day in New Orleans?

[Destiny nods again, leaning over the mic.]

SD:  I accept.

[Big cheer!]

JW:  Alright!  Mark, thanks for comin' out... and just for fun...

[Watkins draws the next name.]

JW:  Mark Langseth.

[Watkins grins as does Langseth as the Hall of Famer exits.]

JW:  And we're down to two.  Shane Destiny and Scotty Storm!  We are
just moments away from one of these two men challenging for the AWA
National Title!

And now... the final man eliminated...

Scotty Storm!

[The crowd boos at Storm being eliminated from the list...

...but then starts to buzz as Shane Destiny turns his attention to
Stevie Scott who is now clutching the title belt to his chest.  Destiny
points at the belt, doing the "I want the belt" gesture as he backs to
the opposite corner.  Ben Waterson, looking completely panicked, is
whispering as quickly as he can at the champion.]

JW:  Stevie Scott will defend the title right now... against Shane
Destiny!  Hooo boy!  Let's hook 'em up!

[And with that, Watkins exits the ring as referee Michael Meekly joins
the three men inside the ring.]

GM:  The AWA's Senior Official is in there with them.  We've just been
informed that we're going to take a quick break and we'll be right back
with the National Title showdown!

[Stevie Scott hands the title belt over to Michael Meekly, glaring
across the ring at Shane Destiny as we fade to black...

...and then back up on a shot of the AWA National Title belt.  The
super-excited voice of Mark Stegglet is heard over it.]

"You've seen it on Saturday Night Wrestling!"

[A shot of Marcus Broussard with the belt over his shoulder.]

"You've seen it on AWA supercards like Memorial Day Mayhem and The Last
Stampede!"

[A shot of Ron Houston wearing the belt in a promo picture.]

"You've seen the best the AWA has to offer wearing it!"

[Now a shot of Kolya Sudakov in a fighting pose with the belt hanging
over his shoulder.]

"And now, it can be yours!"

[A shot of Stevie Scott holding the belt high in the air fades into a
shot of a young fan doing the same.]

"Available NOW on AWAShop.com, get the official replica of the AWA
National Title belt that only the best and brightest of the AWA
superstars have held!"

[A closeup of the AWA National Title slowly fades to black...

...and then right back up on a shot of the National Title now sitting on
the timekeeper's table at ringside.  We quickly cut to the ring where
Destiny and Scott are now standing dead center, glaring at one another
from a few feet away.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans.  And we're about to see something that would be
a Main Event anywhere in the country with Shane Destiny challenging
Stevie Scott for the AWA National Title.

BW:  And as much as I like Shane Destiny, you KNOW this isn't fair for
Stevie, Gordo.  He hasn't had time to prepare... to get ready... to form
a plan.

GM:  Neither has Shane Destiny.

BW:  Destiny is obsessed with the National Title.  He's probably been
planning for this match since he first stepped foot into the AWA.  He's
probably-

[The voice of Jim Watkins rings out over the PA again.]

JW:  Uh oh.

[The camera cuts to ringside where Watkins looks a bit sheepish.]

JW:  You won't believe it, I tell ya.  I was cleanin' out my hat here,
gettin' your name out, Shane.  And I found one more slip of paper.

[Destiny glares at Watkins.]

JW:  So, it turns out that you WON'T be challenging for the title here
tonight, Shane.

[BIG CHEER!  Destiny rapidly approaches the ropes, fire in his eyes.]

"WHAT KIND OF CRAP IS THIS, WATKINS?!"

[Watkins lifts his hands, begging off.]

JW:  I'm sorry, Shane.  I really am.  I'm sure you'll get your shot
someday.

[An irate Destiny is pacing the ring, refusing to leave despite the
referee's orders.]

GM:  So, if Destiny's not going to face the champ... then who the heck
is?

[On cue, the PA system blares out "Supermoves" by Overseer...]

MC:  From Manchester, England...

[Dramatic pause.]

MC:  JEREMY RHOOOOODES!

[The crowd ERUPTS at the sight of Jeremy Rhodes, a little bit thicker
and older since the last time he was seen on American television, as he
marches down the aisle towards the ring, eyes locked on the National
Champion.]

GM:  Are you kidding me?!  He's the uncle of Raphael and Simon Rhodes!

BW:  This is a scam!  A sham!  A hoax!  Jim Watkins set all this up,
Gordo!

GM:  I think you're right.  I think this whole drawing was to mess with
Stevie's mind!  Stevie's in shock!

[Rhodes wastes no time in getting to the ring, climbing up the ringsteps
where he goes through the ropes.]

GM:  Uh oh... look at this...

[Shane Destiny steps up, blocking Jeremy Rhodes from getting to Stevie
Scott.]

GM:  This could be trouble.

BW:  These two aren't exactly strangers either, Gordo.

GM:  They certainly aren't.  Jeremy Rhodes TRAINED Shane Destiny! 
That's his mentor right there!  But Shane Destiny's losing his shot at
the National Title now.  

[Destiny's shouting at Rhodes.]

"What are you doing here?  This is MY shot!"

[But Jeremy Rhodes is looking beyond Destiny, glaring at Stevie Scott.]

"Damn it!  Answer me!"

[Rhodes simply shoves Destiny aside, rushing across the ring at the
National Champion.  The referee and a few AWA officials force Shane
Destiny out of the ring and back up the aisle as the bell rings to start
the match.]

GM:  It's Jeremy Rhodes filling in for his nephew Raphael and taking a
shot at the National Title!

[Jeremy Rhodes launches right into Scott, battering him back into the
corner where he lights him up with a chop across the chest.]

GM:  Goodness!

BW:  And as hard of a hitter as we think Raphael Rhodes is and Shane
Destiny is, it's Jeremy Rhodes who taught them both to hit that hard,
Gordo.

GM:  You're absolutely right about that.

[Rhodes lashes out with another chop, leaving a red welt on the chest of
the Hotshot.]

GM:  Another brutal chop by Jeremy Rhodes!  What a shock it is to see
Jeremy Rhodes back in the States wrestling.  When is the last time you
saw him compete, Bucky?

BW:  I can't even remember.

GM:  Rhodes is forty-one years old, Bucky, but he's as tough as they
come inside that squared circle.

[With Stevie trapped in the corner, Rhodes throws a jaw-rattling forearm
to the jaw, knocking him down to a seated position in the buckles.]

GM:  Oof!  Knocks him off his feet with a forearm shot...

[Rhodes grabs the top rope, pressing his foot against the windpipe of
Scott, pushing down on the throat.]

GM:  He's choking him, Bucky!  He's choking the champ!

[Ben Waterson screams in protest as the official starts his count.]

GM:  Two... three... four... fiv- very close right there.  He just
barely broke the choke in time.

BW:  This is about payback, Gordo.  The National Title is on the line
but Jeremy Rhodes wants Scott and Waterson to pay for what they did to
his nephews.  No doubt about that.

[Rhodes reaches down, hauling Scott off the mat by the hair, turning him
around, and smashes his skull into the buckles!]

GM:  Headfirst to the top turnbuckle!

[Keeping his grip on the hair, Rhodes pulls him into a side headlock,
pressing his face against the top rope...

...and running across the ring, raking the face of Scott on the ropes!]

GM:  Ohh!  Ropeburn by Rhodes!

BW:  That kind of move will rip the flesh right off of someone.  In this
case, it's the National Champion.

[With Scott staggering away, Rhodes bares his claws and rakes his
fingernails down across the exposed back, sending a scream of pain out
from the champ.]

GM:  He raked the back!  

BW:  And if you thought the champ new how to play dirty, I think Jeremy
Rhodes might be showing him exactly how it's done, daddy.

[Scott staggers to the far corner, clinging to the ropes as Jeremy
approaches and buries a hard kick up into the midsection.  He promptly
pushes Scott's throat down on the top rope, hooking a three-quarter
nelson on him and yanking down on the head and neck.]

GM:  He's choking him again!

[The referee's count again gets dangerously close to five before Rhodes
breaks it, tugging on the top rope to snap the Hotshot backwards and
down to the mat.]

GM:  Down goes the champ again! 

BW:  He's not ready for this.  It's plainly obvious that Stevie's not
ready for this, Gordo.

GM:  Well, he'd better get ready or he won't have to ever worry about
defending that title again.  Jeremy Rhodes will be our new National
Champion.

[With Scott down on the mat, Rhodes tugs his kneepad in place, dropping
down with a knee to the skull.]

GM:  Ohh!  Big kneedrop to the head!

[Rhodes rolls off of Scott, wincing as he pushes back to his feet.]

BW:  I've heard a lot of reports over the years that Jeremy Rhodes has
bad wheels, Gordo.  You could see him wincing right there as he dropped
the knee and had to get up after it.  

GM:  Now the question is - did Stevie Scott or Ben Waterson notice?

BW:  Hang on.  Let me go tell them!

GM:  You stay right there.

[Rhodes points a finger of warning in the direction of Waterson who is
shouting to his champion.  He kicks the ropes just in front of Waterson,
threatening a backhand as the Agent To The Stars backs away.]

GM:  Rhodes is willing to kick Waterson in the mush as well, Bucky.

BW:  I'm not surprised at all.  It's blood, Gordo.  What wouldn't Jeremy
Rhodes be willing to do at this point?  His own nephews got brutally
beaten down.  Raphael lost this title shot with a banged up knee.  Simon
got hit with the piledriver - a spike piledriver - and who knows when -
or if - he'll EVER be back.  Jeremy's out for blood.

[The National Champion manages to get back to a knee as Jeremy shouts at
Waterson.  The Brit returns to the fray, moving in on the kneeling
Scott.  He creams him with a headbutt, knocking him back down to his
back in the middle of the ring.]

