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American Wrestling Alliance 
Proudly Presents 
AWA Saturday Night Wrestling

Live from the Crockett Coliseum
Dallas, Texas
October 16th, 2010
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[As we fade in, we hear the closing theme to the Fishing With Orlando
Wilson show as the shot starts to fade.  It is replaced with footage
marked "TWO WEEKS AGO!" where "Hotshot" Stevie Scott lifts the West
Memphis Assasin around the waist, hoisting him off the mat, turning
towards the ropes...

...and DROPS the masked man throatfirst across the top rope!]

GM:  OHH!  HE DROPS THE HAMMER ON THE ASSASSIN!

[Scott pops up, pumping a fist before diving on top of the masked man,
going right after the mask...]

GM:  He's not going for a cover!

BW:  It's better!  He's going for the mask!

GM:  I thought you said that was a bad idea!

BW:  It was until now!

[The Hotshot quickly goes to work on the mask of the injured Assassin...

...and RIPS it off, turning away to hold it high in the air as the
formely-masked man covers his head!]

GM:  THE MASK IS OFF!!

BW:  IS IT HIM?!  IS IT VASQUEZ?!

GM:  I can't tell!  He's got his arms over his head!

BW:  Turn him over, Stevie!  Show the world who is packing their bags! 
Show the world-

[Bucky stops in mid-sentence as the crowd ERUPTS in cheers.

Why?

Because someone has just stepped out onto the entrance ramp, applauding
in the direction of the ring.]

GM:  JUAN VASQUEZ!!  VASQUEZ IS OUT ON THE RAMP!!

BW:  What?!  WHAT?!  If he's there, then who is-

[The National Champion, mask in hand, spots Vasquez on the apron.  His
eyes go wide.]

"YOU?!"

[Vasquez simply grins at his rival who looks shocked.]

"But if you're there... then who is..."

[HUUUUUUGE CHEER!]

GM:  OH MY GOD!!  OH MY GOD!!!

[Scott spins around, mask still in hand...

...and comes face-to-face with the man he THOUGHT he had put out of
wrestling with a piledriver over a year ago!]

GM:  ADAM ROGERS IS THE WEST MEMPHIS ASSASSIN!

[A still stunned Scott throws the mask aside and frantically throws a
Heatseeker aimed at the grinning Natural...

...who sidesteps it, hooking his left arm around the upper body of the
National Champion!]

BW:  NO!!

[And SINKS his right thumb into the windpipe of the Hotshot!]

GM:  ASSASSIN'S SPIKE!!  ASSASSIN'S SPIKE!!

[Scott frantically struggles against the same hold that left him
unconscious two weeks ago.  Ben Waterson leaps up on the apron,
screaming at the official...

...and gets YANKED down off the apron by Juan Vasquez who winds up and
DRILLS Waterson with a right hand that knocks him flat!  Vasquez spins
around and suddenly is brawling with Calisto Dufresne and Adrian Freeman
as well when Marcus Broussard emerges out of nowhere to join in the
brawl!]

GM:  BROUSSARD!  BROUSSARD AND VASQUEZ ARE BRAWLING WITH THE SOUTHERN
SYNDICATE AT RINGSIDE!!  SCOTT'S ALL ALONE!!

[The National Champion pumps his arms, looking to get to the ropes,
looking for any kind of escape...

...but slowly and surely starts to fade!]

GM:  Stevie's going out!  The National Champion is fading fast!  He's-


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


[DEAFENING CHEER!]

GM:  HE'S OUT!  HE'S OUT!!

[And with that, we fade to the sounds of the brand new intro music for
AWA Saturday Night Wrestling, Lynyrd Skynyrd's "Saturday Night Special"

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

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

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

After a moment, we fade away from the cheaply done intro to the interior
of the brand new Crockett Coliseum where over 4,500 fans have jammed 
into the building to watch their favorite AWA stars.

The ring sits in the middle of the oval-shaped seating area, surrounded
by a metal barricade on all sides.  The ringside seats are your standard
steel chairs while tall wood and metal bleachers are erected all around
the rear of the oval.

A long elevated entrance ramp runs from the entryway to the ring.  On
either side of the ramp stand two elevated platforms to be used for
interviews.

As we cut to the ringside area, atop thin black mats that cover the
concrete floor of the former warehouse, we find two tables - one for the
timekeeper and one for the announce duo.

Speaking of which, the camera cuts from the cheering crowd to the ring
where we find the familiar faces of "No Descriptions Needed" Gordon
Myers alongside "Big Bucks" Bucky Wilde - the best announcers in the
game.]

GM: Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to another edition of AWA Saturday
Night Wrestling where over the next two hours you will see all the stars
of the American Wrestling Alliance, THE Major League of Professional
Wrestling.  I am Gordon Myers and by my side, as always, is the two-time
Announcer Of The Year, Bucky Wilde!

BW:  Soon to be Hall of Famer!

GM:  I don't- I can't... oh brother.  Fans, if you were not with us two
weeks ago, you missed one heck of a happening.  As you just saw, the
mask came off and it was NOT Juan Vasquez under the mask of the West
Memphis Assassin.  Instead?  It was "The Natural" Adam Rogers!

BW:  Just that one time, Gordo!

GM:  You continue to say that but we've seen no proof.  Adam Rogers was
the West Memphis Assassin.  He defeated Stevie Scott in the middle of
the ring.  And he handed that open contract - that shot at the National
Title - over to Juan Vasquez!

BW:  He can't do that!  Vasquez doesn't get any more shots!

GM:  The Committee has ruled that it was completely legal and fair,
Bucky.

BW:  We'll see what the champ's lawyers have to say about that, daddy.

GM:  I suspect we will but that's later tonight.  Tonight is all about
the end of the first round of the tournament to crown the first Longhorn
Heritage Champion!  We've seen six big matches - two more remain.  In
the first one, we'll see Brent Maverick take on "Playboy" Johnny
Casanova.

BW:  And if that dumb hick Maverick thinks he stands a chance against
"Playboy" Johnny C, his family tree is straighter than I thought, Gordo.
 

GM:  In the other match in the first round... well, that one is
surrounded by a bit more intrigue.  It was scheduled to be Nenshou
taking on Vernon Riley.  But earlier this week at a live arena event,
Anton Layton and James Monosso brutally assaulted Riley.  We'll be
showing you the video of that attack later tonight but from what I've
heard, we still don't know if the doctor will clear Vernon Riley to
compete here tonight in the tournament.

BW:  Nenshou wins by forfeit.  That's a true Main Event, Gordo.

GM:  I don't know if that's simple.  But fans, we've got all of that
plus much, much more including the National Tag Team Champions, Rough N
Ready, in action.  Shane Destiny is back from his suspension tonight as
well.  The former National Champion, Kolya Sudakov, will take on Sultan
Azam Sharif!  It's a big night here in Dallas plus - just where in the
world will SuperClash 2 take place?  We'll find out right here tonight! 
But for now, let's head up to the ring for our opening matchup!

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

MC:  Tonight's opening contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten
minute time limit.  Introducing first... already in the ring at this
time... at a total combined weight of 410 pounds... the team of Mike
Davis and Kevin Keller!

[No reaction for the pale young men.]

MC:  And their opponents...

#GENERALS GATHERED IN THEIR MASSES#

[The crowd ERUPTS in cheers as the team of Hammer and Sabre, also known
as the War Pigs, along with their manager Richard E. Lee, come tearing
down the elevated rampway.  Melissa, seeing the freight tran a-comin',
gets the heck out of the ring as the two powerhouses hit the squared
circle running and the bell sounds.]

GM:  HERE WE GO!

[Sabre is the first into the fray, barreling Davis back into the corner.
 He delivers three standing clotheslines against the buckles as Hammer
floors Keller with a running elbowsmash.]

GM:  Ooof!  Big running smash by Hammer!

[Approaching the corner, Hammer grabs Davis by the arm, flinging him to
the opposite buckles.  He then grabs his partner's arm, whipping him
across...

...right into a running clothesline on Davis!]

GM:  Ohhh!  

[Hammer follows right in from behind, connecting with a running
clothesline of his own.  He immediately springs back, throwing his arms
back to a big roar from the crowd.  Sabre rushes past him, connecting
with a dropkick that puts Davis through the ropes to the floor as Hammer
ducks down behind Keller, hoisting him up on his shoulders in the
electric chair lift...]

GM:  He's got him up!  Mike Davis is about to have a really rough night!

[And Sabre mounts the buckles, leaping off the top where he wraps his
arm around the head of Davis, riding him all the way down to the mat
where he smashes the back of his head into the canvas!]

GM:  WEAPON OF MASS DESTRUCTION!!

[Sabre rolls over, driving both fists down into the chest as he presses
his body up, sticking out his tongue with a roar as the referee counts
three.]

GM:  One, two, and three.  A short night for the War Pigs, Bucky.

BW:  Davis and Keller were just outmatched right there... but you can
bet that when they get in there with the Moonshiners, that won't be a
problem.  Jug and Zeke are more than enough for these painted-up clowns
to handle, daddy.

GM:  I'd like to see you tell them that to their faces.

BW:  No problem!  I'll be happy to.

GM:  Here they come now and-

BW:  Oh, uh.. well, I think I'm needed in the-

GM:  You stay right there, Bucky Wilde.

[As the camera cuts back to ringside, we see Gordon and Bucky joined by
the muscle-bound, face-painted, mohawk-sportin' duo of the War Pigs with
their always-dapper manager, Richard E. Lee.]

GM: We're joined at this time by Hammer and Sabre, along with their
manager Richard E. Lee, the War Pigs...an impressive victory right
there.  But I have to ask the question on everyone's minds, gentlemen. 
What is your response to the challenge laid down two weeks ago by Mange
and the Moonshiners?

H: Gordon, you gotta help me out.  Did I hear Mangy Buttshiner right on
the last AWA Saturday Night Wrestling?  Did I hear him right?  'Cause I
coulda _sworn_ he challenged not just me and the Sabre but also Richie
here to fight.  Is that right?

GM: That's what I understood him to say, correct.

[Hammer nods his head.]

H: OK, good, I was afraid my hearing was going bad.  Because I know
those ain't-taken-a-bath-since-1981 mountain boys were dumb, but I
didn't think they were _that_ dumb.

[A shrug of his massive traps.]

H: But hey, that just means more blood for us.  Tell 'em, Sabre.

S: WWWEEEEEEEELLLLLLL, Gordon Myers...

[Sabre stops mid-sentence, shooting Bucky a curious look.]

S: Hey Bucky, the 1970's called.  They want their curtains back.

["RETURN OF THE BUCKY BURN" POP!]

S: Anyway, Gordon...I'm gonna slightly disagree with my tag team partner
here.

[A look of mock surprise from Hammer.  Sabre nods solemnly.]

S: I know, bro, I know.  But I just don't think the Buttshiners are that
dumb.  I mean, they're definitely stupid...but to challenge the two of
us _and_ Richie?

Gordon, they've got to be _blind_.

[Hammer and Richard E. Lee both chuckle in the background.]

S: See, ol' Mange...who incidentally, _looks_ like he's got the mange...
ever notice that, Bucky?  But anyway, he says he wants to get us in the
ring for his boys, and then...I know he did this...he challenged Richie
to get in there too, and called him...what was it, Hammer?  Help me
remember it, I'm getting fuzzy.

H: Scrawny

[Sabre smacks himself on the forehead.]

S: Oh!  Right!  _Scrawny_!  This is where I know he's gotta be blind,
because...hey Richie, take off your shirt.

[Lee, who has done nothing but smile the entire time thus far, slowly
pulls off his dragon-patterned silk shirt over his head.  And reveals
what is actually an impressive physique for a man in his 50's.  He's not
bulked up by any means, but he is still - mostly - pretty chiseled and
even sports a six-pack.  Sabre responds by smacking him on the chest,
resulting in a loud "pop."]

S: 'zat look scrawny to you, Hammer?

H: Nope.

S: Look scrawny to _you_, Gordon?

[Myers shakes his head.]

S: How 'bout you, Bucky?

BW: I'm stayin' out of this, daddy.

S: No, he ain't scrawny!  Fer crying out loud, what kinda blind _moron_
calls a guy that looks like _that_ scrawny?  I know he ain't got a gut
that looks like someone shoved a hot-air balloon under his skin, but
that don't make him scrawny.  It makes him NOT FAT!

[Sabre shakes his head.]

S: I can't talk about it any more.  Tell 'em, Richie.

[Lee extends his arm, turning it over and flexing his triceps.]

REL: I have to admit it, Gordon.  For an old guy?  I look pretty good.

[The crowd pops in agreement.]

REL: You know, Mange...for you, this has been personal from day one when
you and your boys attacked us in Memphis.  And I imagine that somewhere,
among the handful of brain cells you've got left, it was a great big old
adrenaline rush.  Because there for a moment, it was like you were back
in the good old days.  Back when the Moonshiners and the Dixie Fireballs
tore down the Mid-South Coliseum...the Tupelo National Guard
Armory...the Paragould High School gymnasium...with some legendary
brawls.

And that's why you've got to still be hanging on.  Trying to keep on
relieving those glory days, but here's the problem with that.

Those glory days are long since gone.

[Lee pauses, pulling a piece of cloth out of his black pants.  He opens
it to reveal that it is, in fact, a mask.  A black mask with a
red-and-yellow flame pattern across the side and front.]

REL: That's why this mask has been sitting in a box in the top of my
closet for the last 20 years.  I've moved on with my life...with my
career.  I found a new niche.  But you?

You just keep on clinging to the past.

So here's what I'm going to do for ya.

[Lee takes the mask and slips it on over his head.]

REL: You want to take a walk down memory lane?  You want to relive the
past?  Fine with me.  But be careful what you wish for, because you
remember what happens when you play around with the Dixie Fireballs?

You _always_ end up _burned_.

[Hammer and Sabre both have major crap-eating grins as they slap Lee on
the shoulders before the trio leaves the announce table.]

GM:  I think we can consider that challenge accepted, Bucky.

BW:  I want front row seats for that one.  And I'm gonna make sure Mange
and his boys do something especially nasty to that idiot Sabre.  "The
1970s called."  Sheesh.  I'm a friggin' fashion plate, daddy!

[Bucky does a full turn to show off his eye-scorching attire to the
jeers of the crowd.]

BW:  These people wouldn't know good taste if they were drowning in Aunt
Jemima, Gordo.

GM:  I see.  Fans, let's go back up to the ring for more action!

[And back to the ring we go where Melissa Cannon is standing.]

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit.  Introducing first... already in the ring at this time...
from Oklahoma City, Oklahoma... Johnny Thomas!

[A few cheers for the spunky-seeming Thomas as he leaps up on the second
rope, pointing to the fans.]

MC:  And his opponent...

[Tomoyasu Hotei’s “Battle Without Honor or Humanity” starts to play over
the arena speakers.  Louis Matsui emerges with a smirk from the
entranceway.  He is followed closely by the scowling seven-footer,
MAMMOTH Mizusawa, dressed in a black singlet, black knee pads and a pair
of black boots.  Matsui points with his thumb over his shoulders at
Mizusawa, who raises both his arms in the air.  Both men start to make
their way down the aisle.]

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

MAMMOTH... MIZUSAWA!!!

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

GM:  And I believe we haven't seen MAMMOTH Mizusawa in action since
Battle On The Bayou, Bucky.

BW:  I think you're right, Gordo.  It's been a while since we've seen
the giant slap some nobody around. 

[Reaching the ringside area, MAMMOTH Mizusawa steps over the ropes and
into the ring. He heads to his corner, where he is joined by Matsui, who
is on the ring apron but staying on the outside of the ring.]

GM:  Can you imagine arriving to the arena and finding out you're
scheduled to take on a seven foot, 420 pound beast like Mizusawa?

BW:  There'd be a Bucky-shaped hole in the wall about two seconds later.

[Matsui drops down off the apron, leaving his charge alone as the bell
rings and he stalks across the ring towards Thomas who is alone in the
corner...

...and rushes out, throwing himself into a dropkick, smashing both feet
squarely in the chest of the giant!]

GM:  He comes out firin'!  

[Thomas pops back up, immediately throwing a second dropkick - this one
actually causing Mizusawa to take a step backwards.  The crowd starts to
rally behind the youngster, cheering him on as he gets up off the mat. 
He hops up to the middle rope...

...and gets a massive hand wrapped around his throat!]

GM:  Whoa!  He caught him on the second rope!

[The giant sidesteps, simply flinging Thomas off the ropes by the throat
and sending him crashing down to the mat.]

GM:  He had him right where he wanted him.  He could have done
absolutely anything to him right there but instead?  He's just toying
with him, Bucky.

BW:  It's like a cat playing with his food.  A big cat.  HUUUUGE cat. 
Like a sabretooth tiger.

[As Thomas slowly gets up, Mizusawa grabs him from behind around the
waist.  He powers him up into a side waistlock lift...

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

GM:  Goodness!  I thought we were about to see a back suplex there but
instead, he threw him like a paper airplane.  Just smashed him down to
the mat.

[The giant slowly approaches the downed Thomas, lifting his huge arm...

...and BURIES an elbowdrop down in the heart of Thomas!]

GM:  OHHHHH!  And when is an elbowdrop not just an elbowdrop?

BW:  When there's 420 pounds behind it.

GM:  You got it.

[The giant sits up on the mat, staring out at Louis Matsui who barks a
few instructions to his charge.  The giant nods, climbing up to his feet
and looking down at Thomas.]

GM:  He pulls the kid up by the hair... now what?

[He promptly slaps his hand around the throat of Thomas, looking out
over the jeering crowd before he hoists him high into the air...

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

GM:  Big time chokeslam!  That should do it.

[The giant stands over Thomas for a long moment, glaring down at him...

...and simply leaps off the mat, bringing all his weight down squarely
on the chest!]

GM:  OHHHHHH!  SPLASH!  One.  Two.  Three.


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


[The crowd jeers as Mizusawa slowly rises off his flattened opponent,
raising both arms high in the air in victory.]

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

[The jeers intensify at the announcement as Louis Matsui steps into the
ring, celebrating with his charge.]

GM:  MAMMOTH Mizusawa is your winner in impressive fashion and you just
have to wonder where he stands with all this talk of shots at Stevie
Scott and the AWA National Title going around.  But right now, let's
head up to the interview area where Jason Dane has a very special guest!

[We cut up to the interview platform where Jason Dane is standing.]

JD:  Thanks, Gordon.  Fans, the last time we were on Saturday Night
Wrestling, we heard "Big" Jim Watkins, the Chairman of the Championship
Committee, announce that this year at SuperClash 2, we would once again
be seeing the Steal The Spotlight showcase elimination tag match.  And
this time, whoever survives that would be able to choose ANY match they
want - including title matches!  And that makes this match a potential
show-stealer in my opinion!

But we also found out two weeks ago the first person to enter that match
- my guest at this time - the man who was the very first AWA National
Champion, the San Jose Shark, Marcus Broussard!

[“You Know My Name” by Chris Cornell blares as Broussard quickly makes
his way to the announce position. Broussard wears khaki dress pants and
a black dress shirt, with black alligator shoes spit shined to a polish.
He raises his hand to the cheering crowd and then shakes the
outstretched hand of Jason Dane, as the music dies down.]

JD: Marcus Broussard, the last time we saw you, you were entering
yourself into the Steal the Spotlight match almost seconds after Jim
Watkins announced the stakes.

MB: The stakes could not be higher, Gordon, and that’s why I was so
quick to enter. In WarGames, we struck a blow to the Southern Syndicate
that it will never recover from. But as long as Stevie Scott holds the
gold, the job is far from over. When that title is pried out of Stevie’s
hands, then we will see that den of snakes crumble for good. Then we can
truly say mission accomplished.

JD: But the physical toll that match takes on a man’s body, Marcus,
you’ve got to know what a long night it will be.

MB: How quickly we forgot, Jason. You are talking to the man who won
three matches in one night to capture the AWA National Title. The very
same man who made it to the end of the very first Rumble in AWA history.
You are talking to THE most well conditioned, well informed and well
prepared competitor in the illustrious history of the AWA.

Don’t think for one moment that I’ve forgotten what it’s like to hoist
the gold in the air, and don’t be fooled into thinking that winning the
title again isn’t in the back of my mind. Juan Vasquez and I made a pact
to take the gold from Stevie Scott. I’m man enough to say that Juan
deserves that shot at SuperClash, and I’ll be rallying for him.  But by
winning the Steal the Spotlight match, it’s just stacking the odds in
our favor. That’s an insurance policy, just in case Juan falls short,
which he won’t. But if he does, I’ll have my called shot waiting.

JD: What if Juan Vasquez wins at SuperClash, and you win the St-

[Jason is interrupted by the arrival of Louis Matsui and MAMMOTH
Mizusawa, who have stopped while making their way back up the ramp to
step onto the interview platform.]

LM: [Walking as he talks.] There are no what-ifs, Dane; Broussard will
not win Steal the Spotlight at SuperClash. Not while my client, the
co-winner of the inaugural Steal the Spotlight match, stands across that
ring from him.

JD: Hang on now, Louis, th-

LM: Shut up, Dane! I've got a couple of things to say to Broussard and
the less time you spend flapping your gums, the quicker we can get this
done and over with.

[Matsui comes to a stop a couple of feet away from Dane and Broussard.
He raises his free hand, signalling the giant to a halt behind him. He
addresses the San Jose Shark.]

LM: Broussard, Broussard... Remember weeks ago, when Todd Michaelson
needed you and you decided you were too good to show up? Just what are
you doing here still? The job's not done, you say? I thought you came
out of hiding to help take care of the Southern Syndicate? I thought you
came back to even up the numbers for WarGames? Your team beat the
Syndicate, that's it. Job done. But, no, here you are taking up a
precious spot in the Steal the Spotlight match that should more
deservedly go to someone who can better represent the future of this
company. Not its past, its future!

But, being the glory hog that you are, you just can't resist it, can
you? This isn't about prying the title out of the hands of Stevie Scott.
This is about you re-living your past glory. You said it yourself to
Juan Vasquez; a race to the title, not a race to be first to beat Stevie
Scott for it. The fact that you made zero effort to do the former...
Hell, Adam Rogers showed himself to be a bigger gamechanger than you
could ever be... It all goes to show that you're only looking out for
one person and that's you.

And rather than admit it... Rather than work your way up the ranks to
get the shot, you're going for the short cut... A short cut to the top
that, frankly, I would rather see someone else take instead of a
selfish, scheming, coattail-riding... That's right; are we at all
surprised that Marcus Broussard's "big" move is to insert himself into a
match where he will, yet again, have other guys on his team whose
coattails he can ride to victory? Well, I for one will not stand for
that, and neither will my client! So, Broussard, what happens when
MAMMOTH Mizusawa pries that title shot right out of your hands? Are you
going to go back into hiding? Have your wife field phone calls for you
and turn away your friends when they come looking for you, because you
don't have the balls to stand and fight?  

[Broussard looks to be steaming mad at this point, fists clenched at his
sides.]

LM:  Hey, Broussard... next time you need your wife to do some dirty
work for you, the giant and I are in the penthouse down at-

[That'll do it.  The San Jose Shark lets one of those clenched fists
fly, smashing Matsui on the jaw and knocking him flat to the roars of
the crowd.]

JD:  Gentlemen, please-

[Broussard stands over Matsui for a hair of a second...

...until he gets a big overhead chop smashed down over his skull by a
420 pound giant!]

JD:  Oh!  Come on!  

[The blow knocked Broussard to a knee where he's easy prey for Mizusawa
who grabs the San Jose Shark by the hair...

...and SMASHES his skull into the former champ!  The crowd groans as
Broussard slumps down to the floor.  But the giant's not done with him,
reaching down to physically deadlift Broussard back up to his feet where
he hooks his hands around the Shark's throat from behind!]

GM:  He's choking the man!

BW:  No kidding!

GM:  Mizusawa has assaulted Marcus Broussard up on the interview
platform!  This is out of control!  Broussard's fighting it but-

[The crowd jeers as Broussard tries to get his fingers under Mizusawa's
massive hands, trying to pry his choking hands free from his throat but
having no luck at all.]

GM:  This is- this is all Matsui's fault, Bucky!

BW:  What?!  Broussard threw the first punch!

GM:  Yeah, but... you heard what he said!  He made an absolutely awful
comment about Marcus Broussard's wife!  He said-

BW:  The man speaks the truth.

GM:  BUCKY!

[Broussard's face turns a bright shade of red as his struggles start to
slow and Mizusawa sinks his fingers even deeper into the throat of his
victim despite Jason Dane's cries to cease his attack from a few feet
away.]

GM:  Jason should get out of there.

BW:  That's right.  He might be next if he doesn't shut his trap!

GM:  There's absolutely no call for any of this and-

[Suddenly, Juan Vasquez emerges from the locker room to the roars of the
crowd...

...with a steel chair in his hands!]

GM:  VASQUEZ!  VASQUEZ!!

[With Mizusawa's steel grip locked on the windpipe of the San Jose
Shark, he fails to notice the #1 contender as he winds up...]


"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[The roar of the crowd is for the big chairshot smashed across the back
of Mizusawa, breaking his grip on Broussard and taking him down to a
knee as well.]

GM:  Thank god!  Thank god for Juan Vasquez!

[Vasquez stands his ground, still holding the chair as Mizusawa rises to
his full height, staring dead in the eye of the man he once put through
a wall in this same city...

...and a staggering Louis Matsui throws himself between the two, shaking
his head at his charge!]

GM:  Matsui doesn't want the giant to tangle with Juan Vasquez!

BW:  I wouldn't either when Vasquez has a damn chair in his hands!  How
is that fair?  Typical Vasquez cheating that you people suck up to.  I
know the REAL Juan Vasquez, Gordo, and he ain't some damn baby-kissin'
Boy Scout.

GM:  Vasquez keeping his eyes locked on Mizusawa... but Matsui's backing
his man down.  He doesn't want this fight to go on.  

BW:  Smart man.  Keep the giant healthy for SuperClash.  Keep him
healthy for Steal The Spotlight.  Keep him ready to earn that shot at
the National Title.

[With Mizusawa and Matsui clearing out, Vasquez kneels down next to his
friend, Marcus Broussard, to check on him as we fade to black.

And then to a very long shot of the exterior of a pretty dingy looking
building.]

"Have you ever dreamed of fame?"

[Cut a little closer.]

"Of glory?"

[A little closer.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Two young students are grappling on the canvas.]

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

You want to wrestle!"

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

As we fade back up, we're in the backstage area of the Crockett Coliseum
where Vladimir Velikov is standing next to Mark Stegglet.  Velikov is
dressed to wrestle, his heavy metal Russian chain draped over his
shoulders.]

MS:  We are back live here in Dallas, Texas, and Vladimir Velikov, later
tonight, your nephew, Kolya Sudakov, will take on Sultan Azam Sharif in
one on one action.  Your thoughts?

