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American Wrestling Alliance 
Proudly Presents 
AWA Saturday Night Wrestling

Live from the Forbes Arena
Atlanta, Georgia
August 14th, 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!"  The shot comes just moments after the Bishop
Boys had retained the National Tag Team Titles over Calisto Dufresne and
Adrian Freeman.  Dufresne is down on the mat when the roaring crowd
starts to buzz at the sight of someone coming through the crowd,
hurdling the barricade, and sliding into the ring...

...where he promptly dives on top of Dufresne, throwing rights and lefts
as quickly as he can!]

GM:  What the-?!  What the-?!

[He pulls Dufresne off the mat, shoving him back into the corner,
pasting him over and over with right hands to the jaw.  Outside the
ring, Ben Waterson is screaming for help!  Adrian Freeman, still dazed
from the dive into the railing, rolls into the ring, charging to help
his partner...

...and eats a right hand of his own, knocking him flat!]

GM:  Freeman gets knocked down as well!

[The man dives on top of Freeman, balling up his fist and raining down
hammerfists into the face, smashing his hand into Freeman's face over
and over and over.  He promptly yanks Freeman off the mat, reaching down
to pull his own belt off...

...and LASHES Freeman across the back with it, sending the Australian
tumbling through the ropes and out to the floor!]

GM:  Oh my stars!

[Turning around, he spots Dufresne down on the mat, begging for mercy...

...and delivers a bone-crunching stomp right to the face!]

GM:  Ohhh!

[He pulls Dufresne to his knees, looping the leather belt around his
throat and tightening it!]

GM:  HE'S CHOKING DUFRESNE!!  HE'S GOT THE BELT AROUND HIS THROAT!!

[Having seen this earlier, AWA officials and arena security waste no
time in hitting the ring, flooding it, and flat-out tackling the
attacker off his feet, knocking him down to the mat and allowing
Dufresne to roll from the ring, the leather belt still hanging around
his neck as he flees alongside his Southern Syndicate
partners-in-crime.]

GM:  Dufresne's running for his life!  

[And after a few moments of being held down, the attacker rises to his
feet so one and all can see him for the first time...

...in a long, long time.]

GM:  TIN CAN RUST!!  TIN CAN RUST IS IN THE RING!!

[The footage cuts ahead a few moments to join TCR at ringside.]

TCR: DUFRESNE!

[The crowd continues to cheer as Rust, allowing him to take a moment to
recover.]

TCR: You're wonderin'... who's going to step up... to fight you next?

[Rust, eyes wide with rage, stares into the camera.]

TCR: You're looking at him... RIGHT HERE!

[The shot of a fired-up Tin Can Rust freezes and then fades away as we
slowly fade to the sounds of "One More Saturday Night" by the Grateful
Dead.

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

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

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

After a moment, we fade away from the cheaply done intro to the interior
of the Forbes Arena in Atlanta, Georgia where over 6,000 fans have
jammed into this building to watch their favorite AWA stars.

The ring sits alone in the middle of the basketball court, thin blue
mats laid out around ringside.  There is a cheap looking metal barricade
set up to separate the fans from the ringside area as well.  Also at
ringside are a pair of tables - one for the timekeeper and one for our
announce duo.

Speaking of which, the camera cuts from the cheering crowd to our
announce team, two men on a mission.  Yo baby, yo baby, yo.

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

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

GM:  Good evening, fans, and welcome to another edition of AWA Saturday
Night Wrestling featuring all the stars of the American Wrestling
Alliance, _the_ major league of professional wrestling.  I am Gordon
Myers alongside my co-host each and every week, Bucky Wilde!  And Bucky,
this is a big night here in Atlanta, Georgia!

BW:  It sure is, Gordo.  There was a lot of hype a couple weeks ago
about super big super-team coming together on stage all at once.  That
ain't got nothin' on what's gonna happen when the team that'll make up
the Southern Syndicate at Battle On The Bayou hits the house tonight,
daddy!

GM:  Ben Waterson has promised those five men will come to the ring
tonight and come together in their fight against the formidable squad
they will face on Labor Day in New Orleans.  But my sources are telling
me he doesn't have them all on the same page yet, Bucky.

BW:  You have sources other than me?

GM:  Of course I do.

BW:  Who are they?  I demand to know.

GM:  In addition, you saw it moments ago - Tin Can Rust returned to the
AWA last time out and has made it very, very clear.  He wants Calisto
Dufresne in the ring in New Orleans.  Will it happen?  We'll find out
tonight!  Plus, former tag team partners collide when Vladimir Velikov
meets Baron Von Klauss!

BW:  And Jack Snyder better have called a priest before the show because
Grant Stone's gonna send him outta here on a slab tonight, daddy!  Tag
that toe!

GM:  Grant Stone versus Jack Snyder in the Lady Luck Challenge and
Snyder is one victory away from a shot at the AWA National Title, Bucky.

BW:  He might as well be a hundred wins away, daddy.  Ain't gonna
happen.

GM:  In addition, we've got-

[The heavy opening guitar chords of "Farewell Ride" by Beck rip through
the arena and all eyes in _this_ town are drawn directly to the
entrance. Since it can mean only one man to these people. Their Hero.
Their Madman. The Former AWA National Champion. 

The Athens _Georgia_ Madman.. ]

[HUUGGEE HOMETOWN POP!]

[The curtains part abruptly and standing before his hometown fans is
noneother than the former Rumble winner himself, Ron Houston. Clad in a
pair of jeans, a plain white t-shirt.. and a big grin from ear to ear.
He slowly paces down towards ringside.. stopping along the way to plunk
his big black cowboy hat down on the head of one of his younger fans.
The big Georgian gives him a big thumbs up and continues to stroll out
towards the ring. A piece of paper in his right hand. He reaches the
ring and slowly climbs the steps, climbing in between the ropes and
walking right over to Gordon Myers who stands in the middle of the
ring.]

GM: Ron.. I think I speak for all the fans here in Atlanta tonight when
I say.. _welcome_.. _home_!

[BOOM! They erupt.]

GM:  Two weeks ago, Ron..

[The chant is deafening and continues to grow.]

GM:  Two weeks ago, Ron..

["HOU-STON!" "HOU-STON!" "HOU-STON!" Over and over again.]

GM:  Two weeks ago, Ron.. you came out here and told Brian Von Braun
that you had a surprise for not just him.. but for the entire Southern
Syndicate. Speculation has run rampant about what it is that you're
going to announce. Internet pundits have barraged the web with theories
for weeks. So I'm gonna get right down to it, Ron.. what is your big
surprise?

[Houston looks around smiling, enjoying the hometown cheers. Enjoying..
if even for this one night.. simply being _home_. He circles around,
collecting the cheers from every direction and throws a big Georgian
fist into the air as a sign of solidarity that doesn't go unnoticed as
the cheers grow louder. He steps back in.]

RH: Lemme start bah sayin' that it sure as hell feels good to be back in
mah hometown. Mah home state. The most wonderful State in this here
Union. Georgia.. ya'll always be home ta the Athens Georgia Madman.. and
it feels real good ta be able to stand here in front of ya'll and tell
ya that. 

[POP!  Houston's face grows more stern.]

RH:  Ah just wish that the new ah'm 'bout ta deliver was a bit more up
ta par with this festive night. 

Ya see.. tonight was _supposed_ ta be 'bout mah homecomin'. It was
supposed ta be mah glorious return ta the greatest state there is. Was
supposed ta be 'bout seein' old friends. Catchin' up on some stories
'bout where our lives have led us over the years. Maybe over a few
beers. But most likely over a _lot_ of beers. 

[POP!]

RH:  And ah had just the stories from the road that ah was lookin'
forward ta sharin' with 'em. While we drank the night away together.
Getting lost in our big beautiful lives that we've all went out ta find.
 

It was supposed to be 'bout reconnectin' with mah family. With mah
_roots_.. a family that has had ta sit by patiently while ah've went out
into the world and explored this career that we call professional
wrestlin'. 

Tonight was supposed ta be a great night, Gordon. 

[Houston looks down at the piece of paper he's holding so tightly in his
right hand, so tight it's practically crumbling between his fingers.]

RH:  Til ah got me a look at this little piece of paper. And.. well..
let's just say that this little piece of paper changed the way this
night was supposed ta go down. 

GM: What's on the paper, Ron?

RH: What's on the paper, old friend..

[Houston sighs deeply.]

RH:  .. is mah stinkin' termination.

[WHAT?! BOOS!]

RH:  Seems that the bosses decided that bah puttin' my hand ta the face
of Brian Von Braun.. by knockin' him cold and allowin' the Syndicate the
luxury of another sweet sweet loss.. ah'd overextended mah boundaries. 

So like.. _THAT_..

[Houston snaps his fingers.]

RH:  .. they took away mah career as a Special Enforcer in AWA. 

[A small "Don't go, Ron" chant begins to build.]

RH:  So without mah job.. without wrestlin' career ta fall back on.. ah
guess that the AWA has determined that they ain't got no room in these
hallways fer ol' Ron Houston. 

[The chant continues to grow.]

RH:  Ah had this whole big surprise planned.. and boy.. it's a doosy.
And then ah got this here letter and.. well.. ah guess things may've
changed just a bit since as a Special Enforcer.. ah ain't allowed 'round
here no more. 

Then again..

[Houston smiles.]

RH:  .. maybe they ain't. 

[Houston leans into the mic as Gordon listens intently.]

RH:  Cause ah _refuse_ ta back down. 

Ah _refuse_ ta abandon all the good people workin' here.. and the good
people like you folks who come ta watch us put on the best this sport
has ta offer. 

Ah've done a lot of soul searchin' lately.. and Broussard.. Sudakov.. 

[Houston swallows hard. Collecting his words. Trying to be the man he
wants to be and spit them out.]

RH:  Ah. Forgive. You. _BOTH_!

As hard as it may be. As much history as the three of us may have. Ah've
been watchin'. Ah've been watchin' and ah've been thinkin' _real_ hard..
and if ya've got the spines ta stand up ta The Syndicate.. if ya've
finally learned the errors of yer ways and managed ta turn yer lives
'round.

Then who am ah ta refuse ta bury an ol' hatchet?

[Houston looks down at the paper in his hand. Pondering the
consequences. He slowly, steadily, begins to the tear the paper into
tiny little pieces.]

RH:  Screw it. 

They ain't mah enemies no more. 

Water under the bridge, boys. 

[POP!]

RH:  And Gordon, while ah may have been _fired_ from mah job here as
Special Enforcer. While they may have surprised ol' Ron Houston with a
bit of news he wasn't expectin'.. 

[Slight smile.]

RH:  They'll have ta drag mah carcass kickin' and screamin' if they
wanna _really_ get The Madman outta the AWA. 

Cause later tonight.. when ya'll least expect it.

[Houston looks the camera dead on.]

RH:  Ah _am_ gonna unveil mah surprise.

And it's gonna shake the AWA down to it's flamin' foundation. 

[Houston turns to walk away. Muttering one final line.]

RH:  _THAT_.. ah promise ya'll. 

[The crowd ROARS for their hometown hero.]

GM: Ladies and gentlemen.. let's go up to the ring for our opening
matchup!

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

MC: Tonight's opening match is scheduled for one fall with a ten-minute
time limit. Introducing first, from Marietta, Georgia, weighing in at
220
pounds, Terry Trick!

[The heavily-mulleted Trick leans against the ropes, bouncing on the
bottom rope and acknowledging the crowd like some kind of hometown
hero. There is a smattering of cheers.]

MC: And his opponent...

[Richard Wagner's "Ride of the Valkyrie" starts to play over the arena
speakers and the crowd is abuzz as a wild-haired man in a glittery red
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 pink cap-sleeved top.]

GM: Bucky, that's... No, it can't be!

[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... MAYHEM!!!

[The name receives a decent-sized pop.]

BW: At 22 years of age, this kid already has three years of
professional wrestling experience under his belt. He's made quite a
name for himself in Florida, Gordo.

GM: And developed quite a reputation, too, Bucky; I heard he STILL
can't find work in Florida.

[Reaching the ringside area, Scott climbs the ring 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 red trunks,
black knee pads and black boots. Mayhem removes his shades, handing
them over to her, as his wild eyes look over his opponent...]

GM: Look out!

[And he charges Terry Trick in the corner, sending Miss Amanda
scrambling out of the ring!]

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

GM: Scott Mayhem caught the Georgia native off his guard before the
bell even rang and now he's laying into him in the corner with a
flurry of kicks and punches!

[The referee tells Mayhem to let Trick out of the corner, but Mayhem
will not listen...]

BW: Referee Mickey Meekly has to literally insert himself and
physically separate the two men.

[Mayhem backs off, but comes charging back in with a running elbow.
Terry Trick staggers out of the corner...]

GM: Atomic drop! Mayhem has a handful of Trick's hair... And runs him
face-first into the top turnbuckle! Come on, ref!

[Referee Meekly admonishes Scott Mayhem for the hairpulling. He backs
off again, and again comes charging towards the corner...]

BW: Signature high knee!

GM: But Terry Trick moved! And now it's Trick's turn to work Scott
Mayhem in the corner... Irish whip! No, reversal... And another
handful of hair brings Terry Trick down to the mat.

[Mayhem proceeds to lay into Trick with a series of stomp, before
heading to a corner and climbing to the top. He waits as Terry Trick
staggers to his feet, then launches himself off the top...]

GM: Double axehandle!

[Mayhem hits the ropes and takes a running leap off the rebound...]

BW: BEE-YOO-TI-FUL leaping kneedrop, daddy!

[Scott Mayhem takes to the top rope again and this time comes off with
a...]

GM: LEG DROP OFF THE TOP ROPE! And the cover's academic now...

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

MC:  Here is your winner...

SCOTT MAYHEM!

["The Ride of the Valkyrie" starts to play as the referee raises
Mayhem's hand in victory. Mayhem looks down on Terry Trick, shaking
his head.]

BW: The Jacksonville Terror is here in the AWA, daddy, and he just won
his debut match with a picture perfect Jacksonville Jam!

GM: And here he comes, Bucky...

[Wild-haired and wild-eyed, Scott Mayhem approaches the announce
position. Gordon Myers, mic in hand, gets up to meet him.]

GM: Scott Mayhem, welcome-

SM: Thank you, Gordon!

GM: And congratulations on a successful debut match here in the AWA-

SM: The AWA, that's right! Oh yes, Gordon, Scott Mayhem is here...
Scotty Scary... Scotty Intensity... The Madness, the Insanity... Is here
in the American Wrestling Alliance, Gordon. Now, the AWA knows insanity.
You've got inmates running wild, running the asylum here, Gordon! So, I
don't know if the AWA can take any more of the Mayhem, but let me assure
you, Gordon, and all the AWA fans, that Scott Mayhem is a changed man.
Now, some of you might know me from my time in Florida and some of you
might have heard stories, Gordon, but that was then. That was before I
met her... [Motions to someone off-camera.]  Come here, babe!

[Miss Amanda, somewhat shyly, approaches. Mayhem pulls her towards him
and wraps an arm around her.]

SM: You see, Gordon, if I'm Tarzan, she's my Jane. She's the beauty to
my beast, and she certainly knows how to tame the savage beast, Gordon!
And with MY conscience standing right here, Gordon, I want you to look
into these eyes... [Points to his wide, crazy eyes.] I want the AWA fans
to look into these eyes. Look into my eyes, Gordon, and see for yourself
that I mean it when I say it and when I say it, you'd better believe it!
And what I'm saying, Gordon, is that I'm here, I'm here to stay and I'm
here to make a fresh start towards a long, successful career here in the
AWA, Gordon. Believe that!

[And with that, Scott Mayhem walks off, pulling Miss Amanda by the hand
behind him.]

GM:  Another promising young star has arrived here in the AWA - Scott
Mayhem and the lovely Miss Amanda.  Fans, don't go away, we'll be right
back!

[Fade to black.

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

"Have you ever dreamed of fame?"

[Cut a little closer.]

"Of glory?"

[A little closer.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Two young students are grappling on the canvas.]

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

You want to wrestle!"

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

And then back up to live action where the announce team is standing at
ringside alongside the manager of the most infamous group in
professional wrestling, "Agent To The Stars" Ben Waterson.]

GM:  Welco-

ATTSBW:  Shaddup, Myers.  No one's interested in what you have to say.

[Myers looks irritated but does indeed stand silent with the mic
outstretched.]

ATTSBW:  I have a huge announcement to make - one that will set the
wrestling world on its collective ear.  It is perhaps the most
disappointing news that the wrestling business has ever faced.

[Waterson looks solemn.]

ATTSBW:  There will be no Southern Syndicate ten man tag here tonight.

[Big cheer!  Waterson looks agitated all over again.]

ATTSBW:  Great, great... that's wonderful.  Cheer, you jackals!

GM:  Can I ask-

[Waterson glares at Myers.]

ATTSBW:  You know why.  I have reached out to both Brian Von Braun and
Louis Matsui during the past two weeks and have had little success
bringing them both to the table.

HOWEVER... I guarantee that before this night ends, I will have all five
members of the Southern Syndicate team for WarGames standing united
inside that ring!  No matter what I have to say... no matter what I have
to do... it will happen.

[Waterson glares long and hard at Myers again.]

ATTSBW:  Consider yourself warned.

[The manager storms away without giving anyone a chance to respond.]

GM:  A very hot-under-the-collar Ben Waterson right there.

BW:  Can you blame him?  The rumors are true!  He still can't get his
team all on the same page and we're just three weeks away from Battle On
The Bayou! 

GM:  He says he'll get them there before the night is over but that
remains to be seen.  Fans, let's go back up to the ring for more action!

[We return to the ring, where Melissa Cannon is standing by with a
muscular, tan fighter in too-tight black shorts.]