GM:  Good grief!  And you can tell this man is a Rhodes for sure.

[With Scott down on the mat, Rhodes lifts his leg...

...and drives a stomp down on the stomach, forcing Scott to sit up
promptly.  Grabbing a handful of hair, Rhodes winds up and kicks Scott
squarely in the chest, knocking him back down to the mat.]

GM:  He's getting down there on the mat with him.

[Flipping Scott to his chest, Rhodes pulls the champion back by the
hair, stretching him backwards...

...and POPS him squarely across the nose with a crossface forearm
smash!]

GM:  Ohh!  

[Holding the hair, Rhodes delivers another crushing crossface.]

GM:  Good grief, Bucky!

[The referee orders him to release the hair but Rhodes winds up, shaking
his head, and delivers another forearm.]

GM:  He's just battering him!  Beating him across the face!

[Rhodes shoves Scott down to the mat by the hair, standing over him to
the cheers of the crowd.  Scott rolls to his back, a trickle of blood
escaping his nose.  The referee reprimands Rhodes for his brutal actions
but Jeremy doesn't even acknowledge him leaning down to pull the
champion up by the hair...]

GM:  Both men back to their feet but Scott is very wobbly...

[Rhodes shouts out "LARIAT!" and rears way back with his arm.  He
uncorks a standing clothesline but Scott sees it coming, ducking down...

...right into a snapping DDT from Rhodes!]

GM:  OHHH!  HE GOT ALL OF THAT!!

[But Rhodes doesn't even consider a pin attempt, rolling over to
straddle Scott's back.  He quickly pulls Scott back by the hair and
sinks two fingers into the corner of his mouth, ripping back at the
corner of it.]

GM:  He's fish-hooking him!  Rhodes is fish-hooking the champion! 

[The referee is again on the scene, ordering a break.  But Rhodes again
waits til the four count before breaking his grip.  He shakes his head
at the protesting official, stopping to stomp on the kidneys of the
National Champion.]

GM:  Ben Waterson is shouting at Stevie.  I don't even know if the champ
can hear him right now.  He hasn't followed a single one of Waterson's
instructions.

BW:  I think he's still in shock.  There's no way he expected Jeremy
Rhodes tonight, Gordo.  Absolutely no way he thought this was happening.

[Rhodes drags Scott off the mat by the hair, turning him around, and
driving a hard punch into the kidneys, causing the champion to fall
forward into the corner.  With Scott hanging over the top rope, Jeremy
Rhodes throws a series of hard punches to the kidneys of his opponent.]

GM:  He's pummeling him in the buckles!

[The referee steps in again but Rhodes shoves him aside again, dragging
him out of the corner...

...and pulling him into a standing headscissors!]

GM:  He's going for the piledriver!  He's trying to spike him just like
he saw Stevie do to Simon Rhodes a week ago!

[Rhodes reaches down, trying to hook his hands together...

...but Ben Waterson leaps up on the ring apron, shouting at Jeremy
Rhodes who shoves Scott down to the mat.]

GM:  He's going for Waterson!

[Jeremy takes a big swing at Waterson but the Agent To The Stars manages
to get out of the way just in time...

...and allows Stevie Scott time to get to his feet, throwing himself at
the knee of the distracted Rhodes!]

GM:  CHOPBLOCK!!

[The shoulder driven into the back of the knee of Rhodes takes the
forty-one year old off his feet and down to the mat.  He cries out,
grabbing at his injured knee.]

GM:  Stevie Scott took the knee out and-

[The crowd jeers as Scott stomps the injured knee, hanging onto the top
rope as he leaps up and drops all his weight down in a stomp on the
knee!]

GM:  Scott's gonna stomp that knee THROUGH the mat, Bucky!

BW:  I guess he saw that wincing after all.

GM:  You may be right.

[Hanging onto the top rope, Scott steps up, pushing himself high in the
air and dropping down with a kneedrop on the injured limb!]

GM:  Ohhh!

[The referee steps in at this point, forcing the National Champion
back...

...which allows Ben Waterson to reach under the ropes, wrapping his
hands around the throat of Rhodes!]

GM:  Waterson's choking him!  Come on, referee!

[The referee's protests fall on deaf ears as Scott looks right past him,
waiting til Waterson's choke is done before he moves back in, kicking
Rhodes in the ribs.  A second kick forces Rhodes out under the ropes to
the apron.]

GM:  Stevie's going out there after him...

[The Hotshot steps out on the apron, reaching down to pull Rhodes up off
the mat.  He lashes out with a chop of his own, knocking Rhodes back
closer to the ringpost.  A second chop splashes across the chest,
forcing Rhodes to grab the ropes to stay on his feet.]

GM:  They're fighting on the apron!

[A third chop stuns Rhodes just before the National Champion steps back
inside the ring.  He grabs Jeremy Rhodes by the arm.]

GM:  What is he-

[From inside the ring, Scott executes an Irish whip...

...which sends Rhodes sailing off the apron and crashing down in a heap
on the second base area!]

GM:  OHHHHHHH!

BW:  What an innovative move by the champ!  Have you ever seen that done
before?

GM:  I don't believe I have, no.

[A smirking National Champion steps out to the apron, pausing to shout
at a vocal ringside fan.  He drops down to the ground, kicking a downed
Rhodes in the ribs.  Reaching down, he pulls Rhodes up by the hair,
leaning over to berate him.]


"Who the HELL do you think you are?  This is my house!  This is my
title!"


[A hard slap across the face knocks Rhodes back down to the tarp.  Scott
delivers a pair of kicks to the ribs as the referee's count reaches
three.]

GM:  The count is up to three...

[Scott pulls Rhodes up by the back of the trunks, hooking a side
waistlock.]

GM:  Uh oh... look out here...

[The Hotshot hoists Rhodes up into the air, cradling the ankle...

...and DROPS the leg down across his own bent knee!]

GM:  Ohhh!  Shinbreaker by the champion!

[With Rhodes down on the floor, clutching his own knee, Scott rolls back
into the ring and waves for the referee to continue the count.]

GM:  The ref's count is up to five.  Can Jeremy Rhodes beat the count?

BW:  The Hotshot's in title defense mode.  A win's a win, daddy.

GM:  The count to six... 

[Ben Waterson is outside the ring, berating Jeremy Rhodes as the veteran
gets up to his feet, trying not to put any weight on the injured leg. 
As the count hits seven, he stumbles forward towards the ring.  At
eight, he falls into the apron, reaching up to drag himself up on the
apron.]

GM:  He's on the apron at eight!

[And Scott goes in to meet him, drilling him with a right hand.  A
second one connects as well and the Hotshot quickly hooks a front
facelock, slinging Rhodes' arm over his neck.]

GM:  The Hotshot's gonna bring him in the hard way!

[Rhodes reaches up with his free hand, raking his fingers across Scott's
eyes!]

GM:  Ohh!  Cheap shot!

[With Scott stunned, Rhodes grabs a handful of hair and jabs his
extended fingers into the National Champion's windpipe.]

GM:  He caught him in the throat and-

[Reaching over the ropes, he hooks Scott under the arm and reaches over
to grab him around the head with the other arm...

...and HURLS the champion over the ropes to the floor, collapsing down
to the apron in the process!]

GM:  HE HIPTOSSED HIM OVER THE TOP, BUCKY! 

BW:  If that was concrete, he might have broken his back, daddy!

GM:  These AWA superstars are taking advantage of being out here on this
field tonight.  We've seen some brutal, brutal moves that we wouldn't
want to see on the concrete floor we're usually on but here on the field
at FedEx Park, the sky is the limit!

[Ben Waterson rushes to his man's side, dropping to his knees to check
on him as Rhodes sits on the apron, sucking wind.]

GM:  Jeremy Rhodes is having a hard time getting a second wind, Bucky. 
He used up a lot of energy throwing Scott over the ropes to the floor. 
The man is forty-one years old, has bad knees, and hasn't wrestled on a
regular basis in a long, long time.

BW:  Sub in a bad back for those bad knees and you're talkin' 'bout Todd
Michaelson, Gordo.

GM:  You're absolutely right about that.

[Out on the floor, Waterson rolls the Hotshot to his stomach, rubbing
his neck to try and revive him.  Grabbing Scott by the arm, Waterson
pulls him up to his feet, slapping him lightly.]

"Champ!  Come on, champ!  We've gotta get going!"

[But Rhodes isn't going for that, rolling his tired body off the apron
and stumbling over to Scott and Waterson.  He throws a right hand,
knocking Waterson away as he grabs Scott by the hair, firing him under
the ropes into the ring.]

GM:  The champ's back in - and so is Jeremy Rhodes!

[Rhodes drags Scott up to his knees, driving an elbowsmash down on the
skull of the Hotshot.  A second elbow connects before Rhodes drags Scott
the rest of the way up, spinning him around.]

GM:  Waistlock applied by Rhodes!  He's going for a suplex!

[The Brit attempts to hoist Scott into the air for the German Suplex but
the knee won't allow it.  Rhodes is forced to release the anklelock,
staggering away from his opponent.  Scott falls forward into the corner,
trying to recover.]

GM:  The champ's in the corner and here comes Rhodes!

[Jeremy Rhodes does a short three-step dash, leaping up for a
kneestrike...

...but Scott steps back, causing Rhodes to smash his knee into the top
turnbuckle!]

GM:  OHHH!  HE MISSED!!

[Scott promptly dashes behind Rhodes, throwing himself into the knee
once again!]

GM:  Another chopblock!  Scott caught him again!