[Velikov glares at Stegglet.]

VV:  My thoughts are that you continue to insult me by asking questions
about my blood-traitor nephew.

MS:  I'm sorry?

VV:  You should be.  Am I not AWA superstar as well?

MS:  You are.

VV:  Am I not a man who has competed in AWA Main Events?

MS:  You are.

VV:  Am I not a man who was ROBBED last week against Supernova?

MS:  Well, I don't-

VV:  I am!  I was robbed against your Supernova.  I was humiliated!  And
do you know why, Mark Stegglet?

MS:  I suppose I don't.

VV:  Because of your Championship Committee's vendetta against me. 
Because of that pathetic American Watkins' vendetta against me.  Jim
Watkins, you know you hold back Vladimir Velikov.  You know the idea of
true Russian power RULING the AWA makes you... how you say... wake up at
night in sweat.

Jim Watkins, some things never change, comrade.  You would do well to
remember that.

[Velikov smirks as he walks out of view of the camera.]

MS:  What in the world does that mean?  Well, Vladimir Velikov believes
he was robbed in his first round Longhorn Title tournament match against
Supernova but I don't believe it and I don't think anyone else does
either.  But who will Supernova face in the second round?  We'll find
out later tonight but for now, let's go back down to Melissa for more
in-ring action!

[We crossfade back to the ring where where Melissa Cannon is standing by
with a man dressed in a white, sleeveless top, with three large, black
buttons down the front; loose, white patent leather pants and white
boots. He also wears a ninja-like mask with an orange, carrot-like
protuberance on the front.]

MC: The next match is scheduled for one fall with a five-minute time
limit. Introducing first, from the Great White North, weighing in at 200
pounds...
COLD SNAP!

[Cold Snap does some martial arts-like flurry with his hands and throws
a few snap kicks for good measure.]

MC: And his opponent...

[Franz Von Suppe's "Light Cavalry Overture" starts to play over the
arena speakers and the crowd is abuzz as a wild-haired man in a
sequinned silver robe and shades emerges from the entranceway and makes
a beeline for the ring. He is followed closely by a blond woman dressed
in blue jeans and a white cap-sleeved top.]

GM: Scott Mayhem, a man on a mission.

BW: And what mission would that be, Gordo? To lose to "Playboy" Johnny
Casanova on a regular basis?

[As they make their way down the aisle, the man and woman slap hands
with and high-five the fans on either side.]

MC: Hailing from Jacksonville, Florida, weighing in at 237 pounds and
being accompanied to the ring by MISS AMANDA, he is...

SCOTT... MAAAAAYHEM!!!

[The name receives a decent-sized pop.]

GM: Following his failure to qualify for the Longhorn Heritage title
tournament after being counted out in his match against the Playboy,
Mayhem really needs to forget the shenanigans and focus on getting his
AWA career back on track and, who knows, maybe one day he might get
another chance at a title.

BW: I don't know, Gordo, Scott Mayhem does not look like a man who gets
over a grudge easily.

GM: Well, right now, he's got this ninja from the North in front of him;
he's got to at least focus on beating this dangerous competitor.  Who
knows what mystic Asian techniques Cold Snap has in his arsenal.

[Reaching the ringside area, Scott steps onto the ring apron, followed
by Miss Amanda. She holds the top and middle ropes apart for him to step
through. Entering the ring, Mayhem twirls around, showing off the full
majesty of his robe, then mounts the corner and poses for the crowd with
his arms spread out. He climbs off the ropes and Amanda helps him out of
his robe to reveal white trunks, black knee pads and black boots. Mayhem
removes his shades, handing them over to her, as his wild eyes look over
his opponent, who is showing off his ninja-like moves to the fans.]

GM:  And here comes Mayhem! Running elbow to the back of Cold Snap's
head! Right in the corner.

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

GM: And now he's ramming the ninja face-first into the top turnbuckle
again and again. I think he broke his carrot, Bucky!

BW: Ha! Snap!

[The orange, carrot-like protuberance on Cold Snap's mask has indeed
broken in half, the broken half danging from the rest of it. Mayhem
grabs the half that is still fully-attached to the mask and uses it to
flip the mask around so that the eye holes are now in the back of Cold
Snap's head. Scott Mayhem steps back, allowing Cold Snap to stumble
blindly out of the corner.]

GM: Massive running clothesline almost knocks the snowman-

BW: Snowperson.

GM: Snowperson's head off. Mayhem follows up with a HIIIIGH leaping
kneedrop!

BW: That could cave a person's head in.

[Clearly not done with his opponent, Mayhem pulls him to his feet, with
some help from the mask. He wraps his arms around the doubled-over Cold
Snap and throws him over with a gutwrench suplex.]

GM: Mayhem's dragging Cold Snap to his feet again... Atomic drop! 
Follows it up with another running elbow to the back of the head!

[Scott Mayhem stands over Cold Snap and slaps him on the head a few
times. Thankfully, the cameras don't quite pick up what Mayhem is saying
to him. Mayhem pulls him up again by the mask.]

GM: Is that the equivalent of hair-pulling, Bucky? Shouldn't the referee
be counting Mayhem out?

BW: Well, if it weren't Mayhem grabbing onto the mask, I don't think
Cold Snap's staying on his feet very long. Plus, you know what's coming,
daddy!

[Indeed, while holding on to Cold Snap by the mask with one hand, Mayhem
points to the top rope with the other. He runs his thumb across his
throat to nail his point, before dropping Cold Snap on his back with a
bodyslam.]

GM: Mayhem goes to the top... LEG DROP!!!

BW: JACKSONVILLE JAM, DADDY!!!

GM: Cover! One! Two!

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

MC:  Here is your winner...

SCOTT MAYHEM!

[The "Light Cavalry Overture" starts to play as we cut to a shot of Miss
Amanda applauding her man. Cut back to the ring where Scott Mayhem
stands over the fallen ninja and prods Cold Snap with the toe of his
boot to check if he's still alive. After the referee raises Mayhem's
hand in victory, he exits the ring and heads back up the ramp followed
by Amanda. Jason Dane, standing by in the interview area, waves them
over.]

JD: Scott! Scott! A word, please.

[Pulling Miss Amanda by the hand, Scott Mayhem approaches the interview
area.]

JD: Scott, congratulations. Following your recent losses to "Playboy"
Johnny Casanova, how does it feel to-

SM: How does it feel, Jay-Dee? How does it feel? How does it feel
watching the love of your life being manhandled, oh yes, MANHANDLED by
that she-beast? How does it feel having to choose between a shot at the
Longhorn Heritage title and saving the one person you care for the most
in this company? You think it's over, Jay-Dee? Does the Playboy think
this is over? Casanova, this is far from over! I'm going to make you pay
many times over for having your woman put a hand on what's mine, because
there ain't no woman that can touch Miss Amanda like Scott Mayhem can.
Let's go, babe!

[He pulls Amanda away from the interview area and they head to the
back.]

JD:  And I think it is quite clear that this situation between Scott
Mayhem and Johnny Casanova is FAR from over, fans.  Now, let's go across
the aisle to my good buddy, Mark Stegglet.  Mark?

[We cut to the other side of the aisle where Mark Stegglet is on the
other entrance platform lit up by a spotlight.]

MS:  Thanks, Jason!  All right, fans, joining me at this time is a young
man who has made an immediate impact on the AWA and has advanced to the
quarterfinals of the Longhorn Heritage title tournament... please
welcome Supernova!

["Seek and Destroy" by Metallica kicks in to the cheers of the crowd.
Supernova appears in the entranceway, raising his arms to the crowd.
Before approaching the interview stage, he heads toward the crowd,
taking time to slap hands with the fans leaning over the railing.]

GM: Supernova is here and these fans love him!

BW: And I already can't stand the man... how dare he say my award was
just the result of a popularity contest!

GM: Well, technically, it was.

BW: Don't get technical with me! I won it because I am the best and
don't you forget it, Gordo!

GM: The way you talk, it'll be hard for me to forget it.

[After having slapped hands with many fans, Supernova heads up to the
interview stage, slapping Stegglet on the shoulder.]

MS: [laughing] Supernova, I have to say that you've made it clear how
much you have enjoyed your time in the AWA thus far.

S: Mark, I am having a blast here... not only do I get to perform in
front of these great people here tonight... I also have been rising up
the ranks of the AWA... hey, I just got a big win over Vladimir Velikov
and now I'm moving a step closer to that Longhorn Heritage title!

MS: You scored a big win over Vladimir Velikov... how big is that to
grab a win over one of the top wrestlers in the AWA?

S: First of all, I heard Velikov talk about how he wanted to impress
Ivan Kostovich... how he wanted to take down his nephew Koyla Sudakov...
but all Velikov did was look right past me, while I took the fight right
to him! I can only imagine why Kostovich didn't show up that night... he
figured Velikov was only going to embarass him even more than he already
has! And you all saw the result... Velikov learned a big lesson that you
better not go looking past the likes of me!

MS: What about the next round... it will be either Vernon Riley or
Nenshou facing you in the quarterfinals.

S: Let me say that I have nothing but respect for Vernon Riley and
everything he's done... as for Nenshou, I'd have a little more respect
if he wasn't hanging around with that freak show! I'll be watching that
match with great interest, but I can assure you... whoever does advance
to face me, I just hope they are ready to feel the heat!

MS: One other question, Supernova... Koyla Sudakov was watching your
match and said it would be an honor if he were to team with you for the
Stampede Cup. What are your thoughts about that?

S: Hey, it would be a big honor for me to team with a guy like
Sudakov... and speaking of which, his match is one I'll be watching with
great interest... not just because I want to see Sudakov whip the
Sultan's butt... I also suspect that, even after the beating I gave to
Velikov, he's still gonna be up to no good and I may have to teach him
yet another lesson.

[He then turns to howl to the crowd, before turning back to Stegglet and
slapping him on the shoulder once more, then departing.]

MS: All right, Supernova, ladies and gentlemen... what excitement this
young man has brough to the AWA!  And we'll be right back so don't you
dare go away!

[The camera shows Supernova hanging around to trade high-fives with the
fans lining the entrance ramp as we fade to black.

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

JD:  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 the back up to a shot of spokes of a motorcycle wheel as "Good
Times" by INXS and Jimmy Barnes starts up.  The shot pulls back at a bit
to show the front of the motorcycle driving down a two lane highway.]

# Everybody shake,
Everybody groove,
Everybody shake,
mmm mmm ohh ohh! #

[Cut to two men riding motorcycles, the choppers with the ape hangers. 
Both men are in a pair of blue jeans and are shirtless.  Both are
sporting aviator-style sunglasses.  The man on the right has short,
spiked hair.  The man on the left has shoulder-length brown hair, which
is magnificently flowing in the wind.  The camera stays on the shot for
a few seconds as both men ride along the road.]

# Mary, Mary your on my mind,
The folks are gone and the place'll be mine,
Oh, Mary, Mary wanna be with you #

[Cut to a shot of the spiked-haired individual striking a biscep flex
showing off his muscles.  We cut to the long-haired individual with his
back to the screen, hands on his hips, and flexing the muscles in his
back.  We cut to another shot of the spike-haired individual, his back
to the screen.  He has one arm up flexing his biscep as he looks at his
arm.  We cut to another shot of the long-haired individual flexing his
chest and neck.]

# And this is what I'm gonna do,
I gonna put a call to you,
Coz' I feel good tonight,
And everything's gonna be right, right, yeah #

[We cut to both men wearing purple sequenced tuxedo jackets and black
bowties, still shirtless.  Both men are holding black top hats against
their chest.  The spiked-haired individual is standing in the back,
showing the camera an angled left profile.  In front of him stands the
individual with long hair who is standing the same way.  Both men are
looking off camera.

Cut to another shot of both men now facing the camera, same outfits.
They're both wearing the top hats and smiling at the camera.  We cut to
another shot of the two men, this time getting a shot of their right
profile.  They're angled to face away from the camera a bit. They both
look back over their left shoulders at the camera and smile in
syncronization.  Both men lift up their left hand, pointing at the
camera and then turn the point into a thumbs up.]

# I'm gonna have a good time tonight,
Rock n' Roll music gonna play all night,
Come on baby it won't take long,
Only take a minute just to sing my song. #

[We cut to a building.  The motorcycles are parked out in front of the
building.  We're back to the jeans, sunglasses, and no shirt wardrobe.
The long-haired individual is reclined on his motorcycle, propping up
the back of his head with his hands.  The spiked-haired individual is
leaned forward on the handle bars, smiling.  He leans up and strikes a
bicep flex with his right arm.

We cut to another shot of the two riding motorcycles on the road again. 
The camera follows as both men look at the camera and smile.  They point
at the camera and then turn the point into a thumbs up.  The two men
look back at the road and pull ahead of the camera.  We fade to black.

...and then back up to live action where we get a closeup of Jason
Dane's face.]

JD:  The Aces are coming to the AWA - yet another fantastic addition to
the tag team division here in the American Wrestling Aliiance!  And you
just know they'll be shooting for gold!  And speaking of gold...

[The camera pulls back to reveal Dane is standing next to the
broad-shouldered Arizonan, Brent Maverick.  Maverick, whose dark brown
tousled hair and stubbled face doesn't exactly present a well-groomed
front, is nonetheless wearing a fancy tailored grey suit jacket, pressed
dress shirt, and slacks.  Dane looks practically confused by this
abruptly out-of-character mode of dress for Maverick, who has the usual
grim expression on his face.]

JD:  The Longhorn Heritage Title tournament will continue in just
moments.  And tonight, Brent Maverick, you are going head to head in
that tournament with a man who is undefeated in the AWA, "Playboy"
Johnny Casanova.  But you certainly don't look like you're dressed to
wrestle.  I've never seen you wear anything like that; what's the
occasion?

BM: It ain't an occasion, it's a point.  Take a look at what I got on. 
This suit cost two grand.  Now, I ain't a rich man.  But I know how ta
iron a shirt an' put on a tie, if ya know what I mean, Dane.  I can play
dress-up, too.  But Casanova, all this show, what does it mean?  If I
was wearin' a ten grand suit like Stevie Scott, would I be any
different?  If I was wearin' a five dollar T-Shirt from Wal-Mart, would
I be any different?

Casanova, yer tryin' ta dress yerself up as somethin' ya ain't an' never
were.  A playboy?  A 'casanova'?  A two-hunnerd ten pound superstar? 
Who ARE you, Casanova?  Lemme help ya figger it out: yer a fat lazy scum
who had God-given talent that men would kill for, an' threw it away at
th' buffet line.  Ain't no doubt that you could wrassle good, if ya
wanted to.  If ya got in a gym an' worked for it, even now at yer age,
you'd be for real.  But until you start sheddin' this... extra bulk.

[Maverick sheds his sport coat, and starts to unbutton his dress shirt.]

BM: ...so you could see yer feet without th' aid of a mirror, you ain't
gonna be much longer for this sport.  You ain't in the minors no more,
Casanova.  'Round these parts, folks who try ta coast by without workin'
hard get hurt, an' hurt bad.  You been callin' yerself a playboy so
long, you believe it.  

[Brent whips his dress shirt to the floor and punctuates his next
sentence in a low, threatening growl.]

BM: Wake up and look in a mirror... while you still _can_.

JD: Those are strong words, but Johnny Casanova isn't to be taken
lightly... no pun intended.  Two weeks ago, he walked out with a second
victory over the intense Scott Mayhem, and no one could argue that
Mayhem isn't a hard-working potential star. In fact, his straight-ahead
style reminds a lot of people of you.  Might you be underestimating your
opponent?

[Mentioning last week causes Maverick's grim expression to tilt
southward.  A sour sneer is on his face as he goes on.]

BM: No.  I ain't.  But you saw last week.  Ya saw how he had his woman
lay hands on Mayhem's woman... who's about eighty pounds lighter an' six
inches shorter, who couldn't fight off a bee let alone a rough woman
like that... it's pathetic.  You gonna stoop ta anythin' an' cross any
line ta win, Casanova.  But ya already crossed a line too far.  

Long ago, I made a mistake of goin' ta watch a show up in St. Louis with
my wife.  Lo an' behold, she got hit.  Should I have known better? 
Absolutely.  Did it matter? 

Th' man that did that got his leg broke an' cain't wrestle no more.  So
you tell me if it mattered.  

Think about that, Casanova.  Think about it every night when you go ta
sleep.  This ain't gonna be about stealin' wins in a wrasslin' match. 
You got past that when you crossed that line with Mayhem.  That man is
comin' ta destroy you, all because ya got cute with 'im ta win a match. 
But if you try somethin' on ME?

I promise you: you really WILL be two-hundred ten pounds when I get
through with ya!  

An' yer gonna miss those ninety pounds of limbs fer th' rest of yer
life.

[Maverick stomps off, leaving Dane to the wrap-up.]

JD: Ouch.  Brent Maverick with some words of warning for his opponent
later on tonight... but we'll see just how much heed to that Johnny
Casanova takes.  Now, let's head back down to ringside for more action!

[We crossfade to the ring where Melissa is standing.]

MC:  The following tag team match is scheduled for one fall with a ten
minute time limit.  Introducing first... in the corner to my right-

[But before Melissa can get out another word, the men in the corner to
her right, two masked men by the names of Texas Hangman #1 and #2 are
assaulted by the men in the corner to her left - Scola and Mafu - the
Samoan Hit Squad!]

GM:  The Samoans aren't even waiting for the bell!

BW:  There's quite a bit of that going on here tonight.  The tag teams
are all very aggressive - it just shows how badly they all are looking
to become the National Tag Team Champions.

[Mafu immediately tears into the second Hangman - the one with #2
written across his rear - with a series of throat thrusts and knife-edge
chops that put the masked man back against the turnbuckles.  With a
shout, Mafu lights him up with a throat chop that causes the masked man
to buckle down to the mat, gasping for air.]

GM:  Mafu's got hands and feet to be feared by everyone - he's one of
the most dangerous strikers you'll find in the entire world of
professional wrestling.

[Across the ring, the 292 pound Scola muscles the other Hangman up onto
his shoulders, going into a full spin with him.  He rotates several
times before shrugging the helpless masked man down to the mat, dumping
him there.  Mafu approaches in a steady walk, leaping into the air with
a diving headbutt across the chest!]

GM:  Good grief!  Mafu's got one of the most devastating headbutts I've
seen in all my years in professional wrestling.  And when he leaps up
like that to deliver it, you know it's trouble.

[Hangman #2 staggers to his feet, moving to help his partner.  But as he
rushes Mafu, the wild Samoan ducks down, backdropping the masked man
through the air...

...right into Scola's waiting arms.  The powerhouse holds him high for a
moment before DRIVING him down to the canvas!]

GM:  POWERBOMB!!  GOOD GRIEF!!

BW:  That could be it right there.

GM:  It could be but...

[Mafu kicks the downed Hangman a few times, rolling him under the ropes
to the floor as Scola hauls Hangman #1 up to his feet, hurling him into
the ropes.  On the rebound, Scola hooks him around the throat, lifting
him up off the mat and bringing him down across a bent knee!]

GM:  What a backbreaker!

[Scola, in one motion, gets back up, picking the masked man back up into
the air...

...and HURLS him down in a brutal uranage slam!]

GM:  My stars.  These two savages are impressive.

BW:  Savages?  What in the world have they done to make you call them
that?  You disgust me, Gordon Myers!

[The crowd jeers as Mafu dives to the mat, sinking his teeth into the
forehead of the downed Hangman... well, into his mask mostly but you get
the idea.]

GM:  You were saying?

BW:  Shut up.

[At a barked order from James J. Dallas outside the ring, Mafu breaks
away, delivering an overhead knife-edge chop across the throat as Scola
moves to the corner, hopping up to a seat on the top turnbuckle.]

GM:  Uh oh... I think we know what's coming up here...

[Mafu climbs to his feet, shouting something unintelligible at the
masked man as he approaches the corner.  The wild Samoan starts to climb
the turnbuckles.  As he gets to the second rope, Scola hooks a front
facelock on his partner, hoisting him up in a suplex...

...and drops him chestfirst across the downed Hangman!]

GM:  SAMOAN SUPER SPLASH!!  ONE!  TWO!  THREE!

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

[Mafu, tongue lolled out of his mouth, climbs to his feet with his arms
in the air.  Scola, still seated on the second rope, smashes himself
across the chest with a fist to celebrate their win.]

GM:  The Samoan Hit Squad with another victory.  And James J. Dallas
looks quite pleased with his men, Bucky.

BW:  Why shouldn't he be?  They're the #3 contenders to the National Tag
Team Titles and if they keep winning like that, they'll be Number One in
no time.

GM:  Oh great... here he comes now...

[James J. Dallas approaches the announce desk, patting both men on the
shoulder as he slips a cigar into his mouth and starts chomping on it.]

JJD:  Gentlemen, gentlemen... it is indeed your great pleasure and honor
to have a fine Southerner like myself here to join y'all.

GM:  I suppose so... you seem quite happy these days.

JJD:  Good fortune smiles upon me every single day I wake up, Gordon
Myers.  First, I was blessed with these two behemoths you just saw in
the ring - two brothers from different mothers from the Isle of Samoa
who were bred for violence - and I just can't imagine it'll be too much
longer until those big, gold, shiny belts are right there around their
waists.

GM:  I see.  Well, you are currently the #3 contenders but-

JJD:  But nothin', Gordon Myers.  Bucky, can you educate your friend
here as to the greatness that my boys bring to this ring?

BW:  I've been tryin', James.  He just don't listen.

JJD:  Of course he doesn't.  He's wrapped up in the idea that buffoons
like those War Pigs or those pipsqueak Rockstars are the next great tag
team in the AWA.  He fails to recognize that the Samoan Hit Squad are
comin' for the National Tag Team Titles and ain't 'bout to stop at
nothin' to get 'em, boys.

GM:  But what about Violence Unlimited?  Your rivalry with them seems to
be far from over.

JJD:  Far from over?  Far from over?  What seems to be far from over to
me is Jackson Haynes trying to become the Longhorn Heritage Champion.  I
think the Hammer is well on his way, yes sir... and I think that belt
may be wrapped around his waist sooner than later.

GM:  I don't- wait a second... is THAT why you came out to applaud
Haynes after that match in San Antonio?

JJD:  No, no, no - you mistake my meaning, sir.  You do me wrong, Gordon
Myers.  I was applauding both of those men.  Jackson Haynes AND Danny
Morton.

GM:  What in the world are you talking about?

JJD:  I'm talkin' 'bout James J. Dallas being a man who knows true
talent when he sees it.  Look at my men... look at Scola... look at
Mafu... you think just anyone would be able to bring the greatness out
of them that I have?

The same thing goes for Violence Unlimited.

[Gordon shakes his head.]

GM:  I don't understand.

JJD:  Of course you don't, you simple little fella.  What I'm sayin' is
that Haynes and Morton... they've got true talent as well... they've got
brute force and unprecedented skills on their sides... 

And I'm the man to show 'em the right way to bring that out.

[Gordon's jaw drops.]

GM:  Are you saying-?

JJD:  I'm saying that if Jackson Haynes wants to beat The Masked Menace
in the second round and he wants to move on in the tournament...

He.  Needs.  Me.

GM:  I can't believe what I'm hearing.

JJD:  Well, believe it, Gordon.  Because if Violence Unlimited listens
to me and aligns themselves with the three of us, there won't be
anyone... ANYONE... that can stop us.  Jackson Haynes, Danny Morton,
Scola, and Mafu led by me?

Whew, have mercy.

Ain't no one.  Not the Southern Syndicate.  Not Layton and his boys.  No
one can stop us.

[Gordon looks on in shock.]

JJD:  Consider this an official offer, boys... and you'd do well to
accept it.

[Dallas grins as he pats Gordon on the shoulder, making his exit
alongside his Samoans up the rampway to the locker room.]

GM:  James J. Dallas has offered to MANAGE Violence Unlimited!  I've
gotta say, I didn't see that one coming, Bucky.

BW:  I didn't either but... boy oh boy, can you imagine those four
bruisers on the same side?  They'd RULE this company!

GM:   But will Violence Unlimited accept?  We'll try to get them out
here later on to answer the question... but for now, let's go up to Mark
Stegglet who has another tag team to introduce to the AWA fans here
tonight in Dallas, Texas!  Mark?

[We fade as Mark Stegglet stands in the interview area as the opening
guitar notes of "Paint It Black" by The Rolling Stones hit.]

MS:  Ladies and gentlemen, here they come... The Outcasts!  Jonah "Ice"
Keller and Nick Dem...

[Stegglet's words trail off as arriving at the interview area is the
sharp-featured, wife-beater clad Jonah "Ice" Keller... alone.  He slinks
to the area with a smirk on his face.]

MS:  Welcome to the Crockett Coliseum, Mr. Keller.  But... uhh...
where's your partner?

[Keller grins at Jason like a man who knows a secret and won't tell.]

JK:  My partner?  Never really needed a consistent partner, Mark.  Never
really fit me.  I wanted to steal the spotlight, and he wasn't amenable
to that.  So now I don't have a partner.

[The grin again as Stegglet cocks his head.]

MS:  I don't quite know what to make of that.  Did you get rid of him?

[Keller shakes his head and gently jabs his finger into Mark's chest.]

JK:  Get rid of him?  That makes me sound so... cold.  It's not for you
to make anything of, my dear man.  You needn't make anything but funny
faces as you ask only the most obvious questions of your subjects.  And
look very dashing while you're at it.

[Stegglet backs up a step.]

JK:  There's no reason to be afraid, no reason to back away.  I'm here
to bring you in, Mister Stegglet.  To bring you inside of me.  My
thoughts, my desires.  I'm open for you...

[Stegglet gulps noticeably as Keller grins.]

JK:  Ask away.

[Keller puts his hand on Stegglet's shoulder as Mark squirms.]

MS:  Uh... What exactly are you doing here in the AWA?

JK:  What am I doing here?  

[Keller chuckles.]

JK:  Good question, just what I expected.  Mark, I'm here to ply my
trade.  The trade that has called to me ever since I was a very young
man.  I'm here to grapple, to feel the power of others and dominate them
with my own.

[A slight massage of Jason's shoulder as he speaks.]

JK:  I'm here for you.  All of you.  You've been fooled too often, your
emotions fondled by those who look out only for themselves.  I'm not
that guy.  I care.

[The grin.]

JK:  I'm here to be the man you can trust.  Always tell you the truth. 
So know this... I'm going to steal the spotlight.  However I have to do
it.  There's no man too big for me to take, no man too small for me not
to get a hold of.  I was in the light once, and let it get away.  When I
get it this time, I'll never let it go.

[Keller puts his hand over his heart.]

JK:  You have my word on it.

[Keller grins again as he walks off camera.]