MC: The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten-minute
time limit! Introducing first, from Buenas Yerbas, California, weighing
in at 260 pounds... BROCK ROCKFORD!

[The muscleman poses in the ring. “I Won't Back Down” by Tom Petty kicks
in and Pugnacio Supremo rushes out, to some scattered cheers. The short
luchador wears red trunks and a red mask with black eyeholes and
“bruises” painted on. He climbs up to the apron and backflips into the
ring, drawing a round of cheers from the crowd.

MC: And introducing his opponent... from Monterrey, Mexico, and weighing
in at 165 pounds... PUGNACIO SUPREMO!

GM: Pugnacio Supremo turned a lot of heads with his debut a couple of
weeks ago when he went to a time-limit draw with Adrian Freeman, a match
he might have won if it hadn't been for the intervention of Ben
Waterson. Now he gets another chance to prove himself in the AWA ring.

BW: I just don't think this guy has the stature to succeed in America. I
mean, his opponent here is almost 100 pounds heavier than him, and there
are a lot of AWA guys bigger than that.

GM: That's true, but what Pugnacio Supremo lacks in size he makes up for
in speed and guts.

BW: He faces off with someone like MAMMOTH Mizusawa, we just might get
to see those guts.

[The bell rings, and Pugnacio Supremo offers a handshake. Brock Rockford
looks down at him, smirks, and slaps him in the face. He throws a right
hand at Supremo, but the luchador catches it and takes Rockford over
with an armdrag. Rockford gets up again and hits the ropes, going for a
clothesline, but Supremo ducks it and counters with a hiptoss. When
Rockford gets to his feet it's only for a few seconds, as Supremo sends
him head over heels with a monkey flip.]

GM: Brock Rockford must feel like he's in the spin cycle right now.

BW: This is what a guy like Supremo has to do... keep his opponents off
balance with throws like we just saw.

[Brock Rockford pushes himself up to his knees, only to get blasted by a
dropkick to the face. The crowd cheers the rapidfire offense of Pugnacio
Supremo. Supremo leaps to the second rope and then to the top as he
splits his legs and backflips... right into the arms of Brock Rockford.
The muscular wrestler grins as he falls back, delivering a hard
gutbuster to the luchador.]

GM: Supremo might have taken a bit too long on that maneuver, and he got
caught.

BW: I smell a cooked burrito, daddy!

GM: Bucky!

[Rockford scoops up Supremo and slams him to the canvas. He then does a
sloppy standing senton, dropping his 260 pounds across the chest of
Pugnacio Supremo. Brock hooks the leg for the cover.]

GM: One, two – no! Pugnacio Supremo gets the shoulder up.

BW: After all the hype about this kid being tough, it would be
embarassing if that was all it took to put him away.

[Brock Rockford hoists Supremo up on his shoulders again and runs
forward, trying to use the momentum in some kind of slam. We never find
out what, though, as Supremo slides forward and counters with a mid-air
bulldog, using Rockford's own momentum to drive his face into the
canvas. Cheers go up from the AWA faithful.]

GM: Great counter from Supremo! I think our fans are really starting to
get behind the luchador.

BW: All our fans usually get behind is a line at the buffet.

[Supremo flips forward into a koppo kick that drops Brock Rockford to
the canvas. He climbs up to the top rope and pauses a moment to signal
to the fans by rolling his fists. Pugnacio Supremo then jumps off,
elegantly doing a full rotation in mid-air and then coming down in a
hard splash across the chest of Brock Rockford.]

GM: Beautiful, uh, flipping splash maneuver! One, two, three! Pugnacio
Supremo gets the W against Brock Rockford.

BW: Eh. We'll see how he does against tougher competition.

GM: What is it going to take to satisfy you?

[Pugnacio Supremo slides out of the ring and walks to the commentary
booth, slapping a few hands along the way. Gordon Myers gets up to
interview him.]

GM: I'm here with Pugnacio Supremo, who just got his first win in the
AWA. Pugnacio, how are you feeling right now.

PS: I'm feeling great, Gordo! I've been watching the AWA for a long
time, even though I have to fiddle with the, how do you say, rabbit ears
a lot to get it south of the border! Let me tell you, in living colour
the show is even better!

GM: You've been quite successful in your native Mexico, so what's your
plans here in the states?

PS: My plan is the same as it always was, hombre, and the same thing you
saw tonight. Win matches and look great doing it! I don't care who you
guys put in front of me, I'll fight them and give it one hundred
percent! So Jim Watkins, man, give me your toughest guys and I'll show
them why you don't mess with the little guy.

GM: Well, I certainly hope we see more of you in the AWA.

[Supremo leaves, getting more cheers than he did on the way in.]

GM: The AWA continues to bring in the top flight talent from around the
world.  Mexico, Japan, the United Kingdom, Russia - you name it, fans,
and up next, I'm told Jason Dane is standing by with a special guest. 
Jason?

[Cut to the backstage area where Jason Dane stands, microphone in hand,
beside a 20-something kid of average build dressed in singlet and
long-legged tights covered in multi-colored frills.  Grinning, looking
somewhat ... stoned, the kid takes the time to, just now, tie his long,
red and green-streaked hair back in a ponytail.]

JD: Hello AWA fans, Jason Dane here with a newcomer to the American
Wrestling Alliance; "Discount Superstar" Mickey Mercury! Welcome,
Mickey.

[Missing his cue by half a beat, Mickey nods animatedly for a moment
before jumping a little, then leaping into the interview with entirely
too much enthusiasm.]

DSMM: Hey, all-right, JD, STRAIGHT OUTTA NEWTON~!  That's my hometown,
right, Newton, New Jersey.  Also a cookie.

JD: That's ... true.

DSMM: Look, okay, I've been at this since 1997 man, I was fourteen!  Do
you know what it's like to wrestle these big dudes at age fourteen? 
Harsh.  My teachers didn't get me, y'know, and the coach on the
wrestling team was a real jerk.

JD: Uh-huh.

DSMM: Crossbody for the pin!  Then what?  Suspension for fighting.  That
dude didn't know wrestling man.  Lookit me now, BIG TIME AWA superstar! 
Yeah!

[Bemused by the frantic energy being thrown off by Mercury, Jason just
nods, holding the microphone out and waiting.]

DSMM: So, uh, you got any questions for me, broham?

JD: Yes, yes I do.  What are your goals now that you're in the AWA?

DSMM: That's a real real REAL good question.  Uh ... hold on.  It'll
come to me.

*SMACK!*

[Mickey's eyes bug out as a gigantic hand closes over the top of his
head and sends him flying backwards not at all in control of his own
motion.  Mercury abruptly leaves the scene and a HUGE masked man takes
his place.  Black studded bracers on his wrists, long black tights and
boots complete the ensemble.  A reflective skull design is visible on
the front of his mask in the light of the hallway.]

MM (Mystery Man): Alright hoss, where we at?

JD:  Wait a second... who are-

[Dane's words are interrupted as Mickey leaps up from the concrete,
jumping on the back of this mystery man.  Half a foot taller and about
150 pounds heavier, the big guy doesn't budge.  Bracing against Mickey's
repeated forearm shivers, the giant turns, still looking straight at
Jason, and SLAMS himself backwards into the wall, creating a violent
sandwich where Mickey's the meat.  Mick, almost predictably, slumps to
the floor and remains as decoration in the background.]

JD: Good grief!  Mickey, are you okay?

MM: Hey, hey man, don't sweat the kid.  Y'know what they say about
babies; babies bounce.

[Dane looks on in shock, shaking his head at the newcomer.  Raising an
eyebrow (or is he?  The mask makes it tough to tell), the Mystery Man
chuckles lightly.]

MM: Aw, man, you don't even recognize me.  Blink one time and the world
forgets.

[Dane looks puzzled.]

MM: You're really gonna make me say it?  I am hurt, man, I gotta say. 
C'mon, look at me.

[Points at his head.  Dane turns his head slightly, almost studying
him.]

JD:  I don't get it.  Am I supposed to-

[The masked man points to his mask again.]

JD:  Uh, mask?

[Nodding, he holds up two fingers then grabbing him by the lapels, the
masked man forces Jason down onto his knees, then reels back as if to
punch him.  But he pulls up short, instead holding his fist up and
wiggling it, the Mystery Man cocks his head to one side as if to
indicate that this is, actually, a clue.  But Dane is too scared for his
life, eyes clenched as he shakes his head back and forth.]

MM:  Say it.

[Dane rambles, spewing words out of his mouth.]

JD:  Terror!  Masked Terr ... or ... no...

[Pointing at him once, the Mystery Man pulls Jason to his feet, then
helps dust him off with light slaps that nevertheless send shudders
through his body.]

MM: You gonna say it or what?

JD: You're saying you're ... the Masked Menace?

[DING DING DING!  The Menace puts a finger to where his nose probably
exists under his mask.]

JD: But ... no, that's not right.  You're big, but, you're missing
tattoos and you have weird symbols on your shoulders. Heck you're even
too big!

MM (Masked Menace): Hey, thanks man.  I didn't much cotton to the lack
of welcomin' back there man but since you complimented my immensely
awesome physique I won't pay it no never mind.

[Turning from Jason, the Menace departs.]

JD: Wow, uhh... so... the Masked Menace is back!  But... there's no way
that's the Masked Menace.  Right?

[Dane looks really confused now.]

JD:  Back to ringside.]

[Jason slowly creeps towards the still down Mercury as we fade back to
ringside.]

GM:  That's not the Masked Menace!

BW:  Looked like 'im to me, Gordo.  Same mask and everything.

GM:  Well, yes, he had the same mask but that surely doesn't mean that
he's the man who terrorized the AWA for several months back in 2008,
Bucky.  We haven't seen the Masked Menace in well over a year!  Heck,
closer to two!

BW:  Good to have him back though.

GM:  He's not back!  Fans, let's go up to Melissa for some tag team
action!

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

MC: The following tag team contest is set for one fall... introducing
first, at a combined weight of 485 pounds... first, from Atlanta,
Georgia... DUSTY GIBBS!

[A brown-haired man in black trunks raises his arms to the crowd, a
decent cheer for the hometown grappler.]

MC: His tag team partner, from Milwaukee, Wisconsin... TERRY WOLFE!

[A blonde-haired man in red trunks 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.]

MC: And their opponents, at a combined weight of 615 pounds and hailing
from Albuquerque, New Mexico, here are Dave Cooper and 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. .

The team makes its way to the ring, Dave with a serious look on his face
and Eric with a hardened look in his eyes. They reach the ringside area,
where Dave is the first to ascend the ring steps and duck between the
ropes, followed by Eric.]

GM: And we are set for tag team action... Rough N Ready has made it
clear
they want a rematch for the National Tag Team Titles.

BW: And it looks like they are so desperate for it, they're making deals
with Joe Petrow.

GM: Well, I don't know about that... so far, it's only circumstantial
evidence.

BW: Gordon, think about it... first he shows up at the Fourth of July
match, coaching up Cooper... then he shows up two weeks ago to make sure
the Bishops retain the titles. I'd say it goes far beyond
circumstantial.

GM: I honestly don't know what to make of Petrow, Bucky... nonetheless,
we are set to go with tag team action.

[Cooper opts to start against Gibbs, the two locking up collar and
elbow. Cooper backs Gibbs into the corner, then slowly pulls back,
complying with the referee's count.]

GM: Clean break from Cooper... but now a shove from Gibbs!

BW: And one right back at Gibbs! I'm not a fan of Cooper, but that's a
mistake.

[Indeed it is, as Cooper now is hammering away on Gibbs with rights and
lefts, not paying attention to the referee's calls to break cleanly this
time.]

GM: Cooper pounding away on Gibbs.... hiptosses him right out of the
corner!

[As Gibbs leaps up and charges Cooper, the veteran picks up Gibbs and
bodyslams him to the mat. Dragging him off the canvas, he then bends
Gibbs'
arm back in a hammerlock, before slamming him again.]

GM: And Cooper slamming Gibbs down right on his arm... now applying an
armbar!

BW: Cooper going right to work on that arm... just driving the knee
several
times into the shoulder!

GM: Cooper well versed in technical wrestling... Gibbs working his way
to
his feet, but Cooper drives an elbow into the shoulder!

[Cooper puts Gibbs' arm in a hammerlock once more, before scooping him
up
and again bodyslamming him.]

GM: Dusty Gibbs in a world of hurt as Cooper goes to work again... this
time with a Fujiwara armbar!

BW: And look at Cooper just cranking back... but here comes Terry Wolfe!

[Wolfe quickly kicks away at Cooper, but all that does is bring the big
man
of Rough N Ready into the ring.]

GM: And here comes Eric Matthew Somers... a headbutt staggers Wolfe and
then Somers just tosses him out of the ring.

BW: Cooper dragging Gibbs up... but there's a good scientific move from
Gibbs to stop him!

GM: In your mind, it was, but everyone else knows he gouged the eyes!

[Gibbs clamps a side headlock and then drives a few fists to Cooper's
face,
then backs him up into the ropes.]

GM: Gibbs whipping Cooper across the ring... he ducks a clothesline...
and
there's a big lariat from Cooper!

BW: Whoa! Talk about impact from the old man!

[Cooper drags Gibbs up again, tagging in Somers. He holds him from
behind so Somers can deliver a headbutt.]

GM: Somers now the legal man and he's all business.

BW: He's got him by the throat... Wolfe to the rescue!

GM: Wolfe saving his partner again... now he and Gibbs doubling up on
Somers!

[Cooper tries to get into the ring, but the referee cuts him off, as
Gibbs
and Wolfe repeatedly kick Somers in the midsection, then whip him into
the
ropes...

...but as they try for a double clothesline, Somers puts his arms out.]

GM: Look at this... double goozle by Somers!

BW: Gibbs and Wolfe are not having a good night, Gordon!

GM: Double chokeslam! What a display of power!

[Somers then drags Wolfe up and tosses him back through the ropes again.
He
then turns to pull up Gibbs, taking him over with a gutwrench suplex.]

GM: Somers heading to the corner... tags in Cooper.

BW: He sends Gibbs into the ropes... clothesline puts Gibbs down... and
Cooper follows with an elbowdrop!

[Cooper drags Gibbs off the mat and whips him into the ropes, attempting
to
strike with his roaring elbow...

...but Gibbs grabs the ropes to avoid it, then tags in Wolfe.]

GM: And Wolfe sees his first legal action of the night... Cooper charges
him and catches him with a kneelift!

BW: He's sending Wolfe to the ropes... this time he gets the roaring
elbow!

[Cooper is quick to tie up Wolfe's leg in a grapevine, falling back and
applying the pressure, but in comes Gibbs to make the save.]

GM: Gibbs attacking Cooper... Somers in there again!

BW: Waistlock applied... overhead belly to belly!

GM: Wolfe manages to hit Somers from behind... but Cooper caught Wolfe!

[As Gibbs rolls out of the ring and the referee orders Somers out,
Cooper
sends Wolfe into the corner and repeatedly kicks away at his knee,
before
sending him to the mat with a dragon screw legwhip.]

GM: Cooper has Wolfe on the canvas... he has him a figure four leglock!

BW: Wolfe is far from the ropes... but Gibbs isn't far from the ring!

GM: Gibbs kicking Cooper in the ribs to break it up... Somers in again!

[Somers spins Gibbs around, grabbing him by one arm and holding it away,
then cocking his right hand back and driving it straight into the heart
area!]

GM: Heart punch by Somers! Gibbs in a world of hurt!

BW: Cooper's up and hits the roaring elbow on Gibbs... he goes through
the
ropes!

[The referee is putting the five count on Rough N Ready, but Somers pays
him no mind as he grabs Wolfe as Cooper heads to the second rope. As
Somers
lifts Wolfe up in a uranage, Cooper comes off the ropes for the kneedrop
to
the skull.]

GM: Rough Housing! The cover by Cooper... one... two... three!

BW: Well, that may have been a victory for Rough N Ready, but it's gonna
be
a lot harder to beat the Bishop Boys... that is, if they don't get Joe
Petrow to be the ace in the hole!

[Cooper and Somers raise their arms in victory as the decision is
announced.]

MC: Here are your winners, ROUGH N READY!

GM: Again, Bucky, we have no idea what Petrow is up to and if he even
has
any ties with Rough N Ready.

BW: Well, why don't you ask them yourself... because here they come.

[Indeed, Cooper and Somers have left the ring and head over to the
broadcast position.]

GM: Well, Rough N Ready, a very impressive win tonight... but the
question on everyone's mind is this... it's the second time we've seen
Joe Petrow show up for a match involving the Bishop Boys... so just what
is going on here?

DC: What is going on here, Gordon? Well, why don't you ask the Bishop
Boys?

GM: What are you talking about?

DC: Isn't it obvious? The first time Petrow shows up, he's tossing a
chair into the ring, and who is the first person using it? Answer: The
Bishop Boys. Then, two weeks ago, he gets a call from somebody earlier
in the night, then the next thing you know, he's showing up for the
Bishops Boys' match again, this time making sure they keep the titles.
Put the pieces together, Gordon... it's pretty obvious who Petrow is
working for.

BW: Then how come he was shouting your name at the Fourth of July show?

DC: All I can figure is he was there to distract me... I didn't let it
get
to me, but the point is, if anybody is trying to pull the wool over
anyone's eyes, it's Cousin Bo, Cletus Lee and Duane Henry. They know
darn well they've never beaten us in a tag team match, so when we get
our tag team title shot, they find a way to stack the deck against us.
It goes back to what I've been saying all along... the Bishops cannot be
trusted!

GM: So what about a rematch? What will you do then?

[Somers steps forward, indicating he wants to speak.]

EMS: The same thing we do every night, Gordon... we kick rear ends and
take
names. Only the next time around, we'll see to it that whatever those
Bishops come up with to keep the titles away from us, fails.

[WIth that, Dave and Eric depart.]