[The National Champion quickly gets up, grabbing the foot of Jeremy
Rhodes.  He twists the injured leg around in a spinning toehold and then
falls back into a figure four!]

GM:  Figure four!  The champ's got the figure four locked in on Jeremy
Rhodes!

[Rhodes screams out in pain, writhing back and forth, looking for an
escape.]

GM:  The champ's got the figure four slapped on!  He's torturing the
leg!

[The referee leans in close, asking Rhodes if he wants to quit.]

BW:  After the amount of punishment that the champ dished out to that
knee, how long could Jeremy Rhodes possibly last?

GM:  He wants to avenge his nephew, Raphael!  He wants to avenge his
nephew, Simon!  He wants to-


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


[The crowd erupts in jeers as the referee calls for the bell, pointing
to the National Champion.]

GM:  Stevie Scott wins it!

[After a few more moments of punishment, Scott breaks the hold, rolling
out of it.  He climbs up to his feet, ordering the referee to raise his
hand as Melissa makes it official.]

MC:  Here is your winner and STILL AWA National Champion... 

"HOTSHOT... STEEEEEEVIE SCOTT!

[The National Champion happily accepts his title belt from the referee,
holding it high in the air as Ben Waterson joins his man inside the
ring, celebrating the victory.]

GM:  The Hotshot retains his title...

BW:  Despite the best efforts of Jim Watkins and the Championship
Committee.

GM:  Well, I don't know about that.  But the title stays on the Hotshot
and with the Southern Syndicate.  It's been a good night for the
Southern Syndicate so far.  Dufresne with a win.  Scott with a win.  But
can Von Braun, Freeman, and Mizusawa polish off this night for the
Syndicate?  We'll find out soon enough.  Fans, don't go away 'cause
we'll be right back with our Main Event!

[Fade to black on the celebrating Hotshot and Waterson.

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 an outline of an eagle, wings spread, in rhinestones
on a blue background. The shot pulls back to show that it is part of a
larger design on the back of a jumpsuit. And the man wearing the
jumpsuit? Why, he turns around and it is none other than the
bespectacled Louis Matsui, with a crooked smirk on his face. AWA's
intrepid Mark Stegglet is standing by, mic in hand, eyeing the man next
to him warily.]

MS: Louis Matsui, tonight MAMMOTH Mizusawa stands alongside the Southern
Syndica-

LM: [Interrupting.] The King is here, Marky Mark, the King is here! It's
the Fourth of July and I could not wish for a better place to celebrate
this great country's independence than the home of that other king...
The king is dead, long live the King, Marky Mark, because there is a new
King in town! And the King has at his side a leading member of his
court, and this gallant knight is proud to wear the Red, the White and
the Blue, Jay-Dee! He is America's friend, and mine...

[Enter MAMMOTH Mizusawa, dressed to compete in a black singlet, with the
Japanese flag emblazoned on the outside of the right thigh and the flag
of the United States of America on the outside of the left thigh. He
carries an American flag on a pole leaning against his right shoulder.]

LM: Whether you call him MAMMOTH Mizusawa, or MEMPHIS Mizusawa, Marky
Mark, tonight that M might as well stand for Montana, Minnesota,
Michigan, Maine, Massachusetts, Maryland, Missouri, Mississippi, and all
the other states in between! And in the opposite corner, we'll have that
no-good, groveling Juan Vasquez; we've got Marcus Broussard, assuming he
doesn't decide to ditch his friends again, and we've got Todd
Michaelson, probably the only person with any sense of decency and
dignity on that team. I believe Marky Mark, we've got a reservation at
the Heartbreak Hotel for Messrs. Vasquez, Michaelson and Broussard.

And if the Special Enforcer Don Athens, the Houston Area Highwayman,
gets in the way of my licensed manager's business, he can check in with
the rest of them, too. Because you see, Marky Mark, when our forefathers
fought for this great country's independence from the British, it was
out with the Old World, out with the old ways and in with the new... And
it don't get no newer than MAMMOTH Mizusawa. I've got my blue suede
shoes on, he's ready to shake, rattle and roll, and tonight, we put down
the competition... One for the money, two for the show, three to get
ready, so go, cat, go!

[With an awkward hip-swivel, Louis Matsui turns and leaves. Mizusawa
grabs the mic, and Stegglet's hand with it, and bends down to speak into
it.]

MM: Thank you! Thank you very much!

[Cut back to another part of the building.  It's Jason Dane.  It's Juan
Vasquez.  It's Marcus Broussard.  It's Todd Michaelson.  And it's
showtime.]

JD:  We are just moments away from this massive six man tag team Main
Event.  And Juan Vasquez, after the events on the last edition of
Saturday Night, you have to believe the odds have been firmly stacked
against yo-

JV: Not to be a jerk or anything, Jason Dane...but when was the last
time that I went into a match where the odds were NOT stacked against
me?

[Dane goes to answer the question, but then quickly realizes he can't
even remember.]

JV: When was the last time I was able to go into a match against the
Southern Syndicate without having to overcome the impossible? Defy all
logic and reason? Claim victory at the price of shattering, destroying
and obliterating all disbelief?

JD: I'm not really sure...it's been a while, hasn't it?

JV: Exactly, Dane...exactly. I ain't seen a fair fight in months, so
when I got men like Todd Michaelson and Marcus Broussard by my side, I'm
grateful. I'm honored. I'm happy as a pig rollin' in its own filth,
'cause numbers don't mean a thing...they don't mean a damn thing!

[Juan looks confident. Very confident. Practically bursting from the
seams with confidence...well, you get it.]

JV: The Rhodes Brothers are gone. Freeman's gotta' be noticing that
Dufrense is ready to kick him to the curb at any moment. Waterson's got
the ENTIRE Combat Corner ready to wring his damn neck for what they did
to Pedro Perez Jr...

[Juan pats Broussard on the shoulder.]

JV: ...and now we got Marcus Broussard back and out for blood.

[A chuckle.]

JV: Who's the team with the odds firmly stacked against them, again?

JD: But with the addition of MAMMOTH Mizusawa to this match...

[Juan quickly places a hand over Dane's mouth, cutting him off.]

JV: ...it means that Louis Matsui's boy gets to go down with a sinking
ship.

[A bastardly grin forms on Juan's face as the crowd can be heard
cheering.]

JV: I knocked his boy out. I made him bleed. I took on Godzilla and
punched his damn face in.

[He holds up his right hand, balling it into a clenched fist.]

JV: MAMMOTH Mizusawa doesn't change a damn thing about this match, Dane.

[A shake of the head.]

JV: I said I was gonna' take down the Syndicate and I meant every single
last word of it. The odds, the men involved, the stipulations...none of
that matters.

It could be the Devil himself and it wouldn't matter!

[A serious expression forms on Juan's face.]

JV: Those bastards were damned the moment they chose to ally themselves
with Ben Waterson.

[With that, Juan stares down Dane, who quickly(and nervously) turns his
attention to Michaelson.]

JD:  Todd Michaelson, the question for you is obvious - you haven't held
a regular wrestling schedule for years.  What makes you think you can
get in there and do battle with the Southern Syndicate?

[Todd tugs at his white wrist tape.]

TM:  Jason, don't you think I've heard what everyone is saying?  I'm the
weak link of the team.

[Michaelson looks at his two partners.]

TM:  I'm standing between two former National Champions in the prime of
their careers.

So, weak link?

[Shrug.]

TM:   Duh.

[A grin.]

TM:  They want to know how I think I can compete.  They want to know why
I'm even involved with this.  They want to know if my back will hold up.

[Michaelson nods.]

TM:  You want to know what I want to know?

[Dane nods.]

TM:  I want to know who stands up for the Combat Corner if we don't.  I
want to know who stands up for guys like Eric Preston and Aaron
Anderson.  Or better yet, who stands up for guys like Pedro Perez Jr.
whose dream of being a professional wrestler has been crushed by some
bullies on a powertrip.

They want to know why I'm fighting.

What I want to know is - on today of all days - aren't there just some
things worth fighting for?  For those boys.  For those dreams.

[A pause.]

TM:  For my kids?  Yeah.  I'm willing to get in there with a bad back, a
career in the rear view mirror, and being closer to the grave than the
cradle.

And with these two by my side?

[A grin.]

TM:  I gotta think I like my chances.

[Todd pats Dane on the back as Jason nods his head and takes a step
toward the returning Broussard.]

JD: Marcus Broussard, it has been alm-

[Broussard holds up a hand and stops Dane.]

MB: It's been almost a year, Jason. I know. It's been almost one year
since last I put the boots on and stepped foot in an AWA ring. And don't
think I've forgotten the men responsible for putting me on the shelf for
all of that time...

Freeman. Dufresne. The Southern Syndicate.

[Broussard glares at the camera for a moment, brow permanently
furrowed.]

MB: When you're laid up for all of that time, you've got to make a
choice. You can be negative about the situation and wallow in a pit of
hate and self pity, or you can choose to be positive and grow stronger
from it. 

I chose the latter, Jason. I chose to be positive. Did I get hurt, was I
maliciously put out of actions by a bunch of punks, you're damn right.
But did I need that to happen?

Absolutely. 

That's called being humbled. Whenever you're at the top, life always
manages to knock you back down and give you some perspective. So for
almost a year I was out of wrestling, and that time out made the desire
stronger. It made my focus greater. It made me hungry to regain my
foothold at the top of the AWA...

...and it made me hungry to knock the Southern Syndicate off their
pedestal.

[Marcus points his finger at the camera, shaking it as he rattles off
each name...]