MS:  Well, fans, apparently the Outcasts are no more and Jonah Keller
has opted to go it alone here in the AWA.  

[Stegglet cranes his neck, looking down the aisle.  He gestures towards
the ring.]

MS:  And don't look now, guys, but Keller's heading to the ring!

[The camera moves to the ring, where a slightly flabby, thin-bearded man
stands in the ring in plain black tights.  Next to him is a well-tanned
muscular man in bright yellow who throws up his arms, arguing with the
referee.]

GM:  We had a match planned for The Outcasts in this spot.  Obviously,
there's two men in the ring but it looks like the official is trying to
get young Brad Mitchell out of here.  Jonah Keller has very obviously
parted ways with Nick Demola - and it looks like he's heading here for
one-on-one action.  Bucky, what do you make of this development?

BW:  Well, he seems like a pretty straight-forward, honest guy to me.

GM:  I'm sure he does.

[Melissa Cannon is ready to go.]

MC:  The following match is set for one fall... already in the ring at
this time, hailing from Sherman, Texas, weighing in at 220 pounds...
"Hard Luck" Harrison Butler!

[Butler's head hangs down as he lifts a hand to the crowd.]

MC:  And his opponent!  From Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada! 
Weighing in at 255 pounds...

JONAH 'ICE' KELLER!

[Keller finally reaches the ring apron, a grin crossing his face as he
eyes his opponent.  He cracks his knuckles and steps through the ropes
into the ring.]

GM:  After weeks of teasing, we get Keller's debut in the AWA.  Although
it's not coming like we expected it to.  Don't forget - this is a
singles match while we were expecting him in a tag team!

BW:  And this poor local kid looks like he's waiting for the gallows. 

[The bell sounds and Keller extends his hand to Butler.]

GM:  A show of sportsmanship by Keller here in his debut.

BW:  I told you, the guy's as straight up as anyone here.

GM:  I seriously doubt that.

[Butler extends his hand... and a handshake ensues.]

GM:  I stand corrected... for now.

[Keller and Butler meet in the middle of the ring... and Keller takes
him down with a double leg takedown.]

GM:  Good amateur wrestling move by Keller.

BW:  Why do you ever doubt me?  I know people, Gordo.

[Keller gets on Butler's back on the mat, and slaps the back of his head
and chuckles as he rises to his feet.]

GM:  Was that necessary?

BW:  He's showing the kid who's in charge.

[Butler gets to a knee and shakes his head.  He lunges at Keller, who
meets him with an eye poke!]

GM:  Oh, there's your Mister Straight Up!

BW:  He was going for another handshake and Butler's eye got in the way!

[Butler wipes his eye as Keller stalks him from behind, and nails him
with both forearms to either side of his head, sending Butler staggering
into the corner.]

GM:  Bell clap by Keller there.

BW:  Hear that bell?  School's in, punk!

GM:  Oh, you're hysterical.

[Butler slumps in the corner as Keller slowly walks in on him, and gives
him a boot to the midsection.  He hooks Butler in a front facelock...
and spins him quickly by the head, dropping him to the mat!]

GM:  Wow!  A quick spinning neckbreaker by Keller!

BW:  It seems like old 'Ice' takes his sweet time getting to the action,
but when he does he pounces fast!

[Keller measures up Butler, hops in the air... and crashes down on
Butler with two feet to his stomach.]

GM:  Oh!  Double foot stomp by Keller right to the gut!  That'll take
some wind out of your sails.

BW:  Might send your late lunch headin' for the exits too, Gordo.

[Keller grins at the crowd, who give him a mild heel pop as he picks
Butler up by the hair.]

GM:  Now, is that necessary?  That hair pulling?

BW:  He's trying to help the kid wake up!

[Butler nails Keller with a punch to the stomach, and another one.]

GM:  Looks like he woke him up alright.

[Butler grabs Keller by the back of the head and whips him... but Keller
reverses the whip and sends Butler into the ropes.]

GM:  This young guy is coming off the ropes, and...

[Keller SMACKS him with a left hand to the face!]

GM:  Dead on target!  A left hand right to the jaw!  A clenched fist
too, I might add.  Another illegal move!

BW:  What a shot!  That's one heck of a left he's got!

GM:  Ignoring that it's illegal?

BW:  Oh, stop your crying.  When Samson's around to do it, you want to
adopt him so the two of you can go bass fishing together.  When Keller
does it, you want him hanged in the county square!

[Butler lays lifeless as Keller grins at the crowd to a heel pop.]

GM:  He could finish this right now.  Butler is out.

BW:  Well, yeah, probably... but what fun would that be?

[Keller grabs Butler by the arm and lifts him up.  He lifts Butler's arm
over his head, stands behind him for a second, and...]

GM:  He can't be going for this!

[... NAILS him with a punch to the side of the upper ribs to a crowd
gasp!]

BW:  A heart punch!  Keller with a heart punch!  Wow!

GM:  One of the most dangerous moves in professional wrestling!  

[Keller releases Butler from his grasp as he falls to the mat.  Keller
lays on him chest to chest as the referee counts... one... two...
three!]

MC:  Your winner... JONAH 'ICE' KELLER!

[Keller grins down at Butler as he lays on the mat.]

GM:  He's just standing there grinning at Butler as he lays there.  This
guy is not right!

BW:  Just admiring the handiwork.  The kid will be okay.

GM:  I sure hope so.  We've all heard the legends of people who've had
serious injuries inflicted to them at the hands of the heart punch and
Keller delivered it with reckless abandon right there.

[Keller rolls out of the ring and walks back up the ramp slowly as he
shakes his head and grins.]

GM:  And again with the smile... just smiling like a nutcase.  What's
wrong with this guy, Bucky?

BW:  You want to be the one to find out?

GM:  Not one bit.  Fans, we need to take a break but before we do, I
understand that Jason Dane is wandering around the locker room looking
for... well... you can see for yourself!

[The camera opens up backstage on Jason Dane. He's standing next to a
plain blue door with the words "Blonde Bombers" written across an
obviously cheaply made gold star.]

JD: Thanks guys, I'm back here to try to get some time with Larry Doyle,
who, following the attack of Crusher Glenn at the hands of Rough n Ready
that we saw on the last Saturday Night Wrestling, has been in seclusion.
We're going to try to get a word.

[Dane opens the door and the camera peaks inside the room, revealing an
isolated Doyle standing in front of a mirror. His chubby reflection
staring back at him. Doyle begins chatting with his reverse self..
oblivious to the cameras. A rare look inside the mind of a world famous
ego maniac. Doyle grabs his thinning hair in frustration and yanks at
it.]

LD: Get it _together_, Larry. Thinkthinkthink. What happened to Crusher
was _nothing_! A blip on the radar! Drop in a bucket!

CG: Hey.

[The handheld swivels slighting, revealing a battered Crusher Glenn..
neck brace.. two black and blue eyes.. sitting on the couch. Baldwin and
Nova nowhere to be seen. Doyle looks back at Crusher through the
mirror.]

LD: Sorry, Crush. I meant nothing by it. I'm just so.. soo.. 

[Doyle reaches out to grab the words.. but comes up with air.]

LD:  .. so.. gah.. I don't _know_. 

[Doyle slams the table in front of him in frustration.]

LD:  Those two.. thugs. Cooper and Somers.. what they did.. I've never
seen anything like it! Such atrocities! What they did to you.. was
shocking.. it was heinous.. it was Bombersesque. It was like looking in
a mirror.  

I do _not_ like looking in a  mirror, Crusher. 

I _deeeeeetest_ it!

Seeing that handsome devil staring back at me. Judging everything I do.
Stop it.. stop looking at me.. _you_!

[Doyle pounds the mirror.]

LD:  Gah.. look at me.. I'm.. I'm.. I'm sweating! 

_Nobody_ makes me sweat.

Not the Rockstar Express.. not Violence Unlimited and most certainly
_not_ those frauds we call champs. Don't worry, Crusher, bay-bee.. Uncle
Larry's got this under control!

[Doyle stares at his reflection.]

LD:  I'm Larry 'friggin' Doyle.. manager of da greeattessttt tag team
this industry has evvvaarrrr seen. 

It's time to start acting like him. 

Come on Crusher, we got things to do.

[Doyle looks up and notices the camera.]

LD:  HEY! HEY YOU! DDDDDAAAANNNNNEEEEE! GET YOUR CAMERA OUT OF HERE!

[Doyle rushes the camera and shoves his hand over the lens. The image
cuts and we fade to black.

...and back up to a shot of the original SuperClash logo.  A voiceover
begins.]

"It was a night that few can forget."

[We can hear announcer cries like...

"ROUGH HOUSING!  ONE!!!  TWO!!!  THREEEEEEEE!!!!"

"What a night for the Matsui Corporation!  They stole the spotlight and
now they've beaten the mighty Tumaffi!"

"FIREBALL!  FIREBALL!"]

"Stars were made.  Careers were shortened.  Lives were altered forever."

[We can hear the "moment of truth" for Raphael Rhodes...

"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"]

"But in the end, there was only one conclusion...

SuperClash... IS... wrestling."

[One more soundbite.

"HE DID IT!  HE DID IT!  STEVIE BEAT ALL THE ODDS!"]

"On Thanksgiving night, show the world of wrestling what you're thankful
for."

[And a final graphic comes up...

SuperClash 2.  Thanksgiving Night.

We fade back to live action where, backstage, 'Playboy' Johnny Casanova
and his manager Big Mama have been found by Mark Stegglet.]

JC: Are ya ready for tonight, Steggles? Are ya ready for the Playboy to
take the first steps towards winning the Longhorn gold here in the AWA?

MS: I'm looking forward to seeing you and Brent Maverick square off, Mr
Casanova.

JC: And who can blame ya? Cause after seeing me waste a couple of nights
on proving to Scotty Mayhem that while that massive weight is hanging
around his neck, he'll never reach the level he's capable of, ya get to
watch me step in the ring with a real competitor in Brent Maverick.

Maverick, ya may be rough, I'll give ya that. Ya may be tough, I'll give
ya that too. But ya belong in the past, Maverick! Ya been so busy
playing around with Vernon Riley and Eric Preston and the creepy crew or
whatever they call themselves, that ya may not have noticed the return
to prominence of Johnny Casanova! Cause when ya came out and ya started
running ya mouth off about Johnny C, taking cheap shots and making dirty
comments about my waistline, ya got me all riled up. And I gotta believe
you're smart enough that if ya'd seen the way I destroyed my first few
opponents in the AWA, and the first match I had with Scotty Mayhem, ya
wouldn't want to get me riled up! So bring it on tonight, Brent, and
watch the great cruiserweight fly - cause I can promise ya, you're gonna
get a real close up view of this beautiful body!

[And with that, we cut down to the ring where Melissa is standing.]

MC: This is a tag team contest scheduled for one fall with a thirty
minute time limit and is a non-title affair!  Introducing first, to my
left, at a combined weight of 475 pounds... first, from Los Angeles,
California... Steve Johnson!

[A blonde-haired with a slender build and dressed in blue trunks raises
his arms to the crowd]

MC: His tag team partner is from Italy... he is the Sicilian Stud!

[A dark-haired man with a lean build and red trunks, with the Italian
flag on the back, raises his arms to the crowd.

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, immediately drawing a mixed
reaction.]

MC: And their opponents are the reigning National tag team champs...
from Albuquerque, New Mexico, and at a combined weight of 515 pounds...
Dave Cooper... Eric Matthew Somers.. the team of ROUGH N READY!

[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.Each has a tag team strap slung over his shoulder.
The two come down the rampway, but as they enter the ring, Cooper is
quick to remove his shirt, toss his belt aside and charge right at the
opposition, with Somers quick to follow.]

GM: And Rougn N Ready not wasting any time!

BW: I'm not their biggest fan, but they certainly want to send a message
to the Blonde Bombers!

GM: And they are using Johnson and the Stud to do just that!

[Cooper pummels away at the Stud in one corner while Somers repeatedly
hammers away on Johnson before tossing him through the ropes. He ignores
the referee's warnings to clear the ring as he goes to join Cooper in a
double team.]

GM: The Silician Stud whipped to the ropes... double elbow right to the
face!

BW: Both men just stomping away on the Stud!

GM: Normally, I would expect to hear you object to these tactics from
the likes of Rough N Ready.

BW: Hey, they've finally realized they can't just be nice guys if they
want to get anywhere in AWA. They're finally getting that killer
instinct.

[The referee gets in Somers' face, warning him to leave the ring or face
disqualification. Somers just smirks and holds up his hands, as Cooper
drags the Stud off the canvas, applying a waistlock and taking him over
with a belly to belly suplex.]

GM: The referee finally getting Somers out of there... Cooper with a
belly to belly, now grabbing the leg and kicking away.

BW: Stepover toehold applied... Cooper wrenching at that knee.

GM: Cooper again with a few kicks... now spinning around the leg
again... and falling back into a grapevine!

[The Stud struggles on the canvas, trying to get to the ropes, but
Cooper releases the hold and repeatedly kicks away at the knee again.]

GM: Cooper showing a viciousness in him we have not seen before.

BW: Well, unless you count what happened to Crusher Glenn last time.

GM: I'm still surprised about that attack.

BW: Same here, but you gotta admit, Rough N Ready lived up to their name
with it.

[The Stud finally gets to the ropes, forcing a break. Cooper backs off
for only a moment, though, grabbing the leg again and dropping an elbow
to it.]

GM: Cooper trying to apply a figure-four leglock... the Stud kicks him
off and into the turnbuckles!

BW: But how badly is his leg hurt?

GM: Cooper turning to go after him... Stud is up, though, and showing
some fight!

[The Sicilian Stud throws a few punches at Cooper to back him up, then
tackles him, shoving him into the corner.]

GM: Stud with a pair of forearms... Irish whip to the opposite side.

BW: He charges in... Cooper moves!

GM: Tag made to Somers!

[The big man steps through the ropes as the Stud is dazed on the mat,
but he is quickly dragged up and taken over with a gutwrench suplex.]

GM: The Stud rolls to his corner... and there's the tag to Johnson.

BW: My condolences to Johnson... he's got a big problem on his hands.

GM: But Johnson not backing down... he's throwing everything he has at
the big man!

[Johnson unleashes several chops at Somers, but is then met with a
clubbing blow to the back of the head, followed by Somers goozling the
throat.]

BW: And everything he had wasn't enough!

GM: Big chokeslam by Somers! And now he's stepping on his throat!

[Johnson clutches his neck as Somers drives his boot into the throat,
drawing a warning from the referee, to which Somers just simply shrugs.]

GM: Somers showing no mercy to Johnson!

BW: I like it... that extra edge is what it takes to be a champion.

GM: It's also called bending the rules, if not outright breaking them!
And Somers just dragging Johnson off the canvas... and there's the tag
to Cooper!

[Cooper immediately goes to the second rope as Somers puts Johnson in
uranage position, then lifts him up and brings him down as Cooper comes
off with a kneedrop to the skull.]

GM: Rough Housing! Cooper covers... one... two... three.  This one is
over!

[As the Stud comes into the ring to go help Johnson, Somers is quick to
nail him with a blow to the head, then grab him as well.]

GM: Hold on! What is this all about!

BW: Looks like Rough N Ready has decided the match isn't over yet.

GM: It is over! This is not necessary!

BW: If they think another message needs to be sent to the Bombers, then
it certainly is!

[Somers then hits the same uranage slam on the Stud as Cooper hits the
kneedrop from the second rope.]

GM: Rough Housing again! And the referee getting on their cases!

BW: They don't care... all they care about is staying on top of the tag
team division. And when you got teams like the Bombers challenging them,
you better find ways to stay on top of your game.

GM: But not like that!

[Dave and Eric both raise their arms to the crowd, drawing more boos
this time around. The two then reach over the ring to take their title
belts from the ring announcer before the referee can get them, then
depart the ring and head up the platform.]

GM: We're going to see if Jason Dane can get a few words with these
two... Jason?

[We cut to Jason Dane at the interview stage.]

JD: All right, Rough N Ready with the win tonight... I want to see if I
can get a few words with these men...

[Dave and Eric now approach the stage.]

JD: We now know that these two men will face the Bombers at SuperClash 2
in just over a month's time... but what I want to know-

DC: [interrupting] Jason, if you've been watching the past few weeks,
you know we aren't here to be nice guys any longer! Blonde Bombers...
Larry Doyle... you sure loved telling everybody how you are the top
contenders to _our_ tag team titles. Well, boys, it seems to me you just
didn't pay close enough attention to what we did at the Battle on the
Bayou, and to what we said to every tag team in the AWA about how
serious we were about making young punks like yourselves learn to
respect those who have been around the horn for a while.

JD: You did attack Crusher Glenn... may I ask what that was-

EMS: [interrupting] Jason, first of all, I must say it's not too hard to
find a fan who hates Larry Doyle and is willing to do what was necessary
to get Glenn lured right into our trap.

JD: Wait a minute... you are saying you got a fan to-

EMS: Hold on, Jason... we didn't have to get a fan to do anything for
us. All we needed to know is that Doyle never learned when it was time
to keep his big trap shut and we used that against him.

DC: Bombers... if I were you, I wouldn't be listening to whatever
nonsense Doyle tells you... I'd listen to Crusher Glenn who can
certainly tell you about what it's like to feel the wrath of Rough N
Ready... and while we will be meeting you at SuperClash 2, you better
realize we aren't playing games... we are here to take out every single
tag team who dares to come across us! The young punks in the AWA are
going to learn respect, and Eric and I are just the men to teach them
what respect is about!

[With that, Dave and Eric depart the interview stage and we fade to the
locker room area where a television is showing the exact same shot we
just saw.  As the camera pulls back, we find the Rockstar Express
standing alongside Mark Stegglet.  Scotty Storm is in jeans with a black
Motley Crue tanktop while Marty Morgan's got jeans and a t-shirt that
reads "18 And Life" across the front.  Morgan's also got a bandana tied
around his head.]

MS:  Gentlemen, we just saw the National Tag Team Champions in action. 
We saw Violence Unlimited and the Blonde Bombers have a heck of a match
two weeks ago.  We saw the Samoans and the War Pigs both score victories
here tonight.  The AWA National Tag Team Title division is hotter than
ever and just where in the world do you fit in?

[Storm cracks a grin.]

SS:  Marky Mark, you want to know where Marty and I fit in?  We fit in
wherever the heck we want if you ask me, my friend.

MM:  That's right, Scotty.  Look... we'd be out and out lyin' if we
didn't say the AWA had the meanest, toughest, baddest tag team we've
ever seen in one place at one time and you can accuse us of a lot of
things...

SS:  Breaking hearts, busting up relationships, stealing your ladies...

MM:  But you can't accuse us of being liars, Mark!

[Stegglet nods.]

MS:  But you have to feel a bit like you're on the outside looking in at
this point, gentlemen.  

SS:  Not at all, not at all.  Sure, no one's exactly beatin' down the
doors to take a shot at the hottest thing rockin' the country from coast
to coast but we're waitin' and watchin'.

MM:  You got it, baby, and if y'all were watchin' too, you just saw
Rough N Ready out there yappin' their mouths.  They seem to think that
just because they're the National Tag Team Champions, they can call out
every tag team in this joint.

SS:  And when we hear words like... "young punks"... we take offense at
that, Mark.

MS:  You think they were referring to you?

MM:  Well, look, Mark... when it's Old Man Somers and Geriatric Cooper
talkin' about people being young, they might be referring to Soup Bone
Samson, Geezer Gaines, and Moldy Meekly for that matter!  

SS:  Young punks.  You know what kind of people say "young punks",
Marky?

[Stegglet shakes his head.]

SS:  I do.  'Cause I've been called it before.  It was that time when I
kicked a ball on Old Man Sawyer's front lawn and went through his
rosebushes to get it.  He yelled, "Get off my roses, ya young punk!"

MM:  And that's exactly what Rough N Ready are these days.  They're two
old men sitting on a porch somewhere, drinkin' light beer, and shoutin'
at kids to get off their front lawn.  And in this case, their front lawn
is the entire AWA.

SS:  That's right, Marty, but we don't listen so well... even to our
elders.  So, Marty and I are here to stay, champs... and while we may
respect what you can do in the ring, we sure as heck don't respect what
you're doin' outside of it these days.

MM:  And you know the problem with bein' the old men on the front porch,
Steggs?

MS:  What's that?

MM:  Eventually someone's gonna put you out to pasture.

[A high-five goes up between Morgan and Storm before they make their
exit together.]

MS:  Well, fans, I'd say that just might be a challenge for our National
Tag Team Champions.  And speaking of titles, it's time for the next
match in the Longhorn Heritage Title tournament so let's go back down to
the ring for that one!

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

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit and is a first round matchup in the tournament to crown the
Longhorn Heritage Champion!  The winner of this match will meet Wade
Kennedy in the second round!

Introducing first...

[Robert Palmer's "Addicted To Love" kicks in to a big negative
reaction.]

MC:  He hails from Beverly Hills, California and is being led to the
ring by Big Mama... weighing in tonight at...

[Melissa looks shocked at her cards.]

MC:  Two hundred three and one-half pounds?

[She shakes her head.]

MC:  "PLAYBOY" JOHNNY CAAAAAASANOOOOOVA!

[Casanova saunters from the locker room in a set of canary yellow tights
and a feather boa to match.  He struts a big, pausing to look over his
heart-shaped shades into the camera lens as Big Mama plants a big kiss
on his cheek.]

BW:  Here they are, Gordo - the perfect couple!

GM:  According to who?

BW:  Well, can you think of one better?

GM:  I can think of a lot better.

BW:  Not you and any of your six ex-wives!

GM:  No, probably not.

[Casanova reaches the ring where Big Mama sits on the middle rope,
holding the ropes open for the Playboy who hits the ring and immediately
goes into a spin, causing the feathers to fly.]

GM:  This guy is a real piece of work, you know that?

BW:  "Playboy" Johnny C is one of the fastest rising newcomers in AWA
history - and a breathtaking aerial artist inside that ring.  He'd give
Nenshou a run for his money if you ask me.

GM:  Aerial?  Are you out of your mind?  This guy couldn't get more than
a foot off the mat without a step ladder!

[Casanova steps up on the bottom rope, planting his hands on the back of
his head to give a hip swivel to the jeering fans...

...when suddenly his music changes to the southern-rock styled cover of
"The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly" by Enrico Morricone that plays over
the PA, drawing loud cheers from the crowd as Brent Maverick power-walks
down the elevated rampway of the Crockett Colosseum.  His dress-wear is
gone; he's back in normal ring attire.  Garbed in his traditional
rust-red knee-length trunks (with a small yellow Arizona Sun logo near
the left hip), laceless red leather 'cowboy' boots, and a brown leather
vest, the compact physique of Maverick practically launches through the
ropes.  He raises his fingerless-gloved hands to the crowd, but keeps a
sharp eye on Casanova as he does.]

MC: And his opponent... from Tucson, Arizona... weighing two-hundred
fourty-two pounds... BRENT MAVERICK!

[Maverick ditches his vest, and walks over to the referee to tell him
something or other... pointing at Casanova as he does.]

GM:  Brent Maverick is a man on a mission here tonight - looking to move
on to the quarterfinals where he would meet Wade Kennedy in what would
be an outstanding matchup in my estimation, Bucky.

BW:  What the heck is Maverick doing?

[The crowd buzzes as Maverick insistantly points at Casanova, barking at
the official who shrugs, walking over to the Playboy.]

GM:  Is he- he's searching Casanova!

BW:  What in the wide world of spots is going on?  This is a travesty! 
Johnny Casanova is a man of integrity and sportsmanship!  What would
make someone think he'd try to bring a weapon into a match like this?

GM:  Because he's done it before!

BW:  Circumstantial evidence - all of it!

[The referee pats down the reluctant Casanova, searching his boots and
kneepads before checking the waistband of the trunks.  Finding nothing,
the official turns back to Maverick, shrugging his shoulders...

...and allowing Big Mama to hand something into the ring where Casanova
promptly stuffs it down the front of his trunks!]

GM:  Did you see that?

BW:  Of course I saw it!  We were just talking about what a crying shame
it is that Maverick would stoop to-

GM:  No!  Did you see Big Mama hand that... whatever it was... into
Casanova?

BW:  What are you talking about, Gordo?  Did you take your medicine
tonight?

GM:  I'm not going crazy, Bucky.  I saw it very clearly.  Casanova has a
weapon of some sorts stuffed down his trunks and-

[Casanova gestures at Maverick, demanding the same search.  But as soon
as Maverick raises a boot to be checked, the Playboy leaps into action,
rushing across the ring to assault him...

...but Maverick shoves the official aside, blocking the right hand and
connecting with one of his own as the referee calls for the bell to
start the match!]

GM:  Here we go!

[Maverick quickly drives the heavier Casanova back into the ropes where
he peppers him with hooking blows to the chubby torso of the big man. 
He promptly grabs the wrist, trying to fire him across but Casanova
reverses it.]

GM:  The reversal shoots in Maverick to the ropes and-

[There's a big cheer as the rebounding Maverick catches Casanova with a
running clothesline that knocks the big man down.  The alleged Beverly
Hills native promptly rolls to the floor to the comforting arms of Big
Mama...

...who yelps in shock, getting out of the way as Brent Maverick rolls to
the floor to pursue his opponent.]

GM:  Brent Maverick is very focused here tonight.  He knows he's a
couple more wins away from being in the finals at SuperClash with the
Longhorn Heritage Title hanging in the balance.  This is Step #1 - put
down the Playboy.

BW:  Not gonna happen.  It's gonna be the best Thanksgiving ever at the
Casanova residence when he settles down for turkey dinner with that
pretty gold belt around his waist.

[Maverick again batters Casanova on the floor with rights and lefts to
the body.  He grabs the arm, flinging the bulky Playboy into the
ringside barricade to a loud clang!]

GM:  Ohh!  Into the steel goes Casanova!

[Grabbing him by his bottle blond locks, Maverick fires Casanova under
the ropes into the ring.  He hops up on the ring apron...

...and as Casanova grabs the official to beg for mercy, Big Mama grabs
the leg of Maverick, preventing him from getting back inside the ring!]

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

BW:  Just because you can't take your eyes off her, it don't mean the
official has to do the same thing.  He needs to call the match, Gordo.

GM:  That woman is interfering in a match with very high stakes and she
needs to be removed from ringside, in my opinion.

[The interference is enough to allow Casanova to get to his feet,
jabbing a thumb in the eye of the distracted Maverick.  He promptly
hooks a three quarter nelson and then drops down to his butt, snapping
Maverick's throat down on the top rope!]

GM:  Ohh!  Maverick gets hung out to dry over the top rope and down he
goes to the floor!

[Casanova backs off, pleading innocence on the eyegouge...

..and allowing Big Mama to lay in kick after kick to the ribs of the
downed Maverick!]

GM:  This is ridiculous!  Someone needs to put a stop to her nonsense!