GM:  Well, Bucky, the Number One contenders seem to think it's the
champs who have employed Joe Petrow.

BW:  Did you expect them to say anything different?  But heck, I don't
even know what's going on now.  I thought I had it all figured out but
Cooper makes sense.  Maybe it IS the Bishops!  Nah, it's Cooper and
Somers.  Well, it could be Cousin Bo.  I'm... I don't know.

GM:  Perhaps we can get an answer from Joe Petrow himself later tonight
but for now, fans, we've gotta take a short break and we'll be right
back with more AWA Saturday Night Wrestling!

[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 where Mark Stegglet is standing
alongside the imposing figure of Ivan Kostovich.  The aged Russian
stands stoic, stroking his salt and pepper goatee as he stares off
camera.]

MS:  Welcome back, fans... and we've got Ivan Kostovich with us here in
Atlanta!  Mr. Kostovich?

[The Russian slowly turns his gaze towards Stegglet.]

MS:  I'd like to get your comments on the return of Kolya Sudakov to the
AWA.

[Kostovich exhales sharply, shaking his head.]

IK:  Sudakov is not cleared to be here.  Sudakov was not granted
permission to return to the United States.  He still has much to learn. 
He still has much to atone for.

MS:  So, you're saying you had no idea he would return at Independence
Day?

IK:  No.  If I had known, I would have stopped him.

MS:  Stopped him?  Stopped him how?

[Kostovich snorts.]

IK:  Young Kolya may have several years on me, Comrade Stegglet, but I
assure you that the power of his Sickle is no match for the power of my
Hammer.

[Suddenly, Vladimir Velikov is on the scene, heavy metal chain slung
over his shoulders.]

VV:  Comrade Kostovich, did you see what I did two weeks ago?

[Kostovich nods shortly.]

VV:  I told you I was not done.  I told you that you did not understand
what I was capable of.

[Kostovich's gaze turns cold.]

VV:  You still do not understand.  I will end Baron Von Klauss tonight. 
I will show him true... Russian... power.  And then I will turn my
attention to my cowardly weak nephew Kolya!

And then... there's the secret weapon.

[Kostovich arches an eyebrow.]

VV:  The secret weapon will turn the balance of power, Comrade
Kostovich.  The secret weapon will put true Russian power back in
control of the AWA - the way it should be.  

Come to the ring with me tonight.  Show a... how you say... united
front... against these cowardly Americans.

[Kostovich shakes his head, leaning over the mic.]

IK:  I am supposed to be impressed?  Why?

Because you attacked a pathetic shell of a man who was not good enough
to associate with you to begin with?  Because you intend to put that man
out to pasture tonight?

[Kostovich smirks.]

IK:  I am not impressed by that, Velikov.  I am not impressed by you.

You take your talk of Russian power... of your nephew... of your secret
weapons.  I care not for any of it.  

Your affairs are no longer my concern, Velikov.  You would be well
advised to take note of that.

[With a chuckle, Kostovich turns his back on Velikov, walking out of
view and leaving a fuming Russian behind.]

MS:  Mr. Velikov?

VV:  He mocks me.  He insults my honor.  He humiliates me.

[Velikov nods.]

VV:  I will show him.  I will show him how wrong he is.

[And this time, it's Velikov who walks out of view, leaving Mark
Stegglet behind.]

MS:  An interesting situation going on between these two Russians and
how about the news that Velikov is going after his nephew Kolya next! 
Let's get back down to ringside!

[We fade back to ringside - more specifically to the ring itself where
Melissa Cannon stands by in the center of the ring, ready to kick off
the next match.]

MC: The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit! Introducing first, weighing in at 217 pounds and hailing
from Los Angeles, California... Johnny Sone!

[A young looking Asian man - maybe nineteen or twenty or so - points his
arms to sky as the crowd gives a very mild reaction. Sone wears a pair
of green and silver wrestling shorts as well as matching boots. His
black hair is cut short and he sports a kept chin beard. While not very
muscular, he's built very solidly.]

GM: Johnny Sone, grandson of the legendary Japanese fighter Takashi Sone
and son of the late famed wrestler and manager Goku Waru, making his AWA
debut tonight.

BW: That's some wrestling bloodline, but we'll have to see if all those
genes can make it cause it's not a given.

GM: Well, he'll surely have a test tonight...

MC: And his opponent, from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania...

[The crowd gets to their feet and cheers as the Hall of Fame wrestler
makes his way out of the entrance as Stabbing Westward's "Save Yourself"
plays.]

MC: MARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRK LAAAAAAAAAAANGSETH!

[Langseth - dressed in a black T-shirt, dark blue baggy track pants, and
black boots - makes his way down the aisle, nodding to the fans as he
passes by. He's got a good energy about him as he goes up the steps and
bounds into the ring.]

GM: For the second show in a row, Mark Langseth has made himself
available to any opponent!

BW: And none of them are the equal to Shane Destiny, so what's the
point? Destiny's a career killer.

GM: The point is to get him to that match, shake off the years long ring
rust.

BW: If his match against Von Klauss was any indication, he's still got
lots to shake off... And really? He can shake it all he wants, daddy -
ain't nothing getting him right for his match at Bash on the Bayou.

GM: Don't discount this man in that match - it would be hard pressed to
find another wrestler whose been more prepared for any match than Mark
Langseth.

[Sone goes over to Langseth and offers a handshake, which Mark accepts
without hesitation. The two wrestlers exchange a couple words and then
separate back to their corners.]

GM: Sone and Langseth with a greeting. I should note that it was Mark
Langseth who helped resurrect the career of Johnny Sone's father, Goku
Waru, in the US market after his days as a wrestler ended in the late
80's. I imagine that there's a bit of admiration still there from the
Sone family.

BW: That bond may be there, Gordo, but I can tell you that Sone's eager
to take a win tonight if can. The admiration'll stop once the bell
sounds.

[And, on cue... 

"DING! DING! DING!"]

GM: There is the bell and the two meet in the ring once again and
Langseth immediately goes into a collar and elbow tieup.

[Sone tries to wriggle out of the tieup, but Langseth gets the advantage
and moves the hold into the corner, releasing and hitting a chop into
the chest of Sone.]

GM: Langseth with a series of chops, blistering the chest of Sone!

[Langseth, after a couple of chops, delivers a kick to the gut to Sone
and then gets Sone in a headlock. As the Hall of Famer goes to charge
for a bulldog, Sone pushes off and delivers a kick of his own that
sounds loudly throughout the arena.]

GM: Oh my! A wicked kick by this youngster, snapping right into the side
of Mark Langseth!

BW: Langseth went to that bulldog a little early yet and he's paying for
it.

[Sone wastes no time as he takes a hold of the pained Langseth from the
back and lifts him up and over his head, bridging into a pin.]

GM: Waistlock Suplex with a bridge! One! Two- No! Mark Langseth kicked
out!

BW: These early holes are exactly what Langseth get into with Shane
Destiny. If he does, it'll be his last match, that's for sure.

[Sone mutters to himself briefly, disappointed with failed bridge. He
drags the dazed Langseth up his feet and whips him hard into the
opposite corner.]

GM: Langseth hits the turnbuckle hard and now it's Sone charging...

[The third generation wrestler very quickly rushes at Langseth and hits
a hard shoulderblock into the sternum, sending Langseth to one knee in
pain.]

GM: Mark Langseth is in danger here as Johnny Sone has taken control of
this match!

[Sone measures the kneeling Langseth and, just as he looks up, delivers
a hard kick to the side of the head, crumpling the former World
Champion.]

GM: Another blistering kick sends Langseth down! Sone with another cover
- one! Two! Thre- no!

[The crowd cheers as Langseth gets his shoulder up just in time. Sone,
again, gets frustrated as he pounds the mat a couple times.]

BW: That had to be on instinct cause Langseth's bell sure was rung
badly, daddy!

GM: Johnny Sone has brought his A-game tonight, trying to score the
upset. But Langseth has always been tough to put away, something Sone's
learning.

[Sone gets up and drags Langseth up with him, pushing him into the
corner. Sone peppers the Pittsburgh native with a couple elbow shots to
the head before letting Langseth stumble out of the corner. Sone then
puts a swift knee to the side of Langseth before lifting him again and
slamming Langseth over into another bridging move.]

GM: He hits the Star of Sone! One! Two! Thre- NO! Another kickout after
the fallaway slam into another bridging attempt.

BW: The Star of Sone, the finishing move that helped his grandfather
dominate so many matches over Japan. The kid's been trained, that's for
sure.

[Sone lets out a gasp as he shakes his head in disappointment. As
Langseth rolls to his side, Sone gets to one knee, still thinking about
another missed opportunity.]

GM: Sone taking some time here. With so much action by him so far, he
might be a little low in the petrol.

BW: I doubt it - the kid looks conditioned. It's his head, not being
able to put away Langseth right now is getting to him.

[Sone finally gets up and moves over to Langseth, who remains on the
mat. As Sone bends down to pick up Langseth, the Hall of Famer surprises
the youngster as he brings him down into a pin attempt of his own.]

GM: Roll up by Langseth! One! Two! Thr- no! Johnny Sone kicks out!

[The crowd lets out a disappointed sound as Langseth bounds to his feet
the same time a surprised Sone rises.]

GM: Both men to their feet and it looks like Langseth's gotten a second
wind.

BW: Sone wasted too much time. Can't give a man of Langseth experience -
and age - any time to recover.

[Langseth shakes his head a bit as the two circle each other. Sone early
attempts to rush in with a clothesline, but Langseth ducks that and
leaps as Sone turns.]

GM: Langseth with a dropkick drops Sone into the corner!

[Langseth follows up with a running knee to the face of the seated Sone,
rocking Sone's head hard. The Hall of Famer quickly gathers up Sone and
gets him in a headlock before rushing to the center.]

GM: Bulldog connects and just like that Mark Langseth's back in control
of this match!

[Langseth gets up and starts stomping away at the ankle of Sone.]

GM: Boot after boots raining down on the leg of Johnny Sone now.

BW: It's well known what Langseth's end game is even going into the
match. It's just hard to avoid that anklelock cause of his resiliency,
he'll get his shot at it eventually.

[Langseth drops a couple knees to the ankle now, each one causing more
and more pain to the younger opponent. Langseth then drops down and
snares up the leg of Sone.]

GM: Langseth now with a single-leg Boston Crab as he works over that
right leg of Johnny Sone.

[Before Langseth can really lock in the hold, though, Sone twists around
and kicks Langseth off with his other leg. However, in the process, Sone
starts to grimace a bit as he gets up.]

GM: Sone escapes, but may have done more damage than the hold would have
done itself.

BW: And you can bet the house that Langseth can tell Sone hurt himself
getting out of that move.

[Sone tries to put on a strong face to hide the pain shooting from his
right ankle as he rises to meet Langseth. The two exchange lefts and
rights with Sone, surprisingly, getting the better of the trade.]

GM: Sone showing some power as he got the better of that punch out,
grabbing a Langseth now in a front facelock and signals to the crowd! We
could see Goku Waru's cradle suplex finisher, the Waru Quake!

[Sone takes a brief moment before trying to hook in the leg, however
that's all that Langseth needed as he hooks Sone's leg, flipping the
youngster down to the mat. Langseth then quickly grabs ahold of Sone's
right foot and locks in his famed finisher.]

GM: Greatness Personified! Langseth has the anklelock in deep! Sone
tries to grab at the ropes, but they're too far!

BW: He's toast, Gordo!

[Sone flails away at the mat in pain and before quickly doing the
inevitable as he taps the mat furiously.]

"DING! DING! DING!"

[Langseth quickly lets go of the hold as the crowd lets out a huge
cheer.]

MC: Here is your winner of the match, by submission...
MARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRK LAAAAAAAAAAANGSETH!

[The ref raises Langseth hand and he nods approvingly before dropping
down to check on Johnny Sone.]

GM: Mark Langseth with another match and another victory by way of the
Greatness Personified.

BW: Another win, but it wasn't smooth. Compare that to Destiny's recent
matches against some of the stronger opponents in the AWA and I still
say that Langseth's got a whole heap of trouble when we get to New
Orleans.

[Langseth helps Johnny Sone up to his feet as the fans continue to
cheer. Sone nods to Langseth as he opens the ropes for the younger
competitor, allowing Sone to gingerly make his way out of the ring.
Langseth follows, but makes a detour over to the broadcast area.]

GM: Mark Langseth joining us here and as my broadcast partner pointed
out, you got the win tonight but it took some time and work to get it
against the much less experienced Johnny Sone. 

[Langseth, dripping with sweat and exhausted, nods.]

ML: The kid... The kid's got talent. I knew that going in having
worked... Worked his father - God rest his soul.

[Langseth pauses, cleraing his throat.]

ML: And he always talked big about him and wow, Johnny gave me all he
had tonight, that's for sure.

GM: But are you at all concerned that you may not be ready going into
your match with Shane Destiny?

[Langseth sort of nods.]

ML: I... I guess, Myers. I mean, am I ever going to be in Shane
Destiny's league when it comes to conditioning or strength right now?

[Langseth shakes his head.]

ML: No, and I know that. But... But like I did tonight, I just have to
make sure I know how to roll with the punch, pick my spot, and
capitalize at the right moment. Myers, I've been doing this now for MANY
years, ok?

[Mark lets out a slight grin.]

ML: I've gotten beaten to a pulp by some of the greatest ever in this
sport... and yet? I've locked each and every one of them in the
Greatness Personified at some point. Shane Destiny? Despite all your
talk?

[Langseth pauses as he addresses the camera.]

ML: You're no better than ANY of those legends I've fought before and
beaten. Now I know, come Labor Day? At the Battle on the Bayou? I'll be
ready... Willing... AND able to lock your ankle up and make you tap out
to the better man... ME!

[Mark Langseth grins wide as he nods to Gordon Myers before makes his
way around the ring and back up the aisle, feeling better about his
impending future.]

GM:  Another victory for Mark Langseth and you can tell he's getting a
little bit of spring in his step as he heads towards that big showdown
with Shane Destiny at Battle On The Bayou, Bucky.

BW:  You can hype up that old wreck all you want, Gordo, but no one's
buyin'.  He's goin' down.

GM:  Let's go back up to the ring for more tag team action!

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

MC:  The following tag team contest is scheduled for one fall with a
fifteen minute time limit.  Introducing first... already in the ring at
this time... the team of Walter Ramsey and Connor Davis!

[Two rather average-looking Joes raise their arms to an otherwise
apathetic crowd.]

MC:  And their opponents...

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

GM: And here comes two men who've had their share of problems with the
Samoan Hit Squad in recent weeks.

BW: Gordo, I saw these two backstage earlier and they were hotter than a
summer night in Georgia! I wouldn't wanna be Ramsey or Davis right now!

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

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

VIOLENCE!  UNNNNNNLIMITED!

[Morton and Haynes burst out through the curtains running, immediately
diving into the ring and make a beeline right for Ramsey and Davis,
raining fists and clubbing forearms on the overmatched duo!]

GM: You weren't kidding, Bucky! Morton and Haynes aren't even waiting
for the bell to ring!

[Haynes roughly tosses Davis out of the ring, following him out to
administer more punishment, just as Morton clobbers Ramsey with a
standing lariat. With Ramsey and Morton alone inside the ring, this is
good enough for the referee, who signals for the bell!]


DING DING!


GM: And the match has officially begun!

BW: At this rate, it's going to officially _end_ any second now!

[Indeed, Morton has already positioned himself in the far-off corner,
having dropped into a three-point stance. On the opposite end of the
ring, a dazed Walter Ramsey slowly gets back to his feet and Morton
explodes out of the corner...]

GM: OHHH! Morton's signature football shoulder tackle nearly sends
Ramsey flying out of the ring!

BW: Never mind that, Gordo...check out what's going on the outside of
the ring!


"CLLLAAAANK!"


GM: Dear lord! Haynes just dropped Connor Davis throat-first across the
guardrail!

[Turning to a near-by camera, Haynes points an angry finger towards the
lens and shouts, "I hope you're watchin', Samoans!" before laying in
some heavy stomps on Davis. Cutting back to the action inside the ring,
Morton has scooped up Ramsey and charges full-speed into the corner!]

GM: Back-first right into the turnbuckles!

BW: He's not done yet!

[Still holding on, Morton turns...and immediately charges full-speed
across the ring, once again slamming Ramsey back-first into the corner!]

GM: Danny Morton is one of the strongest men in our sport and he's
proving it right now, carrying around a 250 lbs. man like a child and
_running_ back and forth across the ring with him!

BW: He's getting bounced around like a pinball in there!

[Finally, quickly spinning around, Morton charges out of the corner and
dives forward..._driving_ down his full body weight onto Ramsey with a
running powerslam!]

GM: OHHH! A devastating powerslam!

BW: That's Morton's patented "Oklahoma Stampede", daddy! It's just as
mean and nasty as it was the day he took it with him to Japan!

GM: This is academic! ONE! TWO! THREE!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


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

[Morton quickly joins Haynes on the outside of the ring, where Haynes
has turned Connor Davis into a fine, quivering mass of flesh. The two
don't wait long, before quickly making their way over to the broadcast
booth.]

GM: Violence Unlimited make quick work out of Connor Davis and Walter
Rams-oh! Here they come!

BW: You take care of this, Gordo!

GM: Gentlemen, congratulations on your...

JH: Save the celebrating for birthdays and bar mitzvahs, Gordon Myers,
'cause this ain't the time for it! The fact is, we got ourselves a
problem. We got ourselves a big, big...frickin' HUGE problem!

[Haynes holds his arms wide apart to emphasize just how "frickin' huge"
this problem is.]

JH: Me and the Professor here were about five seconds away from sending
Bobby Taylor's pipsqueak of a little brother cryin' home back to mama
with a broken neck, when those two  hut-dwelling, canoe-rowing,
fishhead-eating yahoos stuck their noses into _our_ business!