MB: Freeman, Von Braun, Mizusawa... you're looking at three men who've
been humbled by the Southern Syndicate. You're looking at three men who
have tried to fight the good fight, separately, and lost. All of us have
tasted defeat at the hands of the Syndicate, and we've bounced back
stronger and smarter for it. 

And it's this common bond that has joined us together, united by one
common goal: tearing the Southern Syndicate down piece by piece, layer
by layer, man by man until there's nothing left but the bones and the
blood that paved our way. Don't think I've forgotten how this all
started, men.

Someone's got to answer for Adam Rogers. 

Someone's got to answer for Sweet Daddy Williams, and for Pedro Perez.
Someone's got to answer for my shoulder, and someone's got to answer for
the months of anguish heaped on _this_ man-

[Marcus points at Vasquez.]

MB: -for trying to do the right thing. 

Don't think we've forgotten, men. And Freeman, I've got something
special for you, son. It'll be the worst surprise of your life, you can
count on that.

[Broussard leans in and grabs the mic from Dane altogether.]

MB: For months I've heard you all tell the world to consider yourselves
warned.

Don't do that either. The warnings have been going on for months, but
they've stopped. Consider yourselves marked. There's only one way this
conflict ends, and it's not going to be pretty.

[Broussard stops talking and gives the mic back.]

MB: Everyone needs to be humbled, Jason. We've been. Many times over.

Now it's their turn.

[And with that, the three man walk out of view as Jason flashes a grin.]

JD:  Gordon Myers, Bucky Wilde - I have a feeling we're about to see
something very, very exciting.  Back to you.

[We fade back to ringside where Gordon and Bucky are standing.]

GM:  Thanks, Jason.  Something exciting indeed.  It's the Southern
Syndicate against three of the most popular men in the entire AWA.  How
could it be anything less than exciting?  For the last time tonight,
let's go up to Melissa for the introductions!

[We slowly fade to a super-wide shot of FedEx Park, zooming in closer
and closer towards Melissa Cannon.]

MC:  The following contest is a six man tag team matchup scheduled for
one fall with a forty-five minute time limit.  Introducing first...

[The sounds of Lynyrd Skynyrd's "Gimme Back My Bullets" kicks in over
the PA system to an explosion of jeers.]

MC:  First, being accompanied to the ring by their manager... the Agent
To The Stars, Ben Waterson... representing the Southern Syndicate... 

[Waterson emerges from the dugout first, glaring out at the jeering
crowd.  Shortly after, Brian Von Braun and Adrian Freeman walk out to
join Waterson.]

MC:  BRIAN VON BRAUN!

[The Rocket City Badboy shouts at a few fans too close to the barricade,
threatening them with his walking stick.]

MC:  And "SUBZERO" AAAAADRIAN FREEEEMAN!

[The technician from Australia looks around disdainfully at the booing
fans.  He puts a hand on the shoulder of his manager, trading some words
back and forth before they start to make their way down the aisle.]

GM:  Freeman and Von Braun along with Waterson on their way to the ring.

BW:  And I hate to say it but is it a bad sign that Mizusawa isn't
coming out here with them?  A lack of team unity perhaps?  

GM:  I don't think Louis Matsui would EVER allow Mizusawa to come to the
ring WITH the Southern Syndicate.  It's very obvious, as we said
earlier, that the giant is a hired gun in this one.  He has no
allegiance to those men other than whatever the agreement between
Waterson and Matsui is.

[Freeman, Von Braun, and Waterson reach the ring - all discussing
strategy as they await their partner.]

MC:  And their tag team partner... accompanied to the ring by Louis
Matsui... the giant...

MAMMOTH MIIIIIIZUUUUUSAAAAWAAAA!

["A Big Hunk o' Love" by Elvis Presley starts to play over the stadium
speakers.  Dressed in a rhinestone-studded blue jumpsuit and, as
promised, a pair of blue suede shoes, the bespectacled Louis Matsui is a
mess of hip-swivelling, pelvis-thrusting and arm-swinging as he attempts
to move and lipsync, badly, to the song.]

# HEY, BABY, I AIN'T ASKIN' MUCH OF YOU #
# NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, BABY, #
# I AIN'T ASKIN' MUCH OF YOU #
# JUST A BIG-A, BIG-A HUNK O' LOVE WILL DO #

[Matsui is followed by the seven-foot tall MAMMOTH Mizusawa, who emerges
with a big smile on his face and waving an American flag on a pole. He
is dressed to compete in a black singlet, with the Japanese flag
emblazoned on the outside of the right thigh and the flag of the United
States of America on the outside of the left thigh, black knee pads and
black boots. Louis Matsui leads his client down the aisle, while
pointing to the capacity crowd and declaring his love for them and
proclaiming the arrival of the King. Mizusawa follows, waving the flag
enthusiastically and yelling, "U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A!"]

GM:  I just don't know what to think of Mizusawa these days, Bucky.

BW:  Mizusawa or Matsui?

GM:  Either one at this point.  I just don't know what they're up to.

[Reaching the ringside area, MAMMOTH Mizusawa hands the flag over to
Matsui, who proceeds to wave it in the face of the Special Enforcer.
Mizusawa grabs the top rope and pulls himself onto the ring apron, then
steps over the top rope and into the ring. He pumps his fist in the air,
still chanting, "U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A!" as the music starts to fade. On
the outside, Louis Matsui is marching about proudly with the flag
shouldered.]

GM:  Mizusawa hasn't even looked at his teammates.  Matsui didn't say a
word to Waterson.  

[The camera cuts to Ron Houston standing ringside, looking up at
Mizusawa and shaking his head back and forth.]

GM:  The Special Enforcer, Ron Houston, is out there at ringside.  His
job is to try and enforce the rules and you can bet he'll have his hands
full wit this one.  

[Standing on the second rope, Von Braun shouts at Houston.]

GM:  Those two have had it out for each other for a while now, Bucky.

BW:  Houston don't want no part of the Rocket City Badboy.  I guarantee
you that, Gordo.

GM:  I don't believe that for a second.

[With the dastardly trio in the ring, Melissa starts up once more.]

MC:  And their opponents...

[The sounds of the Marine Corps Anthem kicks in to a huge cheer from the
AWA faithful.]

MC:  They are the team of...

TODD MICHAELSON!

[BIG CHEER!]

MC:  JUAN VASQUEZ!

[BIGGER CHEER!]

MC:  AND MAKING HIS AWA RETURN... MARRRRRCUS BROUUUUSSARRRD!

[EVEN BIGGER CHEER!]

GM:  Will you listen to that crowd?  These people love these three men!

BW:  But where are they?  I don't see them in the dugouts.  I don't see-

[Suddenly, the center field fence swings open.]

GM:  What in the world?

[A roar of an engine is heard and suddenly a military jeep, covered in
camo, comes rolling into FedEx Park.  A pair of uniformed soldiers are
driving the vehicle and the crowd goes nuts when they see the
passengers!]

GM:  Will you look at that!

[In the back of the jeep, Vasquez, Michaelson, and Broussard are all
standing helping hold up a giant American flag that is flapping in the
breeze as the jeep drives along the outfield wall, the crowd roaring for
the trio as they head down the foul line, making a turn at home plate.]

GM:  And here they come!

[With the fans going nuts, the jeep tears down the aisleway towards the
ring, braking hard to a stop as it gets there.  The trio sets the flag
down, climbing to their feet.  They're already dressed in their ring
gear, hopping out of the vehicle to head towards the ring.]

GM:  The fans are loving this!

[Broussard is the first one up the ringsteps, climbing up on the middle
rope and pointing into the ring.  Vasquez dives under the ropes, popping
up to his feet.  He's ready for a fight, fists balled up... just in
case.  Michaelson is the last one up the steps, climbing through the
ropes.  He points a finger at Waterson who backs away in a panic,
shaking his head.]

GM:  Some unfinished business between Michaelson and Waterson.

BW:  Perhaps but that's not what's going on tonight.  Waterson's not
part of this match.

[Referee Michael Meekly steps between the two teams, Ron Houston sliding
in to help him keep the two sides at bay.]

GM:  These two teams are ready for a fight!  These two teams are ready
for war!  Fans, we're going to take one final break and we'll be right
back with the rest of this match in its entirety!

[The camera holds on the showdown in the ring before we fade to black.

And then quickly back up on a shot of the AWA logo.  A voiceover
begins.]

"Fans, it's that time of year again!  As the AWA hits the summer months,
we're going on the road!  No longer staying in the Lone Star State, the
months of July, August, and September are your chances to see the AWA
all over the Southern states!

That's right!  You heard me right!

[A scrolling list of dates and cities appears as the voiceover reads
along with it.]

July 17th - Charlotte, North Carolina
July 31st - Charleston, South Carolina
August 14th - Atlanta, Georgia
August 28th - Mobile, Alabama
September 6th - New Orleans, Louisiana

Get your tickets now by calling your local ticket outlet or by visiting
AWAShop.com!"

[And with that, we fade back to live action where Michael Meekly signals
for the bell as Todd Michaelson and Marcus Broussard step out to the
apron, leaving Juan Vasquez inside the squared circle.  He high-fives
both of his partner before turning around...

...and finding a giant staring him dead in the eye.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans, and would you look at this?

BW:  We've see this showdown before, Gordo.

GM:  We sure have and MAMMOTH Mizusawa is going to start it off inside
the ring with Juan Vasquez.  Heck, these two men are the reason we're
not heading back to the Studios at the end of the summer.  

[Vasquez nods at the giant who slowly walks from the corner, eyes locked
on Vasquez as the former National Champion creeps closer as well.  The
crowd is buzzing with excitement as the two men draw closer and then
burst into cheers as they lunge towards one another.]

GM:  Tieup!