[After a few moments, she backs away, walking around the corner of the
ring so the referee sees nothing as he turns around to start his ten
count.  At the count of five, Maverick reaches his feet, using the ropes
to haul himself up on the apron where Casanova approaches.]

GM:  It looks like the Playboy's gonna bring him in the hard way.

[Reaching down, Casanova scoops up Maverick off the apron, turns, and
PLANTS him with a heavy bodyslam!]

GM:  Big time slam by Casanova and-

[The egotistical Playboy goes into another hip swivel to the jeers of
the crowd before leaping up and burying an elbowdrop into the sternum,
knocking him flat.  Casanova rolls into a lateral press, shouting "Count
him, baby!" as he does so.]

GM:  Cover for one... for two... but that's all.  Brent Maverick's out
at two.

[Grabbing Maverick by the back of the head, Casanova creams him with a
couple right hands to the temple.  He shoves him back down to the mat as
he climbs to his feet and delivers a pair of kicks to the ribs that
causes Maverick to roll over towards the ropes.]

GM:  Maverick's in trouble early in this one.  He got off to a fast
start but some timely interference by Big Mama has really thrown his
train off the tracks.

[Leaning on the top rope, Casanova presses the sole of his boot down on
the windpipe of Maverick, causing the Arizona native to flail wildly as
the referee counts again.]

GM:  Casanova breaks at four - backing away...

[And Big Mama reaches under the ropes, yanking Maverick's head under
them so his throat is exposed...

...and SLAMS her elbow down on the windpipe!]

GM:  Good grief!  This woman is vicious!

BW:  My kind of female, daddy.  She don't back down from no one.

[As she backs away, Casanova pushes past the referee to move back in. 
He leans over, grabbing Maverick's legs under his armpits...

...and drops back, SNAPPING Maverick's throat up into the bottom rope!]

GM:  OHHHHHH!  That might be enough there.

[Casanova applies another press, putting his three hundred pounds across
the chest.]

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

[But Maverick fires the shoulder off the mat before the three count
comes down, narrowly avoiding a loss.]

GM:  Brent Maverick just barely got the shoulder up there.  And
Casanova's not done with him.

[Staying on target, Casanova drags him from the ropes by the foot,
pulling him near the corner.]

GM:  Uh oh.  What's he going for here?

BW:  Now we're gonna see it, Gordo!  Now we're gonna see the
high-flying!

GM:  I'll believe it when I see it.

BW:  Keep those peepers open, daddy!

[Casanova backs to the corner, slowly edging up so he's standing on the
bottom rope.  He looks around nervously at the jeering crowd...

...and puts one foot on the middle rope.]

BW:  He's headed for the high rent district!

GM:  He's still on the bottom rope!

BW:  It's just a matter of time.

[Casanova wipes his brow with his hand before stepping up to the second
rope with the other foot.  He's gripping the top rope hard,
white-knuckled as he looks down at Maverick with fear.]

GM:  This guy's gonna have a coronary standing on the second rope!

[He slowly releases the ropes, putting his hands on his head to do
another hip swivel...

...and leaps!]

GM:  ELLLLBO-

[BIG CHEER!]

GM:  MAVERICK MOVED!  MAVERICK MOVED!

[Brent Maverick uses the ropes to haul himself to his feet as Casanova
rolls back and forth on the mat, clutching his lower back.  A staggered
Maverick hauls Casanova off the canvas by the hair into a side headlock,
turning away from the ref...

...and JAMMING his thumb up into the throat!]

GM:  Uh oh - a little illegal action there - right out of the Playboy's
playbook!

BW:  Are you kidding me?  Casanova hasn't even bent a rule in this one -
let alone break one.

GM:  The night's still early.

[Spinning Casanova out of the headlock, Maverick flings him hard
chestfirst into the corner with a whip...

...and bulldozes him with an enzuilariato on the rebound!]

GM:  CLOTHESLINE TO THE BACK OF THE HEAD!!

[Maverick flips the plump Playboy to his back, throwing himself into a
lateral press.]

GM:  Cover for one!  For two!  But that's all - shoulder up at two!

[The crowd roars as Maverick takes the mount, blasting his opponent with
repeated blows to the skull!]

GM:  He's beating the heck out of Casanova in the middle of the ring!

[Maverick pops up at the referee's four count, smashing himself across
the chest with a right hand and hollering to the crowd.]

GM:  Brent Maverick is fired up tonight!

[Dragging Casanova off the mat, Maverick ducks down, grabbing Casanova
between the legs...

...and somehow powers him up into a fireman's carry!]

GM:  OH MY!!  HE'S GOT HIM UP FOR ACEY DEUC-

[But Casanova, knowing what's coming next, promptly rakes his hands
across the eyes.  He drops down behind Maverick, shoving him hard with
both hands in the back...

...and right over the ropes to the floor thanks to Big Mama pulling down
the top rope!]

GM:  OHHHHH!  DOWN TO THE FLOOR!!

[The crowd jeers as Big Mama begs off from the referee's quizzing,
shaking her head with feigned innocence.]

BW:  She says she didn't do it, Gordo.

GM:  Of course she does.  She lies and you swear to it.  Makes me sick.

[Big Mama continues to argue with the official when suddenly Brent
Maverick pulls himself to his feet...

...and spins Big Mama around, fist at his side.]

GM:  Oh my god - don't do it, Brent!  Don't do it!  She's not worth it!

BW:  Look at this coward.  He's gonna deck a woman!

GM:  No he's not - he's not gonna do it, Bucky!  Look at him - he's not
gonna do it!

[Maverick, filled with rage, is shaking as he glares at Big Mama with
his clenched fists at his sides.  He looks ready to snap, to smash her
in the face with a haymaker...

...but simply shakes his head, climbing back up on the apron.]

GM:  Maverick's back up on-

[The crowd begins to buzz.]

GM:  Scott Mayhem!  Mayhem's heading down the ramp!

BW:  Why?  Get him out of here!

[The wild-eyed Mayhem stalks down the ramp, showing no signs of his
intent as he gets closer and closer to the ring.]

GM:  Why is Scott Mayhem out here?  What does he intend to do, Bucky?

BW:  You want me to psychoanalyze this fruitcake?  He might be out here
to scout a future match or to kill everyone in the building.  No clue.

[Mayhem pauses just before the ring, glaring at Casanova who is
gesturing wildly at Mayhem, pointing him out to the official.]

GM:  The referee is telling Mayhem to stay out of this!  There's no need
for Scott Mayhem to be out here and this could have a big effect on this
matchup.

[Up on the apron, Brent Maverick also spots Mayhem and seems to be
reading him the same version of the riot act.]

GM:  Maverick wants him out of here too!  He's telling Mayhem to back
off and-

[A furious Mayhem shouts in Maverick's direction, pointing a finger of
warning at him as well.  Trying to seize the moment, Casanova rushes
forward with a shoulderblock that sends Maverick sailing off the apron,
crashing into the ringside barricade!]

GM:  OHHH!  INTO THE RAILING GOES BRENT MAVERICK!!  The momentary
distraction of Scott Mayhem just cost Brent Maverick in a big fashion!

[And Casanova knows it and loves it.  He backs away, mocking Mayhem
loudly.  He breaks into a hip swivel in Mayhem's direction, further
taunting him.  The referee backs Casanova away, trying to maintain
order...

...when suddenly Mayhem leaps into action, quickly scaling the ropes!]

GM:  NO!  NO!!

[As Mayhem reaches the top rope, Casanova shouts at the official,
pointing him out.]

GM:  If he does this, Maverick will be disqualified!  You can't assault
Casanova!  You just can't do it, Scott!  Think!  Damn it, think for one
second!

[Mayhem looks down at Casanova, swirling a finger through the air...

...and then turns slightly, leaping from his perch and bringing a double
axehandle down over the skull of a dazed Brent Maverick, knocking him
flat!]

GM:  What the-?!

[Seeing the attack, the referee immediately calls for the bell!]


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


[A puzzled Casanova looks on, shaking his head in disbelief as the
referee talks with Melissa Cannon.]

MC:  Ladies and gentlemen... the referee's official decision is... due
to outside interference from Scott Mayhem, "Playboy" Johnny Casanova has
been DISQUALIFIED!

[And that's when Casanova loses it, jumping up and down, kicking the
ropes.]

MC:  Your winner of the match - moving on to the second round...

BRENNNNNNT MAAAAAVERICK!

[The camera cuts to a downed Maverick who has no idea what has just
happened.  A grinning Scott Mayhem climbs back up on the ramp, pointing
mockingly at Casanova as he backpedals down the ramp.]

GM:  Mayhem did that on purpose!  He knew what he was doing out here the
whole time!  He just cost Johnny Casanova the chance to advance in this
tournament!  Brent Maverick is moving on to the second round where he'll
meet young Wade Kennedy in what should be one heck of a matchup, Bucky!

BW:  Are you kidding me?  Johnny Casanova just got utterly screwed over
here in Dallas and you want to talk about Wade Kennedy?!  WADE KENNEDY?!
 ARRRGH!

GM:  That's EXACTLY what just happened and quite frankly, I love it! 
Fans, we've got to take a quick break but before we do, let's go
backstage where Jason Dane has caught up with former National Champion,
Kolya Sudakov!  Jason?

[And backstage we go to Dane and Sudakov.  Sudakov is dressed in a black
singlet lacking the usual gold hammer and sickle we're used to seeing on
it.  He does carry the Russian chain around his shoulders though.]

JD:  Kolya Sudakov, we're just moments away from your first major
singles match here in the AWA since returning back in July.  Your
thoughts?

KS:  Jason Dane, Kolya has worked very hard since July to get back in
shape.  Kolya has run harder than ever before.  Kolya has lifted more
weights.  Kolya has fought tougher opponents in training.  

Kolya is ready.

JD:  You certainly look ready.  But it must be weighing heavily on your
mind.  The last time you stepped foot in an AWA ring for a major singles
match, you lost the AWA National Title to Stevie Scott.  And if I were a
betting man, I'd wager you want that title back at all costs.

KS:  Kolya knows that if not for Ben Waterson, I still be champ, Jason
Dane.  I know that and you know that - the AWA fans, they know that too.
 And I know that Stevie Scott... he is marked man.  Juan Vasquez - he
want Scott.  Marcus Broussard - he want Scott.  Mizusawa.  Rhodes. 
Houston.  Everyone want piece of Stevie Scott.

But Kolya Sudakov is former National Champion.  Kolya Sudakov NEVER
receive rematch for National Title.  

And tonight, Kolya Sudakov begins the path back to National Title.

JD:  Do you feel like you may be overlooking Sultan Azam Sharif at all?

KS:  Sharif good wrestler.  Very good wrestler.  And with Bathwaite in
corner, Sharif very dangerous wrestler.

But Sharif is no Kolya Sudakov.

Bring your camel clutch, Sharif...

[Sudakov holds up his right arm, still partially wrapped in tape.]

KS:  Because you know Kolya brings the Sickle... and it comes for you.

[The former National Champion walks out of view 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 comes back up to live action at ringside where Gordon and
Bucky are standing.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans, to AWA Saturday Night Wrestling.  We are LIVE
here in Dalllas, Texas, at the Crockett Coliseum for another great night
of AWA action and we- Well, now wait just a minute...

[The fans boo as the bisht-clad, kaffiyeh-topped figure of Sultan Azam
Sharif sweeps down the aisle, descends the steps to ringside, and heads
for the broadcast booth.]

GM: Sultan, pardon me sir, but the new interview platform is over on the
other side of the arena.

[The Sultan politely asks Bucky for his microphone, and gets it.  He
wears so much outer clothing that it is hard to see his face, but
apparently he's got a fairly solemn expression.]

SAS: Men fathlek, Mistair Gordon Mayers.  I come out here to you un
Mistair Booky Vilde, because of vat it vas my manaiger, Mistair Count
Batvaite, say on deh last show.  I vant to opologize for dot vat he say.

[The booing shifts... some boo and yell louder, because they were here
and they know what Bathwaite said that got him bleeped out by WKIK. 
Others listen, as the Sultan does seem contrite about this.]

GM: That is honorable of you.

SAS: Dank you.  I am honairable man, dot is vhy dey call me Sharif.  Deh
Sultan did not come here to AmerEcun peepell for jihad.  Deh Sultan come
here for to prove dot Iranian peepell, deh best peepell in deh vurld! 
Un Iranian at-ehl-etes deh best at-ehl-etes in deh vurld!  

[The people who had quieted down because of his apology now start
jeering again.]

SAS: Doss vhy ve not gonna talk about jihad!  Ve gonna talk about AWA! 
Un Mistair Kooyla Sudokupff, last time, you sneak attock me!  But den I
vas in deh dressink room, un I vas gonna avonge my honair un break your
bock!  But den, Mistair EE-von Kostovich, aleyhi salaam, he come un ask
me dot I should not do dot.  Un I say to him, "Mistair EE-von Kostovich,
salaam, but vat for did you vant dot I not gonna avonge my honair?"  Un
he tell me, Koolya Sudokupff, he did not know vat deh meaning of raspeck
vas!  Un dot is vhy dey gonna take him bock to Roosha un teach him
raspeck aftair I beat him tonight.

GM: Wait just a minute!  What did you say?  Ivan Kostovich wants...
what?

[Sharif puts up the palms of his hands in a placating manner.]

SAS: Illi bedri bedri, welli maa bedri begool kaf 'adas.

GM: That's... nice.  In English?

SAS: Dot mean dot deh peepell dot gotta know, dey already know it.  All
you gotta know is tonight!  Koolya Sudokupff!

[The Sultan turns to address the camera, whipping off his Kaffiyeh to
reveal a focused expression on his weather-beaten visage.  His black
hair, mustache, and beard are as immaculately trimmed as ever, and his
demeanor suggests that he's rather amped up about this.]

SAS: You vas AWA shampwon!  But I vas Olympic shampwon, un Pahlavn-e
Keshvar, Varzesh-e Pahlavani!  You got me vid deh Sickail last time, but
now is gonna be compleht-ly diffrunt!  OntollEgunt AmerEcun all saw dot
you sneak attock me, but dey know un Iranian peepell know un Booky Vilde
know!  Dey know dot nobody escape deh Camail Clutch ven deh Sultan do
it!  Un den you gonna learn raspeck, deh way deh Iranian peepell know
raspeck!  But aftair I finush vid you, like I told Mistair Kostovich,
il-bāb illi bijīk minnu ir-rīh, siddu wistarīH.  I gonna let you go vid
just dot un not deh broken bock dot I vould have give you.  

[The Sultan hands Bucky his microphone back, nodding and thanking him
politely.  Following that, the Sultan points at the cameraman, and we
can hear his next directive quite clearly.]

SAS: Get ready!  You gonna ZOOM ven I beat dot Rooshan!  IRAN!  NUMBAIR
VUN!

[The Sultan heads off-screen as he is proclaiming this, leaving Gordon
behind shaking his head as Bucky wipes the spittle off of his
microphone.]

GM: I have a hard time understanding him, Bucky.  What did he say about
Ivan Kostovich?

BW: That anyone who needed to know about it already did?  And that means
you don't need to know, Gordon.  

GM: Gee, thanks... Booky.

BW: ...

GM:  Let's go up to the ring.

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

MC: The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten-minute
time limit. Already in the ring, from Cambridge, MA and weighing in at
200 pounds: Carey "Crew" Crewes!

[The crowd gives a curtosy pop to the guy dressed like a rowing crew
member.]

MC: His opponent, from Haleburg, AL;  "Mr. Murder" Irvin Merrill
Monford!

[Irvin does not even acknolwedge the crowd as he goes straight for Carey
Crewes and clocks him with a stiff right to the jaw.]

GM: Mr. Murder wasting no time in his second apperance here in the AWA.

BW: I told you Gordo, he's all business.

GM: Monford grabbing Crewes and tossing him over his shoulder onto the
mat. Crewes sits up and is greeted to a lunging forward kick to the back
of the head.

BW: Mr. Murder's business is whipping butt and business is picking up!

[Crewes is shaking his head as Monford grabs a handful of hair.]

GM: Irvin wasting no time and is trying to lift up Crewes by the hair to
get him into a standing position. Carey Crewes retaliates with a fist to
the stomach! And another! 

[The crowd cheers as Crewes starts to rally.  Crewes gets a running
start, trying to deliver a shoulder block when Irvin promptly leaps in
the air, kicking him square in the face with an enzugiri style kick!]

GM:  Boombox! That big kick out of nowhere right to the face of Crewes. 

[Mr. Murder points at the prone form of Crewes with his right hand
before dragging his thumb across his throat with his left.  He drops
into a cover over the prone Crewes as the referee makes the academic
three count.]

GM:  And that three count is just a formality as Irvin Merril Monford
improves upon his performance at the last time he was in that ring!

BW: You don't disrespect a veteran like Irv without someone facing
consequences, Gordo.

GM: I've received word that "Mr. Murder" is standing by with Jason Dane.

[Standing side by side is the sweaty form of Irv Monford and Jason
Dane.]

JD: Irv...

[Irvin takes a hold of the hand Jason is holding the microphone in and
brings it towards him.]

IMM: Hold it. I am not wasting any more time by blabbing on and on about
what I'm gonna do. Instead I'm just going to say that's #2. The second
casualty on my climb up the ladder. I didn't come to play no chubby
cheeked hero for all the people to cheer. I came here to get paid.
That's 2 paychecks down and 98 to go.

[A huff precedes IMM's stomping off.]

JD:  Well, it seems that Mr. Murder has 99 problems but Carey Crewes
wasn't one of 'em.  Let's head back down to ringside to Gordon and
Bucky!  Guys?

[We crossfade to the ringside area where Gordon and Bucky are standing.]

GM:  Thanks, Jason.  Mr. Murder certainly has been impressive his first
couple times out here in the AWA but he has yet to face anyone of true
competi...

[Gordon trails off as he looks off-camera.  The shot zooms out a bit as
Brian Von Braun steps into view, wearing a pair of black jeans and no
shirt.  He has his silver, skull-headed cane with him.  No sunglasses
and the biggest sneer on his face.]

GM:  Mr. Von Braun.

[Von Braun has no response.]

GM:  I don't believe you're scheduled to be out here yet.

[Still no response, Von Braun simply glaring at Myers.]

GM:  Very well.  We'll do this your way.  Two weeks ago, you told Ron
Houston he would learn rule number one of your game.

BVB:  An' I don't feel like rehashin' what I said, Gordon.

[BVB looks towards the back.]

BVB:  C'mon out, Ron.  I know yer back there.

[A familiar tune begins to reverberate throughout the arena.. the
haunting opening piano chords of Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata". The
crowd pops as the larger than life figure of the second ever National
Champion steps out.. black cowboy hat teetering down to the brim of his
eyes, long tan confederate flag trench coat.. and two clenched fists
that deliver his mood in unison.

Houston strolls down towards the ring slowly, eyeing his surroundings
carefully.. not trusting a man who tried to set him up a mere two weeks
prior. He reaches the ring and removes his trench coat.. tossing it
carelessly to the side. The hat soon follows. Ready for anything Von
Braun has to offer.. his body is cloaked in his traditional ringwear
which consists of a pair of black trunks.. black knee pads.. black
boots.. and a black arm sleeve covering the arm that almost retired him.
Houston nods towards Gordon and approaches, his Athens blues staring
right through BVB.]

GM: New music, Ron?

[Houston seems distracted.. as if he doesn't trust his environment.  His
eyes wander.]

RH: Old music, Gordon. Just seems fittin' ta go back ta what ah started
with. But that ain't why ah'm out here..

[Houston nods at Von Braun.]

RH:  Ah'm out here cause Brian Von Braun ain't got the gumption ta let
sleepin' dogs lie. Cause week in and week out the man simply can't
accept the fact that ah've got his _number_.

[Houston inches in a bit closer.]

RH:  This could be a trap..

[Houston smiles uncharacteristically.]

RH:  .. but ah don't care.

[Houston inches in and is practically nose-to-nose with his enemy.]

RH:  Because ah _own_ you, Von Braun.

[Houston backs up.. almost tauntingly.]

RH:  And first chance ah get.. first chance ya _give_ me.. ah'm gonna
take
what ah've left of yer career..

[Houston motions to his broad shoulders.]

RH:  .. and ah'm gonna Fade.. it.. out!

[Big cheer!  BVB looks at Houston for a moment.]

BVB:  Are you gettin' paid by how many times ya say "fade", Ron?  Lemme
tell ya my catch phr-

[A man jumps the security railing behind Ron Houston.  Myers sees the
man and immediately backs away.  BVB takes a few steps back as well. 
Seeing Myers' eyes travel behind him, Houston turns around only to be
met with a hard right hand to the jaw.]

BW:  Look out, Gordo!

[The announcers clear out of the way as Houston and the other man start
trading shots right next to the announce desk.  Houston seems to be
getting the better of the exchange...

...when suddenly, Von Braun brings the skull part of his cane down into
Houston's back to the jeers of the crowd!]

GM:  Ohh!  Cheapshot by Von Braun!  That no-good...

[Houston stumbles forward past Gordon, stumbling near the security
railing where another man leaps over the railing, joining the fray.]

GM:  What the hel... can we get some security out here?!

[The third man starts punching away on Houston along with the first and
BVB.  Houston goes down to a knee.  The crowd roars its disapproval with
a round of boos.]

GM:  These men are beating Ron Houston down to the floor!  What kind of
a setup is this?!  Who the heck are these guys anyways?

BW:  Actually, I think I recognize them!  Isn't that first guy Tony
Thomas?

GM:  You're right!  It is!  He's Von Braun's cousin!  Von Braun's got a
family member attacking Ron Houston out here and... that other guy...
can we get a closeup on...

[The camera cuts to the other guy who is laying the boots into the ribs
of the downed Houston.]

GM:  Yes!  That's Kip Butler!  He's Thomas' partner in the tag team
known as Hollywood By Night!  Those aren't just two random fans!  Von
Braun set this whole thing up, Bucky!

[Von Braun drives a boot of his own into the ear of the floored Houston
before barking an order.]

"Get 'im inta tha ring!"

[Butler grabs Houston's arms and holds them back as Thomas unloads with
punches to Houston's head.]

GM:  Von Braun wants him in the ring and Hollywood By Night continues to
pummel Houston down here on the floor!  Where the heck is security in
all this?  None of these men work here!  This is a mugging!

[Suddenly, a fourth man comes over the railing... a little slower than
the other two... but he's a lot more familiar to wrestling fans.]

GM:  That's... that's Scott Von Braun!  

BW:  You've gotta love a man who brings his daddy to town to help stomp
a punk like Houston into the floor!

GM:  This is completely insane!

[Directing traffic on the floor, BVB gets Butler and Thomas to shove
Houston under the ropes into the ring.  Thomas delivers one final punch
before Scott Von Braun shoves him aside, unloading a barrage of fists to
the head of the former National Champion.]

GM:  Scott Von Braun joins in the attack!

BW:  What did you expect?  He was going to save Houston?

[As Butler lets go of Houston's arms, the East Coast Terror slumps down
to all fours where all four men deliver stomp after stomp to him.]

GM:  This is getting difficult to watch, fans.  This is a four-on-one
assault on Ron Houston and is this what Von Braun was talking about?  Is
this Rule #1 for him?

BW:  It's gotta be, Gordo!  Von Braun orchestrated this whole thing and
Ron Houston's wishing he'd never gotten into his face at this point.

[Breaking away from the pack, the eldest Von Braun climbs up on the
apron, stepping into the ring as Hollywood by Night pull up Houston and
roll him into the ring under the bottom rope.  BVB walks over to the
announce table and grabs a house microphone off the table.  He holds up
his index finger.]

BVB:  Rule number one, Ron?  Blood _is_ thicker than water.

[The crowd jeers as BVB drops the mic back onto the table.  SVB is
delivering vicious stomps to Houston as Hollywood By Night roll under
the ropes to join him.  A hard kick to the ribs by SVB rolls Houston
onto his back.]

GM:  Tony Thomas is standing over him, screaming down at Houston and-


"SLAAAAAAAAAP!"
"OHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  Oh, come on!  He just slapped the taste out of Ron Houston's mouth!

[BVB slides headfirst into the ring, climbing to his feet.  Tony Thomas
pats his own arms, telling the eldest Von Braun to pull Houston up and
hold him.  The patriarch of the Von Braun clan obliges, hauling Houston
to his feet and restraining his arms behind him.  With a grin, Thomas
raises his right arm, swinging it around once before racing to the ropes
where he bounces off, barreling towards the former National Champion.]

GM:  Look out here!

BW:  LARIAT!

[Thomas winds the arm back to deliver his End of the Line lariat...

...but Houston breaks free and ducks out of the way at the last possible
second, leaving Scott Von Braun to take the brunt of the brutal lariat.
Big cheer!]

GM:  HE MISSED!  HE MISSED THE LARIAT ON HOUSTON!

BW:  But he didn't miss it on Scott Von Braun!

[The roaring crowd comes to their feet, cheering loudly as a remorseful
Thomas and a concerned BVB immediately go to check on the fallen SVB.]

GM:  Brian Von Braun is obviously concerned here for his father and-

BW:  Why do you sound so surprised, Gordo?  It's his father!  Of course
he's concerned!

[Kip Butler looks on, hands on hips for a moment as the other two men
check on their downed partner-in-crime but as he turns...

...he finds Ron Houston on his feet staring him dead in the eye!  Big
cheer!]

GM:  Oh yeah!  Get 'em, Ron!

[Butler lunges forward, arm outstretched.]

GM:  Clothesli- ducked by Houston!

[And as Butler turns to continue the fight, he gets rocked with a
haymaker well-aimed at the chest!]

GM:  PULSE KILLER!  PULSE KILLER!

[The heart punch staggers Butler, sending him stumbling backwards wher
ehe falls between the ropes and out to the floor.  The cheers from the
crowd get louder.]

GM:  Butler's out of there!  And then there were three!

[Hearing the cheers from the crowd, Thomas and BVB turn around only for
each to get hit with a double lariat from the East Coast Terror.  The
crowd cheers even louder.]

GM:  Haha!  Clear the lane because Ron Houston just picked up the spare!

BW:  Oh, that's real funny, Gordo!

[Not skipping a beat, Houston grabs the stunned Thomas, peeling him off
the mat.  In one fluid motion, he lifts Thomas into a fireman's carry
position and then drives Thomas down to the mat with the Fade to Black. 
HUUUUUGE cheer!  As Thomas hits the mat, he immediately rolls outside of
the ring.]

GM:  THOMAS IS OUT AS WELL!  HE GOT FADED OUT!

[Houston turns around, pointing to the roaring crowd...

...and then points right to the exposed back of Brian Von Braun who is
in a daze grabbing at the ropes to pull himself to his feet.]

GM:  He's got him right where he wants him!  He's got him all alone!