[He shakes his head in disbelief.]

JH: And anyone with half a brain...and I _know_ 'tween the two of'em and
that moron Dallas, they might got half of one combined...but anyone with
_half a brain_ ought ta' know to _never_ stick their nose into our
business!

DM: Samoans...you think you're big? You think you're bad? You think
you're...tough?

[The big Oklahoman rubs his hands together and smiles wide.]

DM: Don't make me laugh, boys! Don't make me laugh!

[He slaps Haynes in the chest.]

DM: You think you're so tough, then prove it! We're standing right here,
aren't we? I know we just had a match, but me and Jack? We're ready to
for another fight!

[Morton puts his dukes up, working himself and the fans into a frenzy.]

DM: COME ON! FIGHT US! RIGHT NOW! SHOW US JUST HOW TOUGH YOU REALLY
ARE!!!

[Haynes places a hand on his tag team partner's shoulder, asking that he
turn the intensity down just a notch.]

JH: Now hold it right there, Danny...maybe those two aren't a buncha'
cowards shakin' in their muumuus. I know there's a slight language
barrier since they're too dang _stoopid_ ta' understand the English
comin' outta' our mouths, so lemme' say it in words that they can
recognize...

OOGA BOOGA!

[For some reason, this draws a cheer from the crowd. However, seeing no
Samoans making their way out, Haynes shrugs.]

JH: Well, I tried. If those _boys_ ain't got the stones ta' accept a
proper challenge, if those _boys_ ain't willing to fight us
man-to-man...

[The smug grin on Haynes' face disappears, dissolving into a serious
expression.]

JH: ...then we're just gonna' have to take the fight _to_ them.

[And with that, Haynes and Morton stalk off camera.]

GM:  Violence Unlimited with some strong, strong words for the Samoan
Hit Squad and when those two teams collide, I would NOT want to be in
the middle of 'em, Bucky.

BW:  Are they gone?

GM:  You're a man of great courage and bravery, Bucky.

BW:  Why, thanks!

GM:  Fans, we'll be right back.

[Fade to black.

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

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

That's right!  You heard me right!

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

August 28th - Mobile, Alabama
September 6th - New Orleans, Louisiana

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

[We fade to black.

...and then come back up to live action where Gordon and Bucky are
standing.]

GM:  Welcome back to AWA Saturday Night Wrestling, fans.  And right now,
we want to give the world an update on the condition of young Eric
Preston.  As you may know, two weeks ago, Preston was scheduled to
compete in the Lady Luck Challenge against Jack Snyder.  However, James
Monosso had other ideas.  Let's take a look at what happened... and then
let's take a look at the aftermath of what happened...

[We fade to footage marked "TWO WEEKS AGO!" where Eric Preston has just
emerged through the curtain in front of his hometown fans.  He is
beaming from ear to ear as he soaks up the roaring cheers of the fans. 
He puts his hands on his hips, grinning as he shakes his head at the
deafening crowd before starting to trot down the aisle.]

GM:  This young man has been waiting for months for this night, Bucky. 
Ever since the AWA announced they'd be coming to Charleston during the
summer tour, Eric Preston has been counting down the days until this
night.

BW:  It's a hell of a thing to perform in front of your hometown fans. 
It's a real special thing.

GM:  Preston taking his time, shaking hands, high-fives all around, some
hugs.  He's got a lot of family and friends in attendance here tonight
and- NO!

[The crowd gasps as James Monosso emerges from the locker room,
barreling over Preston from behind, knocking him down in the aisle on
the barely-padded floor!]

GM:  James Monosso is- get some help out here!

[Right behind Monosso comes Anton Layton and Nenshou, looking on as
Monosso buries boot after boot into the ribs of the downed Preston!]

GM:  Come on, damn it!  This isn't right!

[The madman reaches down, hauling Preston up by the hair...

...where Preston fires off a right hand to the jaw to a big cheer!]

GM:  Yeah!  Get him, kid!

[A second right hand connects before Monosso returns fire, throwing a
knee into the gut of Preston to double him up.  With Preston dazed,
Monosso scoops him up, gorilla pressing him high overhead...]

GM:  What's he doing?! 

[Monosso inches closer to the railing, pushing Preston as high as he can
over his head.]

GM:  NO!  NO!!  STOP HIM!!

[And suddenly, Monosso steps out from under Preston, allowing him to
plummet some nine feet straight down, his exposed throat SLAMMING into
the edge of the steel barricade!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[The shock of the crowd sends the fans into silence as Monosso stands
over Preston who is grabbing his throat, clutching his windpipe and
coughing violently as he rolls around on the floor.]

GM:  He dropped him... good lord...

[The crowd ERUPTS as Brent Maverick and Vernon Riley come tearing down
the aisle towards the ring, meeting the trio in the aisleway.]

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

[With Preston gasping for air, Riley and Maverick put the fists to the
skulls of the hated trio... 

...and within a few moments, Anton Layton is pulling his troops out of
the fire, backing down the aisle as Riley and Maverick drop down
alongside Preston.]

GM:  They got... they got them away but we need... can we get some
medical help out here for Preston?

[The camera zooms in on Preston, now turning a rapidly-reddening shade
of purple as he clutches his own throat, still coughing.  Riley puts a
hand on the young man, trying to steady him as Maverick can be heard
yelling, "GET A DOCTOR!"]

GM:  We'll be... fans, don't go away...

[The shot stays on the scene in the aisle for a long moment, watching as
an AWA medical team and stretcher approaches the downed Preston before
fading to black.

And then back up on what appears to be the backstage area of an arena, a
graphic reading "UNAIRED FOOTAGE" displays in the bottom right-hand
corner of the screen.  Among the several figures in the picture, most of
which currently have their backs to the camera as the cameraman is doing
all he can to keep up, are Vernon Riley and Brent Maverick.  They stand
on each side of another individual being hurried down the hallway on a
gurney - that man is, of course, Eric Preston.

The sounds of yelling voices fill the scenario, none of them very
audible above the others.  What is apparent, though, is the urgency and
concern with which every one of those voices is treating it.  The
cameraman moves quickly through an opening to the left of the
now-stopped crowd, getting a clear angle of Preston being loaded onto an
ambulance.  Riley and Maverick stop short of climbing in, leaving that
job instead to three paramedics.

Red tail lights come to life and the sounds of the competing voices are
replaced by the wailing of the siren, as the ambulance slowly pulls out
of the bay.  As it drives off and takes a left turn once it reaches the
opening leading into the parking lot, the two veterans exchange a
glance...

...and as if they know exactly what the other is thinking, they both
make a beeline through the remainder of the crowd and back down the
hallways from where they came.  The cameraman joins in pursuit, the
camera obviously bouncing up and down with each stride as the television
view shakes with the cadence of his run.

Making a right turn, Maverick and Riley come across what we can assume
is a production assistant, seeing as he looks all of 20 years old. 
Perhaps a bit more roughly than intended, Maverick grabs the kid and
asks him a pointed question.]

BM: WHERE ARE THEY?

[The wide-eyed kid can only shake his head and throw up his arms in the
"I don't know" gesture, leaving Maverick to shove him against the wall
and take off again down the hall, Riley still following behind since the
fat man isn't quite as fast.  The duo reaches another intersection and
takes a left down that hallway, and then come to a quick halt as they
find a closed door.

With a hard kick, Maverick knocks down the door to find an occupied
locker room.  And it's occupants are exactly who Maverick and Riley are
looking for.  Before James Monosso and Anton Layton can react, Maverick
and Riley both tackle them to the ground and start raining flurries of
fists in stereo.  The cameraman enters the room behind them and as his
view improves, we see several familiar AWA faces watching, slack-jawed,
only a few feet behind the action.

Vladimir Velikov.  Johnny Casanova.  Larry Doyle and the Blonde Bombers.
 Shane Taylor.  Mange and the Moonshiners.  Grant Stone.

For a moment, they all watch as if they cannot believe what they're
seeing.  But the moment passes before Riley and Maverick can really
cause much damage, as they all swarm the brawl not to attack, but to
pull Riley and Maverick off of Layton and Monosso.  AWA officials, led
by Jim Watkins, also find their way into the room at the same time and
help pull the irate duo off of their fallen victims before revenge can
be dealt.

It takes a lot of effort, but a struggling Maverick and Riley are
finally pulled away and dragged backward out of the room.  On his way
out, though, the Working Man can clearly be heard yelling at his
long-time enemy and his new ally.]

VR: THIS WHAT YOU WANT, LAYTON?  THIS HOW YOU WANT TO PLAY THE GAME? 
YOUR ASS IS MINE, YOU SICK SON OF A-

[But the last and obvious word of that statement are not heard to the
delight of the AWA's Standards and Practices department, as the door
slams shut on Riley's last word and we cut back to live action where
Gordon and Bucky are at ringside.]

GM:  A very volatile situation right there, Bucky.

BW:  Well, Riley and Maverick talked a big game about them not being
allies with Preston but when the chips were down, they walked into the
fires of Hell to throw haymakers at the Devil himself and the rest of
his minions.

GM:  We're going to hear from both of those men later tonight but we
will NOT be hearing from Eric Preston.  In fact, the word we are hearing
is that unfortunately, young Eric Preston will be out of action for
several weeks and is in danger of missing Battle On The Bayou
altogether.

BW:  You play with fire - you get burned.  Preston kept ducking Monosso
and well, Monosso is not a man to be denied, Gordo.

GM:  You can say that again.  In fact, he's about to come out here to
compete and how in the world he hasn't been suspended, I'll never know.

BW: Percy Childes has clout, Gordo.  He's got the ear o' some of our
sponsors, an' he's got lawyers up the wazoo.  

GM: And with all of that... why align with a lunatic like Anton Layton? 
What would Layton have to offer him?

BW: Layton's got contacts too.  In fact, ya might say he's got friends
in low places.  REAL low places, if ya get my meanin'.  They ain't
Australian, but they come from the TRUE Land Down Under. 
IfyaknowwhatImean.

GM: It's sick.  Monosso is a maniac, and that maniac is a weapon in the
hands of these evil people.  That weapon needs to be taken out of the
AWA!

BW: Is that what ya want, daddy?  James Monosso... with free time on his
hands?

GM: ...

[Gordon has no answer to that, so Melissa Cannon stops waiting for the
segue and gets the show on the road.

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

BW: If it goes ten minutes, it's because Monosso ate his opponent and
the referee can't figure out how ta rule on that.

MC: Introducing first... from Salt Lake City, Utah... weighing 229
pounds...

    ...RYAN YOON!

[An Asian-American man, clean shaven with long dark brown hair and a
good build, waves to the crowd.  Yoon is wearing loose-fitting
white-and-blue pants, white boots, blue elbow/forearm/wrist pads, and a
pair of blue-tinted shades.]

BW: Oh, look, the kid's Chinese.  The problem with fighting Chinese guys
is that an hour later, you want to beat him up again.

GM:  BUCKY!

[The shrill yet ominous piano piece which is "The Theme From Halloween"
begins to play over the PA.  The fans boo vehemently!]

GM: According to a recent fan poll, Monosso is one of the most hated men
not just in the AWA, but all of wrestling.  Only Stevie Scott and
Calisto Dufrense finished higher in the mid-year rankings amongst AWA
wrestlers.  That might be the biggest travesty of all.

BW: Yeah, cuz somehow Eric Preston's higher in the AWA Top Ten than
Monosso.  Who, you know, cleanly pinned him.

[As Gordon and Bucky banter, the wide-shouldered burly form of James
Monosso slowly emerges from the entranceway.  Clad in his typical
pale-green "PROPERTY OF STATE MENTAL INSTITUTION" T-Shirt over his
black-and-silver singlet, Monosso stalks down the aisle, occasionally
turning to glower at some fan.  A nasty leer is on his face.  

Moving ahead of Monosso during his slow walk down the aisle is the
less-methodical Anton Layton, dragging poor(?) Gino Moretti along behind
him on a leash.  Layton is clad in his black silkish robe with the hood
hanging over much of his face.

Staying behind Monosso, crystal-tipped cane in hand, is Percy Childes. 
Childes is all evil smirks, walking down the aisle in a nice looking
black suit.]

GM: James Monosso does NOT need an entourage!

BW: Need?  Who's talking about NEED?  This is a show of power, Gordo,
nothing more.

GM: Conspicuous by his absence is Nenshou...

BW: Absent?  Are you sure?  He might be anywhere, silently waiting until
you least expect it... then WHAM!  You can ask Vernon Riley all about
that.

[Monosso enters the ring, and commences with his pre-match ritual... of
attacking before the bell.]

GM: Monosso with a blatant before-the-bell attack!  This referee can't
allow him to ignore the rules!

BW: If he has any sense, or any family, he'll do just that.

[*DING*DING*DING*]

GM: Ryan Yoon is already downed, from a brutal haymaker to the solar
plexus and a headbutt, now a series of stomps!  Monosso getting down on
the mat and savagely beating Yoon with right hand after right hand!  The
name on the marquee says "wrestling"... there's no wrestling here!

BW: If you loosely interpret 'wrestling' as 'beating the hell out of
someone'... then yes, this is great wrestling!

GM: The wildman Monosso hearing the jeers from this capacity crowd!  And
look out!  He's distracted!  Monosso exiting the ring... HE'S GOING INTO
THE CROWD!

[Fortunately, Percy Childes and the referee are there to talk him down. 
Monosso has one leg swung over the railing, and is glaring a hole in a
group of college-age young people, who are worked up about it and
jeering him more.

Unfortunately, that means no one's watching Ryan Yoon.  Or Anton
Layton.]

BW: Look, Layton's a generous soul... he's givin' Gino another chance to
do somethin'!

GM: MORETTI IN THE RING, STOMPING YOON!  That should be an automatic
disqualification!

BW: Hey, hey, one thing at a time.  The ref's busy keepin' Monosso from
lowerin' the state DUI rates tonight, because those idiots have GOT to
be drunk if they're still provoking him.

GM: Yoon to his feet, and a nice evasion of Moretti's attempted
clothesline!  SPINNING LEG LARIAT BY RYAN YOON!  A spectacular move and
Gino Moretti is down!

[And Layton has seen enough... he reaches into the ring, grabs the chain
that's still connected to Moretti's collar, and drags him out of the
ring by his neck!  The ex-"Disco Machine" falls to the concrete from the
apron, and the snarling form of his master is upon him, punching and
kicking him for his failure.

At least until Yoon, to whom he was paying no attention at all, slides
under the bottom rope with a baseball slide dropkick to knock Layton
down on his back!  The fans cheer wildly!]

GM: LAYTON IS DOWNED, AND HOW'S THAT FOR JUSTICE!

BW: This kid is officially the dumbest man on Earth.  For each and every
one of his last few minutes on Earth.

GM: Yoon is fired up, and... OH NO!

[Emboldened by his success in embarrassing Layton, Ryan Yoon turns
around to see where Monosso is.  He has only an instant to register
dismay that the answer is "right behind him" before he is smashed in the
side of the head with a wild looping clothesline!]

BW: Turn your back on the psycho.  Smooth move, kid.  You wouldn't
survive five minutes in a horror movie.  And the only difference between
this match and a horror movie is the lack of chicks.

GM: Monosso off the far ropes... WHAT A KNEEDROP!  Good grief, I think
he could have broken his nose, possibly his cheekbone!  Monosso gets the
knee up as high as he can and brings it crashing down!

BW: That's a King Kong Kneedrop, daddy.  This one's over if he wants it.
 But I don't think he wants it.

[The fans jeer as the stringy-haired wild-eyed maniac scoops Ryan Yoon
from the canvas, grabs him by the back of the head and the seat of the
pants, and rams him through the ropes into the ringpost!  Yoon shouts in
pain as his left shoulder hits the post between the top and middle
ropes.  His body sags, leaning on the middle turnbuckle.]

GM: Oh my stars.  This young man has to know what's coming next!  He has
to know that he can't stay there!  He's got to move before...

[* C L A N G ! *]

BW: Before that?  HA HA!

[As the insensiate body of Ryan Yoon flops through the ropes to the
floor, the crowd boos.  Monosso, who had just run down the apron and
kicked the Utah native's head into the ringpost, shows a mirthless grin
as he watches his opponent writhe in agony on the floor.]

GM: I would be very surprised if that wasn't at least a mild concussion.

BW: I'll be more surprised if Layton doesn't make him wish he'd never
tried to be a hero.  Or was never born.

GM: The referee is scolding Monosso, and Anton Layton is storming over
to this young man!  Don't let him do... whatever he's going to do!

BW: I'm pretty sure he ain't gonna just help him up.

[Layton grabs Yoon by the hair and an arm, and the fans scream for the
referee to turn and look.  But it's to no avail, as Layton... helps him
up?]

BW: ...okay.  I woulda lost that bat.

GM: Yoon dazed and confused, watching Layton who has his arms spread
out, insisting he's done nothing wrong!  The referee now looking that
way!

[* S P L A T ! *]

BW: HA HA!  Too bad Yoon wasn't looking where he shoulda been!  Monosso
ran down the apron and stomped his head in!  Knocked him flat on the
floor like he got hit with a giant flyswatter, daddy.  I love that move.

GM: So do Layton and Childes, from the looks of it.  Ryan Yoon has no
chance with all these people here, and I'm not sure what his chances
were anyway.  Monosso is back in the ring... and Layton throws Yoon back
in the ring after him!  He has no business putting his hands on a
competitor!  That should be a disqualification!

BW: Helping a guy get in the ring?  Since when is that a DQ?

GM: He's only looking for Monosso to apply more punishment... and it
doesn't get much more punishing than this!  __SANITY CHECK__!