[But Vasquez quickly ducks under the big man's arms, slipping around
behind him to throw a hooking right hand into the ribcage of Mizusawa. 
The giant's right arm comes down to cover his ribs so Vasquez throws a
second hooking blow, this one to the left side of the body.  A few more
alternating punches - one to the right, one to the left, and so on -
follow before the giant turns around.]

GM:  He's working the body... trying to take some of the wind out of his
sails...

[Vasquez lashes out with a chop across the wide chest of the giant!]

GM:  Ohh!  What a chop!

[The former National Champion throws two more, forcing Mizusawa to
stumble back a step.  He breaks into a sprint, rebounding off the ropes,
and dashing back towards the giant...

...where a HUGE chop across the chest from Mizusawa takes him off his
feet!]

GM:  Ohhh! 

BW:  If you thought Vasquez' chop was something, Mizusawa just bested
that by about a thousand, daddy!

[But Vasquez quickly scrambles up to his feet, rushing forward to throw
punches at the big man.  Rights to the body, lefts to the jaw.  He grabs
the giant by the head and delivers a big-time haymaker to the skull,
staggering Mizusawa before dashing to the ropes once more.]

GM:  Off the ropes again and-

[The crowd jeers as Mizusawa chops him right off his feet again!]

GM:  Down goes Vasquez again!  The giant's chops just take my breath
away!

BW:  Just imagine how much breath it's taking out of Juan Vasquez.

GM:  Absolutely.

[But again, Vasquez scrambles to his feet, ready to strike...

...but gets a powerful hand wrapped around his throat!]

GM:  He's got Vasquez hooked by the throat!  He's got him goozled,
Bucky!

[Mizusawa looks out to Matsui who orders up a chokeslam but before the
giant can hoist him off the mat, Vasquez slaps the arm away, breaking
the big man's grip...

...and leaps straight up, lashing out with his foot to the back of
Mizusawa's head!]

GM:  OHHH!  HEAD KICK!!

[The crowd roars at the sight of Mizusawa staggered and stumbling from
the impact of the enzugiri by Vasquez.  The giant wobbles backwards,
falling back to the ropes.]

GM:  What a shot by Vasquez!

[The giant slowly extends his hand towards Brian Von Braun...

...who simply shakes his head, walking down the apron and refusing to
tag the hand of Mizusawa.]

GM:  What in the world is that all about?

BW:  I have no idea.

GM:  Von Braun just short-armed Mizusawa.  He refuses to tag the big man
- refused to check into the ring.  Is he afraid of Juan Vasquez?

BW:  I'm not sure Von Braun's afraid of anyone.

[Out on the apron, the Rocket City Badboy glares at Ron Houston who is
out at ringside, kicking the air right in front of Houston as he walks
by.  The Athens, Georgia Madman looks up at Von Braun, gritting his
teeth at Von Braun's arrogant grin.]

GM:  Von Braun had better watch it.  If he hits Houston, Houston gets to
hit him back and you know the former National Champion would love every
moment of that one.

BW:  He certainly would.

[Adrian Freeman looks down the apron at Von Braun, hands on his hips. 
He reaches over the ropes, slapping Mizusawa's hand to bring himself
into the ring.  Freeman shouts something unheard at Ben Waterson before
stepping through the ropes.  He gestures at Von Braun, looking over at
Waterson again who waves him off.]

GM:  Adrian Freeman, one-half of the former National Tag Team Champions,
has checked into the match now.

[But Freeman doesn't want any part of Vasquez, instead pointing to the
corner.]

GM:  Freeman wants Broussard!  The man he helped put on the shelf for
almost an entire year!

[The Australian technician nods at Vasquez who asks "Are you sure?" 
Freeman stands across the ring, rubbing his hands together as the former
champ shrugs, walks across the ring, and slaps the hand of the San Jose
Shark.]

GM:  There's the tag!  And after nine long months, it gives me great
pleasure to say, Marcus Broussard steps into the ring!

[Broussard is all grins at the cheering crowd, nodding his head as he
points out to all of the fans...

...and then points right at Freeman.]

GM:  He wants Freeman in there too!  Broussard remembers what Freeman
did to him about nine months ago.  He remembers what the Southern
Syndicate member did in an attempt to put him out of wrestling.

BW:  An attempt?  Broussard was out almost a year and he'd STILL be out
if it hadn't been for Vasquez and Michaelson, Gordo.

GM:  You may be right about that but he's back now, Bucky!

[The two technicians head towards the center of the ring, circling one
another, keeping an eye open for an opening.  Broussard dives in first,
looking for a single leg takedown but Freeman shoves him off, slipping
away.]

GM:  The San Jose Shark is no stranger to the mat wrestling game.  He'll
take you down and work you if he needs to.  

BW:  Marcus Broussard wrestled for San Jose State years ago and he
hasn't forgotten how to take the fight to the canvas if he needs to.  He
may have been out of the ring for nine months but that's something you
never forget.

[This time, it's Freeman who lunges in, going for both legs in a double
leg takedown.  Broussard stuffs the shoot, quickly moving into a front
facelock, holding Freeman down on all fours.  Freeman slips his arms up
in front of him, fighting against the Shark's arm to avoid the facelock
turning into a guillotine choke.]

GM:  Freeman's grabbing the arm, fighting the-

[With a grip on the wrist, Freeman spins out of the facelock, slipping
out behind Broussard to apply a rear hammerlock.  He cranks up on the
arm, pushing it upwards.]

GM:  He's got the arm!

BW:  And now is when Broussard REALLY figures out what he's gotten
himself into because don't you think for a moment that Adrian Freeman
won't rip that arm apart again and put the Shark right back on the
shelf!

GM:  Broussard's trying to fight it... trying to get back to his feet...

[From flat on his stomach, Broussard manages to wriggle his legs up
under him to get to his knees.  Freeman is up on his feet, still trying
to maintain the hammerlock.  The San Jose Shark reaches back with his
free arm, grabbing Freeman around the head and neck...

...and snapmares him over to the mat to break the hammerlock!]

GM:  Nice counter by Broussard!

[With Freeman down in a seated position, Broussard sits down on the
neck, reaching down to grab the Australian's leg.]

GM:  He's going for the Stump Puller!

[But before he can get to the leg, Freeman wraps his arms around the
legs of Broussard, pushing forward to sweep the legs out from under him.
 With Broussard lying on the mat behind him, Freeman rolls to the side,
pushing forward on the legs in a modified Boston Crab!]

GM:  Whoa!  Would you look at that?

[Broussard claws at the mat as Freeman leans forwards, applying pressure
to both legs, trying to wrench the back...

...but the San Jose Shark tucks his head into a front roll, using his
legs to flip Freeman halfway across the ring!]

GM:  Ohh!  Another nice counter!

[Freeman scampers back to his feet, rushing in...

...and gets taken over with a side headlock takedown!]

GM:  Takedown by Broussard!  

[Both men are down on the mat, Broussard squeezing the skull of the
Australian in a tight headlock.  Freeman promptly wraps his arms around
Broussard's waist, rolling to the side...]

GM:  Shoulders on the mat!  One!  Two!

[But Broussard rolls back the other way, breaking the pin.  Freeman gets
his legs underneath him, pushing up to his feet.  He throws a few
forearms to the ribs, loosening the hold.]

GM:  Freeman shoves him off to the ropes...

[Broussard ducks under a running clothesline attempt, slamming on the
brakes as the Australian hits the ropes.  The crowd roars as Broussard
sets, feet spread, arms at the ready...]

GM:  Ohh!

[But Freeman spots the belly-to-belly coming, grabbing the top rope to
prevent his rebound.  He smirks at the waiting Broussard who slaps his
hands together in disappointment.  Freeman points to his own head,
nodding confidently...

...and then gets slapped on the shoulder by Brian Von Braun.]

GM:  There's a tag!

BW:  I'm not sure Freeman wanted the tag though.

[The Australian does look a little irritated as he watches Von Braun
step into the ring.  The Rocket City Badboy slaps Freeman on the
shoulder, saying, "I got this" before Freeman steps out to the apron.]

GM:  I got this?

BW:  That's what the man says.  You doubt him?

GM:  Well, whether or not I believe him, Brian Von Braun is in the match
and...

[The crowd cheers as Von Braun points right at Todd Michaelson, smirking
like the cat that ate the canary.]

GM:  He wants Michaelson!

BW:  And Todd's too proud to know he should stay the heck on the apron
and not let anyone get a shot at his back.

[Broussard looks uneasy at Michaelson...

...and then slowly extends his hand to the former World Champion who
gladly slaps it, stepping through the ropes.]

GM:  And in comes Todd Michaelson in his usual green and white attire. 
This is the first time we've seen Michaelson in a competitive match here
in the AWA and you just have to wonder if he knows what he got himself
into with this one.

BW:  I don't think he does, Gordo.  He's in there with three guys who'd
like nothing more than to rip out his spine and put it in their trophy
case.  Literally, in Mizusawa's case.

GM:  Nevertheless, he's in there now and Von Braun is waving him in.

[The two men engage in the center of the ring.  Michaelson goes for a
tieup but Von Braun sidesteps quickly, allowing Todd to harmlessly sail
by him.  Von Braun does a little highstepping strut to mock the former
World Champion.]

GM:  Michaelson couldn't quite catch up to him there, Bucky.

BW:  We might be saying that a lot tonight.

[Von Braun shakes his head back and forth, raising a hand with a "I'm
sorry, I'm sorry."  He gets a straight face, waving Michaelson to lock
up with him.  The Combat Corner Head Trainer lunges forward for the
tieup...