[BVB gets to his knees, using the middle rope for support.  He tries to
stand, but falls with his back against the turnbuckle.]

GM:  Von Braun can barely stand at this point, Bucky!

[Slowly, Von Braun raises his head and spots Houston who is glaring at
the Rocket City Badboy.  Houston looks down at the prone form of Scott
Von Braun and a devious smile crosses his face.]

GM:  Ahaha!  You know what he's thinking!

BW:  "I shouldn't beat up senior citizens?"

[Houston moves over to Scott Von Braun and pulls the eldest of the Von
Braun clan to his feet.  Houston scoops SVB up onto his shoulder as the
crowd gets even louder.  He points at BVB.  BVB looks wide-eyed at
what's about to happen...]

GM:  FADE TO BLACK!
 
[SVB hits the mat face-first, bouncing, and rolling under the bottom
rope and to the arena floor.  The Invader's eyes go from wide to wild.
BVB grabs the top rope on either side of the turnbuckle and pulls
himself to his feet.  He charges right at the East Coast Terror.]

BW:  Ron just signed his death warranty, daddy!  Bee Vee Bee is fired
up!

GM:  Ron Houston has fought the odds and laid out Scott Von Braun, Tony
Thomas, and Kip Butler!  He's got one more to contend with!

[BVB leaps at Houston with a Thesz press.  The crowd roars their
approval as Houston catches BVB and takes two steps back, maintaining
his vertical base.  A smirk crosses Houston's face as he puts his arm
underneath BVB to lift him onto his shoulders and into a very bad
position.]

GM:  This is not good for Brian!  This is not a good position at all!

BW:  He can't do this, Gordo!

[The crowd buzzes as Von Braun tries to shake himself free from the East
Coast Terror.  Houston takes a few steps, teasing what's about to
happen...]


"THUUUUUUUUUUUUD!"


GM:  FADE TO BLACK!  Houston just Faded Brian Von Braun for the _third_
time!

[The crowd roars their approval as Von Braun hits the mat face-first,
bounces up, and lands on his back.  The East Coast Terror sits up, with
a cat that ate the canary grin.]

GM: Houston is mouthing SuperClash! I think he's challenging Brian Von
Braun.. on the biggest night of the AWA year!

BW: Leave it to Houston to challenge a man he brutally attacked to a
match.. such a slimeball.

GM: Von Braun and his.. his.. family instigated this entire thing,
Bucky. And you know that.  But in the end, we've seen Ron Houston
deliver the Fade To Black to Brian Von Braun THREE times now.  And how
desperate is Brian Von Braun at this point?  First, he sends Kraken
after Houston.  When that fails, he sends his own family after him! 
What's next?

BW:  The Alabama National Guard?

GM:  And I bet Ron Houston would find a way to fight them off as well! 
Fans, we've gotta take a quick break - don't go away 'cause we'll be
right back!

And then fade back up to a "star field" looking background.  Some crazy
techno music is playing in the background as the AWA logo appears on the
screen.  The voice of Jason Dane is heard.]

"The AWA heads back out on tour for the Road To SuperClash!"

[The graphic changes to one reading:

THURSDAY, OCTOBER 21
LAREDO, TEXAS
LAREDO ENERGY ARENA]

"What better place than Laredo, Texas to see more matches in the
tournament to crown the first Longhorn Heritage Title?  Robert Donovan
versus Jack Holland!  Plus more!"

[The graphic changes again - 

FRIDAY, OCTOBER 22
OKLAHOMA CITY, OKLAHOMA
ABE LEMONS ARENA]

"Oklahoma will be red hot as they welcome Danny Morton home as he takes
on MAMMOTH Mizusawa!  Plus Juan Vasquez, Marcus Broussard, and the
National Tag Team Champions, Rough N Ready will be in action!"

[The graphic changes once more - 

SATURDAY, OCTOBER 23
LITTLE ROCK, ARKANSAS
JACK STEPHENS CENTER]

"The action in Little Rock will be something you will NOT want to miss! 
James Monosso is on the card!  Eric Preston will be in action!  And the
National Title will be on the line when "Hotshot" Stevie Scott defends
the gold!"

[The graphic changes back to the AWA logo.]

"Don't miss the AWA - the MAJOR league of professional wrestling - when
it comes to your town!"

[And the music cuts out as we fade to black.

When we come back to iive action, we are backstage with Jason Dane
standing in front of a locker room door. He is accompanied by the
leather jacket-wearing, sunglasses-sporting "Gentleman" Jack Holland,
who comes equipped with his familiar sardonic smirk.]

JD: Hey, AWA fans, I'm standing back here with a man who has advanced to
the second round of the Longhorn Heritage Tournament, "Gentleman" Jack
Holland.

GJH: How's it goin', Dane-o?

JD: It's going well, Mr. Holland. Now, as I said, you advanced into the
second round of this tournament, beating Tin Can Rust by somewhat
dubious circumstances.

GJH: That's right, and if you're listenin', Rust, I'm damn sorry about
how that worked out.

JD: Care to elaborate?

GJH: I'm a wrestler. That's what I do. And people might have some qualms
about my specific tactics when I get into the ring. They might say I
bend the rules, and I ain't gonna shy away from that. But one thing I
don't need is help. My own wits, my own strength, that's what gets me
through night in and night out. I want everybody to know that I ain't
got nothin' to do with Calisto Dufrense, I ain't WANT nothin' to do with
Dufrense, and he better start prayin' to the big man upstairs that he
don't have to stick his nose in my business again if he doesn't want to
feel the shotgun blast.

JD: That's certainly good to hear. In your upcoming tournament contest
you'll be squaring off against Longhorn Wrestling Council veteran Robert
Donovan, who defeated Jesse Ewiak to earn his spot, and far more
convincingly than--

[Holland calmly slapped his hand over the microphone to interrupt Dane's
momentum. After a second, he grabbed Dane's wrist and brought the
microhpone to his mouth.]

GJH: Robert Donovan, you done a lot in your career. I ain't a wrestling
historian but I ain't stupid, neither. The thing is, now you're steppin'
into the ring with a man on his way up. A man with a weapon you ain't
never seen before. Do you know just how the Shotgun Suplex'll rip ya
apart, Donovan? You ever wondered in your heart of hearts just why I
chose to perfect this move?

[Holland gives a pause, as if Donovan should insert his answer here. He
turns to Dane.]

GJH: What about you? You ever wondered?

[Holland releases Dane's wrist, allowing the shaken interviewer to
regain control.]

JD: I have to admit, it had crossed my mind.

[Quick as a flash, Holland grabbed Dane's arm and yanked him in. He
looped his right arm under Dane's and slammed his wrist against the back
of the interviewer's neck, torquing back in the half nelson. Dane
winced, rising up to his tiptoes to try and relieve some of the
pressure.]

GJH: Ya feel that on your neck, Dane-o? You feel the way your shoulder's
pushin' away from your neck like that?

[Dane nodded rapidly but weakly.]

GJH: Now think about me usin' this arm of yours to pull you up into the
air. Think about how much that's gotta hurt, Dane-o. And think about you
landin' on your damn head, how much that continues to pull your shoulder
away, almost out of its socket. How much it wrenches your head forward.
You think this is a joke, Dane-o?

[Holland pulls back on the hold a little bit, and Dane whimpers, shaking
his head.]

GJH: I don't wanna hurt ya, Donovan.

[Holland releases Dane. Dane is very shaken, rubbing his neck and
wincing.]

GJH: But I will. I ain't gonna shy away from usin' this hold on ya. Now
I'm sure you thought this was your one last chance, you were gonna strap
on the spurs and try for glory once more, but this ain't your time. Your
trigger finger's a little too slow. But me, I'm sharp. I'm quick. And
I've got a killer in my arsenal. If I've gotta be the one to put the old
gunslinger out to pasture, so be it. But if you think that I'm all luck,
if you think that I'm a shot in the dark, Donovan, lemme reassure you of
one thing.

[Holland mimes shooting a pistol and smirks.]

GJH: A shot fired at night'll kill ya just as quick. That Longhorn
Heritage Championship is comin' home to me, Donovan.

[Holland slaps Dane hard on the back.]

GJH: Sorry 'bout that demonstration, Dane-o. I'll see ya around.

[Holland crosses in front of Dane on his way out of camera shot. Dane,
still shaken, straightens his suit jacket.]

JD: The always polite "Gentleman" Jack Holland. Back to you, Gordon.

[As we cut to ringside, we find Gordon Myers standing alongside Vernon
Riley.  Riley's in a red shiny windbreaker that's unsnapped to reveal
his bare chest.  He's got dark sunglasses on as well.]

GM:  Thanks, Jason... and as you can see, I've been joined here at
ringside by Vernon Riley.  Vernon, there has been quite a bit of
discussion this week about what happened to you at that live arena event
this week at the hands of Anton Layton and James Monosso.  And as a
result, people are wondering if you'll even be allowed - or able - to
compete here tonight against Nenshou in the final first round matchup.

[Riley starts to speak but Gordon raises a hand.]

GM:  I, of course, want an answer to that question but before that,
let's take a look at what happened to you earlier this week in Austin,
Texas...

[We cut to footage recorded earlier in the week in Austin, Texas at a
live arena event.  The voiceover is done from back in the Crockett
Coliseum with Gordon speaking.]

GM:  Okay... so you were in action in there against a local
competitor... 

[On the footage, we see Riley hook a side headlock in the corner, racing
out to the middle of the ring where he leaps up, driving his opponent's
skull into the mat.]

GM:  The Riley Roundup had claimed another victim.

[Riley scores the easy three count but before he can even get up off the
mat, he finds himself victim of a diving forearm smash to the back by
James Monosso.  Anton Layton and Gino Moretti join Monosso in the ring a
moment later and despite the referee's protests, all three men begin
kicking the downed Riley.]

GM:  And here they are - Anton Layton, your bitter rival - and two of
his henchmen in the form of James Monosso and Gino Moretti.  All three
of them assaulted you there in the middle of the ring and it would only
get worse from there.

[We cut to a little later in the attack where Layton rips the dog collar
chain off of Moretti as Monosso pulls Riley up by the arm, hooking a
front facelock in tight.  A gleeful Layton starts lashing the steel
chain down across the back of Riley - over and over and over.]

GM:  He repeatedly beat you with that steel chain, really whipping you
with it... but that wasn't the end, right?

[One more cut shows Layton looping the chain around the throat, handing
it over to Monosso who leans over, hoisting Riley off the mat in a
chain-assisted hangman.]

GM:  They proceeded to wrap that chain around your throat and try to
choke the life out of you with-

[A very gravelly-voiced Vernon Riley interrupts.]

VR:  Turn that crap off, Gawdahn.

[The video abruptly cuts out as we return to live action.  Riley rubs
his throat as he looks through his sunglasses at the camera.]

VR:  Anton Layton... you gone too far, brother.  You gone TOO far!

We had our date comin', Layton.  You knew it.  I knew it.  You came out
here two weeks ago and tol' the whole world so they knew it too.  Ya
knew I was goin' challenge you one-on-one at SuperClash 2!

[Riley shakes his head.]

VR:  But you couldn't let sleeping dogs lie.

[Riley grabs at his neck, struggling with his voice.  He clears his
throat hard.]

VR:  Instead?

[Riley unsnaps his jacket in one yank, throwing it down to the floor. 
He spins around, jerking a thumb towards the bright red welts littering
his broad back.]

VR:  Instead, you whip me like a damned dog, Layton!  You jump me from
behind - you and your boys - and you whip me like a dog who done wet on
the carpet, brother.  You embarrassed me.  You humiliated me.

And unfortunately for you, ya pissed me off.

[Big cheer!]

VR:  So now the time is comin'... now the time is close, Layton.  

SuperClash?  Consider it done.

[BIG CHEER!]

VR:  Me and you?  A dance with the devil in the bright, bright lights?

Yeah, let's do that.

And you wanna come and try to put me out?  Come and try!  I'm beggin' ya
right now, Layton.  Come and try!

[Riley reaches down out of view and picks up a steel chain.]

VR:  COME AND TRY!  'Cause I'm ready for you.  I'm ready for you and
your dark Master... I'm ready for Nutjob Monosso... I'm even ready for
the Disco Man... bring 'em all, Layton.

After all these years, I'd think you'd know by now but obviously not...

You.  Can't.  Put.  Me.  Out.

[Another big cheer!  Riley nods to the crowd.]

VR:  Percy Childes, I'm gonna assume that you... you and your boy,
Nenshou... I'm gonna assume you were in on it.  

Don't really care if you weren't.

It'll just make me feel that much better when I'm stompin' all over
Nenshou to get to the second round.

[The crowd keeps on cheering.]

VR:  Yeah, I'm still in the tournament.  I'm still fightin' for gold. 
And don't think for a second that I ain't got enough in me to take that
title AND whup up on the devil's doorman on Thanksgiving night.

So, Nenshou... you better be as ready as you've ever been 'cause this
blue collar son of a gun is comin' for ya later tonight.

[And with the crowd roaring, Riley storms out of view.]

GM:  Now THAT'S a man with something on his mind - I would not want to
be Anton Layton - or Nenshou for that matter - when Vernon Riley is in a
mood like that.  Let's go up to the ring.

[Crossfade to the ring where Melissa is standing.]

MC: The following match is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute time
limit. Introducing first, standing to my left, from Plano, Texas... Ryan
Sands!

[A youngish looking beanpole of a man with long blond hair, not much of
a build, and blue trunks raises his right hand and waves to the crowd.
After not getting much of a response, Mr. Sands jabs his thumb into his
chest and then gives the crowd a thumbs up.]

MC: And his opponent...

[As "Save Yourself" starts, the fans immediately sound out a cheer.]

MC: From Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania... He is a member of the professional
wrestling Hall of Fame...

MARK LANGSETH!

[The crowd's cheers grow louder as Langseth steps out of the entrance,
dressed in his wrestling gear of a black t-shirt, dark blue baggy track
pants, and black boots.]

GM: Mark Langseth set for his first match since his grueling encounter
with Shane Destiny last month at the Battle on the Bayou.

BW: If you ask me, Gordo, I STILL think Langseth hasn't yet recovered
from that one. Before the show, he looked to still have some pain in
that neck.

[Langseth makes his way down to the ring, stretching his head side to
side and showing some discomfort as he does so. As he gets to the ring,
he takes a moment before stepping through the ropes for one final deep
breath.]

GM: Of course, the injury that he sustained occurred AFTER his victory
over Shane Destiny in effort to save referee Mickey Meekly from the very
same move.

BW: And look what it got him, Gordo - a month on the disabled list, a
loss of momentum, and a crooked neck. He should've just left.

GM: If he hadn't come back, Mickey Meekly surely would have been in the
hospital much longer than he had to be! He saved that man from crippling
injury!

BW: And instead Langseth could have been crippled. Who knows if he
wasn't? And what did Langseth get from saving Meekly? Nothing. All risk,
no reward.

[The referee calls for the bell to start the match, bringing both Sands
and Langseth to the center. They quickly shake and then lock up, with
Langseth easily transitioning to a side headlock.]

GM: Langseth with the early advantage here tonight as he tries to get
back on track from his injury.

[Langseth goes to whip Sands to the opposite corner, but Sands puts on
the brakes and attempts to the reverse. However, Langseth improvises and
turns with a clothesline that knocks Sands flat. Langseth wastes no
time, dropping a knee to the heart and then a gets up only to lay
repeated kicks Sands hard into the side.]

GM: Kicks to the ribs of Ryan Sands by Langseth... And if you ask me, he
looks a bit frustrated out there.

BW: Sure he is. He's been out for a month and probably's still bothered
by his neck. If you have any sort of pain there, it can take away a good
bit of your offense. Plus you have to be protective all the time. Really
puts a wrench in a gameplan.

[Langseth drops an elbow to the face and then cradles the head of Sands
only to lay in fist after fist to the nose. Langseth then hooks the leg
of Sands.]

GM: Early cover! One, two, thr- No! Ryan Sands kicked out in time! If
you ask me, those repeated punches Langseth just threw seemed out of
character for him.

[The Pittsburgh native gets up and puts his hands on his hips, looking
down at Sands in a huff. He shakes his head a bit before dragging Sands
back up to his feet. Langseth takes some time to pepper Sands with a
couple of punches before taking a hold of one of the legs. As Langseth
goes for a move, Sands blocks whatever he's doing with a stiff kick from
the other leg.]

GM: Ryan Sands with a kick to the side of Langseth's head and that
staggers him into the ropes!

BW: The kid caught him right where Langseth didn't want to get hit.

[Sands shakes the cobwebs out of his head before climbing the turnbuckle
and then flying, hitting a crossbody on the Hall of Famer that sends
both down to the mat. The crowd begins to buzz as Sands hooks a leg for
the cover.]

GM: Sands going for the upset - one, two, three... NO! Langseth gets the
shoulder up just in time!

BW: Did you see his face, Gordo? Getting that shoulder up must've hurt
cause he was wincing.

GM: The kick may have reaggravated the injury and now it's the upstart,
Ryan Sands, in the driver's seat of this match!

[Sands brings Langseth back up to two feet and sends him into the
opposite turnbuckle, back first.]

GM: Hard Irish Whip and now Sands signals to the crowd that it's time to
finish this upset bid!

BW: Better just do whatever he's going to do instead of playing to these
fans.

[Prophetic? Well, Sands indeed goes for his move as he charges at
Langseth and leaps, going for a bicycle kick... but Langseth drops down,
leaving Sands to crash hard into the turnbuckle.]

GM: Mark Langseth got out of the way just in time! Ryan Sands missed in
that kick attempt and boy did he ever go hard into that corner!

BW: Sure did - not only ate that turnbuckle, he's all tangled up in as
well!

[Langseth, with a bit of a sneer on his face, lay a couple hard stomps
to the face of the prone Ryan Sands before stepping back to grab the
back of his neck. As he does so, Langseth eyes the legs caught in the
ropes... and grasps one of them, twisting it around hard to get Sands
out of the turnbuckle.]

GM: Langseth violently getting Ryan Sands out of the corner and - and
he's got it locked in! Greatness Personified! 

[Ryan Sands wastes no time in tapping the mat to the anklelock,
preserving his ankle. Langseth, looking down at Sands angrily, keeps the
hold on for a couple of seconds before letting go as the ref
approached.]

MC: Here is your winner, by submission... MARK LANGSETH!

[The ref raises Langseth's hand as the crowd cheers for the former World
Champion. Mark, clutching the back of his neck again, drops down and
says something pointedly to the pained Ryan Sands. As he gets up, he
stretches out his neck a bit with a grimace as he does so and then makes
his way out of the ring.]

GM: Mark Langseth walks away with a win tonight, but it certainly could
have gone the other way.

BW: That's right, Gordo. In my opinion, Langseth should have taken
another couple of weeks off. Being here only risked further injury. And
I think he knows that now - he still looks a bit hot under the collar.

GM: Well, it looks like we'll find out as he's making his way to Mark
Stegglet. Mark?

[The camera follows Langseth up the ramp to the interview stage area
where Stegglet stands by.]

MS: Thank you, Gordon. Mark...

[Stegglet stalls as Langseth steps over to the stage, still clutching
his neck.]

MS: Mark, it looked like you had some problems getting started tonight.

ML: Well -

[Langseth stops, shoving his hand out towards the ring, pointing out to
where Ryan Sands used to be.]

ML: I mean, I -

[Langseth stops himself again... and takes a moment to cool off a bit.]

ML: The neck's still bothering me, obviously, and that... that kid did
his best to try to send me back to the sidelines. So, yeah, I had some
problems.

MS: I don't mean to be out of line, but you seem to have been in a
different mood the moment your opponent targeted your neck.

ML: Well, why wouldn't I be!? I -

[Langseth stops, again, and puts his hand out.]

ML: Okay... Sorry... Look, I've been in pain for a month and just got a
bit... "emotional" when I saw that kid trying to hit my sore spot. But I
shouldn't cause it's exactly what I would have done, so... Yeah, I gotta
let it go.

MS: Switching topics, you weren't at the last Saturday Night Wrestling -
uncharacteristic for you as you've been at every show whether or not you
had a match. Why the absence?

[Langseth gives Stegglet an annoyed, furrowed, quizzical look.]

ML: You want to know where I was? Why I missed a show?

[Langseth shakes his head - wincing in pain a bit.]

ML: Look, I had things on my mind, okay? I had some things to think
over, a couple words of wisdom someone recently told me and...

[The Hall of Famer looks around at the Coliseum and the cheering crowd.]

ML: And I just had to take some time, okay? But it was good cause I
realized something important... At Battle on the Bayou, Shane Destiny
was given a deal - beat me and get a title shot. Well, he didn't win...

[Langseth sticks a thumb to his chest.]

ML: I came out the victor! I won that match! And? I think I should be
given that title shot that Destiny let fall into my hands. I should
rightfully challenge Stevie Scott for the National Title. I should -

[The crowd immediately begins to buzz with boos as Shane Destiny walks
into the picture, dressed in a suit and tie, a smug look across his
face.  He pulls the microphone out of Stegglet's hand.]

SD: This is the new place, huh?

[Destiny looks around, a disgusted look crossing his face.]

SD: It's a hole.  Just like all of Dallas is a pathetic hole.  Just like
these fans... and just like you.

[Destiny points at Langseth, a scowl now forming on his face.]

SD: You.  You think you're something, huh?  You got one night where, for
the first time in nearly ten years, you actually _accomplished_
something with your sad little life.  You pinned the shoulders of the
greatest wrestler alive.  You must've had a horseshoe buried deep in
your rectal cavity to be so lucky, Langseth, but... you did it.

[Destiny smirks.]

SD: How's the neck, by the way?

[And the scowl returns as Langseth shakes his head, still clutching his
neck.]

SD: You knew there would be retribution for what happened by pinning me,
Langseth... you knew that as soon as I clamped on the Destiny Strangle. 
You knew that when you spent a few days in the hospital, thinking about
calling your precious little nephew to see just how to get yourself out
of this mess, until you realized he stopped taking your calls, didn't
you?

[Langseth is clearly seething, but is restraining himself.]

SD: Let me explain something, and I'll use small words so you
understand.  What happened back on Labor Day?  It was a fluke.  It was
pure luck.  It was me taking my mind off of the game... one final
mistake that I won't be making again.  

[Langseth shouts at Destiny, just barely picked up on the mic.]

ML: Is that so, huh?

[Nodding, Destiny continues on with a purpose.]

SD: And you... you got me suspended because you knew I would destroy
you.  You tried to buy yourself 30 days to run away from Shane Destiny. 
And now?  Now _you_ want a title shot?

[Destiny pauses for a second.]

SD: While pinning me may be worthy of getting anyone a title shot... no.
 If I lost chances to get a title shot _four_ times now, all because of
_you_?  You're _definitely_ not getting one.  Nope.  Not until you can
get through me.  

[Langseth shouts at him again, getting picked up off-mic.]

ML: I already did, Destiny! One, two, three - I won!

[Destiny shakes his head at Langseth's reply.]

SD: What happened on Labor Day doesn't matter... anyone can be off their
game for three slaps of a mat.  You want that title shot, Langseth?

[Destiny looks Langseth over.]

SD: You'll have to beat me with the Greatness Personified.  I talked to
that fat cornfed oaf Watkins, and we need to iron out the details with
the lawyers, but at SuperClash II?  You.  Me.  Hold versus hold.  The
Destiny Strangle versus the Greatness Personified.  There will be no
fluke rollups, or small packages, or backslides.  You want this to end? 
You're going to have to beat me.

[The crowd lets out a cheer for the match as Destiny looks Langseth over
again, smiling this time.]

SD: And you can't do it.

[Destiny throws the microphone back at Langseth and walks away. Langseth
looks down at the mic and then at the exiting Destiny. He then turns to
Stegglet.]

ML: I... 

[Langseth nods, though he does look a bit not-so-pleased at the
announcement.]

ML: Alright! Alright! If I have to get prove myself - AGAIN? Then sure,
I'll do it... I'll snap Destiny's ankle in two so it's HIM laying up in
the hospital!

[Mark Langseth tosses the other mic to Stegglet and storms off, hand
still on his neck.]

MS:  Did I just hear that right?  Did we just hear Shane Destiny
challenge Mark Langseth - hold vs hold - the Strangle vs the Greatness
Personified at SuperClash II?!  My goodness, what a night that's gonna
be!  And we'll be right back, AWA fans.

[Fade to black...

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

"Have you ever dreamed of fame?"

[Cut a little closer.]

"Of glory?"

[A little closer.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Two young students are grappling on the canvas.]

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

You want to wrestle!"

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

And then fade back in to the interview stage, where Jason Dane is
standing by next to the short, chubby "Collector Of Oddities" Percy
Childes.  Percy has shaved himself bald, and is working on growing an
evil-looking goatee.  Clad in a grey knit sweater and khaki slacks,
Childes is slowly rubbing his hands together with a defiant upturned
nose at the crowd that is booing him.]

JD: Percy Childes, we are just a short time away from the showdown
between Nenshou and Vernon Riley.  With all that has gone down between
you, Anton Layton, and Vernon Riley... this can't be just a tournament
match to you.

PC: You would think that, yes.

[Percy pauses for a minute, nodding his head slowly.  He then stops
wringing his hands and rather abruptly snatches the microphone from
Dane.]

PC: But you'd be wrong.  

Vernon Riley, as I said two weeks ago, you and I have a history.  You've
been a thorn in my side since the early days in Florida, and that's one
of the reasons that I'm working with Anton.  But he will destroy you on
HIS time, Riley.  Tonight isn't about Vernon Riley versus the Layton and
Childes Unholy Alliance.  Tonight is about...

[Childes makes a dramatic gesture, and from out of seemingly nowhere, a
red-clad figure wearing a modified Kabuki mask leaps onto the platform. 
Dane jumps a half-foot as Nenshou's sudden appearance has startled him
greatly.]

PC: ...Nenshou.

Nenshou's goals and motives are not mysterious or unknowable.  He wants
to be the greatest wrestler... the greatest WARRIOR... ever to walk the
face of the planet Earth.  No, it is rather his methods; the long-lost
martial techniques, the forgotten esoteric disciplines, all combined
with cutting-edge preparation and the best of the modern techniques...
that is the enigma.  You know why Nenshou does what he does, but you
cannot fathom HOW.  He has returned from Japan; returned from training
that, if we attempted it in the United States, would be deemed torture
and result in a felony conviction.

That is because people today... yes, each and every one of you...

[As he references the fans, Childes sweeps his finger out across the sea
of faces in front of him.]

PC: ...wallows in a self-imposed state of ignorance.  You cling to
whatever lies you most want to believe, you hold them forever, and not
even direct evidence will sway you.  That's why, as we discussed two
weeks ago, you all live in the past.  But now, let's talk about where
Vernon Riley fits into all of this.  Riley, you call yourself the
"Working Man".  A common laborer, no different than the fans here.