[As Myers announces the name of the maneuver, Monosso brings his
overmatched opponent to a kneeling position, cups his hands around his
chin in a front facelock, and turns him over into the hangman
neckbreaker.  Leaning forward, lifting Yoon off the canvas, Monosso's
evil grin gets wider as the screaming begins.  The referee calls for the
bell immediately.]

[*DING*DING*DING*]

BW: Yeah, you submit in that hold real quick... unless ya like traction.

GM: Now break the hold!  This young man is finished!

[Yoon's legs flail uselessly as Monosso keeps the Sanity Check locked
on.  Layton drags Moretti into the ring, whips him to the ground, and
steps on his back to get the proper height to punch downwards at Yoon's
ribcage!  The crowd is up in arms as the sadistic madman fires blow
after blow on the helpless youngster!  Percy Childes keeps the referee
distracted (and away from thoughts of reversing the decision) by
inquiring about whether the turnbuckles are within legal parameters.]

BW: Pay attention, kids.  This is what happens when you try to be a big
shot hero and kick a man while he's busy drubbing his slave.

GM: FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE, THEY'RE BREAKING HIS NECK!  THEY'RE BREAKING THIS
KID'S NECK!

[Yoon's legs aren't moving much anymore, and now Layton's pulling down
on him, trying to do just what Gordon said they'd do.  The fans are
horrified...

...but then the cavalry arrives!]

GM: RILEY!  MAVERICK!

[Monosso, Layton, and Yoon all hit the canvas as Brent Maverick barrels
into them from the side, desperately trying to get Yoon on the canvas to
stop the effect of this hold.  The Arizonan piles on top of Monosso as
Riley strides into the ring and boots his hated rival right in the chest
as he stands up!  The crowd erupts as pandemonium has broken loose!]

BW: IT ALL BROKE DOWN NOW, GORDO!

[Riley tosses Layton in the corner and hits the big elbowsmash! 
Layton's body quivers as he flops, stunned, back into the corner. 
Maverick drags Monosso up, and blasts him in the face with a brutal
haymaker!  Riley lunges across the ring with the big elbow on Monosso! 
And...]

BW: Nothing!

GM: RILEY'S ELBOW BARELY FAZED HIM!

[Monosso swings at Riley, who ducks and elbows him again!  This time, he
staggers!  Maverick rushes in with a big lariat, staggering him more! 
And a third elbow from Riley sends Monosso over the top rope, flat on
his back, and skidding five feet away from the ring!  The fans are
loving it!]

GM: THAT ONE DID!

BW: Two on one, daddy!  Two on one!

GM: And I think perhaps Anton Layton may be about to get some justice
administered onto him as well!

[Riley and Maverick surround Layton, who's back is to the corner.  The
demonic mastermind clenches his fists, grits his teeth, and tells them
to bring it on!  The fans are deafening, as Riley moves in with hate in
his eyes...

...


...and suddenly, a blur flashes by the camera, leaps onto the apron, and
blasts a noxious green spray at Riley's face!]

GM: NO!

BW: NENSHOU!

[But with veteran status comes the perks of experience... the fans'
volume had warned Riley, and he covered his eyes just in time as
Nenshou's mist attack slathers his arms in horrible green toxin!  Layton
bails out of the ring, smirking.  He holds up his thumb and pointer
finger...]

"THAT CLOSE, WORKING MAN!  YOU WERE THAT CLOSE TO YOUR DOOM!"

[Nenshou covers the escape as Layton pulls Monosso away, leading the
retreat!  In moments, the entire unholy alliance is out of there,
leaving an irate Vernon Riley and Brent Maverick in the ring.]

GM: Unbelievable!  It was a trap!  Everything that happened... that
sadist knew Riley would come out!  He planned on it!  He kept Nenshou in
reserve, and positioned himself in just the right spot... had Vern Riley
not heard the fans' reaction and made the assumption when he did, he
would have had poison blown into his eyes!

BW: How close was that, Gordo?  And just think; every time we see Layton
or his guys, there's gonna be another trap set for th' Workin' Man! 
Riley's days are numbered!  There's no way he can keep gettin' lucky
like he just did, daddy.  One of these times, Nenshou's gonna get him. 
An' once is enough!

GM: That's a disturbing thought...

[And speaking of disturbed, but in an entirely different way, Riley and
Maverick approach the broadcast table still fuming over the events that
just took place.  Riley, a bit uncharacteristically, reaches in and
takes the microphone away from Myers.]

VR: Gawdahn, I don't mean to be rude...but I can't take it any more.

Anton Layton...it ain't no secret why you're here.  We've done gone over
the past, the history, all that business.  You're here for me, you're
here for my soul, whatever it is in that nonsense you're babblin'.  And
that's fine.  You and me one more time, I ain't got no problem with
that.

But what in the-

[A red-faced Riley catches himself before needing to employ the WKIK
censors, instead spitting on the ground in disgust.  Disgust!]

VR: You ain't a man any more, Layton.  At least when we tangled before,
you fought your own battles.  You took the fight to me and yeah, you had
your little brainwashed lackeys...but in the end it was you and me in
that old game of human chess.

But now?  Now you wanna hide behind others and worse than that, you try
to take the bread off a man's table by hurtin' him so bad he can't work
in this business any more

You wanna play that game?  You wanna end careers?  Well, daddy...

[Big Vern slaps Maverick on the shoulder.]

VR: We can play that game too!

And it's gonna start and end with the careers of you and your group of
low-lifes you're runnin' with here.

We ain't gonna pick out people at random.  We ain't gonna go after
people mindin' their own business.  We're gonna target YOU, Layton.

We're gonna target YOU, Nenshou.  We're gonna target YOU, Monosso.  And
yes, even YOU, Percy Childes.  'Cause your hands are just as dirty as
the rest of 'em.

This ain't gonna end...

[Riley pauses, letting the buzzing crowd quiet down enough to make sure
his next words are heard loud and clear.]

VR: This ain't gonna end, Layton, until one of us is put out of the
business FOR GOOD.  And if you consider your record against me?

[The Working Man shakes his head.]

VR: The odds ain't in your favor.

[Maverick, who has been glaring at the floor, rubbing his hands together
in almost a Zen state of rage, brings his eyes up to the vamera without
moving his head.]

BM: Some might say I'm a hypocrite for takin' issue with you, Layton. 
Time was not so long ago where I was th' man standin' over th' broken
bodies of folk who got in my way.  Bodies that got took up, carried out,
an' weren't seen no more.  Careers ended.  Lives wrecked.  Yeah.  I done
that, too.

Th' difference is this: th' men I put out weren't no young kids who
didn't have a chance.  Th' men I put out were STARS, Layton.  Veterans! 
Men who'd fought a thousand matches, who could defend themself.  Not no
know-nothin' kid who had nothin' but dreams an' time... dreams an'
time...

[His head tilts upward, nostrils flaring as he seethes with anger.]

BM: But ya know th' funny thing about stealin' a kid's dreams?  About
stealin' a kid's time?  No matter how often ya do it?  Ya never actually
GET any of what ya stole.  You buncha skunk-lipped jackasses ran outta
dreams years ago!  An' when next we meet?

You gonna be all outta time, too!

[With that, Brent stomps off, with Riley following behind.]

GM:  Good grief, fans!  We've gotta take a break!

[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 to the announce team at ringside.]

GM:  We are back LIVE in Hotlanta, fans, and Hotlanta is definitely the
name for it!  This place is rockin' here tonight, Bucky.

BW:  And we're only at the halfway point.  What the heck else is gonna
happen here tonigh-

#REACH OUT AND TOUCH FAITH!#

[MOTHER OF ALL BOOS!]

BW: It's Da Bomb..

GM: Every week, it's the same thing out of you.. let's give it a rest.

BW: ..ahs!

["Personal Jesus" by Depeche Mode continues to attempt to drown out the
boos as the curtains part revealing "Beautiful" Bobby Baldwin and "Love
Machine" Johnny Nova. The platnium blondes are dressed in matching red
sequin robes with sparkling diamonds spewing off the surface. The duo
peruses the audience.. scowling at the jeering AWA fans.]

BW: Here comes Da Calvar..

GM: Enough already with the "Da" 's. 

[Jumping into view is "Da Man with Da Plan".. Larry Doyle. Doyle's
attire matching the Bomber's robes.. pure red.. with a white shirt..
white tie.. a white loafer.. and one big ol' white cowboy boot. Doyle
confidently smirks at the audience.. at their venom.. heck.. he even
points out towards Gordon Meyers and boasts through a simple grin.
Following behind is Crusher Glenn. The four men march down towards the
ring.. Nova and Baldwin sliding in and returning to their feet. Doyle
storms over to Bucky and Gordon and rips a microphone off the table..
returning to ringside and hopping into the ring with Nova and Baldwin.]

LD: Alright.. alright.. alright!

[BOO!]

LD:  You tardos just quiet down already. 

[BOOOO!]

LD:  Here's the scoop, folks. We're tiiiirrreed. It isn't _easy_ being a
bomber, bay-bee! Week in and week out.. we come out here.. we woooo the
world. We give _each_ and _every_ one of you the reason.. the
_mo-ti-vation_.. that you need to crawl out of bed and continue about
your morose lives. 

We _inspire_ you. 

We inspire.. the _WORLD_. 

[Doyle paces back and for behind the confident Bombers.]

LD:  And what do _weeeeeeee_ get out of it? Money? Flocks and flocks of
women? An adoring universe ready to bestow upon us any sweet little
thing that our little hearts desire? 

[Doyle wags a single index finger back and forth furiously.]

LD:  Not. Enough. For us!

You see.. we don't need _money_. 

[Huh?]

LD:  We don't need the flocks and flocks of adoring women.

[This can't possibly be the Larry Doyle we know.]

LD:  We don't even need a world eating out of our hand.

[The entire arena is pretty sure we've lost Larry Doyle.]

LD:  All _weeeeeee_ need is Scotty Storm.. and Marty Morgan.. in this
very ring.. twitching uncontrollably on the mat before our feet. 

[There he is! Boos!]

LD:  All _weeeee_ need is to put them in that golden wheelchair I've got
sitting back at the Doyle Estate.. just _itching_ to be rolled into some
fleabag bar, club, or wherever the heck it is that two twits like Morgan
and Storm spend their "all soon to be _ample_" free time. 

[The arena continues to boo as Doyle stares around.. months worth of fan
hatred brimming to the surface as the immediately unlikable Doyle stares
around in disgust.]

LD:  My _god_ are we sick of you people.

[The crowd jeers louder. Nova and Baldwin slamming the ropes in
frustration as Doyle just continues to stare at the audience with a
sneer.]

LD:  We're so sick of you, in fact..

[Doyle pauses as they continue to receive a less than desirable
response.]

LD:  .. that we're not even going to dignify you with our presence for
the rest of the night.

We were going to put on yet another _dynamic_ exhibition of our talents.
But..

[Doyle waves Storm and Morgan towards the ropes. The two men exiting as
Doyle follows suit.]

LD:  .. I don't think so.

We'll see you idiots in two weeks.

#REACH OUT AND TOUCH FAITH#

[Doyle drops the mic and follows after Nova, Baldwin, and Glenn.. who
are halfway towards the back when suddenly the crowd ERUPTS!]

GM:  It's the Rockstar Express!

[It sure is - dragging poor Mark Stegglet with them, house mic in hand.]

MM:  Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa.... WHOOOOA!

[Big cheer!  Huh?]

MM:  You best hold up just one second now, Doyle.  

You just made our night.

[Doyle looks confused.]

MM:  You know, Scotty and I, we've been stayin' up nights thinkin' and
ponderin' and we were really down, I gotta say.  We just didn't know
what we were gonna do.

[Now everyone's confused.]

MM:  I mean, as much as we dislike you and your band of misfit toys down
there with ya, we didn't want to completely ruin your lives comin' up in
New Orleans...

[Marty winks to the camera.]

MM:  Just partially.

[Big cheer!]

MM:  But now, now we've heard all this big ol' list of things y'all
don't need and we're feelin' better already.  See... 

[Morgan holds up a finger.  Not that one.]

MM:  You don't need money.

[Morgan turns to his partner who wipes his brow, grabbing the mic.]

SS:  That's real good, Larry, because when we're done with ya at Battle
On The Bayou, you won't be cashin' the winner's side of the purse, baby.
 We will.

[Big cheer!  Morgan takes the mic and holds up another finger.  Still
not that one.]

MM:  You don't need... what was it... flocks and flocks of adoring
women?

[Scotty leans in again.]

SS:  That's good to hear, Larry, because we were worried just what in
the world you and your boys were gonna have left for ya when the
Rockstar Express comes rollin' into New Orleans and all the ladies come
a-runnin'!

[Big cheer from the women!  Morgan lifts one more finger.  Nope.]

MM:  And you don't need the world eating out of your hands.

[Scotty leans in.]

SS:  Fantastic news, Larry, because from the looks of you, if there was
food to be had in your hands, you'd have it buried down your fat gullet
before anyone else could grab a nibble.

[HUGE CHEER!  Doyle looks fit to be tied at this point.]

MM:  So, you see, Larry... we were really worried about depriving you of
all the things we thought you'd need... but since it's just one thing
you actually need.

SS:  And that'd be us... writhing in pain and in a golden wheelchair...

MM:  We don't feel so bad of depriving you of THAT!  Because when it's
all said and done on the Bayou, it's gonna be the Rockstar Express -
Scotty and Marty - runnin' hotter than Georgia asphalt all over the four
of ya.  We're gonna rock and roll, strut and stroll, and there ain't
gonna be nothin' you can do 'bout it when you're starin' up at those
pretty little lights and we're hittin' the pay window before hittin' the
town runnin'.  Whooo!

[And the Rockstars exchange a high-five before walking backstage to the
roaring cheers of the crowd.]

GM:  Larry Doyle is livid!  He's furious!

BW:  They stole his spotlight!  Those punks!

GM:  The Rockstar Express are comin' to New Orleans and they're lookin'
to put down the Blonde Bombers once and for all!  Fans, let's go
backstage where Mark Stegglet is standing by!

[Backstage, Mark Stegglet is talking to ‘Playboy’ Johnny Casanova,
who’s lacking the blonde companion we saw with him last time.]

MS: Johnny, last time you were here, I could barely tell where you ended
and Big Mama begun. Today, she’s not with you – what gives?

JC: Well, Mister Stegglet, ya gotta realise this. There are many, many,
many women in the world of professional wrestling. Some of them have got
beauty. Some of them have got brains. But my sweet little pumpkin, she’s
the full package, daddy-o!

MS: And she’s not with you because?

JC: Well, my friend, seems that Johnny C’s introduction to the AWA had
even more of an impact than I thought. Because, not only have I been
flooded – flooded, I’m telling ya! – with applications for membership of
the Casaholics fan club, not only have I had people desperately trying
to get signed photographs of the Playboy, but also…

The Playboy has had an offer.

An intriguing offer, to say the least. I ain’t gonna say who it’s from,
because he’s a very private man, and I don’t want ta break his
confidentiality. But rest assured, he’s someone who tells me he can help
us get back to the top where we belong.

Many wide-eyed rookies, without my experience, would have snapped that
offer up straight away. They’d have signed their lives away, without
even thinking about it.

[He shakes his head.]

JC: But not the Playboy. No, Johnny C has got too many brains for that.
So, my baby doll, she’s doing a little research, helping me figure out
whether this guy would have my best interests at heart.

Meanwhile, I’m on my way out there, and I’m gonna give this kid Tommy
Allen a wrestling lesson he’ll never forget.

MS: The same way you beat Thunder Misterioso last week? Or, this time,
will you manage it without cheating?

[Casanova shrugs.]

JC: Ya read the title histories in your Mid-South Wrestling annuals
lately, Mister Stegglet? Ya looked at the ‘Achievements’ section of
Stevie Scott’s biography? They don’t mention how people win matches. 
Just that they do.

And ya know why, Mister Stegglet? At the end of the day, no-one cares. 
Sure, the fans out there will whine for five minutes about me using a
chain, Gordon Myers will talk about what a dirty, low-down dog I am –
but I’m the one who’s gonna walk out of here with a two and oh record.

And watch the interest in the Playboy shoot up even further then.

Now, excuse me, Mister Stegglet. I’ve got a match to win.

[Back to ringside.]

MC:  Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one
fall with a ten minute time limit.  Introducing first... already in the
ring at this time... from right here in Atlanta, Georgia… weighing in at
225 pounds… Terry Allen!

[Cheers from the fans for the hometown guy, especially those near the
front. Allen smiles and jumps on the turnbuckles, playing to the crowd.]

MC: And his opponent, from Hollywood, California! Weighing in at 205
pounds… ‘Playboy’ Johnny Casanova!

[Robert Palmer’s ‘Addicted To Love’ kicks in, and Johnny Casanova
strides out confidently, fans booing him slightly.]

GM: Johnny Casanova alone this week, with Big Mama apparently
researching an offer the pair have been made. Any ideas what that’s
about, Bucky?

BW: Your guess is as good as mine, Gordon. After a debut like
Casanova’s, there could be any number of people interested in him!

[Casanova has offered his hand to youngster Terry Allen, who ignores it.
Casanova is getting irate here, demanding the rookie shakes his hand.]

GM: Well, looks like Terry Allen has done his scouting here, he’s not
keen on shaking hands with Casanova after seeing the Playboy attack
Thunder Misterioso last week at the start of the match.

BW: It’s just a lack of class, Gordon. Terry Allen should be honored to
shake hands with a legend like Casanova.

[And, apparently, he is, because he extends his own hand to meet
Casanova’s.]

GM: I have to question the young man’s ring smarts, here.

[As Myers seems to be expecting, Casanova immediately swings for Terry
Allen – who ducks, popping up behind Johnny C and getting a knee to
the back!]

GM: Or maybe I don’t! Great scouting by Terry Allen!

BW: A complete lack of respect, you mean!