...and again Von Braun escapes, this time ducking and just walking away.
 The crowd jeers Von Braun as he approaches the ropes, leaning over them
to shout, "SHUT THE HELL UP!" which just makes them boo him even more. 
An angry Von Braun turns around, glaring at Michaelson who looks just as
upset, standing with his hands on his hips.]

GM:  Todd Michaelson wants to just get right down to it but Von Braun is
playing all sorts of games with him in there.  This is ridiculous,
Bucky.

BW:  The man is smarter.  The man is faster.  And he wants the whole
world to know it.

[Von Braun waves again for a tieup and this time, he ducks again as
Michaelson lunges...

...but pulls up short and buries his forearm in the kidneys of
Michaelson!]

GM:  Ohh!  What a shot!  Right to the back!

BW:  The bullseye on the back of Todd Michaelson is bigger than ever and
you had better believe that Brian Von Braun will hit that target every
single time.

GM:  Von Braun with a second forearm to the back!

[Holding Michaelson by his long blonde ponytail, Von Braun slams his
knee up into the lower back.  He slowly raises both hands...

...and SLAMS them both down in a double axehandle on the lower back!]

GM:  Ohhh!  Down goes Michaelson!

[Michaelson falls down to all fours as Von Braun looks out disdainfully
at the jeering crowd.  He points to the fans...

...and then stomps the kidneys of Michaelson, taking him all the way
down to the mat.]

GM:  Look at that!

BW:  He's telling these fans that every single thing he does to Todd
Michaelson is their fault.  It's all their fault, Gordo!

GM:  It is not!  Von Braun is a sick and twisted individual and
everything he does is all his fault!

[Von Braun stomps down repeatedly on the lower back, glaring out at the
crowd after every kick.]

GM:  Good grief, Bucky!

BW:  You think Michaelson's regretting this yet?  They'd better line up
a hospital bed right next to his students.  Pedro Perez Jr. is about to
get a roommate, daddy!

GM:  Oh, come on.  Give me a break.  That's not funny at all!

[Reaching down, the Rocket City Badboy hauls Michaelson off the mat by
the back of the trunks.  He grabs him around the waist, hoisting Todd up
off the mat...

...and drops him down across the knee in a backbreaker!]

GM:  Ohh!  Backbreaker by Von Braun!

[The Southern Syndicate associate promptly shoves Michaelson off his
knee, grabbing the legs of his prone opponent.]

GM:  He's going for the Boston Crab!  He's-

[But as he leans forward to apply it fully, Michaelson bursts upwards,
grabbing the head, and rolling Von Braun into a small package!]

GM:  SMALL PACKAGE FOR ONE!!  FOR TWO!!!

[Von Braun kicks out of the cradle, breaking up the pin attempt...

...and then LEVELS a scrambling Michaelson with a running back elbow
under the chin!]

GM:  Ohh!  Knocks him right back down!

BW:  And just when Michaelson gets some hope building in that frail old
body of his, Von Braun knocks it right back out of him.  This is a
mistake for Michaelson and Von Braun's showing him that right now,
Gordo.

GM:  Come on, Todd.

BW:  Come on, Todd?  You're pathetic, Gordo.

[Von Braun reaches down to grab the ponytail again, dragging Michaelson
up off the mat...

...and eats a forearm to the jaw!]

GM:  Ohh!  Michaelson caught him!

BW:  In the later years of his career, shots like that are what
Michaelson became known for!  I saw a match between Michaelson and Kolya
Sudakov - a former National Champion - in Pro Wrestling Revolution a
couple of years ago where I was shocked to see Michaelson hold his own
throwing blows at a former Mixed Martial Arts star, Gordo.

GM:  And another one!

[The second forearm shot to the jaw sends Von Braun stumbling back a
couple of steps near the ropes.  Michaelson shakes his head, trying to
clear the cobwebs.  He grabs Von Braun around the head, yanking him
closer and holding the neck...

...and launches into a barrage of forearms, landing the hard shot over
and over and over and over and over!]

GM:  Von Braun's gonna be eatin' through a straw when Todd gets done
with him!

[Michaelson shoves Von Braun back to the ropes, letting him stumble back
as the former World Champion goes into a full 360 spin...]

BW:  ROLLLLLLING ELLLLBOOOOO-

[But the spinning elbowsmash never gets a chance to land as Von Braun
lashes out with a hard kick to the small of the back!]

GM:  Ohhh!  He broke up the elbow and went right to the back!

[Still dazed, Von Braun grabs Michaelson by the arm, dragging him
towards the Southern Syndicate corner.  MAMMOTH Mizusawa extends his
hand.  Von Braun glares at it through glassy eyes.  Matsui can be heard
shouting "TAG HIM!"]

GM:  Von Braun with the tag... wait a second...

[The Rocket City Badboy glares at Mizusawa and at a second scream from
Matsui, Von Braun turns his glare to the manager shouting, "Shut your
trap!" just before he slaps Adrian Freeman's hand, shoving Michaelson
back into the corner.]

GM:  What in the world is going on between Von Braun and Mizusawa? 
That's the second time in this match that Von Braun has refused to tag
Mizusawa and he just shouted down Louis Matsui as well!  What gives,
Bucky?

BW:  I have no idea, Gordo.  Just like I said earlier.  Apparently
there's some trouble on this team with those two men and Ben Waterson is
asking Von Braun about it right now.

[But the Agent To The Stars gets no answer as Von Braun shouts out,
"Come on, Adrian!"  The Australian keeps Michaelson chestfirst in the
corner, throwing a pair of short forearm to the lower back before
bending over, grabbing the middle rope.]

GM:  Uh oh - look out here...

[The crowd groans as Freeman lunges forward, driving his shoulder into
the lower back of Michaelson.  The former World Champion screams out in
pain, the camera catching a shot of the grimace on his face.]

GM:  Freeman's gonna do it again... ohh!  Again to the back!

["Subzero" straightens up, throwing a knee into the back.]

"Give up, old man!"

[Another knee lands!]

"Quit!"

[A third connects before Freeman drags Michaelson out of the corner by
the tights, pulling him back into a half nelson.  The former National
Tag Team Champion hoists Michaelson slightly off the mat in the half
nelson, bringing him crashing down across the bent knee!]

GM:  Backbreaker!  Perfect execution on that one!

[Freeman shoves him off the knee, applying a lateral press as he grabs a
leg.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  

[The crowd cheers as Michaelson slips a shoulder off the mat at two.]

GM:  Out at two!  And Freeman-

[The Australian scampers to his feet, reaching down to grab both legs.]

GM:  He's going for the Deep Freeze!  He's gonna finish him-

[But Michaelson kicks off with both legs, sending Freeman sailing
backwards into the Southern Syndicate corner.  The former World Champion
rolls to his stomach, crawling on all fours as quickly as he can.]

GM:  Todd's going for the tag!  Todd's trying to get to the corner to
make the tag!

[And a tag is made... but it's not Todd Michaelson making the tag.]

GM:  Mizusawa tags in!

[The giant steps over the top rope, moving past Freeman quickly...

...and leaps into the air, dropping all of his weight down in an
elbowdrop across the lower back!]

GM:  ELBOW!

BW:  Good lord, Gordo!  That might finish off Michaelson right there!

GM:  The giant just crushed his back with that elbow!

[Mizusawa pushes off the mat to a knee, looking up at Juan Vasquez who
was just a few feet away from making the tag to a desperate Todd
Michaelson.  He slaps himself across the chest as he climbs off the mat,
glaring at Vasquez...

...and then steps up onto the back of Michaelson with both feet, putting
420 pounds of pressure on the lower back!]

GM:  AHHHH!

BW:  Oh man!  Can you imagine what that must feel like, Gordo?

GM:  Four hundred and twenty pounds on the lower back... on the punished
lower back... on the injured lower back that cost the man his career,
Bucky.  MAMMOTH Mizusawa might be... I can't even say it.

BW:  I can.  He might be about to steal more from Michaelson than his
career.  He might be able to steal away the ability to ever walk again!

GM:  You're absolutely right about that.

[Suddenly, Juan Vasquez can't stand to see anymore, rushing into the
ring.  He lets loose a barrage of punches to the skull of the shocked
Mizusawa, causing him to stumble backwards, stepping off the injured
Michaelson.  The referee steps in, forcing Vasquez back to the corner.]

GM:  Juan Vasquez bailed out Todd Michaelson there.  He bought the man
some time.

BW:  Yeah, but how long, Gordo?

GM:  I'm not sure but-

[An angry Mizusawa stares at Vasquez and then gestures like he's
breaking something in half.]

GM:  Uh oh.

[Reaching down, the giant pulls Michaelson off the mat by the trunks,
spinning him around, and wrapping his huge arms around his body in a
bearhug!]

GM:  Oh my!  The bearhug is applied!

BW:  And those tree trunks that Mizusawa calls arms are squeezing the
air out of Todd Michaelson's lungs, squeezing the waning moments out of
his career, and possibly inching him closer to a lifetime in a
wheelchair, daddy!

GM:  Michaelson's struggling against it!  He knows what this can do to
him!

[Michaelson places a hand on Mizusawa's face, pushing backwards to try
and force his way out...

...but the giant increases the pressure, squeezing harder on the injured
Michaelson!]

GM:  The bearhug gets sunk in even deeper, Bucky!

BW:  I don't think we've seen this from Mizusawa too often but it's
definitely effective.

[Outside the ring, a beaming Matsui is shouting to his man, "SQUEEZE
HIM!  SQUEEEEEEZE!" as Mizusawa does exactly as he's ordered, increasing
the pressure even more.]

GM:  The giant's got that hold in deep and I just don't know if
Michaelson can get out of it.