[Pausing briefly, Childes shakes his head slowly before practically
spitting out his next line.]

PC: Just who do you think you're kidding?

You are a fighter, Riley!  You don't go deliver pizza or unclog drains. 
You fight.  And I will never dispute that you have the true instincts of
a fighter.  I will never dispute that you have the heart and soul of a
fighter.  I will never dispute that you have natural talents that make
you far more than a common man.  Which is why it makes me sick to see
you pander to these common fools, trying to lower yourself to be like
one of them.  You lower yourself because you desperately want to be
loved... and you desperately want their love to fill your bank account!

[Cue the accusatory finger.]

PC: You are a fraud, Riley.  You had the option, with your inborn
talent, to train.  To hone it to a razor's edge.  To get in the peak of
human physical condition and become a living weapon.  Had you done that,
you would have been great.  Not 'great' in the pedantic sense... 'great'
in the way that legends are 'great'.  You would have achieved greatness,
and you would have been feared.  FEARED.

But no.  You had the choice between the path of glory and the path of
money.  The choice to be feared like a king, or loved like a pet dog. 
Well, Vernon Riley, I hope all that money you stuffed in your doghouse
will keep you warm when these ignorant people forget all about you, and
find a new pet dog to warm up to.  Love is temporary, Riley.  Love is a
lie.  Love is something you talk about when you want something from
someone.  But FEAR!  Fear is for real.  Fear is a lasting impact.  You
will forget the things you love, but you will never forget the things
that you fear.

Nenshou has chosen the path of glory... the path of fear... and the path
of greatness.  Tonight, he will show the world the difference between
these paths.  Tonight, Vernon Riley, you will find out what could have
been.  You will find out what could have been... and you will know
fear...

[Nenshou, who has remained perfectly still during this entire exchange,
raises a single index finger and points it at the camera with a
flourish.]

PC: ...you will know pain...

[Nenshou retracts his hand, and slowly drags it across his throat with
the thumb extended.]

PC: ...and you will know defeat!

[The Japanese enigma finishes by thrusting his thumb down, and walking
towards the rampway.  As he does, the lights dim and a light mist rolls
out from both sides of the walkway.  "Raijin's Drums" by George Sakalis
plays, and Childes follows his charge, who is slowly walking towards the
ring.  The fans boo mercilessly.]

JD:  Guys, it looks like Nenshou's heading to the ring!  We're getting
this match right now?

[And as we fade to Melissa, it appears that we are.]

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit and is the final first round matchup in the Longhorn Heritage
Title tournament.  The winner of this one will move on to face Supernova
in the second round!

Introducing first, making his way down the aisle... from the Land of the
Rising Sun... he is accompanied to the ring by his manager Percy
Childes...

NENNNNNSHOUUUUU!

[The crowd jeers the duo of Childes and Nenshou as they reach the ring. 
Childes shouts something unheard at the crowd, stabbing at the air with
his crystal-topped cane as Nenshou slingshots over the ropes into the
ring.]

MC:  And his opponent...

[The music changes to "You Can't Judge A Book By It's Cover" to a big
cheer from the AWA faithful.]

MC:  He hails from Amarillo, Texas... weighing in tonight at 295
pounds...

VERRRRRNON RIIIIIILEY!

[The crowd roars for Riley as he busts through the curtain.  Gone is the
windbreaker and sunglasses but in their place, a serious attitude and a
man who looks ready for a fight.  He stalks quickly down the ramp,
ignoring the cheering fans as he locks eyes on Nenshou.]

GM:  Take a look at the face of Vernon Riley.

BW:  Do I have to?

[Upon reaching the ring, Riley steps up on the middle rope outside the
ring, pointing a finger at Nenshou to the cheers of the crowd.  He hops
over the ropes, landing with a thud as he balls up his fists, ready for
a brawl.  Childes quickly gets out of the ring as Nenshou paces back and
forth, ready to get going as well.]

GM:  This one's about ready to get going and-

[And get going it does as the bell sounds and Riley charges across the
ring, fists a-flyin'.]

GM:  One shot!  Two shot!  Three shots!  Four!

[Nenshou gets backed to the corner where Riley just keeps throwing blows
to the skull.]

GM:  We know Riley is fired up tonight.  We heard what he had to say
earlier tonight.  He wants Anton Layton at SuperClash but he wants to be
in that Longhorn Heritage Title final as well.  Riley wants gold and he
wants Layton's head on a platter.

BW:  And it should come as no surprise looking at his waistline that
he's a greedy man.  I'm predicting Nenshou gives him a world-class
stomachache here in this one.

[With the crowd roaring, Riley continues to pound away, drilling Nenshou
with haymakers...

...and finally gets dragged off by the official who steps in to
physically push back the Working Man.]

GM:  I don't approve of that.  I think the referee should lay in his
count right there.  Disqualify if he must.  But he should NOT put his
hands on a wrestler, Bucky.

BW:  You just liked Riley smackin' Nenshou around in the corner.

GM:  I won't argue that one.

[Riley brushes past the official, moving back in to the corner...

...and gets caught with a stiff-fingered thrust into the windpipe!]

GM:  Ohhh!  Come on, referee!

BW:  It was an open hand!

GM:  Into the throat!  That's not legal!

BW:  But it sure was effective.

GM:  Of course it was effective.  We all saw what Monosso and Layton did
to Riley's neck and throat earlier this week and-

[A knife-edge chop also lands dangerously close to the throat, causing
Riley to stumble backwards.  He coughs hard, stumbling down to a knee as
he grabs at his throat.  Raising both arms high overhead, Nenshou lashes
out with a double chop to the sides of the neck, knocking Riley down to
all fours.]

GM:  Down goes the man from Amarillo, Texas early on in this one.  

BW:  Face it, Gordo.  Riley shouldn't be in this match.  He's physically
not ready to be in this match.  But his stupid, idiotic pride put him
here tonight.  He thinks he can fight through this throat injury...
well, he's wrong.

[Nenshou delivers a trio of hard kicks to the torso of Riley, forcing
him to roll out to the apron.  The referee backs Nenshou away, ordering
him back...

...which gives Percy Childes a chance to raise up his cane and SMASH it
down across Riley's exposed throat!]

GM:  Ohh!  Give me a break, referee!  Get some control out there!

[A smirking Childes walks away as Riley gasps for air out on the apron. 
Nenshou dashes across the ring, connecting with a baseball slide
dropkick to the ribs that knocks Riley out to the thinly-padded floor.]

GM:  Down to the floor off the apron goes Riley thanks to that baseball
slide.

[Nenshou steps out to the apron, measuring the downed Riley.  As Riley
pushes up to a knee, the man from Japan leaps off the apron, smashing an
overhead chop down over the forehead, knocking Riley flat once again.]

GM:  We're only a couple of minutes into this match and Vernon Riley is
just getting dominated by Nenshou so far.  Another kick to the ribs
there by Nenshou!

[Childes draws closer, gesturing at Riley with his crystal-topped cane. 
Nenshou drags Riley off the floor by the head, hooking a snap mare, and
whipping Riley over to the padded concrete in a seated position...

...and KICKS him hard in the back!]

GM:  Good grief.  You could hear that one out in the parking lot.

[Nenshou drags Riley up again, pulling him over to the ringside
barricade.  He drapes Riley's throat over the edge of the railing,
pushing down on the back of the neck to choke him.]

GM:  The referee's shouting at Nenshou - ordering him to break that.

BW:  Don't order.  Count, you idiot.  This referee is a moron.

GM:  Mickey Meekly is a very fine official, Bucky.

BW:  Tell that to Shane Destiny.

[The official's cries fall on deaf ears as Nenshou strangles him over
the steel railing for several more seconds before breaking away to fire
Riley back under the ropes into the ring.]

GM:  Both men back inside the squared circle right now.

[With Riley down on the mat, Nenshou stands tall over him...

...and reaches way down to drive another overhead chop down, this time
right into the throat!  The referee steps in, screaming at Nenshou!]

GM:  The referee just warned Nenshou - he told him one more shot to the
throat like that would be a disqualification.

BW:  Are you serious?  Where does he get the right to do that?

GM:  It's called the rulebook of the American Wrestling Alliance!  You
should look it up!  Blows to the throat are certainly not legal here in
the AWA and you know that, Bucky!

[Nenshou backs away, hands raised as Childes shouts instructions from
the floor in Japanese.]

GM:  I'm sure Percy Childes is warning Nenshou as well - he wants to
avoid that DQ at all costs.

[The Japanese superstar hits the ropes, rebounding off, and snapping off
a super quick elbowdrop, burying his elbow very close to the neck.]

GM:  So close to the throat there.  He's playing with fire.

[Nenshou kips up to his feet, dropping down to a knee and spraying green
mist into the air to the jeers of the crowd.]

GM:  And that might be a bit of a reminder to Vernon Riley.  You can
never count out the mist - that dangerous green mist - when Nenshou is
involved.

[The camera cuts to ringside where a grinning Childes whaps his cane
against the ring apron, shouting into the ring again.  When we cut back
to the ring, Nenshou is on his feet delivering hard kicks to the upper
body of Riley.  He leans down, hauling Riley off the canvas and whipping
him across the ring to the corner.]

GM:  Into the corner goes Riley... 

[Nenshou backs away to the opposite side of the ring.  With a leap, he
goes into a graceful cartwheel, tumbling backwards...

...and DRIVING his elbow up into the jaw of Riley!]

GM:  Good gravy, did you see that?

BW:  Handspring elbow on target!  FINISH HIM!

[Nenshou reaches back again, hooking the cravate, and pulling Riley down
into a snap mare.]

GM:  We saw this earlier- ohhh!  Hard kick to the spine!

[And with Riley cringing in pain in a seated position, Nenshou dashes to
the opposite corner, spinning to run back towards Riley...

...and DRILLS him with both feet squarely to the face in a leaping low
dropkick!]

GM:  GOOD GRIEF, BUCKY!

[Riley drops backwards from the dropkick, hands shooting up to his face
as Nenshou crawls across into a lateral press.]

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

[The crowd cheers as Vernon Riley hangs a leg over the bottom rope,
breaking the pin count.  An angry Percy Childes shouts at the official
who explains his decision to Childes as Nenshou hauls Riley off the mat
again, shoving him back to the corner.]

GM:  Riley's backed into the buckles...

[The martial arts skills of Nenshou are on display with three snap kicks
to the ribs before he pulls up, leaping, and snapping a kick backwards
into the sternum of Riley!]

GM:  The skilled feet of Nenshou are lighting up the Working Man right
now, Bucky.

BW:  The Working Man better work on figuring out how the heck to stop
Nenshou from kickin' the heck out of him.

GM:  Nenshou grabs the arm again, firing Riley to the opposite corner...

[He goes into another cartwheel, handspringing towards the buckles...

...where Vernon Riley leaps out of the way, causing Nenshou to slam
spinefirst into the buckles!]

GM:  HE MISSED!  HE MISSED!

[Riley spins around, lighting up the chest of Nenshou with knife-edge
chops.]


"WHAAAAAP!"
"OOOOOOOF!"
"WHAAAAAP!"
"OOOOOOOF!"
"WHAAAAAP!"
"OOOOOOOF!"
"WHAAAAAP!"
"OOOOOOOF!"
"WHAAAAAP!"
"OOOOOOOF!"



"FIVE MINUTES HAVE EXPIRED!  FIVE MINUTES REMAIN!"



[Riley busts out of the corner, shouting out "YEAAAAH, BABY!" before
turning around, rushing in...

...and SMASHING a stunned Nenshou with a running clothesline in the
corner!]

GM:  HE'S GOT NENSHOU REELING!!

[As Nenshou stumbles out of the corner, Riley busts an overhead
elbowsmash onto his skull!]

GM:  Down goes Nenshou off the elbow!

[The man from Japan staggers back up...

...and gets floored yet again!]

GM:  Another elbowsmash!

[Nenshou struggles up to his feet once more, catching a boot in the gut.
 Riley quickly hooks a front facelock, slinging Nenshou's arm over his
neck, and powers him into the air...

...splashing him down to the mat with a big suplex!]

GM:  Riley's got him down!  Vernon Riley's got a second wind here in
this one!

[Popping back to his feet, Riley swings a hand around in the air to the
cheers of the crowd.  He hits the ropes, rebounding off, spinning his
right arm around and round...

...and BURIES a leaping elbowdrop squarely in the chest!]

GM:  ELBOW!!  HE GETS ONE!!  HE GETS TWO!!  HE GETS- 


"OHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  Two count!  Just a two!

[A surprised Riley pops up, holding three fingers in the air.  The
referee shakes his head, holding up two in response.  Riley claps his
hands together in frustration as he gets back to his feet, reaching down
to haul Nenshou up by the hair.]

GM:  Riley whips him in to the corner... 

[A running knee to the midsection doubles up Nenshou.  Riley reaches
down, hooking a side headlock...

...and swings his free hand around in the air to a big cheer!]

GM:  He's calling for the Roundup!

[Riley charges out of the corner, looking for the bulldog...

...but Nenshou pulls up short, shoving off Riley.]

GM:  Nenshou blocks it!

[And as Riley turns around, Nenshou reaches up for his own throat,
pulling his head back...]

GM:  MIST!

[Riley ducks down and backwards, trying to avoid the blinding mist...

...but the mist never comes as Nenshou fluidly lashes out with a hooking
kick that catches Riley on the temple as he comes around.]

GM:  Ohh!

BW:  He faked it!  He knew Riley would be waiting for it and he faked
the mist!

[And with Riley dazed, Nenshou wraps his arms around his waist, hoisting
him off the mat...

...and dropping him throatfirst across the top rope!]

GM:  OHHH!  HOT SHOT!  He stunned him!

[Riley collapses to the mat as Nenshou dives across his chest, tightly
wrapping up both legs.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREE!!


"DING!  DING!  DING"


MC:  Here is your winner... moving on to the second round...

NENSHOU!

[A jubilant Percy Childes is trash-talking the ringside fans who have
been giving him a hard time all match.  Nenshou rolls off of Riley, down
to a knee as the referee raises his hand in victory.]

GM:  Nenshou wins it... and wins it clean if you can believe it.  He had
a lot of help though.

BW:  From who?  No one got involved in that.

GM:  Well, that's certainly not true but I was referring to Monosso and
Layton injuring the throat of Vernon Riley earlier this week.  You can
not deny that played directly into the ending of this match, Bucky.

BW:  You're always looking for an excuse for your favorites.

GM:  Fans, Nenshou is moving on to face Supernova in the second round
and we'll be right back!

[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 back to live action where-]

#REACH OUT AND TOUCH FAITH#

[Good grief.  He even interrupts descriptions.  "Personal Jesus" kicks
into full gear as Larry Doyle emerges. His attire is horrendous.. par
for the course.. but more disheveled than usual. His gold tuxedo bow is
hanging off.. as if he's worn it for weeks. Behind him are "Beautiful"
Bobby Baldwin, "Love Machine" Nova and a very very injured Crusher
Glenn. Glenn's head protruding out from under the huge neck brace that
he has on. His face battered and bruised. He winces as he follows
behind. 

The foursome roams over to the interview area. Doyle producing his own
mic. No frills and chills. No "oohhs" and "ahhhhs", Doyle gets right
into it.]

LD: I've done a _lot_ of soul searching following the heinous attack
that transpired at the last Saturday Night Wrestling. This past two
weeks have been like a nightmare. To see one of my boys get ambushed..
get abused.. and get _assaulted_.. well, it's just not something that a
man of my _stature_ and _character_ is used to .

Bottom line, we're classy. 

We run around with a bunch of neanderthals and it's bound to happen. 

[Doyle grabs his nose mockingly.]

LD:  Jealousy is a stinky cologne. 

And when you're as top notch.. as relevant.. and held in as high a
regard as we are. There tends to be a few haters who enter your lives.
We found that out the hard way last card when those two _posers_ that
want some respect they don't _deserve_.. haven't _earned_.. and won't
_get_ from us.. showed up and put their fists and boots to our personal
security, Crusher Glenn.

[Doyle puts a hand on Crusher's shoulder.. the crowd pops the Bombers
finally getting some form of comeuppance.. Doyle blows up immediately.]

LD:  OH. MY. GOD!

NO.

_YOU_. 

DIDN'T!

[Doyle points furiously at the audience.]

LD:  I hate you alllll.. with _every_ fiber of my being. 

LOOK AT MY BOY!

[Doyle points at the tarnished face of Glenn.]

LD:  LOOK AT WHAT THOSE MONSTERS DID!

[More applause. Not so much for RnR, as for seeing Doyle this
frustrated.]

LD:  You people are imbeciles. I couldn't hate each and every one of you
more. I really couldn't. I don't like you.. I don't trust you.. and I
certainly don't _respect_ you. So I guess you and Rough N Ready got a
little sumptin' sumptin' in common, fools. 

And when we're done with them.. we _might_ just come up there and put a
Bomber size beat down on each.. and _every_.. one of you ingrates. 

We come out here every other week and give you the best nights of your
lliiivvvessss and _this_ is the thanks we get. 

Forget you. 

All of you. 

[Doyle points at the entrance.]

LD:  We're out here for Bombers bidness.. we can not _work_ in
conditions like this. Lord knows the AWA won't help us. They stand aside
and watch all these teams, besides us, run rough shod.. cheating like
it's their job. Trying to ruin my boys, simply because they're _better_.
Refusing to stand up for the _integrity_ of this sport that we fight for
each and _every_ night!

[Boo! Yeah, right!]

LD:  So I'm we're taking it into our own hands.. get us.. The Masked
Menace! And get him now!

[As Doyle gestures, the camera cuts to show the entrance aisle, and
there's a tense moment of silence. Breaking the silence, a single man in
the crowd shouts "YOU SUCK!".]

BW: Looks like it's a no-show, Gordo.

GM: Doyle is looking nervous. Maybe he's finally realizing that he and
his team have pushed the tag team roster a little too far in AWA.

[13, 14, 15 seconds and still no Menace when--]

BW: There he is! I knew he'd come to the rescue of poor Larry and his
boys!

[From the back emerges a tall and thick gorilla of a man dressed in long
black trunks, boots and studded leather bracers. Instead of a head, atop
his neck is a black mask patterned with a reflective black skull design
in the front, and the letters "MM" in the back.

Stepping out on the ramp, Menace humorlessly regards the man that
summoned him.]

GM:  The Menace sure is taking his time getting out here.  I'm not sure
he appreciates being called out like that, Bucky.

[Moving to the center as if to take ownership of the stage, Menace folds
his arms, looks first to the biohazard symbol tattoo'ed on his left
shoulder, then the nuclear symbol on his right and finally he flexes
both arms, mightily, as he waits for Doyle to start talking again.]

LD: Menace.. listen.. about two weeks ago. We need to talk.. 

[Holding out his hand, Menace waits for Doyle to hand him the
microphone. Confused, Doyle hesitates.]

GM: Apparently the Menace didn't think to bring a microphone.

BW: I think this is a power thing Gordo. The Menace was shot down by
Larry and, now, I think he's trying for a political power play.

[Finally, the Menace has the microphone. He nods as if to thank Doyle,
then raises the mic to the slot in his mask, bellowing out in his
typical gruff, muffled way.]

MM: Yo, man, 'twas my understanding that we had amicably parted ways. Me
to return to my status as independent contractor and you to celebrate in
your newfound success. I didn't much cotton to it but I had grown to
accept it.  I didn't pay no nevermind to what role my own activities may
have played in that success as, well, what was done was done. I weren't
no contract player.

[Pause. Menace peers into Doyle's eyes. He may be smiling but it's hard
to tell from this camera angle.]

MM: Nothin' more to say then? No need for further discussion? Guess I'll
be goin'. Have a nice life, boss.

[Menace tosses the mic into Doyle's chest, and he scrambles to catch it.
Looking back at Glenn, the both of them look fit to panic. Doyle looks
down, collecting his will.]

LD: Ah.. um.. _ok_.. _alright_...

[Not breaking stride, Menace keeps on walking. Doyle's voice raises by
several octaves.]

LD: You werreee rrigghttt! We agree. Happy?! Elated?! Thrilled?! There,
I said it.. we _need_ you, Menace. We need you bbaaaaaaddddd. You saw
what they did to our boy Crusher. God forbid that happens to The Love
Machine or Beautiful Bobby. I _can't_ have it, man! 

So.. 

[Standing, one foot on the stage and one on the floor, the Menace nods
slowly. Doyle pauses for dramatic purposes.. he approaches Menace and
holds out his hand.]

LD: .. we're going to make you the offer of a lifetime.

How would you like to become an _employee_ of da greatest tag team in
the wooorlldd?! 

[Menace stares at Doyle who's nodding furiously with a big grin on his
face. Almost a forced grin, one might say.]

LD: That's right, we're offering you a contract position. A position of
prestige that accompanies a lifestyle of the privileged. Say it with
me..

Masked Menace.. Contracted Blonde Bombers Security! 

Whaddaya say?!

[Holding the mic back out towards Menace, Doyle nods, twitchily, his
words, not caught by the mic, might be assumed to be encouragement.]

MM: Ah, Larry ... Laramie, Lawrence, my man, see there's a little
problem.

[The crowd gives a faint and expectant face pop.]

LD: Problem? What problem? It's the Bombers, baby! C'mon, we're already
like family, right?

MM: Yeah, well, see, obviously if these guys are so bad that they can
beat up that guy back there what I'd be replacin' and, well, the Bombers
can't handle 'em themselves? Sounds like I'll be needing hazard pay.

[Pause. Doyle considers for not-long-enough before replying.]

LD: What if I told you the position paid $20,000 a night? How's that
sound?

[DING! Menace stands up straight and is back to the center of the stage
faster than you might think a man of his size can move.]

MM: Sounds like we're in business, man!

[Menace gives Doyle a handshake that probably has a little too much
excitement attached to it, Menace brings the manager to his knees then
immediately turns to hug Glenn as Doyle tries to shake the pain away.
Many fans boo, having hoped that the Menace would flip Doyle and his
Bombers the collective bird.]

GM: An unholy alliance if ever there was one, Bucky.

BW: Are you kidding? This is awesome. Glenn was always a big strong guy
but this Menace? He's a wrecking machine!

[Suddenly all eyes in the crowd are suddenly diverted toward the
entranceway, to which the eyes of everyone at the interview stage are
also drawn. And there they would be… the National Tag Team Champions,
Rough N Ready, still dressed in their wrestling attire. Dave Cooper has
a serious look on his face and Eric Matthew Somers has a twisted grin.]

EMS: Somebody is pretty paranoid… it’s just a question of who is more
paranoid… Larry Doyle for what we did to his personal bodyguard… or the
Masked Menace wondering just when he’ll get stiffed!

[Dave cracks a slight grin at that remark.]

DC: Doesn’t matter, Eric… as Crusher Glenn can attest, we aren’t nice
guys and we aren’t here to play games… and no matter who Doyle and the
Bombers pull out to tip the scales in their favor… it’s not gonna work.

Because we are the best tag team in the AWA… and we kicked a lot of tail
to get that distinction.

And when we meet with the Bombers at SuperClash, it’s gonna be more tail
we get to kick. Simple as that.

[Eric chuckles a bit, as Dave’s serious look returns, then he runs a
thumb across his throat and points at the contingent at the interview
stage, then returns to the back.]

GM:  The Masked Menace has been hired on by Larry Doyle as official
Bombers security... at 20 grand a night!  Are you kidding me?  How in
the world can he afford that?

BW:  Don't you worry about it, Gordo.  Larry's offshore accounts should
cover that.

GM:  If I was the Menace, I'd be worried about a bounced check... and I
might also be worried about what'll happen if Rough N Ready decides to
come after him as well!  Fans, let's go up to the- huh?  Okay, well,
let's go up to Mark Stegglet instead.

[Shot cuts to the interview platform where Mark Stegglet stands by with
a fan.

A sort of sloppy looking fan. He's wearing a t-shirt that probably at
some point was white, but now is a dark shade of stained yellow with a
faded bold-type "Dallas Sucks" on the front. His hairy potbelly sticks
out slightly below the shirt. He also wears a pair of rather faded blue
jeans and workman boots.]

MS: Thank you, Gordon. I'm here with the man making his debut, all the
way from South Broad Street, Philadelphia... The South Philly Phighter.
You requested this time to greet the audience before your match?

[The South Philly Phighter holds up his hand - complete with a World
Series replica pinkie ring - and his shove his head back.. and lets out
a dramatic sneeze in front of him (without bothering to cover up his
nose). He then snorts his nose as a disgusted Stegglet looks on.]

MS: Uh, bless... you?

SPP: Yea, yea... Yo, youse guys 'scuse me, alrighty?

MS: Uh... Sure?

[The Phighter digs out a football jersey hanging out of his back jeans
pocket and holds it up so all the crowd can see... a Tony Romo jersey.
And since the man has caught what seems to be a sudden case of nasal
congestion, he does what any normal person would do.]

SPP: Brrerpgtjtgjppptttttttt.

[After blowing his nose, the Phighter takes a couple exaggerated
wipes... and then clears his saliva with a spit onto the jersey. This,
of course, draws the ire of the crowd as they boo the Phighter
vehemently.]

SPP: Yo! Wah? Wah youse guys about, huh? You means this, huh?

[The Phighter shakes his rag/prized Cowboys jersey.]

SPP: It don't matter anymore, ok?

MS: I think they're upset at the way you've introduced yourself -
especially with the jersey.

SPP: I was all blocked up, all I had was that trash! Figger all youse
Dallas WIMPS go get a-ffended!

MS: Again, I uh... I don't think that's the best way to introduce
yourself.

SPP: You want a interduction, huh? Alrighty! I'm the Sow-Philly Phighter
and I'm going to show all youse that a guy from the booyedeFULL city of
Philly can wipe the floor with any of youse creamers! Cause Dallas?

[The Phighter, in the midst of the booing, holds up his faded T-shirt,
thus exposing more of his hairy belly to further disgust Stegglet and
the fans.]

SPP: Dallas sucks!

[With that, the Phighter steps off and onto the entrance, making his way
to the ring.]

MS: I guess that was sort of an introduction. Back to you, Gordon and
Bucky.

GM: Thanks Mark - I have to apologize, first and foremost, for the words
spoken by the South Philly Phighter.

BW: Why? Have you ridden around the city any time lately? Or watched the
Cowboys? Guy has a point.

GM: He certainly does not! He had no place to make those comments.

BW: 'Boys fan, eh?

GM: ...

[The Phighter, satisfied with himself, pulls a cigar from his jeans and
firmly bites down on it from the left side of his mouth. He then gives
a... choice gesture to the fans, which doesn't earn him any more
favors.]

GM: Uncalled for! Completely uncalled for, Bucky!