[Casanova turns around and immediately gets hit by a chop to the chest
from Allen, only to respond with one of his own. Another from Allen –
and the same from Casanova! The two exchange blows for a few moments,
before Casanova grabs his opponent and hurls him to the ropes, then hip
tosses him across the ring.]

GM: Nice hip toss there from the Playboy.

BW: Look at the way he hurled Allen across the ring there! Can you
believe there’s that much power in a 205 pounder?

GM: I certainly can’t.

[Allen is up, though, and charges at Casanova, but the wily veteran
slips out of the way and lets Allen smash hard into the turnbuckles,
before grabbing him on his way out with a big belly to back suplex. 
Allen is down and hurting, and Casanova drops to his knees by him and
starts choking him against the bottom rope.]

GM: Blatant cheating there by Casanova!

BW: No way, Gordon. The ref’s counting – he gets to 4 – and Casanova
lets go. Perfectly legal as long as he breaks it.

[The referee isn’t happy, and is admonishing Casanova, who shrugs.]

GM: Allen climbing to his feet, and Casanova’s going for that discus
punch we saw last week – but this time WITHOUT the chain!

[He lands it, then turns to the crowd to show off.]

BW: Nice punch, Johnny!

GM: Maybe not! Allen is straight back up, and Casanova hasn’t noticed!

[Casanova turns around straight into a dropkick, which puts him down,
then Terry Allen hits a quick legdrop. The Playboy rolls out of the ring
to get a breather.]

GM: Casanova’s running scared, Bucky!

BW: I beg to differ, Gordon. The Playboy is just regrouping – remember
he’s not used to wrestling without Big Mama’s moral support.

[He’s not given time to regroup, anyway, as Allen immediately jumps down
and runs after Casanova. The Playboy doesn’t seem to want any part of
him, and scurries back into the ring, then begs off when Allen follows
him.]

GM: Casanova on his knees here, and… oh! Eye gouge from the Playboy, as
Terry Allen moves in on him!

BW: You gotta love it, Gordon!

[Casanova follows up with a drop toe hold, putting Allen in the corner.
With Allen slumped against the ropes, Casanova repeatedly facewashes him
with the sole of his boot, before charging in with a running knee.]

BW: Casanova pulling his opponent to his feet here, and here it comes –
the Playboy Plunge! Double underhook facebuster will be all she wrote
for Allen!

GM: One, two, three – you’re right, Bucky.

MC: YOUR WINNER… JOHNNY CASANOVA!

[Casanova rolls off the downed Allen, popping up to his feet and
ordering the referee to raise his hand.  Meekly reluctantly does so,
pointing to the victorious "Playboy" as he struts around the ring,
taunting the ringside fans as we fade back to ringside where Gordon and
Bucky are standing, now having been joined by Brian Von Braun.  Von
Braun is wearing a pair of black cargo pants, a black t-shirt with an
emaciated smiley face wrapped in barbed wire, and a pair of sunglasses. 
His skull-headed cane in his hand.]

GM:  Last week, Brian, you showed your true colors to the wrestling
world.

[BVB shakes his head as the left corner of his mouth twists into a
curl.]

GM:  What was the purpose of all that?

BVB:  He slapped me.

[Myers rolls his eyes in disgust.]

GM:  And the injured neck?

BVB:  Miracle of modern medicine.  I became all better the moment that
rookie slapped me.  The body has amazing regenerative powers when
you're angered.

[Gordon goes to ask another question, but he's cut off by BVB.]

BVB:  You don't want to know about all that, Gordon.  What you and the
rest of y'all want to know is Ron Houston and this War Games match
coming up at Brawl on the Bayou.  Let me answer those questions and
save myself some time.

[BVB looks at the camera.]

BVB:  You wanted the attention of the Rocket City Badboy, Ron?  You
got it.  I don't care that you're a Special Enforcer.  I ain't got no
shame when it comes to beating up a cripple.    I'm going to be
on-hand in New Orleans in order to get my hands on you.  'Cause I know
[points his cane at the camera] you.

[He nods.]

BVB:  Yeah, you're gonna be the Special Enforcer in that War Games
match, and I'm gonna make my way down to the ringside area during the
match.  I'm not only going to beat you, Ron.  I'm going to hurt you
all over again.  When you come back to seek sympathy from these fans?

[BVB chuckles as he finishes motioning to the crowd by moving his cane
in an arc.]

BVB:  I'm going come out and beat all over again, Peach.

GM:  You're not in the War Games match?  It's official?

[BVB lowers his sunglasses to the bridge of his nose and looks at
Gordon Myers for a second.]

BVB:  It was official the first time it came out of my mouth, Gordon.
Ben Waterson ain't made a deal with me.  I ain't in the War Games
match.  I wish him all the luck in finding a replacement for me at the
eleventh hour.

[And with that, a fairly annoyed "Agent To The Stars" makes his way
through
the curtain, heading down towards the ringside area when Von Braun is
standing with the announcers.

But not surprisingly, Ben Waterson is not alone.

However, what is slightly surprising is his choice of partner-in-crime,
Adrian Freeman.  Both men walk quickly down to the ring, Waterson
positioning himself near the mic.]

ATTSBW:  Look, Brian... I get the point.

[Von Braun chuckles, shaking his head.]

BVB:  Nah, I really don't think you do.

[Waterson raises his hands.]

ATTSBW:  I do, I do!  You think I - WE - have been taking you for
granted.
You feel like we don't value what you bring to the table as an associate
of the Southern Syndicate.  But we do, Brian.  We truly do.

I want you to succeed in the AWA.  I want you to be the best.  If I
didn't,
I never would have let you be an associate to begin with!  If I
didn't, I wouldn't have put you on that team at Independence Day to get
a chance to share in the glory with the most elite unit in our sport.

[Waterson nods his head solemnly.]

ATTSBW:  And I'll admit it, Brian.  You've been there when we've needed
you.  Time after time, you've come through for the Southern Syndicate. 
For
Stevie, for Calisto and Adrian here, and for myself.  You've been
through a lot with us and we appreciate it.  Ipromise you that.

Now, that's why I KNOW you're going to come around on this and when that
big double cage goes up down on the Bayou, you're going to be standing
right there alongside us.  I know it.

Right?

[Waterson offers the mic back to Von Braun, obviously hoping to have
persuaded him.

Von Braun takes the mic and then uses the same hand to push his
sunglasses to the top of his head to rest.  He nods and smiles
broadly, using his cane to lightly tap Waterson on the shoulder.]

BVB:  You said, "I'll handle, Brian" right?

[BVB continues to nod and smile.  Waterson nods and smiles in return,
not really sure of what's going on.

BVB drops the smile in the blink of an eye, his eyes wide.  Waterson's
smile disappears.]

BVB:  No one can handle me, Ben.  What you just said only proves you
weren't listening.

[He steps forward towards Waterson.]

BVB:  I _told_ you what you'd have to do in order to get me on that
team, Ben.  Buttering me up wasn't what I wanted.  So my answer is
still n...

[Before BVB can finish the word, Freeman puts his hand over the mic.]

AF:  Enough of this.

[Freeman glares at both men, looking back and forth coldly.]

AF:  The Southern Syndicate is the elite in this business - the dominant
force in this sport.  You know how we became so dominant?  By acting
like professionals.  By not bickering and infighting like every other
gang of thugs out there.  Now we're attacking each other and airing our
dirty laundry out in public?

This isn't what I signed on for.  This isn't what you've come to expect.

[Freeman points at Waterson.]

AF:  And this isn't why you came to the AWA.

[A point at Von Braun.]

AF:  I think the situation is crystal clear.  You need us as much as we
need you, Brian.  The Syndicate works if everyone pitches in and helps
each other succeed.  Turning on your teammates because you got your
feelings hurt is not how we do things. If you have an issue with that, I
suggest you ask the last guy who put his desires above the group.

[Von Braun is unresponsive.]

AF:  And Ben, I think the way you've treated Brian is a travesty.

[Waterson looks uneasy.]

AF:  You've toyed with him.  Strung him along.  Took advantage of him
like one of these cheap bimbos in the crowd.

[Jeers from the cheap bimbos.]

AF:  There's only one way to settle this for both sides - and you know
it.  Do the right thing for all of us and do it right now.  We need to
settle this before War Games.

[Freeman shoves the mic back to Waterson who looks down for a long, long
moment...

...and then slowly looks up.]

ATTSBW:  You're right.  

Brian Von Braun, it is with the greatest honor and respect that I offer
you what you've had coming to you for a long, long time.

A spot in the Southern Syndicate.

[The crowd buzzes with surprise as Von Braun looks equally as surprised.
 There's no answer at first, Waterson looking on with anticipation as he
waits for a reply.]

BVB:  Well...

[A long pause.]

BVB:  I guess I know what I'm doing on Labor Day.

[A grin crosses his face as he exchanges a hearty handshake with both
Waterson and Freeman.  The crowd jeers the newest member of the Southern
Syndicate as he grins broadly at them.]

ATTSBW:  Hold on, hold on...

[The buzzing picks up again.]

ATTSBW:  Your full membership in the Southern Syndicate is effective
immediately...

However...

[Von Braun looks suspicious.]

ATTSBW:  This agreement becomes null and void if you betray ANY member
of the Southern Syndicate team in WarGames in ANY fashion... and that
includes assaulting the giant.

[Von Braun nods.]

ATTSBW:  AND... you have to agree to come out here later tonight and
publicly apologize to Louis Matsui and MAMMOTH Mizusawa.

[The crowd roars at the assault to Von Braun's ego.  The Rocket City
Badboy bristles, glaring daggers at Waterson.  He seems about to tell
Waterson where he can stick his membership card when Freeman whispers to
him, patting him on the shoulder.  Von Braun glares at Freeman for a
long moment...

...and then nods, sticking out his hand for another handshake.]

BW:  We've got a deal, Gordo!

GM:  Apparently, Brian Von Braun has not only joined the Southern
Syndicate team for WarGames... but he's joined the Southern Syndicate
altogether!  Stevie Scott, Calisto Dufresne, Adrian Freeman, and Brian
Von Braun - good grief, what a unit!  Fans, we'll be right back!

[The crowd is still jeering the trio at ringside as we fade to black.

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

"Have you ever dreamed of fame?"

[Cut a little closer.]

"Of glory?"

[A little closer.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Two young students are grappling on the canvas.]

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

You want to wrestle!"

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

...and then come back up to live action where Gordon and Bucky are
standing at ringside.]

GM: Welcome back, fans.  As you know Bucky, the AWA is always looking
for new and exciting talent, some of which we've already seen tonight.
Our talent scouts go across the United States and abroad looking for
promising talent and our next guest could be just that.
 
BW: Gordo, it doesn’t surprise me at all that AWA - being at the top of
the food chain as it is - is always bringing in the best talent in the
industry today. You look down the roster and you see superstars like
Stevie Scott, Shane Destiny and MAMMOTH Mizusawa, while at the other end
you have promising talent like Eric Preston, the crazy James Monosso and
I’ll even throw in those Rockstar Express idiots, just to prove I’m not
being partial, daddy!  The bottom line is the AWA has the most solid
roster of talent in the sport today and not to mention the best color
commentator in the business bar none!
 
GM: You know how I hate to agree with you, Bucky, but on this you hit
the nail right on the head. But let's not keep the fans waiting any
longer, Bucky. Let me introduce at this time, the newest signing to
American Wrestling Association, give a warm welcome to Wade Kennedy!

[The Atlanta fans show their respect as a lanky framed youngster walks
out into view wearing simple blue jeans, black cowboy boots and a black
t-shirt with ‘AWA’ sprawled across the front. The young man has blonde
hair that is short in the front with the sides and back shoulder length.
Wade has an athletic-lanky build, not yet filling out his 6ft6 frame. He
has that boyish charm to him, he smiles and waves at the crowd before
shaking Gordon and a reluctant Bucky Wilde’s hand. He puts his arm
around Gordon, smiles at Bucky who shakes his head, then puts his arm
around Bucky as well, a big ear to ear grin on his face.]

GM: Wade, welcome to the AWA!

[Wade shakes his head, still smiling ear to ear. Bucky, looks at the arm
that is still draped over his shoulder, in disgust.]

WK: Well Gordon… [pauses and shakes his head again] This is still like a
dream to me to tell you the truth. I keep shaking my head and rubbing my
eyes making sure I’m awake. When you get into wrasslin’ Gordon, this is
where you dream of being. The AWA made my dream come true and I can’t
thank them enough.  

GM: I was talking to you earlier in the day Wade, and you made it no
secret that you were [chuckles] and still are, a huge fan of AWA. But
more importantly then that, now that you are here. What are your goals?

[Wade nods his head at the question and bites his bottom lip a moment
before answering.]

WK: Growing up in Texas, Gordon, the last few years if you watched any
wrestling, it better be AWA [big crowd reaction] or you could get your
head cracked! [smiles] But in all seriousness, I loved watching
wrestling since I was knee high to a grasshopper. I have always loved
and respected the sport and those who do it on a daily basis from
‘Hotshot’ Stevie Scott, all the way down to the guy who many people may
not know..

BW: Like you?

[Wade stares at Bucky with a wide grin for a moment. Then hugs him
tighter.]

WK: That’s right Bucky, just like me.

[Bucky fights the hug and tears Wade’s arm off of him, fixing his suit.
Wade doesn’t seem to notice as he has turned his attention to the
camera.]

WK: But let’s not make any mistake about it. I know I’m young, but I’m
hungry! I didn’t come here to lose or be a mat that everybody can step
on. I’m a home-grown boy right out of Texas and I plan on showing
everyone, no matter what State or country were in, that us Texas boys
are some of the toughest s.o.b’s around. I would be lying if I didn’t
say I want to be the National Champion Gordon. But I know the road will
be long, and I know it will definitely be tough. But I’m ready for that
Gordon; I’m ready to make a name for myself.

GM: When can we expect your debut?

WK:  In two weeks, Gordon, yours truly will make his in-ring debut and I
can’t wait!

GM: Well thank you for your time, Wade, and speaking for myself and all
these fans, we can’t wait to see you in action.

[Wade shakes hands with Gordon]

WK: Thank you, Gordon. [extends his hand to Bucky… then just grabs Wilde
and gives him a hug.] and you Bucky!

[Wade waves at the crowd and nods his head as he walks off camera. Bucky
looks disgusted as he fixes his suit once again.]

GM: I’m no professional on friendships, Bucky, but I think Wade Kennedy
has taken a shining to ya!

BW: The nerve of that kid, Gordo! Nobody touches me without permission…
not even the ladies, daddy!
 
GM: Nonetheless, Wade Kennedy, the newest superstar of AWA.  But let's
get to some more action and get back to Melissa!

[Fade up to the ring where Melissa is standing.]

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit.  Introducing first... already in the ring...he weighs in at
245 lbs.. fighting out of Bedford, England... Johnny Palmer!

[A balding, slightly pudgy competitor with a pasty complexion raises his
arms into the air to almost no reaction.]

MC:  And his opponent... weighing in at 238 lbs...from Los Angeles,
California... he is the #2 contender to the AWA National Title...

JUUUUUAAAAAAAANNNNNN 

VAAASSSSSSQQQUUUUEEEZZZZ!!!!

["They Reminisce Over You" by Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth begins to play
over the PA system as Vasquez bursts through the curtain to a huge roar
from the AWA crowd! He's clad in his usual tracksuit style attire,
jogging down the aisle as he slaps the hands of the ringside fans.]

BW: I know it's gotta' be eating him up inside. Win after win,
constantly at the top of the rankings...and it doesn't mean a dang
thing!

GM: Vasquez has made it clear his goal isn't the National Title at the
moment, but bringing down the Southern Syndicate.

BW: And if you believe that, I got a bridge to sell you in Brooklyn,
daddy!

DING DING!

[Vasquez immediately catches Palmer into a hammerlock, before riding him
down to the canvas. He paintbrushes him with a few playful slaps to the
back of the head, before releasing the hammerlock, drawing some cheers
from the crowd.]

GM: An odd exchange there, as Juan Vasquez basically let Palmer go.

BW: He took him down and then he slapped him around. He's just letting
the man know that he's the one in charge inside that ring.

[Palmer gets back to his feet with an angered look at Vasquez, who
shakes his head derisively at his opponent and simply motions for him to
"bring it on". Looking a bit flustered, Palmer charges in with a wild
haymaker that Vasquez easily avoids, ducking under and once again
slapping Palmer in the back of the head!]

GM: I know Juan Vasquez isn't exactly known for being a gentleman inside
the ring, but he's showing John Palmer absolutely zero respect in there!

BW: A man like Vasquez isn't just going to give his respect to anybody,
especially a nobody like this putz. If Palmer wants to stop getting
slapped upside the head, maybe he should try hitting a couple wrestling
moves, daddy!

GM: Palmer clearly annoyed by what he sees as a lack of respect from
Vasquez and he's giving him an earful!

[Quickly turning around with a look of anger on his face, Palmer points
a finger at Juan and shouts a few choice words at the former National
Champion, who merely smiles and shrugs his shoulders at his flustered
opponent. After a few more expletives are thrown his way, Vasquez nods
and then takes a wrestling stance, ready to engage Palmer a bit more
seriously.]

GM: Well, I'm not exactly sure what Palmer said, but it certainly got
Vasquez's attention.

BW: You missed it? Well, he called Juan's wife a dirty...

GM: AHEM...children are watching. We don't need a recap, Bucky. 

[This time, Palmer and Vasquez lock-up, with Vasquez quickly getting a
side headlock. Palmer shoves Vasquez off into the ropes, where he's
quickly taken down with a shoulderblock! Pop!]

GM: Shoulderblock knocks down Johnny Palmer! Vasquez into the ropes
again...Palmer with the duck-under, Vasquez off the opposite
side...leapfrog...OHHHH!