BW:  He's starting to fade, Gordo.  Everytime he takes a breath,
Mizusawa turns up the pressure, pressing his own body against
Michaelson's chest.  He's limiting how far Michaelson can inhale and
exhale and is really stealing the air from him.

GM:  Excellent analysis, Bucky, and... you are correct.  Michaelson does
indeed seem to be fading fast here.

BW:  The arms are slowing, the head is bowed, and the former World
Champion appears to be headed for Dream Street, daddy!  Turn out the
lights, the party's over!

[Referee Michael Meekly steps in, checking on Todd.  He lifts
Michaelson's arm once...

...and drops it.]

GM:  That's one.  If the arm falls three times, this match is over.

[Meekly holds up one finger to the timekeeper as he lifts the arm a
second time...

...and drops it.]

GM:  That's two!  Michaelson's arm has dropped twice and if it falls one
more time, this match is over!

BW:  Let the celebration begin!

[The arm is lifted straight up as high as it'll go, holding in place for
a long moment...

...and then released.

Where it stands straight up!

Big cheer!]

GM:  IT'S UP!  THE ARM IS UP!!

[And Michaelson immediately tries to fight out of it, pushing back with
his left hand on Mizusawa's face, and slams his right fist in the skull.
 He repeats the process, pushing off and firing the haymaker.  A third
one seems to loosen the grip a bit.]

GM:  Michaelson's fighting back!  He's trying to fight out of it!

[The former World Champion straightens up, slamming his arms together on
the skull of Mizusawa!]

GM:  Ohh!  His ears are ringin' after that one!

[Mizusawa releases the hold, dropping back to clutch at his ear. 
Michaelson, trying to get across the ring but being blocked by the giant
throws a big forearm to the skull!]

GM:  Michaelson's trying to get past him!  A second forearm!  And a
third!

[The crowd roars at the trio of forearms that has Mizusawa dazed.  The
Los Angeles native dashes to the ropes, rebounding back...

...and getting scooped right up in the arms of the giant who spins once
and DRIVES Michaelson down to the mat with a thunderous side slam!]

GM:  SLAM!  BIG SLAM BY THE GIANT!!

[Mizusawa rolls his four hundred and twenty pounds into a lateral
press.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR-

[BIG CHEER!]

GM:  VASQUEZ BREAKS UP THE PIN!!

[Having delivered a boot to the back of the head, Vasquez exits the
ring.  Mizusawa slowly rises, again staring at Vasquez who is out on the
apron.  He points at the former National Champion, dragging Michaelson
off the mat again, hoisting him across his body.]

GM:  Uh oh.

[He easily turns the hoist into a full military press...]

GM:  He's got him up!  Nearly ten feet up in the air!

[And he brings Michaelson all the way back down, smashing him across the
bent knee!]

GM:  WHAT A BACKBREAKER!!  HE DROPPED HIM FLAT ON THE KNEE!!

[He stays on a knee, glaring up at Vasquez as he pushes down on
Michaelson's chest with one hand on his legs with the other, bending him
across the knee.]

GM:  Come on!

BW:  Michaelson's may have to quit here, Gordo.  The man's got a wife. 
He's got a successful job in the Combat Corner.  He doesn't need to be
in there with a monster like Mizusawa!

GM:  He doesn't NEED to be there but like he said earlier tonight, if he
doesn't fight for those kids in the Combat Corner, who else will?  He's
gotta do it!  He's gotta fight!

[The giant gets back to his feet, still holding Michaelson across his
chest...

...and falls down on top of Michaelson in a front powerslam!]

GM:  OHHH!

[He stays on Michaelson, grabbing a leg again.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR-

[Again, Juan Vasquez comes in to break up the pin but this time Marcus
Broussard joins him, each delivering a stomp to the back to break the
count.]

GM:  Another save by Broussard and Vasquez!

BW:  How many times can they manage it though, Gordo?  Sooner or later,
it's gonna be too late.  Sooner or later-

[BIG ROAR!]

GM:  MIZUSAWA CHARGES THE CORNER!!

[Having had enough of the constant saves, the giant rushes in, throwing
a blow at Vasquez and then spinning to throw one at Broussard but the
two former National Champions battle back, throwing blows of their own
to the roar of the crowd!]

GM:  Broussard and Vasquez are fighting back!  They're battering the
giant!

[A dazed Michaelson pushes up off the mat to his knees.]

GM:  Mizusawa got rocked there!

[The tired giant turns around, ready to go back to work on Todd
Michaelson...

...who promptly crawls through his legs, throwing himself into a tag to
Vasquez!]

GM:  TAG!!

[A huge cheer erupts from the crowd, only getting louder as Vasquez
quickly scales the ropes...

...and hurls himself off the top, connecting with a cross body block
that knocks a dazed Mizusawa down to the mat!]

GM:  CROSS BODY!!  ONE!!  TWO!!!

[But Mizusawa easily powers out of it, pressing Vasquez off of him and
back up to his feet!]

GM:  A powerful kickout by the giant and-

[Vasquez swiftly dashes to the ropes, rebounding back as he leaps up
into the air, tucking his legs...

...and crashes backfirst down onto the chest of the giant!]

GM:  SENTON!!  SHADES OF TOMMY STEPHENS!!

[A fired up Vasquez springs up to his feet, uncorking a right hand that
knocks Freeman down to the floor.  He spins around, nailing Von Braun as
well with a punch that sends him sprawling.  Vasquez spins around,
screaming to the crowd who echoes his war cry.]

GM:  Juan Vasquez is ready to win this thing, Bucky!

BW:  Being ready to win it and being ABLE to win it are two completely
different things, daddy!

[Vasquez steps out to the apron, quickly climbing up the ropes once
again...

...but this time, Louis Matsui hops up on the ring apron, shouting and
waving his arms at Vasquez.]

GM:  Get him down from there, referee!

[But even as Michael Meekly moves to do exactly that, it's Juan Vasquez
who leaps down off the ropes, rushing across the ring to the adjacent
corner where he grabs Matsui by the throat!  BIG CHEER!]

GM:  HE'S GOT MATSUI!!  HE'S GOT MATSUI!!!

[But before Vasquez can put a beating on the annoying manager, the giant
stampedes across the ring...

...and CRUSHES Juan Vasquez in the corner!]

GM:  OHHHHHH!

[Vasquez staggers backwards as Mizusawa steps aside...

...and then uncorks a VICIOUS standing lariat that knocks Vasquez down
to the mat in a heap!]

GM:  LARIAT!!  STANDING LARIAT BY THE GIANT!!

[And Mizusawa falls down into a lateral press again.]

GM:  He's got the cover!  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE- 

[BIG CHEER!]

GM:  SHOULDER UP!!  VASQUEZ IS OUT JUST IN TIME!!

[The giant pushes up off the mat, glaring at the official who repeats
that it was just a two count.]

GM:  Two count only off the lariat.  Fans, we are over time once again
and we've gotta thank our friends at WKIK for allowing us to bring you
the end of this big six man tag team showdown!

[Mizusawa angrily pulls Vasquez off the mat by the throat...

...and then slaps his other hand around the throat as well.]

GM:  Double choke!  He's going for the Tusk Crusher!

[But Vasquez starts flailing his arms at the larger arms of the giant,
trying to free himself.  A kick to the gut follows, breaking him free...

...where he throws a thrust kick to the jaw of the giant!]

GM:  SUPERKICK!!  RIGHT ON TARGET!!

[The blow sends Mizusawa falling backwards to the corner where a waiting
Adrian Freeman tags himself into the ring, rushing in...

...right into a waiting Juan Vasquez who backdrops him high up into the
air and down to the mat!]

GM:  Backdrop by Vasquez!

[Vasquez pulls Freeman off the mat, firing him into the closest neutral
corner.  He leaps up to the middle rope, holding his fist high.]

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

[Vasquez hops down off the buckles, shouting to the crowd.]

GM:  Did he just say it's over?

[A hard right hand to the jaw knocks Freeman down to a seated position
in the corner.  Grabbing the top rope, Vasquez lunges forward with a
knee to the face.  He repeats the process, landing the same knee time
after time.]

GM:  He's battering Freeman in the corner!

[And with his opponent sufficiently dazed, Vasquez hits the far ropes,
bouncing back...

...and DRIVING a running knee squarely into the face!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  OH!  MY!  STARS!

[Vasquez slaps the hand of a waiting Marcus Broussard who steps into the
ring, delivering a few hard stomps to the head of Freeman before hauling
him off the mat.  The two fan favorites walk him out to the middle of
the ring, each grabbing an arm...]

GM:  Double whip...

[And as the Australian rebounds, Broussard hooks him around the waist,
popping his hips and skying Freeman high through the air before PLANTING
him on the canvas!]

GM:  BELLY TO BELLY!  HE GOT ALL OF THAT!  

[The referee dives to the mat as Broussard applies the lateral press
sure to ensure certain victory.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE- 


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  VON BRAUN BREAKS UP THE PIN!!

[The giant comes lumbering back into the ring as Vasquez stays in,
throwing blows at the Rocket City Badboy.  In the corner, Todd
Michaelson steps back into the ring as well.]

GM:  All six men are in the ring!

[The crowd roars as Vasquez and Von Braun trade punches, Broussard
batters Freeman down on the mat, and Michaelson is throwing forearms on
the incoming Mizusawa, knocking him back to the ropes.]

GM:  This is a brawl!  The referee is rapidly losing control of this
one!

[Suddenly, Vasquez spots a dazed giant and breaks away from Von Braun,
sprinting across the ring...

...and throwing himself into a high velocity cross body, connecting
solidly with the giant and sending them both toppling over the ropes and
down to the floor!  HUUUUUUGE ROAR!]