BW: Yeah, no kidding... Those fans shouldn't have pushed this guy's
buttons.

[Crossfade to the ring where Melissa is standing.]

MC: The following match is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute time
limit. Introducing first, already in the ring, from South Philadelphia
and weighing in at 249 pounds... here is THE SOUTH PHILLY PHIGHTER!

[The Phighter puts his hand on his hip and nods as he chumps down on his
unlit cigar. The crowd still doesn't like his greeting.]

BW: Does he know he's not smoking anything with that cigar?

GM: I... I don't know. But I would guess the Phighter knows.

MC: And his opponent...

[The opening beats of Capsule's "Jumper" sounds from the PA as some
people in the crowd applaud - if for nothing else than to not have to
look at the Phighter.]

MC: Hailing from Los Angeles, California and weighing in at 217
pounds... JOHNNY SONE!

[The young third-generation wrestler steps out of the entrance, dressed
in black boots and his silver wrestling shorts with a green trim &
Japanese letter on the sides. With a wide smile on his face, he pumps
his right hand in the air a couple of times before points upwards.]

GM: Johnny Sone coming down to the ring and coming off an impressive win
last win for his first victory in an AWA. He certainly shows a good deal
of promise.

BW: He's got the talent and he's got the skills, Gordo, but he's still
green in that ring. Can't just flip a switch and get it going like
you've been grinding it for years. He's going to have to take his lumps
before making any waves here.

[As Sone makes his way quickly to the ring, he stretches out his hands
to slap the fans' hands. As he gets to the ropes and steps through, the
Phighter cuts him off and attacks before the bell with an axehandle to
the back of the head.]

GM: The Phighter attacks before the ref could even signal the match to
start! 

BW: Early bird catches the worm, Gordo.

GM: Not before the bell! Unacceptable behavior demonstrated by -

[The Phighter takes his unlit cigar he's been chomping (and slobbering)
on and shoves it into the face of Johnny Sone, eliciting even more boos
from the crowd.]

BW: You were saying?

GM: Awful! This man is a complete disgrace to the ring!

BW: He had to get rid of the cigar at some point. Maybe he thought
Johnny Sone was an ashtray. Sure has the personality of one!

[The Phighter laughs at his actions and then drags Sone back up as the
bell sounds.]

GM: Finally this match is officially underway as The South Philly
Phighter takes control here, laying in a couple swift jabs to the
midsection of Sone.

[The Phighter takes a moment to help Sone clear out some gunk from his
eyes, so graciously. However, the referee starts to take issue with it.]

GM: And again, The Phighter with an illegal move, raking the eyes of
Johnny Sone!

BW: Hey, whether you cut the corners or work over the hard way, it's all
still a win in the end, right?

[The Phighter peppers Sone in the stomach again and then starts biting
Sone's forehead, allowing the crowd to really get on the Philadelphia
native's case.]

BW: Quick, someone throw a cheesesteak into the ring! The man's hungry!

GM: Dispicable, Bucky. From the moment this classless man stepped out
into the Coliseum, he's been nothing but crude and disrespectful!

[The Phighter laughs again and then goes on the attack, delivering some
hard jabs to the face. Sone fights back, though, delivering a couple
blows of his own as the crowd starts to get behind him.]

GM: Johnny Sone answers back, going punch for punch with the South
Philly Phighter!

[The slugfest, though, quickly ends as the Phighter clotheslines Sone to
the mat and goes for a cover.]

GM: Quick clothesline and a cover - one, two- no! Sone kicks out!

[The Phighter gets up and lays a couple stomps to the face of Sone.
However, seeing Sone in distress, The Phighter takes out the rag of a
Cowboys jersey he used earlier and help to wipe off the brow of Sone.]

GM: The Phighter's shoving that- that- that snotrag of his into the face
of Johnny Sone! What a disgrace! Absolutely no respect for the ring or
his opponent!

BW: Why should he? I'm sure he doesn't like people from Los Angeles as
much as he doesn't like Dallas.

GM: It's no excuse for his behavior!

[The referee, reluctant to take away the ratty jersey (much less touch
it), gives a warning and starts counting down the Phighter. That's
enough for him to stop the suffocating and stuff the rag back in his
back pocket.]

GM: How this man isn't disqualified right now is beyond me, Bucky.

BW: The referee's being loose with his rules, but I'm sure Johnny Sone
could get away with the same stuff if he wanted.

GM: As far as I know, Sone respects the ring too much take part in these
actions.

BW: His loss...

[With the crowd booing loudly, The Phighter drags Sone to two feet and
whips him into the ropes. The Phighter goes for a clothesline attempt,
but Sone ducks it and rebound off the ropes, vaulting himself backwards
with an elbow that hits the Phighter.]

GM: Springing back elbow connects! And now it's Sone's turn in this
match as he throws a couple more elbows to the head of the Phighter!

[With the crowd getting behind Sone, the young third generation wrestler
uncorks a spinning heel kick to the side of the Phighter's head that
staggers him around in a daze and ultimately down to the mat on one
knee.]

GM: Sone has the Phighter reeling! 

BW: About time... I guess that rag to the face didn't help, huh?

GM: If anything, it probably fired up the young man. 

[With the Phighter in a prone position, Sone runs towards the Phighter
and hits a step-up enzugiri that catches the back of the Phighter's
head. The Phighter, to the fans' delight, falls flat on his face.]

GM: Huge kick to the head of the Phighter and he's down! He's in
dreamland now!

BW: Quick, someone play some Rocky! That might wake him up!

[Sone picks up the lifeless South Philly Phighter into a front facelock
and - with a bit of a struggle - lifts him into a vertical position.
After only a second or two, Sone drops his hands and lets the Phighter
fall into a sideslam.]

GM: Bloodline Movement! Sone with his vertical suplex side slam finisher
and now the cover - one! Two! Three!

[The crowd cheers as Sone pumps his fist into the air as the bell
rings.]

MC: Here is your winner... JOHNNY SONE!

[A grateful Sone shakes the referee's hand and points to the sky once
more.]

GM: Another big win for Johnny Sone here in the AWA as he overcomes some
early cheating by the Phighter to take this match. And I, for one, and
happy to see that slob not getting his hand raised.

BW: He got caught with a couple moves, which with this kid you have to
expect will happen. He sure can throw those feet with some mastery.

[Johnny Sone pumps his fist in the air again as he makes his way up the
ramp, taking some time to also shake some of the fans' hands, before he
makes his way back to the entrance.]

GM:  Johnny Sone is one to watch here in the AWA for sure, fans... and
now, let's go up to Jason who has a very special guest!  Jason?

[Cut up to the entrance platform where Jason Dane is standing.]

JD:  Ladies and gentlemen, at this time, please welcome the man who is
the number two contender to the AWA National Title - Raphael Rhodes!

[Raphael Rhodes strides over to the interview section, dressed in a
black long-sleeved T-shirt and jeans.  He pats Dane on the shoulder.]

RR: I've got me some business to attend to, so we'll have to dispense
with the formalities of the "how're you, mate?" and so on, right?  The
last few weeks have been quite rattly, ain't they?  Everyone's abuzz
about how the Southern Syndicate seems to be fallin' apart at the
hinges.  And, you know, I spent a year of me life workin' for that team,
so part of me's a bit sad to see it.

[Rhodes smiles.]

RR: But there's the part of me that wants to see those right bastards
crumble like a biscuit left on the counter.  So let me make you an
offer, Waterson... let me speed up that whole dismantlin' process, aye? 
I already talked to Watkins, and I told him... I don't care who, and I
don't care when... you get me someone from that Syndicate in the ring.

[The crowd cheers at the thought of Rhodes facing anyone from the
Syndicate at any time.]

RR: We all know Stevie Scott's runnin', duckin', and hidin' from Juan
Vasquez, and that's fine... but I'll take on anyone from there!  Von
Braun may've quit, but I don't mind punchin' him right square in the
teeth.  He can hire that goon Mizusawa again... got some unfinished
business with him, too.  Or how about we get that little
tin-belt-creatin' Dufresne out here and have him wrestle me, huh?

[Rhodes peers off-camera, with a bigger smile spreading across his
face.]

RR: Or it can be this little dinnermasher from the convict island, too.

[The camera pans over to see Adrian Freeman striding down the aisle,
wearing a blue polo shirt and dress pants.  He does not look pleased. 
At all.  Freeman grabs a mic from ringside and steps into the ring.]

AF: You shouldn't be out here tonight, Raph.

[The audience buzzes a little, wondering what's about to happen.]

AF: You see, this is the reason why we -- the Syndicate, I mean -- are
losing respect.  Here you have a guy who decides he's bigger than the
group, who wants to toss away immortality for a title match he would
lose... and not only do we leave him able to walk, when he comes back to
screw us over, what do we do?  Let him run free while we sit around
picking our noses.  We've been getting sorry, and I guess I sort of owe
you an apology for that Raph.  You should never have left the WarGames
cage on your own power.

[The crowd jeers the verbal blow.  Freeman is glaring at Rhodes who
smirks in response.]

AF:  And on a personal level... every time I see you, with that smug
little grin on your face, I get mad.  I'm not easily angered, but
whenever I think about you spitting at the Southern Syndicate, the best
thing that ever happened to your miserable little career... well, I find
it hard to think of anything but ripping your limbs off one by one.

[Rhodes steps up a bit, getting closer to Freeman as Dane tries to
backpedal away.  The crowd is buzzing, waiting to see what's next.]

AF:  So now you come out and beg me to finish you off?  It's too much. 
You should have kept hoping we would forget about you.  But now?  I want
to humiliate you in this ring, and I'm not going to take no for an
answer. 

[Rhodes looks at Freeman, a steely glare his eyes... ]


WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!


[... and slaps the taste right out of Freeman's mouth.]

RR: That's what I think of your challenge, ya bloody bogan.

[Suddenly, a shocked Freeman tackles Rhodes, as the two start trading
punches with each other wildly as security swarms into the frame, trying
desperately to break the two up.]

JD:  What the-?!  Folks, we've got to get this under control!  We'll
take this commercial and be back after we restore order!

[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 where Gordon and Bucky are standing
at ringside.]

GM:  Fans, it's been a wild night of action here in the Crockett
Coliseum but we've still got a lot more to come.  Yes, we are once again
in OVERTIME here on Saturday Night Wrestling so those of you tuning in
to see Joanie Loves Chachi tonight will have to wait just a little bit
longer because right now, we're heading up to Mark Stegglet who has a
very special guest!  Mark?

[We fade back to the interview platform where Mark Stegglet is
standing.]

MS:  Thanks, Gordon... and at this time, I'd like to bring out a man who
is a former AWA National Tag Team Champion and one of the most popular
men in this company - TIN CAN RUST!

[The crowd pops as the barrel chested Rust makes his way next to
Stegglet, dressed in a pair of blue jeans and red/white flannel
button-up. His forehead shows a significant black & blue mark; Rust's
expression, as well, shows a bit of anger.]

MS: Tin Can Rust, the man who lost to Jack Holland this past week in San
Antonio.  Rust, you once again lost a chance at a possible title shot
and again it's at the hands of the man who's been a thorn in your side
for a while - Calisto Dufresne.

[Rust shakes his head, rolling his eyes up for a moment.]

MS: What's your response to Dufresne's actions in your Longhorn Heritage
Title tournament match?

TCR: My response?

[Rust pauses to take in a deep breath. He looks around at the crowd
before leaning in to the microphone.]

TCR: Mark, there's a time for talking and reasoning and then there's a
time for fighting. And it seems clear to me that the time to talk to
that coward's done PASSED!

[Big roar from the crowd at Rust's words.]

TCR: Your ego's still bruised? You want to take me on again, boy? You
want to try to pick another brawl? Well, come right on! COME RIGHT ON! 

[Rust balls up his right hand and shakes his fist about.]

TCR: You want to try to attack me again? You want to me to reintroduce
you to this fist? Boy, one more chance? One more chance and I'll connect
right on that jaw again and knock you right on your yellowed back! Boy,
I'll jus-ahhh!

*THUD*

[The crowd jeers as Calisto Dufresne emerges out of nowhere, drilling
Tin Can Rust in the back of the skull with the Pacific Title belt.]

MS:  Come on, Calisto!

[Dufresne threatens a backhand in Stegglet's face before delivering a
kick to the ribs of Rust.  He reaches down, dragging Rust up to his
knees.   He rears back and SLAMS a right hand into the skull of the
veteran.]

GM:  Look at this!  Another sneak attack by this cowardly son of a-

BW:  Easy there, Gordo.  WKIK will slap you with a fine if you keep this
up.

[Dufresne delivers another punch... and another... and another... and
another.]

GM:  He's beating the heck out of Tin Can Rust up on the stage!

[Dufresne laces Rust with one last right hand before reaching over and
snatching the microphone away from Mark Stegglet.  His eyes are wild
with rage as he stands over the fallen Tin Can Rust.]

CD: You thought you could wear gold that belonged around _my_ waist!? 
That title was rightfully mine and Watkins keeps me out of the
tournament and puts you in it!?  

[The Ladykiller shakes his head angrily.]

CD: There's no way in Hell that I was going to let that stand, you fat
slob!  You thought you were rid of me after Battle of the Bayou.  You
kept spouting off about me and you think I was going to let that go
unanswered?  You really are as stupid as your idiot partner City Jack!

[Dufresne stands over Rust, leaning close to his face.]

CD: You'll never be rid of me, Rust!  Not until you're out of this sport
for good just like Jack!  NEVER!  

[He reaches back to slap the fallen Tin Can Rust across the face, but
Rust quickly jabs Dufresne in the chin, sending him staggering
backwards.]

GM:  Yeah!  Yeah!  Get him, Rust!

[Dufresne recovers quickly, but it's enough time for Rust to get to his
feet and meet the Southern Syndicate member's attempt at a right hand
with a quick right of his own and begins peppering him as the crowd
begins to cheer at Rust's resurgence.  Before he can mount much of a
comeback, however, security rushes from the entrance portal, pulling the
two men apart; Dufresne's arms and legs flailing as he attempts to reach
Rust.]

GM:  Look at these two!  They just want to rip each other apart!  Rust
is trying to get at him and surprisingly, Dufresne's trying to get right
back at him as well!  

BW:  Get security out of there!  Let 'em fight!

GM:  This one's been building up for a long, long time and they're just
not going to be happy until one of them just totally bleeds the other
one dry.  What a fight we've got out here!  What a-

[Suddenly, the stern voice of Jim Watkins cries out from the entrance
ramp.]

JW:  THAT'S IT!  THAT'S ENOUGH!!

[Rust slowly stops struggling, looking up in surprise at Jim Watkins.]

JW:  I've had enough of you two monkeys beating each other senseless at
every chance.  I worked damn hard to get that Longhorn Heritage Title
created and get this tournament going and you, Dufresne, tried to ruin
it in one damn night.

[Watkins shakes his head at a smirking Dufresne.]

JW:  I've had enough of this.  You know - I've always said that if two
people wanted to fight in this business, we should let 'em fight.  And I
think it's about time to settle this thing.

You two... you want to fight?  You want to bust each other up?  You want
to bleed?

I think we can accomodate ya.

[Watkins pauses.]

JW:  Everyone knows that at SuperClash II in just over a month's time,
we're going to be doing something we've never done before.  In one
night, we're going to be having wrestling matches in TWO buildings.

One set of matches will be up in St. Louis...

[The crowd jeers.]

JW:  And the other... will be right here in Dallas, Texas!

[BIG CHEER!]

JW:  And I can't think of a single thing that the fans in Dallas, Texas
would like to see more than Tin Can Rust and Calisto Dufresne beating
the hell out of each other one more time...

[HUGE CHEER!]

JW:  ...in a TEXAS DEATH MATCH!!

[A DEAFENING ROAR fills the air as the crowd celebrates the
announcement!]

GM:  OH MY STARS!!  RUST AND DUFRESNE AT SUPERCLASH HERE IN DALLAS IN A
TEXAS DEATH MATCH!!  THE CROWD HERE IN DALLAS IS GOING CRAZY!

[We hold for a long moment on the roaring crowd before we fade to black.

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

"Have you ever dreamed of fame?"

[Cut a little closer.]

"Of glory?"

[A little closer.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Two young students are grappling on the canvas.]

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

You want to wrestle!"

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

And then come back up to live action where we find Robert Donovan
sitting backstage in boring old street clothes.  He doesn't look too
much the worse for wear after his first match in around five years -- at
least, not too much worse for wear than he looked before hand, that is.]

RD:  Wasn't sure I'd have anything to say after that match...hell, a
little ways into it I thought I might end up slinkin' back to the
retirement home, so to speak.  Gotta thank ol' Ewiak, though, he did me
a couple o' favors in that match.  For one...

[Donovan reaches up and rubs his jaw.]

RD:  ...he hit me damn near hard enough to knock off all the rust that's
built up after five years away from a wrestling ring. Facin' a real test
my first match back...well, I think he's done me a bigger favor than he
ever woulda figured by knockin' me around the way he did.

[Donovan chuckles.]

RD:  Other favor he did me was when he spoke up before our match...an'
said something about me thinking I deserved the Longhorn Heritage title.
 Now, thinkin' about that at first actually got me a little bit riled
up...I didn't walk into this thinkin' I deserved even an opportunity to
fight for the damn thing, much less to be handed it outright.  Then I
kept thinkin'...I know, I know, not the usual Donovan maneuver...an' I
started to wonder if maybe he was right.  Maybe I did walk into this
thinkin' that I deserved the opportunity, that I deserved a fast track
to the end 'cause there was no way the LWC meant that much to anybody
but myself.

[Pause.]

RD:  But what about people who just watched it, huh?  Some o' these kids
are awful damn young, ain't that much a stretch of even my imagination
to think they grew up watching the Longhorn Wrestling Council, that it
inspired 'em to get into this business to begin with, an' if that's
true, why do I deserve this opportunity any more'n they do?  Answer's
real simple...I don't.

[Donovan shrugs slightly.]

RD:  Don't get me wrong...I still think I'd be the best representative
of what the LWC truly meant to the people within it, but I don't
_deserve_ a damn thing.  Just like everyone else in this thing, if I
want to represent what meant so much to me, I'm gonna have to bust my
ass and earn it.  Earn every victory, grind my way to the end o' this
damn thing and beat somebody else with the will an' the fight in 'em to
grind their way to the end of it too in order to hold that belt up high.

[Donovan's face turns slightly grim.]

RD:  So, Ewiak, I'm gonna do somethin' I don't normally do after I beat
someone -- I'm gonna thank ya.  Thank ya for beatin' the hell outta me
an' remindin' me of the physical part of this business, an' thank ya
again for sayin' the words that actually made me step back an' look at
this thing.  I think maybe ya made a mistake, though, Ewiak...

[Donovan grins.]

RD:  ...You just made it that much damn harder for everybody else in
this thing.

[And with that, we fade to the ring where Melissa Cannon is standing.]

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a twenty
minute time limit and is our MAIN EVENT of the evening!

[Big cheer!]

MC:  Introducing first... 

["Saz O Avaz Mahdor" by Mohammed Reza Shajarian echoes across the
Crockett Coliseum; its loud distinctively-Arabic vocals quickly striking
a nerve with the crowd, who react in a chorus of boos.]

BW: Rockin' out ta the best music goin' today!  C'mon, Gordo, I can see
your foot tapping to the rhythm.

GM: This has rhythm?

[A billowing plume of green, white, and red whooshes from the back as
Sultan Azam Sharif's massive Iranian flag precedes him.  Draped in his
reddish-brown bisht (that's a robe) and white kaffiyeh (that's the
famous Arabic headdress) with black agal (that's the band that keeps the
kaffiyeh on), the Sultan marches down the elevated rampway.  He hefts
his huge flag in his right hand, while sticking his left index finger
high in the air to indicate his self-proclaimed world ranking.]

MC:  He is accompanied to the ring by his manager Count Adrian
Bathwaite...

SULTAN AZAAAAAAAM SHARIF!

[Behind him walks his manager, the illustrious Count Adrian Bathwaite. 
The Eurasian 'aristocrat' and one-time wrestling star in his own right
is again wearing something that should bring the Fashion Police on him
with clubs and tasers: this week, it is a gunmetal grey button-up shirt
which has a veneer to it that reflects light with a dull shine.  The
Asian-eyed, English-toothed, five-foot-seven manager has a walking stick
in one hand and a white-and-blue porcelain cup of tea in the other.

Sharif reaches the ring, steps inside, and begins waving his flag
proudly.  Bathwaite steps in with him, and is nearly hit by a cup of
clear yellow liquid.  I hope that's Mountain Dew.]

GM: Sultan Azam Sharif, who four weeks ago locked Kolya Sudokov in the
Camel Clutch, and two weeks ago was absolutely blasted with a brutal
Russian Sickle, steps into the ring.  And this situation has escalated
by the day.  Kolya has faced the spotlight before, Bucky Wilde... but
Sharif has never yet faced anything close to this level of competition
before.

BW: Well, there was that one little event, Gordo.  THE OLYMPIC GAMES.

GM: Yes, he is legitimately an Olympian, but that is an entirely
different sport, no matter if they both use "wrestling" as a name.

BW: Spotlights are spotlights no matter who they shine on, daddy. 
Sharif ain't gonna melt in it.

GM: Adrian Bathwaite conspicuous by his absence when the Sultan came out
to address us earlier.  I wonder where he was.

BW: Good point.  Adrian doesn't miss too many opportunities to talk into
a camera.  He must have been doin' something!

[For now, he's pointing his stick at some unruly fans and giving them
what for.  Sharif continues to wave his flag, even after his music
subsides and is replaced by the heavy metal sounds of Metallica's
"Creeping Death."]

MC:  And his opponent... he hails from Russia...

He is the Russian War Machine...

KOLLLLLLYAAAA SUUUUUUDAKOV!

[As the music really kicks in, the Russian stomps out from behind the
curtain.  He strikes a pose, steel chain draped over his shoulders as he
raises his arms to the sky, soaking up the cheers from the crowd.]

GM:  And look at Kolya Sudakov, the former National Champion, loving
getting the love from these fans.

BW:  What a joke.  

GM:  Excuse me?

BW:  The man was a killer - he was known at one point as the Pro
Wrestler Hunter/Killer when he was in the Mixed Martial Arts world.  He
was cold blooded and violent.  Brutally, brutally violent.  Think about
how he won the National Title.  He took advantage of Ron Houston's
injury and made him pay for his pride.  Can you imagine the current
Kolya Sudakov doing something like that?

GM:  Not a chance.  This Kolya Sudakov is a reformed man.  He's still a
fantastic professional wrestler, a great warrior - but now he's on the
right side of things!

[Sudakov storms down the aisle, shrugging off the steel chain as he
approaches the ring.  He hangs the chain over the turnbuckles before
stepping through the ropes into the squared circle.]

GM:  Sudakov's in - and listen to these fans!  They want to see these
two go at it in the worst possible way!  Sharif struck the first blow
four weeks ago but Sudakov struck back last time out.  Tonight, we
settle the score here in this one.

[Sudakov tugs at the ropes, loosening up as Sharif continues to wave his
flag from across the ring.  After a moment of instruction from the
referee, Sharif hands the flagpole out to a ringside attendant as the
referee signals for the bell.]

GM:  And here we go!

[The two men edge out of their respective corners, not rushing into
anything as they eye one another from across the ring.]

GM:  Right away, we notice a difference between this one and what we've
seen earlier tonight in a lot of matches.  There's no big attack in this
one, Bucky.

BW:  These two respect one another's skills and in a lot of ways,
perhaps they fear one another's skills.  Sudakov has that top level MMA
talent, that striking skill that deserves to be feared.  But don't
forget that Sharif is a top flight amateur wrestler - an Olympian - he's
no slouch on the mat either.

[As they draw closer, it's Sharif who goes to the mat first, lunging in
for a double leg takedown...

...but Sudakov shows off the skills learned in his former occupation,
stuffing the takedown and shoving Sharif down to the mat.  With Sharif
struggling against him, Sudakov sidesteps and drives a knee into the
ribcage of the Sultan!]

GM:  Ohh!  Sudakov with a great counter to the takedown there.  And
that's the Mixed Martial Arts skill, Bucky, that you mentioned.

BW:  That's exactly what it is.  He's not going to get down on the mat
and grapple with Sharif.  If the Sultan wants him down, he's going to
have to get creative.

[Sharif backs off, wincing as he grabs at his ribs.  Sudakov nods his
head, pacing back and forth a bit as he waits to see what's next.  This
time, the Russian decides to take the attack towards Sharif.]

GM:  Sudakov edging closer... looking to cut the ring off...

[The Russian sidesteps, trying to keep Sharif in the corner...

...and then rushes forward, bullying Sharif into the buckles.  Sudakov
grabs the top rope, rapidly throwing three snapping body kicks to the
ribcage.  He backs off, squaring up with his fists clenched.]

GM:  Look out here!

[But before he can throw a blow, Sharif ducks down, lunging in quickly
to grab both legs and yanks them out from under Sudakov, taking the
Russian down to his back on the canvas.]

GM:  Nice doubleleg by the man from Iran...

[Sudakov scrambles, trying to get back to an advantageous position but
Sharif hooks him around the waist, rolling him back onto his shoulders
as the referee hits the canvas.]

GM:  One!  Two!  But Sudakov rolls back the other way!

[With Sudakov on his side and Sharif clinging to his back, the Russian
grabs the wrists of Sharif, trying to pry his grip apart.]

BW:  Down on the mat, this may come down to a battle of wrist strength. 
Is Sharif's grip stronger than Sudakov's ability to break the grip?

[A few moments follow as they test that struggle...

...and then Sudakov gives up, simply lashing backwards with an elbow
that catches Sharif squarely on the ear.]

GM:  Oof!

[Sudakov tries for another elbow but this time Sharif tucks his head in
close to the shoulderblades, avoiding the strike.  The Russian struggles
to crawl away, rolling to his stomach where Sharif promptly releases the
hold, spinning across the Russian's wide back and ending up with a front
facelock sunk in.]

GM:  Nice transition by Sharif and-

[Sudakov promptly pulls guard, dropping to his back and wrapping his
legs around the waist of the Sultan.  Sharif looks puzzled for a moment,
not knowing what to do next but a sharp right hand from the bottom seems
to wake him up.  He returns fire with a right hand of his own...

...which is exactly what Sudakov was hoping for as he grabs Sharif by
the wrist, flinging his legs up to form a figure four around the head
and neck of Sharif!]

BW:  Triangle choke!  Watch out for the triangle!

[Outside the ring, Adrian Bathwaite is shouting the same thing as Sharif
wriggles like crazy to slip out of the hold before it is applied,
pushing back to his feet...

...where he promptly complains to the official about the attempted
submission.]

GM:  What's he babbling on about now?

BW:  He's telling the referee that Sudakov attempted to sink in a choke.