THHHUUUUD!"


BW: Palmer went for the leapfrog, but Vasquez stopped short and almost
took his head off with that clothesline!

[Not wasting any time, Vasquez immediately springs to his feet and hits
the ropes, coming back with a low altitude dropkick that catches a
kneeling Palmer in the side of the face!]

GM: And now a dropkick to the face! Here's the cover...no! Only two!

[Dragging Palmer back up to his feet, Vasquez straightens up his foe,
before plastering him with a knife-edge chop. Another stiff chop
immediately sends Palmer crumbling to the mat clutching his chest. Juan
looks down at his hurting adversary and then back up towards the crowd,
tentatively holding up one finger...]

"One more?"

Crowd: "ONE MORE! ONE MORE! ONE MORE!"

BW: You think Palmer's starting to regret trying to make Vasquez get
serious about this match, now?

GM: I...well, it probably wasn't one of his better ideas.

[Not one to dissapoint the fans, Juan gives them what they're asking
for, hitting Palmer with another blistering chop across the chest! Crowd
Pop!]

GM: OHHH! A knee-trembling shot right to the chest by Vasquez!

BW: You're telling me! That's the kind of chop that'll make your liver
quiver, daddy!

[To his credit, Palmer manages to stay on his feet this time, drawing a
sarcastic golf clap from Vasquez, who then crouches low, waiting for him
to turn around...]

GM: OHHH! A huge leaping kick to the back of the head from Vasquez and
Palmer's on dreamstreet!

BW: They call that an enzuigiri in Japan, daddy! Does this guy owe
Vasquez money or something? He's got no regard for human life in there
tonight, daddy!

[Glassy-eyed and completely dazed now, Palmer takes one step forward,
before dropping to a knee. Slapping the side of his right leg, Vasquez
rushes in, catching the Brit with a running knee into the face!]

BW: Those kneelifts from Vasquez are 'bout as nasty as a Memphis
reststop, Myers!

[Raising his right arm high into the air, Juan slowly curls his fingers
into a tight fist, drawing a huge rush of anticipation from the crowd. A
low "Ohhhh..." can be heard as Juan rushes forward...]


"CRAAACK!"


[...and connects with a vile right cross to the jaw! The crowd crowd
erupts as Palmer takes it right on the chin, hovering for a split
second, before dramatically falling across the canvas in a heap.]

BW: You can count all night long, daddy...he ain't getting up from that
one!

GM: That right hand was about as clean a shot as you'll ever see...I
have to agree with you Bucky, it's lights out for Johnny Palmer.

[As Juan goes for the cover, he suddenly stops and turns to the still
cheering crowd. With a puzzled look on his face, he holds up both of his
hands and gestures to them with a twirling motion before pointing to the
turnbuckles, which draws a big reaction from the crowd. Nodding to
himself, Juan drags Palmer towards the corner, before making a running
start towards the corner...]

GM: A backflip splash off the first turnbuckle! We've seen this before,
Bucky!

BW: He had the win! What the heck's he doing!?

GM: He's giving the fans what they want to see!

[Getting to his feet almost immediately, Vasquez leaps onto the second
rope and flips over, splashing down across the chest of Johnny Palmer
once more!]

BW: A show-off! A glory hound! This is exactly what Ben Waterson was
saying and he's right! Look at him! 

GM: A backflip splash off the second turnbuckle now! And we know what's
coming next!

[Getting up a bit slower now, Juan ascends the turnbuckles, pausing as
he steps onto the top turnbuckle and waves his arms, imploring the crowd
to cheer louder. This draws a massive roar from the crowd, as he steps
up onto the top rope and flies...]

BW: OHHHH! A top-rope backflip splash completes the trilogy! ONE! TWO!
THREE!

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

MC:  Ladies and gentlemen... here is your winner...

JUAN VASSSQUUUUEEZZZ!

[The crowd responds with a huge round of applause as Vasquez's arm is
raised into the air.]

GM: Juan Vasquez defeats Johnny Palmer in truly impressive fashion.

BW: Via complete and unnecessary showboating.

GM: If you say so, Bucky. But now, here's highlights from the action we
just saw!

[Cut to a slow motion replay of Vasquez rocking Palmer with a his big
right cross.]

BW: That right cross from Vasquez knocked the daylights out of Johnny
boy. There's few men in the business with a deadlier right hand. 

[And then Vasquez hitting three consecutive moonsaults, each in
ascending order, topping it off with a moonsault from the top.]

BW: And flying through the air with the greatest of ease...the showboat
finishes off Palmer with the moonsault trilogy. One. Two. Three.

[Fade back into the announcer's area, where Vasquez has now joined Bucky
and Gordon.]

GM: Folks, we just saw him finish off Johnny Palmer and I have with me
now, Juan Vasquez! Juan, congratulations on the victory. 

JV: Thanks for the kind words, Gordon. 

BW: Look here, Vasquez, we're not here to pat you on the back for
beating some chump. It's time to answer some questions! What about what
Stevie said two weeks ago? A National Title shot to the man that betrays
your team at "Battle on the Bayou"! Even you had to have had thoughts
about cashing in on that, right?

[Juan frowns. Then he closes his eyes. And then...he shakes his head
sadly.]

JV: A shot at the National Title...you _would_ think it's a tempting
offer, right? 

[He laughs in disbelief.]

JV: But the fact is...that would require doing something completely and
utterly impossible for me.

Trusting Ben Waterson.

[Juan gives Bucky one of those, "Just how stupid do you think I am!?"
sort of looks.]

JV: After seeing what happened to Raphael Rhodes...after watching Ben do
everything humanly possible to keep that title on Stevie's waist...after
all the garbage I've been through with those bastards...your head
must've been stuck up your cornhole for the last year if you'd actually
believe they'd ever...

GM: Okay, we get it! 

[Juan laughs and pats Gordon on the shoulder.]

BW: Alright, then answer this question, daddy...what we wanna' know,
what the whole world wants to know is who the fifth man is! 

[Juan cracks a smile and tries to stifle a laugh.]

JV: I bet you do.

[He chuckles.]

JV: Sorry fellas, but I ain't allowed to spill the beans just yet.
You're gonna' have to find out the same time everyone else does. 

GM: And when would that be? Tonight?

[Juan pauses, before smirking.]

JV: It's been nice talkin' to ya', fellas.

[And with that, Vasquez walks off camera.]

BW: Hey! Wait! Come back here!

GM: Juan Vasquez pleads the fifth on the matter of who will be the final
member of his team at WarGames, fans, but he has made it quite clear
that he doesn't trust Ben Waterson and he has no intention of betraying
his partners in New Orleans.  Let's go backstage where Jason Dane has a
special guest!  Jason?

[In front of an AWA banner stands Jason Dane with Joe Petrow.  Petrow,
with cell phone in hand, as though he wants to be ready to conduct a
deal during the course of the interview if necessary, looking as dapper
as ever, but also looking a bit happier than we have seen in recent
weeks.]

JD: Alright, with me at this time, the AWA's so-called "Executive
Consultant" Joe Petrow.  Mr. Petrow, how are you doing today?

JP: Great, Dane.

JD: I...uh, that's the first the time I've ever heard that one...um,
what I mean is, you seem to be in a good mood for once.

JP: Let's just say that, it's taken a little longer than I expected, but
people are finally getting a handle on what the Executive Consultant is
all about.  He's all about YOU...if you only have the courage to make
this phone ring!  On the last show, you all saw yet again how the fate
of matches, how the fate of TITLES, can be guided by my hands.

JD: So you are admitting that you are working on behalf of the National
Tag Team Champions, The Bishop Boys?

JP: I admit nothing of the sort! All I admit was that I was contracted
for my actions, and I fulfilled my responsibility to perfection. And let
me tell you all, the services that I am able to provide go beyond what
happens in front of the camera. As you may recall, the Championship
Committee met last week.  And I shoehorned myself onto to their agenda
to make a plea for my clients!

JD: What!?

JP: I only told them the truth, that after the Independence Day debacle,
the fans deserved a definitive winner at Battle on the Bayou. And the
Committee agreed with my argument!  So this Labor Day, The Bishop Boys
WILL defend those tag team titles against Rough N Ready, in a NO
disqualification match!

JD: I haven't heard of that stipulation before!

JP: It was going to be announced later tonight, but I made it happen, so
I'm announcing it now!  And to everyone else out there, I'm busy for one
match that night, but I still have plenty of time to talk about YOUR
needs, and what we can do to shoot YOUR career straight to the top! 
Because I am more than a mercenary!  I am more than a manager!  I am
more than the total package!  I am the EXECUTIVE CONSULTANT of the AWA! 
Simply put, that means this:  I...get...things...DONE!

[Petrow flashes a toothy smile for the camera, almost lets loose with a
"WHOOO!", but thinks better of it, and walks away instead.]

JD: There you have it, Joe Petrow claiming to have made the tag team
title match a No Disqualification affair!  What else will he try to do
at Battle on the Bayou?  Gordon, Bucky - back to you!

[Cut back to ringside where Gordon looks stunned.]

GM:  What in the... who gave Joe Petrow the power to influence that kind
of match being made?  Why in the world would the Championship Committee
listen to him?

BW:  He's a former World Champion, one of the biggest names in the
history of our sport.  Why wouldn't you listen to him?  Heck, why are
you complaining?  He just delivered a big time match for Battle On The
Bayou - a match where we might FINALLY see a winner between Rough N
Ready and the Bishops!

GM:  A No Disqualification Match for the National Tag Team Titles in New
Orleans!  Good grief!  And speaking of tag teams, let's go back up to
the ring for more action!

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

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit.  Introducing first... already in the ring at this time...
from West Palm Beach, Florida... Sunny Day and Robby Martin!

[Two bleach blonde muscleheads strike double bicep poses to the jeers of
the crowd.]

MC:  And their opponents...

# GENERALS GATHERED IN THEIR MASSEEEEESSSSSS! #

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

# JUST LIKE WITCHES AT BLACK MASSEEEEEESSSSSSS! #

[And here they come again, in a dead sprint from the back, the
muscle-bound, face-painted, mohawk-sporting, black-leather clad Hammer
and Sabre followed by their manager, Richard E. Lee, wearing his usual
silk shirt and sunglasses.]

MC: Hailing from Detroit, Michigan...Hammer and Sabre...

THE WAAAAAAAAR PIIIIIIIIIIIIGS!

[Hammer and Sabre slide underneath the bottom rope, quickly get back on
their feet, and dash across the ring to attack their opponents before
the bell.]

GM:  HERE WE GO!!

[Hammer launches into an assault on Sunny Day, battering him with a
rushing double axehandle blow to the skull, knocking him back to the
corner.  Hammer ducks down, grabbing the middle rope, slamming his
shoulder into the midsection of Day.]

GM:  Hammer is all over Sunny Day!

[On the other side of the ring, a pair of chops from Sabre knocks Martin
back into the ropes.  Sabre promptly wraps his hands around the throat
of Martin, strangling him in the buckles...

...and as Richard E. Lee tries to catch up to his team, he finds himself
assaulted in the aisle!]

GM:  Look!  Look down the aisle!

[The crowd jeers at the sight of Jug and Zeke stomping Lee down on the
floor, Mange barking instructions to his men.  They drag Lee off the
thinly-padded floors...

...and SLAM him headfirst into the steel barricade!]

GM:  OHHHH!

BW:  The War Pigs don't have a clue what's going on!

[Inside the ring, Hammer whips his man from corner to corner, levelling
him with a running clothesline as Sabre floors his with a running
shoulder tackle in the middle of the ring.]

GM:  The War Pigs haven't seen it yet but-

[The camera cuts to the aisle where Lee is on his knees, getting
battered by each member of the Moonshiners in turn - Jug with a right
hand to the skull, Zeke with an overhead elbowsmash, Mange with a boot
to the face.]

GM:  This is just a brutal beating out here on the floor!

[With an order, Zeke and Jug drag Lee towards the railing, pressing his
face against the steel...

...and Mange DRIVES a boot into the back of the head, smashing the face
into the metal!]

GM:  Ohhh!  Come on!

[Lee rolls back from the kick, now showing off a stream of crimson
pouring out of his head.]

GM:  The Moonshiners have bloodied Richard E. Lee!  They split his head
open out there in the aisle!  

[All three Moonshiners take turns stomping and kicking the prone Lee...

...until the War Pigs take notice, charging down the aisle towards the
assault!]

GM:  Here comes the Pigs!

[And the Moonshiners beat a quick retreat, bailing out as Hammer and
Sabre arrive to aid their manager.]

GM:  And again, again, those dang Moonshiners take off like thieves in
the night!  The Moonshiners beat up Richard E. Lee, bloody his skull,
and then run for it when the War Pigs come to fight!

[An angry Sabre shouts up the aisle after the fleeing 'Shiners, daring
them to come back and bring the fight once more.  Hammer leans down,
helping his bloodied manager up to his feet as we fade back to the
locker room area.]

JD:  Joining me at this time is-

[The camera pans to show the massive form of MAMMOTH Mizusawa.]

JD:  Uhhhh.

[Nowhere in sight is Louis Matsui surprisingly.]

JD:  Mr. Matsui?

[Dane cranes his neck, making sure Matsui's not standing behind the
giant.  With a gulp, he proceeds.]

JD:  Mr. Mizusawa, Ben Waterson has invited you to be a member of the
Southern Syndicate team at WarGames.  Your thoughts?

[Arms crossed, Mizusawa glares at the camera, not paying any attention
to Dane.]

JD:  Mr. Mizusawa?

[Still no response.]

JD:  Will you be in the ring later tonight to hear Brian Von Braun's
apology?

[The corner of Mizusawa's mouth raises - a smile?  And then a slow nod.]

JD:  You will!  Great!  But what about Mr. Matsui?  Is he here tonight?

[And with that, a grinning Matsui appears.  He looks at a flustered
Dane.]

LM:  We'll be out there to hear Waterson.  

JD:  And Von Braun?

[Bigger grin.]

LM:  Wouldn't miss it for the world.  Come on, big man.

[Matsui slaps the giant on the chest.  Mizusawa slowly turns, staring
down at Dane...

...and simply walks away, leaving a nervous-looking Jason Dane behind.]

JD:  Let's go back out to ringside.  Sheesh.

[The camera fades back to ringside where Gordon and Bucky stand.]

GM:  Thanks, Jason.  So, now we know the giant and his mouthpiece will
be out here later tonight when Ben Waterson has pledged to deliver the
entire Southern Syndicate squad for WarGames.  But will they agree to be
a part of that team?  That remains to be seen, fans.  Our summer tour is
wrapping up, Bucky, and what a ride it's been through the Southeast
during this scorching hot summer.  In two weeks' time, we'll be down in
Mobile, Alabama, and then it's over to New Orleans, Louisiana, for the
Battle on the Bayou to complete this whirlwind of a summer.

BW: It's been a long, strange trip, daddy, and I've been loving every
minute of it.  The action here in the AWA is so hot, it makes me want to
take off my skin and sit in my bones!

GM: I don't think any of us would want to see that, Buck-

[The witty commentator banter halts abruptly, though, as we see
"All-American" Aaron Anderson make his way into the screen at the table,
much to the surprise of Gordon and Bucky.  The youngster clearly looks
flustered.]

GM: Aaron Anderson...it's a bit of a surprise to see you out here.

AA: I know.  I know, Mr. Myers.  I'm truly sorry for interrupting, and I
know I don't have time scheduled to be out here.  But there's something
on my chest I just gotta get off right here and now!

[Hands on his hips, Anderson looks over toward the entrance aisle.]

BW: Well, get on with it, kid!  We ain't got all day here.

[Anderson turns back to Myers and the microphone.]

AA: Alright...alright.  Here goes.

[Deep breath.]

AA: Look, it's no secret that things haven't been going well for me
lately.  Heck, they haven't gone well for me since I graduated from the
Combat Corner and debuted here in the AWA.  And it's tearing me up on
the inside, you know?  It's ripping me in pieces because I'm so much
better than what I've been showing out here.  It's hurting me because
I'm embarrassed to have let down Mr. Michaelson like I have after he
took a chance on some young kid out of college with an amateur
background.  I'm embarrassed because I know deep down I have all the
talent I need to vault to the top of the American Wrestling Alliance.

But I just haven't done it yet.

BW: Is there a point to this, kid?

[Anderson nods.]

AA: Yes.  Yes, there is, Mr. Wilde.  I know I don't have a leg to stand
on out here, given my record.  But I can't hold it back.  I believe in
myself too much to sit back there in the locker room and let what could
be my one chance at history pass me by.

[A pause, followed by a nervous deep breath.]

AA: I know...I KNOW...that if I could just get that one big break...if I
could just get that one shot at the AWA National Title...I KNOW that I
could beat Stevie Scott.  I KNOW I could be the AWA National Champion,
and bring back some honor to that prestigious title.

[The fans react with a pretty good pop in support of the youngster. 
Aaron smiles tightly.]

AA: Yeah, I know it's crazy.  I know I don't deserve a title shot.  I
realize there are many other men who've performed much better than I
have lined up...Juan Vasquez, Marcus Broussard, Kolya Sudakov, Raphael
Rhodes...and I mean no disrespect to them.

But I HAVE to take this chance.  I HAVE to lay down this challenge.  I
HAVE to-

[The crowd's noise level quickly spikes, causing Anderson to jerk his
head toward the entrance aisle...where the man he called out is quickly
making his way to the broadcast table.

The AWA National Champion looks more amused than irritated, smiling
broadly as he approaches Anderson.  The "All-American" spins on his
heels, confidently bowing out his chest.]

HSS: You have to stop talking, because you're boring the crap out of me
and everyone else watching this show, junior.

[Heel pop!]

HSS: My hearing must be going bad.  That has to be it.  I must need to
get my ears checked out, Gordon, because I could have SWORN I heard
this-

[Stevie jabs a finger hard into Anderson's chest as he says "this."]