GM:  OH MY STARS!!  DOWN THEY BOTH GO!!  OVER THE TOP TO THE FLOOR THEY
BOTH GO!!!

[The crowd is still roaring as the camera cuts to the floor where
Vasquez and Mizusawa are both sprawled out on the tarp-covered grass. 
Louis Matsui rushes around the steel ringpost to his charge's aid,
kneeling down next to him.  

As we cut back to the ring, we see Adrian Freeman stick a knee into the
gut of Broussard.  He grabs the former National Champion by the hair,
hurling him over the ropes.]

GM:  Over the top goes Broussard and-

[But the San Jose Shark hangs onto the ropes, keeping himself on the
apron.  Freeman throws a big right hand but Broussard blocks it, hooking
Freeman under the arm...

...and hiptossing him over the ropes to the floor!  The crowd roars as
Broussard leaps off the apron onto Freeman, battering him with clenched
fists out on the floor!]

GM:  We've got people brawling all over the place!  Broussard is on top
of him out at ringside and-

[Inside the ring, the crowd ERUPTS as Michaelson drills Von Braun with a
forearm smash on the jaw that sends Von Braun back to the ropes.  He
staggers off, eating a boot to the gut.]

GM:  He caught him in the gut... fans, there's so much going on out
here.  We're doing our best to call it all and-

[The crowd goes nuts as Michaelson steps forward, hooking a standing
headscissors.]

GM:  He's got Von Braun hooked!

[Michaelson reaches down, hooking one arm.]

GM:  He's going for the Billion Dollar Bomb!  He's got one arm hooked! 
Here comes the other!

[The former World Champion hooks the other arm, looking for his tiger
driver...

...but when Ben Waterson leaps up onto the ring apron, Michaelson is
forced to shove Von Braun aside!]

GM:  He's going after Waterson!

[Michaelson grabs Waterson around the head, the referee getting tangled
up with them.  With the referee distracted, Waterson tosses Von Braun's
walking stick into the air to a waiting Von Braun.]

GM:  Von Braun's got the cane!  Look out!

[The crowd roars in warning as Von Braun winds up with the cane as far
as he can, slowly walking towards Michaelson's exposed back...]

GM:  HOUSTON!  HOUSTON!

BW:  HE'S GOT NO BUSINESS IN THERE!!

[The Special Enforcer slides under the ropes into the ring, approaching
Von Braun from behind.  And just as the Rocket City Badboy is about to
slam the cane down on Michaelson...

...a big Georgian hand grabs the cane!]

GM:  HOUSTON GRABS THE CANE!!  HE STOPPED HIM!!

[The crowd roars at Houston's timely intervention.  An angry Von Braun
spins around blindly, assuming one of his opponent's stopped the attack,
and lets loose a haymaker...

...right into the jaw of Ron Houston!  HUUUUGE CHEER!]

GM:  HE HIT HOUSTON!  VON BRAUN HIT HOUSTON!!

[The camera catches Houston, his head slightly turned from the impact of
the haymaker...

...and a big ol' grin on his face.]

GM:  Oh my stars!  Von Braun hit Ron Houston and-

[The camera cuts to Von Braun, eyes wide with shock at what he's done. 
He lifts both hands, begging for mercy as Ron Houston slowly turns to
look at him.  He's frantically shaking his head back and forth, trying
to explain it all away...]

GM:  Houston's staring him dead in the eye!  Von Braun's beggin',
pleadin'!

[Juan Vasquez rolls into the ring behind Von Braun as Houston grins one
more time...

...and DRILLS Von Braun with a right hand that houses months of
frustration!]

GM:  OHHH!  WHAT A RIGHT HAND!!

[The blow spins Von Braun around...

...right into an inside cradle from Juan Vasquez!]

GM:  VASQUEZ ROLLS HIM UP!!  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREEEEEE!!!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  HE GOT HIM!  HE GOT HIM!!

[But before anything resembling a celebration can start, Von Braun grabs
his cane off the mat and takes a full swing at Vasquez, smashing him
across the back with it!]

GM:  OHHH!

[Von Braun stands with the cane in his hand, smirking at Vasquez...

...and then gets drilled with another right hand by Houston!  A second
one connects as well, knocking the Rocket City Badboy back to the ropes
where a HUUUUUUGE clothesline takes them both over the top to the
floor!]

GM:  They're both out of here!  Von Braun and Houston go out to the
floor!

[Speaking of out on the floor, a dazed and pissed-off giant reaches
under the ropes, grabbing Juan Vasquez by the leg and dragging him out
to the floor with him.  The giant pushes him back against the apron,
pounding him with massive chops across the chest!]

GM:  The giant's all over Vasquez on the floor!

[Suddenly, Ben Waterson climbs into the ring, waving his arms back and
forth while outside the ring, Freeman and Broussard continue to throw
haymakers.  Freeman grabs the San Jose Shark by the head, slamming his
skull into the timekeeper's table.]

GM:  Ohhh!  Look out over there!  This is breaking down!

[Waterson's frantic waving is cut short when Todd Michaelson gets back
into the ring, spinning Waterson around...

...and knocking him flat with a forearm smash that sends the crowd into
a frenzy!]

GM:  MICHAELSON FLOORS WATERSON!!

[The Combat Corner Head Trainer drops to his knees, raining down rights
and lefts - punches, forearms, and hammerfists - all over the downed
Waterson who tries to throw his arms over his head to defend himself...

...when suddenly the crowd erupts in jeers as Calisto Dufresne and
Stevie Scott come charging down the aisle!]

BW:  SYNDICATE!

GM:  Now we know why he was waving his arms around like an idiot!

[Dufresne stops at ringside, SMASHING Broussard in the back of the head
with the Pacific Title belt, joining his partner in stomping and kicking
the San Jose Shark into the ground at ringside.]

GM:  Broussard is down and getting pounded by the former tag champs!

[But inside the ring, Todd Michaelson is completely oblivious to Stevie
Scott sliding into the ring behind him...

...and LUNGING, driving the golden title belt into Michaelson's head and
neck!]

GM:  OHH!  What a shot!

[The Hotshot stands over Michaelson, title belt in hand, glaring down at
the unmoving former World Champion...

...and suddenly yanking him off the mat, pulling him into a standing
headscissors with a cold look in his eyes.]

GM:  He's gonna piledrive him!  Somebody stop Stevie Scott!  Somebody
stop the champion!

[Suddenly, a flurry of activity can be seen from the crowd in the
background.]

GM:  What in the-

[A figure in a hooded black sweatshirt hurdles over the ringside
barricade, diving headfirst into the ring, staring dead at Stevie Scott
who shoves Michaelson aside, facing his new threat.]

GM:  We've got a fan inside the ring!  Get that fan out of the ring!

[Without warning, the fan rushes across the ring at top speed, BLASTING
Scott in the throat with a running clothesline that looks all too
familiar to AWA fans.]

GM:  What the-?!

[With Scott down and motionless on the mat, the sweatshirt comes off,
spiked to the canvas to a THUNDEROUS ROAR from the crowd!]

GM:  MY GOD, IT'S KOLYA SUDAKOV!!

BW:  That was no clothesline, Gordo - that was the Sickle! 

GM:  The Sickle!  The Russian Sickle has laid out the National Champion!
 We haven't seen Sudakov in almost a year, Bucky.  It was one year ago
tonight he lost the title to the Hotshot and-

[The babyfaces start to rally, putting up more of a fight as Matsui and
Waterson try to regroup their troops, pulling them back into a retreat
from the ringside area.]

GM:  These fans are going nuts!  This is insane and out of control!

[Soon, Marcus Broussard and Juan Vasquez have made their way back inside
the ring.  After a bit, Ron Houston joins them, eyeing Sudakov a bit
warily as Todd Michaelson gets back to his feet as well.  Broussard
produces a mic, struggling to be heard over the screaming crowd.]

MB:  How...

[Broussard breathes heavily, clutching his head.]

MB:  How do you like... (deep breath)... OUR surprise?

[Broussard points to Sudakov to another roar from the crowd as the stoic
Russian actually smiles for once, throwing his arms apart to an even
louder roar.]

MB:  You think... you think this is over?!

[The San Jose Shark shakes his head as Vasquez shouts at the retreating
Southern Syndicate.]

MB:  This isn't anywhere NEAR over!

[BIG CHEER!]

MB:  A few months ago... this man...

[Broussard pats Vasquez on the shoulder who is still screaming at his
rivals.]

MB:  He told you the war... had just begun...

[The San Jose Shark winces, grabbing the back of his neck.]

MB:  On Labor Day... in New Orleans...

[A deep breath.]

MB:  The war ends.

[The crowd buzzes with anticipation because we all know what's coming
next... right?  Three words that will send the entire American Wrestling
Alliance into a frenzy.]

MB:  You.

Us.

WarGames.

[DEAFENING ROAR!  Broussard spikes the mic down to the canvas, getting a
high five from Vasquez.  Michaelson steps up behind the San Jose Shark,
putting an arm around his shoulders.  Ron Houston glares off into the
distance at the Southern Syndicate who are still huddled just before the
dugouts.  Kolya Sudakov steps up on the middle rope, angrily gesturing
for them to bring the fight back to the ring.]

GM:  Every war has a beginning!  Every war has a middle!  And every war
has an end!  Tonight, we found out that in just two months' time, this
war will end!  

BW:  WarGames is coming, Gordo!

GM:  Lord have mercy on us all!  Fans, we're out of time!  We'll see you
next time!  So long everybody!

[And with the fan favorites unified in the ring, soaking up the cheers
of the capacity crowd...

...we fade to black.]