GM:  It's true but I believe that is an arterial choke as opposed to a
trachea choke.  It's similar to your standard sleeperhold in that
respect, right, Bucky?

BW:  Uhh, yeah... sure.  You've been hanging out with Dane too much.

[Sudakov slides back up to his feet, eyeing Sharif from across the ring.
 The two men nod to one another in a possible show of respect before
sliding out of their corners...]

GM:  Collar and elbow tieup - straight up pro wrestling now...

[Sharif promptly grabs a gutwrench on Sudakov, hoisting him off the mat
and taking him down with a quick suplex-style throw.]

BW:  Oh yeah!  Look at the technique on that!

[Sharif pops up, striking a double bicep pose for the crowd...

...and failing to notice Kolya Sudakov getting to his feet behind him.]

GM:  SUDAKOV IS UP!!

[As the Sultan turns around, Sudakov cranks the right arm back, looking
to separate Sharif's head from his shoulders...

...but Sharif promptly hits the mat, rolling out to the floor to the
side of Adrian Bathwaite who angrily shouts at the official.]

GM:  Kolya Sudakov had the Sickle ready and waiting for Sharif right
there.  If the Sultan wasn't so quick on his feet, this one would be
over right now, Bucky.

BW:  The Sickle is the most dangerous quick-strike weapon in this
matchup.  It's the one thing that Sultan Azam Sharif MUST avoid at all
times.  If you get hit with that, your night is over.

[Bathwaite and Sharif huddle up on the floor...

...which allows Sudakov to reach through the ropes, grabbing both men by
the heads and CRACKING their skulls together to a big cheer from the
crowd!]

BW:  Ohhh!  There's no call for that, Gordo!

GM:  Hehe... no, no there's not but I enjoyed seeing it.

[A dazed Sharif catches Bathwaite who is about to fall to the floor.  He
wobbles over to the announce area, sitting him in an unoccupied chair.]

BW:  Adrian... are you alright?

[Bathwaite mumbles something that no soul could possibly understand.]

BW:  Adrian, can you hear me?

CAB:  I... what hit me?

GM:  Your man's own skull.

CAB:  Wha... what are you saying?  Speak the Queen's English, son!

[An angry Sharif climbs back up on the apron, gesturing and shouting
wildly at the official as Sudakov stands in the middle of the ring. 
Sharif finally steps into the ring, looking around frantically at his
still-dazed manager.]

GM:  The match continues...

[Sharif approaches quickly this time, burying a hooked boot into the
ribs of the lunging Sudakov.  A big double axehandle across the back of
the injured neck, knocking the Russian down to a knee.  He promptly
hooks in a front facelock, cranking up on the neck.]

GM:  And Sharif's going right after the neck.  I have to say that I
don't like the looks of this one, Bucky.

CAB: Well, maybe you should, you needle-necked serf!

GM:  Excuse me?

CAB:  Now that the cobwebs are clearing, I've decided to inflict some
culture and class to this place.  You can thank me later; for now, sit
back and watch the Great and Honorable Sultan make short work of this
ingrate.

[Sharif throws a couple forearm smashes across the back of Sudakov as
the Russian struggles up to his feet...

...and simply powers Sharif up off the mat, hurling him a few feet away
and facefirst down to the mat!]

GM:  Big time show of power by Sudakov!  What do you think about that,
Count?

BW:  You don't have to answer that, Adrian.  Just focus on your strategy
for this one.

[As Sharif gets up, all full of bluster, a running shoulderblock knocks
him down to the mat.  He gets right back up, catching a kick to the ribs
from Sudakov who fires him into the ropes...

...and sends Sharif sailing through the air and down to the mat with a
high backdrop!]

GM:  BIIIIIG back bodydrop!

[Sharif gets right back up, ready to keep the fight going, and catches a
haymaker between the eyes that knocks him right back down.]

CAB: That was an illegal closed fist, referee!  Where do they get them
from?  The Perkins School For The Blind?

GM:  I don't think you really want an official that pays more attention.
 It wouldn't really fit into your gameplan.

CAB:  What are you implying?

GM:  That Sharif doesn't stand a chance if he doesn't cheat his tail off
against the former National Champion.

[Sharif gets up, spots the Sickle ready again...

...and rolls to the floor to the jeers of the crowd.]

GM:  Sultan Azam Sharif is certainly not the most popular man in the
AWA.

CAB: This man is the greatest wrestler alive!  Americans don't
understand the natural order.  He was born blooded; born superior to
you.  All these dirt farmers owe him their respect and unquestioned
subservience.  And listen to them bleat! They're not human; they're
sheeple!

GM:  How DARE you insult the AWA fans like that?

[Having had enough of Sharif's stalling, Sudakov rolls to the floor,
chasing Sharif around the ring.]

GM:  Kolya's going after him!  The Russian's in hot pursuit!

[Sharif suddenly dives under the bottom rope, Sudakov sliding in after
him...

...and catching a legdrop across the back of the neck!]

GM:  Ohh!  Right on the neck again!

[Sharif promptly hooks a full nelson, moving Sudakov out to the middle
of the ring...]

GM:  A full nelson applied - perhaps trying to soften up the neck some
more...

CAB: That is technical wrestling.  You may be unfamiliar with it, being
American.  So let me put it in familiar terms: it's the stuff Shane
Destiny does that no one understands or appreciates.

GM:  Ha ha.  You're a real riot, Bathwaite.

[Sudakov drags Sharif towards the corner, spinning around and DRIVING
Sharif spinefirst to the buckles!]

GM:  Ohh!  That'll break the hold!

[Sharif grabs on to the top rope, trying to stay on his feet.  The
Russian spins around, grabbing him around the head and neck and HURLING
him out of the corner with a biel throw!]

GM:  OHHH!  PURE!  POWER!

CAB:  It's temporary, I assure you.

GM:  Maybe it would be if you had been plotting strategy with Sharif the
whole night but we know very well that you weren't out here with him
earlier tonight.  Just where were you, Mr. Bathwaite?

CAB: None of your business, Myers!  But if you want to know, Buckworth,
I was in a high level meeting.  The Sultan, bless him, is a sensitive
man and came out here on his own to make amends.  But I want it known
that I apologize for nothing.  I spoke the truth and it made grown men
cry.  Disgusting.  Real men face the things that haunt them; they don't
plug their ears and scream so they don't have to hear about it!  And you
wonder why this country is a cesspool of moral and intellectual decay.

GM:  That's enough out of you!

[As Sudakov delivers a big bodyslam to Sharif, leaping up to land an
elbowdrop to the chest, Bathwaite seems to grow a bit nervous.]

CAB: I can't chat any more, I have managing to do!  *THUMP*

[Bathwaite immediately starts shouting to his man, encouraging him.  And
as Sudakov drags the Sultan off the mat, Sharif promptly rakes the
eyes.]

GM:  Ohh!  He goes to the eyes!

[The referee asks Sharif if he goes to the eyes and much to everyone's
surprise, he says yes, earning a reprimand.]

GM:  Did he just admit to raking the eyes?

BW:  Sure did.  That's a man of honor right there!

[But then he promptly does it again before slamming Sudakov's head into
the top turnbuckle.  As Sudakov stumbles backwards, Sharif hooks him
around the waist and hoists him into the air, dumping him down on the
back of his head and neck!]

GM:  Ohh!  High impact side suplex by Sharif and-

[The crowd explodes in jeers as Sharif mimics applying the Camel
Clutch.]

GM:  He's calling for it, Bucky!  He's calling for the Camel Clutch!

[Sharif moves into position...

...and then stops, shaking his head as he grabs Sudakov by the arm,
dragging him counterclockwise.]

GM:  What is he doing?

BW:  Sharif won't apply the Camel Clutch unless his victim is facing
east, Gordo.  Sudakov was facing the wrong way.

[After moving Sudakov, Sharif starts to settle in once more...

...but Sudakov simply rolls to his back, lashing out with his right foot
up into the jaw of Sharif, knocking him backwards.]

GM:  Ohh!  He took too long and Sudakov made him pay for it!

[The Russian gets to a knee, waiting as Sharif charges him...

...and scoops him up into the air, rotating quickly, and DRIVING Sharif
down to the mat!]

GM:  POWERSLAM!!  POWERSLAM!!

[The former National Champion throws himself into a lateral press,
reaching back to hook a leg.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR- 


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  Shoulder up!  He got the shoulder up in time!

[Sudakov pushes up off the mat, shaking his head as he climbs back to
his feet, slowly backing towards the corner...

...and suddenly the crowd begins jeering wildly.]

GM:  Wait a second!  Wait one second!

[The crowd boos wildly as Ivan Kostovich shows up on the ramp, walking
with purpose in his designer suit down the walkway.]

GM:  Ivan Kostovich!  What in the world is he doing out here?

[Upon reaching the ring, Kostovich pauses...

...and Adrian Bathwaite climbs up on the apron on the opposite side of
the ring, drawing the referee's attention.]

GM:  The ref's distracted and-

[Kostovich suddenly charges down the apron, DRILLING a surprised Sudakov
in the chest with a double axehandle sledge!]

GM:  OHHH!

BW:  RUSSIAN HAMMER!  RUSSIAN HAMMER!

GM:  Sudakov got rocked and-

[And gets dragged down into a small package by Sharif just as the
referee turns around.]

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


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


BW:  Sharif won!  Sharif beat the former National Champion! 

GM:  I can't believe it!  What the heck happened out here?  What in the
world is Ivan Kostovich doing?  Why is he involved with this?  

[Bathwaite and Sharif beat a quick retreat before Sudakov can recover,
joining Kostovich on the ramp.  Bathwaite shares a handshake with
Kostovich as the three man back down the aisle and we fade to black.

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

JD:  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 back up to live action down to ringside where Gordon and
Bucky are standing.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans - it's been one heck of a night here in Dallas,
Texas.  We now know the Elite Eight in the tournament to crown the first
Longhorn Heritage Champion.  We also know a few more pieces of the
SuperClash puzzle.  And in just a few moments, we'll also know exactly
what role Juan Vasquez had in the West Memphis Assassin ploy.

BW:  I know what role he had.  I don't need him to come out here and try
to pull the wool over my eyes, Gordo.  He WAS the Assassin - plain and
simple.

GM:  I'm sure you think-

[Suddenly, the crowd begins to buzz.  Without music, without fanfare,
someone is on their way down the aisle...

...and she doesn't look pleased.]

GM:  Uh oh... Lori Dane is coming out here... Lori Dane who two weeks
ago told Melissa Cannon that she needed to be ready for a fight here
tonight.  We don't have time for-

[Dane reaches ringside, snatching a mic away from the announce desk as
Melissa Cannon rises from her spot at the timekeeper's table.]

LD:  This is what it comes to.  I'm in management in this damn company
and even _I_ can't get women's wrestling any respect.  I requested -
hell, I DEMANDED - time this week to come out here and challenge you
Melissa Cannon to a match...

And when I arrived here tonight?  No time scheduled.

[Dane looks disgusted.]

LD:  And worse off, I was told by other members of management
specifically not to come out here tonight.  I was told there wasn't
enough time to have me out here to talk to you.

[She shakes her head.]

LD:  This is what we're up against, Melissa.  This is why I'm out here
to get in your face again.  

I told you that you had two weeks.  Two weeks to make a decision - the
right decision...

[Dane steps closer.]

LD:  Your time is up, Melissa.  What's your answer?

[Lori offers the mic to her former student who slowly takes it and
begins to speak.]

MC:  Lori, I really appreciate everything you've done for me - back in
Los Angeles and here in Dallas.  I appreciate you going to bat for me
every place you've worked since we met.

But my answer is still no.  I will not wrestle you.

[Lori looks down, shaking her head as she takes the mic back.]

LD:  I was afraid of that.


"SLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!"


[Dane lashes out with an open hand slap, right across the face of
Melissa Cannon, causing Cannon's head to snap back to the side as the
crowd groans with sympathy.]

LD:  I promised you that.  I told you it would happen if you said no.

Now... you get one chance to change your mind.

Because next time?

[Pause.]

LD:  It won't be just a slap.

[Dane smirks.]

LD:  See you in two weeks.

[And she simply turns to walk away, leaving a red-faced Melissa Cannon
behind.]

GM:  I don't understand, Bucky.  What in the world has gotten in to this
young lady?  I've known Lori Dane for a long time and I never thought
I'd see something like this from her.  She's humiliated her former
student time and again... and now she's physically attacked her for the
second time!  

BW:  I've got a better question for you, Gordo - how the heck doesn't
she fight back?

GM:  What?

BW:  Melissa Cannon has been beaten up, verbally smacked around, and
slapped across the face.  Even if she doesn't want to wrestle anymore,
doesn't her damn pride make her at least stand up for herself?  

GM:  I don't... well, Bucky, you may just have a point there.

BW:  Hah!  I knew it!  Even you're speechless.

GM:  I kind of am, yes.  But I'm telling you that-

["They Reminisce over You" by Pete Rock and CL Smooth begins to play
over the PA system as the crowd responds with a HUGE POP!]

GM: Here he comes, the man who will do battle with Stevie Scott for our
sport's greatest prize at SuperClash...J uan Vasquez!

BW: I don't care what they say, Gordo... he was the West Memphis
Assassin! He should be banned from the AWA forever! He shou- WHAT THE
HECK IS THAT!?

[From the entrance way, emerges...The West Memphis Assassin! Or to be
more accurate, a man wearing the Assassin's now infamous mask. However,
it's doubtful the WMA would ever wear a hoodie or even the old school
EMWC Alex Martinez "BURNED!" t-shirt that this guy's wearing. The
faux-Assassin makes his way down to the ring, climbing up to the second
turnbuckle and thrusting his arms into the air to receive the cheers of
the crowd.]

BW: This is a travesty...a sham! A mockery! A traves-sham-mockery!
Vasquez is trying to rub it everyone's faces that he made a fool of us
all!

GM: I'll remind you that the West Memphis Assassin was unmasked and he
was Adam Rogers.

BW: No he wasn't! He was, but...he wasn't! Gah! You know what I mean!

[Inside the ring, the "West Memphis Assassin" has grabbed a microphone.]

"WMA": Hey, Ben...Stevie...I think you might enjoy this.

["The West Memphis Assassin" proceeds to pull off his mask, revealing
the face of...Juan Vasquez! Juan gets a wide-eyed shocked expression on
his face and places his hand over his mouth, gasping in mock shock.]

JV: OH MY STARS AND GARTERS!!! JUAN VASQUEZ WAS UNDERNEATH THE MASK!
JUAN VASQUEZ WAS THE WEST MEMPHIS ASSASSIN ALL ALONG!!!

[Juan stops his Gordon Myers impersonation, drops his head and
chuckles.]

JV: Oh wait...that's right.

[He looks up with a big grin on his face and a hell of a lot of mocking
venom in his voice.]

JV: It was Adam Rogers all along.

[BIG POP! Like a mad scientist that's brought his abomination to life,
Juan throws his head back and laughs diabolically!]

JV: MUAHAHAHAHAHA!

[He looks straight ahead, sighing happily.]

JV: But I made it back, people. It took me months...and sometimes it
seemed like years, but I finally...I _FINALLY_ got another shot at
Stevie Scott...

[The crowd roars at that announcement, as Juan holds up the black and
red mask of the West Memphis Assassin and looks at it with a smirk.]

JV: ...and it was all thanks to this mask.

[Juan balls up the mask and walks over to the ropes, tossing it into the
crowd as several fans battle over the souvenir.]

JV: That mask...and Adam Rogers.

[BIG POP!]

JV: I knew I'd get another shot at Stevie some day. Independence Day was
nice. WarGames was awesome. Watching the Syndicate crumble right before
our eyes is just about as wonderful as it gets! [Pop!] But all of that
still ain't gonna' be as good as what's to come, folks.

I made you that promise that somewhere, somehow...I was gonna' get my
shot and I my chance to put the Southern Syndicate outta' its misery
once and for all.

And I kept my promise!

[Another huge roar from the crowd. Juan nods in approval.]

JV: You wouldn't believe how much planning this took. Even though I got
plenty of friends, even though I got plenty of allies, there was only
one man I could trust to help me get here.

Adam Rogers.

The man I respect as the greatest technical wrestler in all the world...

[Juan then slowly raises his thumb into the air.]

JV: ...and the man that taught me the Assassin's Spike.

[Big Pop!]

JV: The move that's beaten Stevie Scott twice...

[Juan takes his outstretched thumb and slowly swipes it across his
throat to the roars of the crowd.]

JV: ...and the move that's gonna' bring me back the National title at
SuperClash!

[HUGE POP!  But the cheers soon turn to jeers as "Gimme Back My Bullets"
starts up over the PA.  After a moment, "Hotshot" Stevie Scott walks
through the curtain, dressed in a stylish suit with the National Title
belt secured around his waist.  A few feet behind him comes "Agent To
The Stars" Ben Waterson.  Both look less than pleased as they make their
way down the ramp towards the ring.]

GM:  Here comes the National Champion and his manager - who may not be
on the best of terms after Waterson verbally berated his entire stable
after the last Saturday Night Wrestling went off the air.

BW:  Well... I think... uhhh...

GM:  What's the problem?  Can't decide who to suck up to?

[Upon reaching the ring, Waterson steps through the ropes first,
producing a house mic.  Stevie Scott is a step behind, taking his title
belt off to sling it over his shoulder.  He is looking around the
jeering crowd as Waterson begins to speak.]

ATTSBW:  Juan Vasquez...

[Waterson pauses.]

ATTSBW:  I assume that IS what you're calling yourself this week?

[Vasquez smirks at Waterson.]

ATTSBW:  Allow me to make myself very clear when I say...

There is absolutely ZERO chance that you are meeting the National
Champion, Stevie Scott, at SuperClash 2.

[The crowd jeers as Vasquez shakes his head in a "What now?" type of
expression.]

ATTSBW:  You see, Juan... you and Rogers... you pulled a fast one.  I'll
give you that.  This West Memphis Assassin stuff was-

[And then, suddenly, unexpectedly, Stevie Scott grabs the microphone out
of Waterson's hand, drawing a shocked pop from the crowd and a shocked
look from the "Agent to the Stars."

HSS: Ben, with all due respect...

Shut up.

[Another shocked pop, this one louder than the first.  Even Vasquez
looks surprised at what is unfolding.]

HSS: Look, brother, before we deal with _this_ two-bit attention
whore...

[The champion jabs a finger toward Juan before turning it toward his
manager.]

HSS: ...you and I have some business to attend to.

Two Saturdays ago, Ben, I stood in this ring and listened to you run me
down.  Run us _all_ down.  And quite honestly?

I didn't care for it one bit.

[Waterson, over his shock, mouths something back at Stevie.]

HSS: Some things, Ben, should be dealt with in _private_, not in front
of an arena full of fans and ultimately everyone who saw it in the
internet.  But since you and your legendary temper decided to air some
dirty laundry for everyone to see?

[Stevie shrugs.]

HSS: Guess that gives me the right to do the same thing.

I'm not afraid to give credit where credit is due.  I can admit in front
of everyone watching tonight that _that_ man...

[Again, a point at Vasquez.]

HSS: ...and Adam Rogers outsmarted me.  Actually, let me amend that.

They outsmarted _us_.  ALL of us, if you understand what I'm saying.

[Growing more furious by the moment, Waterson yells out "I wasn't in the
ring!  You were!" loud enough to be picked up by the microphone.]

HSS: No, you weren't, Ben.  You weren't.

You weren't the one in the ring who had the match _won_ until the mask
got pulled off the West Memphis Assassin and revealed someone who you
_never_ mentioned in our planning meetings.

You weren't the one who, as a result of _your_ poor planning, took an
Oriental Spike to the throat.  Ever had someone apply that to you, Ben?
It don't feel good, I can tell you that.

[Having walked away from Ben a little bit, Stevie's mic can no longer
pick up Ben's yelling.  But he's still doing it.  And Vasquez,
meanwhile, is grinning from ear to ear.]

HSS: So you want to call us all out...me, Adrian, Calisto...in front of
the world and tell us we're not doing our jobs.  Fine.  I'm the first to
admit that we've been struggling lately.

But brother, before you start passing blame?  You better make sure you
look in the mirror.

You see, we haven't been getting beaten in the ring.  We've been getting
_outsmarted_.  We've been getting out game-planned.  And those failures
fall on the shoulders of one man, and one man only.

_YOU_.

[Yep, he did.  That actually drew a big pop from the crowd.]

HSS:  All along, you've said to trust you.  To trust your planning, your
strategy, your ability to manipulate any situation.  Well, we've done
that.

We trusted you when you wanted to bring in MAMMOTH Mizusawa in a
business transaction, as you called it.  We didn't like it, but we went
along because _you_ said to trust you.  And that fat piece of crap
turned out to be _completely_ worthless to us, like I said he would.

We trusted you when you said you could handle all the friction with the
Rhodes Brothers and Brian Von Braun and the whole associate-full member
nonsense.  And we see where _that_ got us.  Three quality members, who
completely fit the bill of what we were needing, all gone from the
picture.

We trusted you when you said you could handle, as you called them,
"those dumb redneck imbeciles from Arkansas."  And we watched while the
Bishop Boys ended up taking the National Tag Titles from Adrian and
Calisto.

And we trusted you..._I_ trusted you...when you said you had the West
Memphis Assassin business completely under control.

Tell me, Ben...are things currently under control?

[The champion finally pauses, shaking his head.]

HSS: You know, Ben...Brian was right.  He was dead right in what he said
about you.  You're nothing more than a former MMA failure turned pro
wrestling failure.  And if you don't get your head out of your butt and
realize what the _real_ problem in the Southern Syndicate is?

You're going to be a failure as a manager, too.

And all the things we've worked for over the last 18 months?  It'll all
be wasted.  And guys like _this_ clown...

[Another point at Juan.]

HSS: ...will be able to lay claim to _ending_ the Southern Syndicate.

So I'm telling you right now, Ben.  I'm telling Adrian and I'm telling
Calisto...it's time to get our act together....

...and that trash like _THIS_ out of the AWA _we_ built.

[One more motion toward Vasquez with the word "this", and then Stevie
extends the microphone to Waterson.]

ATTSBW:  We apparently may not agree on much these days, champ... but at
least we agree on that.  It IS time for us to get our act together and
deal with people like Vasquez once and for all.  You're exactly right,
Hotshot.

And that's exactly why you won't be facing him at SuperClash!

[More jeers.]

ATTSBW:  You see, Stevie's right about something else.  I NEVER saw
Adam Rogers coming.

[Big cheer!]

ATTSBW:  For all those months that I wondered who was wearing that
mask... all those matches I studied, trying to figure it out... I NEVER
thought it was Adam Rogers.  And the reason for that is quite simple,
isn't it, Vasquez?

[Juan shrugs.]

ATTSBW:  It's because it never was!

[More jeers.  Juan chuckles in response.]

ATTSBW:  Deny it all you want, Vasquez, but we've got proof to back it
up.  Two weeks ago, with Adam Rogers giving this big speech about how
happy he was to help you pull this off - he made a mistake.  This big,
magnificent ploy worthy of the Southern Syndicate had been put in place
and pulled off to perfection.  But in the end, there was ONE mistake.

Adam Rogers said... and I quote...

[Waterson holds up a sheet of paper, reading from it.]

ATTSBW:  "This night means so much to me.  To be able to come back here
for one night to the AWA... blah blah blah."

But you heard the important part.

For one night.

[Vasquez looks a little less pleased now.]

ATTSBW:  In front of the entire AWA, Adam Rogers ADMITTED he had only
been wearing that mask for one night.  And that means someone else had
been wearing it all along - winning matches to get into the Top Ten...
besting opponents to earn a shot at the National Title.

Someone like...

[He points.]

ATTSBW:  You.

[The crowd buzzes with confusion as Vasquez strokes his chin.]

ATTSBW:  And according to my legal team, there's not a judge in the
country who would not grant us an IMMEDIATE injunction against any title
claim you might have!  The match WILL NOT happen at SuperClash!  The
match will NEVER happen!  You will NEVER get another shot at Stevie
Scott.  You will NEVER get another shot at the Southern Syndicate.  And
you will NEVER get another shot at the National Title...

...amigo.

[Waterson is all grins now as Juan slowly raises the mic.]

JV: "Never"?

[Juan chuckles.]

JV: That's an awful long time, Waterson...and I think you should know by
now that as long as I'm in the AWA, there ain't gonna' be anything
that's gonna' stop me from going after the National title _or_ Stevie
Scott. Not you, not the rest of the Southern Syndicate, and sure as hell
not your team of overpriced ambulance chasers!

[Face Pop!]

JV: But that's the key phrase, ain't it?

"As long as I'm in the AWA."

[The crowd quiets down upon hearing that. As a matter of fact, so do
Stevie and Ben Waterson. They seem to know what Juan's about to say, but
no one is quite willing to believe it until the words leave his mouth.]

JV: Enough is enough, boys...I'm through jumpin' through hoops and
playing your little games just to get one last shot at the National
title! Forget your damn lawyers and forget the damn loopholes.

I'm willin' to lay it all on the line right here and now!

[Juan holds up a finger.]

JV: One last title shot between me and Stevie Scott.

SuperClash.

[Ben Waterson screams furiously at Vasquez, but Juan won't let himself
be drowned out as he makes his announcement.]

JV: One last shot.

And if I lose?

[He shakes his head.]

JV: _That's it._

No more rematches.

No more title shots.

[Juan closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath, before staring back at
Waterson and Scott.]

JV: And no more Juan Vasquez.

[Shocked pop! Ben Waterson stops his ranting and raving long enough to
let out a confused "What!?"]

JV: Do you hear me loud and clear, boys??? If I lose at SuperClash,
there ain't nothing left for me here!

I'll quit!

I'll walk away!

[He composes himself.]

JV: I'll leave the AWA forever.

[The crowd is pleading for Juan to reconsider, but he's got his mind all
but made up.]

JV: One more shot.

What do you say?

[Waterson eyes Vasquez for several moments.  He turns to the Hotshot for
a moment who seems to not believe what he just heard.]

ATTSBW:  One more shot? 

[Vasquez nods.]

ATTSBW:  And if you lose... you're gone... for good?

[Another nod.]

ATTSBW:  No more crying?  No more begging?  No more tricks?  

One more shot... and WHEN you lose, you leave the AWA for good?

[One final nod.]

ATTSBW:  Juan Vasquez... 

[Dramatic pause.]

ATTSBW:  We accept!

[The crowd roars with a shocked reaction!]

GM:  OH MY STARS!!  Vasquez is putting it ALL on the line at SuperClash!
 Either he walks out with the National Title around his waist... or he
walks out of the AWA FOREVER!

[Waterson steps aside, leaving the Hotshot and Vasquez to go face to
face, nose to nose in the middle of the ring with the crowd going
absolutely nuts...

...and we fade to black.]