HSS: - two-bit, piece of sh-crap, never-has-been, never-WILL-be
NOBODY...

[Scott pauses to let the words sink in.]

HSS: ...call ME out.

Now, junior, seriously.  That's not what I heard, is it?

[Anderson freezes momentarily, but regains his composure enough to
answer.]

AA: Yes.  I mean, yeah, I did challenge you for a shot at the National
Title.  I don't mean any disrespect, but I don't back off of what I
said. I KNOW I can beat you!

[Big pop!  Stevie's still smiling, still amused at the kid's gumption.]

HSS: Alright...alright...you've got spunk, I'll give you that.  You give
Vasquez a run for his money in the jackass department, but you've got
spunk.

What I'm going to do right now, junior, is do you a favor.  I want you
to listen, and I want you to listen closely, because this is for your
own good.  You listening?

[Stevie pauses, waiting for an answer that he doesn't get in the time
frame he wants.]

HSS: I said, are you listening?

[Holding his ground, Anderson nods.]

HSS: OK, good.  Junior, this ain't the NCAA Super Regionals.  This ain't
Iowa, or Nebraska, or Georgia Tech or South Delusional State.  I ain't
wearing a singlet and trying to figure out the best counter to a
half-nelson.

THIS is the AWA.

[The Hotshot holds up the National Title.]

HSS: This is the big time.  This is where stars get made and where
careers get _ended_.  This ain't college, where you know you can walk
away from your match and feel fine the next day.  Here, junior...

...we play for KEEPS.  You EARN your way to the top.  You don't just
walk out here and DEMAND it.

[Anderson, seeing the way this conversation is going, slumps his
shoulders a bit and grabs Bucky's hand to pull the microphone to him. 
But Stevie, using Myers' mic, cuts him off before he can object.]

HSS: Hang on.  Hang on, don't talk just yet.  The Hotshot ain't done.

It seems that lately, people think that Stevie Scott has gone soft. 
That Stevie Scott is just hiding behind the Southern Syndicate and is
becoming a disgrace to the AWA National Title.  You said it
yourself...you want to bring some honor back to the National Title,
right?  Right?

[Anderson nods.]

HSS: So here's what we're gonna do.  The Hotshot is feeling a little
generous tonight.

[Stevie pauses, taking a couple of steps away from Anderson and pointing
to a rather attractive blonde in the front row.]

HSS: In fact, he's feeling VERY generous toward you, lady.  Ben'll come
find you after the show tonight.  So don't go anywhere.

[Returning his attention to Anderson, he continues.]

HSS: But while I'm in a giving mood, junior, here's what I'm gonna do. 
You want a shot at this?

[Again, he holds up the National Title, this time shoving it in
Anderson's face.  The "All-American" pushes it away, and nods
emphatically, to which Stevie responds with another amused smile.]

HSS: Alright, sparky.

You got it.

[HUGE POP!  Anderson claps his hands together and pumps his fists.]

HSS: There you go.  Get excited.  Get fired up.  Get on back to your
locker and get your boots laced up tight.  Figure out your game plan. 
Go get advice from other wrestlers if you want.  In fact, generous mood
that I'm in?  Here's some advice from me.

When you walk down that aisle later tonight and climb into that ring, it
ain't gonna be like going up against the West Memphis Assassin.  It
ain't gonna be like facing off with Baron Von Klauss.  Like I said, this
is the _big_time_ and you're gonna be getting in there with the BEST
this sport has to offer.

Do you want to be the best?  You want to be famous, junior?  You want to
wear these 15 pounds of gold around your waist?

[Stevie pauses, a bit longer than usual, letting Anderson think about
the words he's been saying.]

HSS: Then you've got to be ready to pay the price.  And tonight?

I'm going to give you a taste of how much it costs.

[And with that, Stevie reaches out and SLAPS the taste right out of
Aaron Anderson's mouth to a shocked reaction from the crowd...

...one that quickly turns to cheers when Anderson makes Stevie eat a
right hand to the jaw!  Two more follow before Anderson grabs Stevie by
the hair, throwing him under the ropes into the ring.  He deadleaps up
onto the apron, ducking through the ropes and gesturing wildly towards
the locker room.]

GM:  The kid wants a ref!  The title match is on!

BW:  Wait a second!  Stevie didn't say right now!  This isn't fair!

[Anderson is greeted by the Hotshot as he gets to the middle, tangling
up in a collar and elbow.  Scott quickly spins him around, pushing the
rookie back to the corner...

...and lashing out with a chop across the chest!]

GM:  Whoa my!  What a shot that was by the champ!

[But Anderson returns fire with a right hand to the temple, knocking
Scott down to the mat.  As the champ scampers back up, Anderson floors
him with a lunging clothesline!]

GM:  DOWN HE GOES!!

[Scott is quick to his feet again, this time caught in a big hiptoss
that takes him back down to the mat.  Anderson promptly sets his feet,
waiting for Scott to rise.]

GM:  He hooks him!  Belly to bell- ohh!  Stevie goes to the eyes!

[The eye gouge momentarily blinds Anderson, causing him to stumble away
from Scott who grabs him from behind, pulling the back of the rookie's
neck onto his shoulder...

...and SNAPS him down to the mat with a neckbreaker!]

GM:  Ohh!  Nice execution on the neckbreaker by the National Champion!

[A referee dives under the bottom rope just as Stevie Scott delivers a
pair of boots into the ribcage of Anderson as he shouts "Get up!"]

GM:  The champion is daring... challenging him to get back up... and
another kick to the ribs.  Scott is just laying in the shoe leather on
the ribcage of the Combat Corner rookie.

[Scott hauls Anderson back to his feet by the hair, throwing a hooking
right to the body that knocks him back into the corner.  Leaning over,
Scott grabs the middle rope and slams his shoulder into the ribcage of
the challenger once... twice... three times... four times... five
times... before standing up and throwing Anderson down to the mat
disdainfully.]

GM:  Lateral press by the champ - he gets one!  He gets two!  He gets-

[But Anderson fires a shoulder off the mat at two, breaking the pin
attempt.]

GM:  Just a two count there.

[An angry Scott grabs a handful of hair and throws short right hands to
the skull of Anderson.  He drags the rookie off the mat, throwing a
haymaker to the jaw that sends Anderson back to the corner.]

GM:  Back against the buckles... another big chop by Scott!

[Grabbing the wrist of Anderson, Scott fires him across the ring.]

GM:  Into the corner goes the challenger...

[But he explodes out of the buckles, hitting a leaping shoulderblock
that pops the crowd!]

GM:  OHHHH MY!!

BW:  Where did THAT come from?!

GM:  I have no idea but he floored the champ with it!

[Anderson pumps a fist as he regains his feet, reaching down to haul him
off the mat again.]

GM:  Irish whip- no, reversed!

[The whip sends Anderson into the ropes.  As he rebounds back, Scott
leaps up for a leapfrog...

...but Anderson snatches him out of the air in mid-leap, twisting to
drive him down to the mat with a thunderous powerslam!]

GM:  POWERSLAM!!  HE DROVE HIM DOWN TO THE MAT!!!  

[Anderson flings himself on top of Scott, reaching back to hook a leg.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!!  THRE- OHHHHH!

[The crowd gasps at nearly seeing a shocking title change.]

GM:  He almost had him, Bucky!  He almost had him right there!

BW:  I saw!  I saw!

[Anderson climbs up to his feet, bouncing off the ropes, leaping as high
as he possibly can...

...and SMASHES down on the canvas with a kneedrop just as Scott rolls
out of the way!]

GM:  OHHHHH!  He missed the kneedrop!

[The Hotshot promptly gets up, seeing an opportunity.  He grabs the foot
of Anderson, delivering kick after kick to the now-injured knee of the
Combat Corner rookie.]

GM:  He's going after the knee!  

BW:  The Hotshot smells blood in the water!

[Bracing his knee against Anderson's, Scott leaps up and smashes the
knee into the mat!]

GM:  Good grief!  That'll do some damage, Bucky!

BW:  Broken patella.  Torn tendons.  ACL, MCL, PCL.  Who knows?

GM:  Scott drags him by the leg to the ropes, dropping that ankle on the
middle rope...

[The Hotshot steps up to the middle rope, pushing himself up into the
air and dropping all of his weight down on the injured knee!]

GM:  OHHH!  DOWN ON THE KNEE!!

[Scott smirks at the scream of pain from Anderson before stepping up on
the middle rope...

...and dropping his weight down on the injured limb again!]

GM:  Down on the leg again!  He's tearing that leg apart!

BW:  Stevie Scott is a bloodthirsty animal when he senses a weakness. 
He knows that Anderson is hurt.  He knows that Anderson is in trouble. 
And he knows this is his chance to end this thing.

[The National Champion hauls Anderson off the mat, picking up the
injured leg before applying a side waistlock.]

GM:  He picks him up... ohh!  Shinbreaker by the champ!

[Anderson slumps off the leg, dropping down to a knee on the mat.  He's
wincing in pain as Scott backs off...

...and nearly takes his head clear off with a Heatseeker on the kneeling
Anderson!]

GM:  OHHHH!  That's it right there.

BW:  It's all over but the shouting.

GM:  Scott with the cover for one... for two... for thre- oh, come on!

[The crowd jeers the National Champion as he pulls Anderson off the mat
by the hair, shaking his head at the official.]

GM:  He pulled him up.  He had the damn match won and he pulled him up,
Bucky.

BW:  Champion's discretion.

GM:  What does that mean?

BW:  If he doesn't feel like he's got the match finished, he can keep on
going.

GM:  He's back up to his feet.  Anderson can't even move.

[Scott leans over, grabbing the foot.  He quickly applies a spinning
toehold, tangling up the legs...

...and dropping back into the figure four leglock!]

GM:  Figure four!  He's got it sunk in!

[In mere moments, the referee hears the two words he needs to hear and
calls for the bell.]

GM:  That's it.  He gave up.

[But the Hotshot's not done... not yet.]

GM:  Come on, champ!  Break the hold!

[The referee echoes Gordon's words, shouting at Scott as he rocks back
and forth, trying to inflict further punishment on the injured limb of
the Combat Corner rookie.]

BW:  He ain't gonna break the hold, Gordo!  He's gonna break his leg!

GM:  The referee is all over him - begging him to break the hold...
begging him to release the hold and-

[Surprisingly, Scott does.  He climbs to his feet, looking down on Aaron
Anderson as he's awarded the National Title belt...

...and then makes a big gesture towards the locker room.]

GM:  Wait a second!  Here comes Ben Waterson!

BW:  He's not alone either.

GM:  He's got that metal briefcase with him!

[Waterson quickly makes his way to the ring, shoving the briefcase under
the ropes before rolling in himself.  Scott immediately grabs the case,
raising it overhead...

...and SMASHING it down across the knee!]

GM:  Oh, come on!

[A protesting referee gets in the face of Ben Waterson...

...and gets coldcocked for his efforts, knocking him flat with a right
hand!]

GM:  That'll be a chunk of money for Waterson but I'm not sure he even
cares!

[The briefcase smashes down across the knee again.  Waterson grabs the
case, pulling it underneath the leg of Anderson as Scott hops up to the
middle rope.]

GM:  No!  Get him down from there!  Get him-

[The crowd erupts as Todd Michaelson comes barreling down the aisle
towards the ring...

...but doesn't get there in time as Scott leaps off the ropes, dropping
a knee down on the knee, driving it into the steel briefcase!]

GM:  OHHHHH!

[Michaelson dives into the ring, double leg tackling Scott down to the
mat to the roar of the crowd.  He's throwing right hands as fast as he
can when Waterson slips up behind him...]


"WHAAAAAAACK!"


GM:  OHH!  BRIEFCASE TO THE HEAD!!

[The blow knocks Michaelson down and allows Waterson to grab his charge
by the arm, fleeing the scene of the crime together as a dazed
Michaelson crawls over to kneel next to his student.]

GM:  Scott and Waterson are out of here but the damage has been done. 
Aaron Anderson is hurt and he's hurt badly, Bucky.

BW:  He's hurt very badly.  That kneedrop off the ropes could break a
leg easily.  Ask Sweet Daddy Williams... if you can find him.

GM:  We need to get some help out here for Aaron Anderson... let's go
backstage to Jason Dane...

[Shot cuts to the backstage area where Jason Dane stands beside the
towering Grant Stone. The Louisville native stands shirtless - showing
all the scars that litter the man's torso from all the battles he's been
in - as he wears a pair of jeans. His eyes look strangely calm and his
look is oddly well rested for once.]

JD: Jason Dane standing by with the man who will challenge -

[Grant Stone furrows his brow.]

JD: Jack Snyder tonight in the Lady Luck Challenge. Grant, this will be
your first match in an AWA ring since your brutal match against Bobby
Taylor at Christmas Clash in 2008. Do you think you're prepared to go
against Snyder in a sanctioned match tonight?

[Stone looks past Dane - and the question.]

GS: Did you say, "challenge"?

JD: Uh, excuse me?

GS: Did... you... say... challenge?

[Dane looks confused, but nods.]

JD: I did, yes. Tonight is the Lady Luck Challenge match.

GS: No... There's no challenge tonight. There's no challenge.

JD: Um... Then...

GS: You know the frightened call me a monster, Jason Dane? I've been
called evil... sadistic... barbaric... hateful... suicidal...

[Stone snorts and sneers.]

GS: Do you think I like being here, Jason Dane?

[Dane looks up, visibly uncomfortable at Stone's odd line of
questioning.]

JD: Um...

GS: Do you think I want to be in a "Lady Luck Challenge Match", Jason
Dane? Do you think that little boy, little Grant Stone, once dreamed of
being in Atlanta fighting for a chance at challenging for a leather
belt?

[Stone, still calm, continues on as Dane stretches his hand out a bit to
distance himself but keep the mic up.]

JD: ...

GS: And do you think old Grant Stone, months... or a year, maybe, from
now will look back fondly at this great achievement as he replays the
memories of his life before the light flickers mercifully, Jason Dane?

[Stone pauses, looking on at Dane, almost expecting an answer.]

GS: Little Grant Stone, Old Grant Stone, and This Grant Stone didn't
come for a shot at a prize, or any achievements, and certainly no
challenges, Jason Dane. I came back to this cesspool for one reason
only...

JD: Jack Snyder.

[Grant Stone calmly nods.]

GS: To cripple Jack Snyder.

[Stone leans in towards the mic as Dane's eyes widen with a tinge of
fright.]

GS: To CRIPPLE Jack Snyder. So there's no challenge tonight, Jason Dane.
No challenge at all...

[Stone rights himself... and walks off, still oddly calm at this moment
before his match with his arch-enemy 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 where we find Gordon and Bucky
standing.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans... during the break, young Aaron Anderson was
taken back to the locker room on a stretcher where we understand that
he's being transported to a local medicial facility for further review.

BW:  Boy, Michaelson really knows how to teach 'em, huh?  First it was
Preston last week... now Anderson.  Maybe his wife'll come out here next
and end up in the meat wagon.

GM:  Would you stop?  Fans, let's go up to the ring.

[We fade up to the ring where Melissa is standing, two men already
inside the ring.]

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit.  Introducing first... from Berlin, Germany... he is BARON! 
VON!  KLAUSSSSS!

[The hooded Baron throws up his hand in the form of the clawhold.]

MC:  And his opponent... from Russia... VLADIMIR VELIKOV!

[Velikov shrugs the heavy metal chain off his neck, wrapping it around
his fist as he walks across the ring.  He snatches the mic from
Melissa.]

VV:  Out of respect for the time we spent as partners - as comrades - I
will give you one and only one chance to - how you say - get out of
Dodge.

[Velikov nods his head, gesturing to the ropes to the German...

...who shakes his head in response.]

VV:  So be it.

[Von Klauss rushes him, lashing out with a right hand and a second and a
third.  Grabbing a meaty wrist, he fires Velikov across the ring,
ducking his head to hurl him high overhead and down to the mat with a
bone-rattling backdrop!]

GM:  OHHH!  Big backdrop by Von Klauss!

[With the Russian down, the lanky German throws his right hand in the
air, high-stepping around the ring, moving in on the dazed Russian...

...who gets the heck out of the ring when he sees the claw coming.]

GM:  Out of the ring rolls Velikov!

[An angry Velikov throws down the heavy metal chain, pointing a
threatening finger in at the man he betrayed two weeks prior.  Grabbing
the middle rope, Velikov pulls himself up on the apron where Von Klauss
rushes in, slamming home clubbing forearm after clubbing forearm across
the broad back of the Russian.]

GM:  He's pounding him out on the apron!  

[A dazed Velikov grabs the top rope...

...which allows Von Klauss to slingshot him over the ropes back into the
ring!]

GM:  He brings him in the hard way!

[With a dazed Velikov rolling to a knee, Von Klauss rakes his
fingernails down the back to a big cheer!]

GM:  Ohh!  He rakes the back!   

BW:  And these idiots cheer that?  Hypocrites.

GM:  Velikov's done some dastardly deeds in his time, Bucky.

BW:  That makes it okay?

GM:  No, but it certainly makes it understandable why they would cheer.

[With Velikov down on a knee, Von Klauss lands a clubbing forearm blow
to the ear before grabbing Velikov by the back of the head and slamming
his face into the mat!]

GM:  Ohh!  Facefirst to the canvas goes Velikov!  The Baron is on fire,
Bucky!

BW:  We haven't seen Von Klauss this worked up in a long, long while.

[Pulling the Russian up, Von Klauss scoops him up into the air and
drives him down with a thunderous slam before bouncing off the far
ropes, rebounding back...

...and crashing down on the canvas with a missed legdrop!]

GM:  Ohh!  He hits down hard right there!

[Velikov, still wobbly, rolls to his feet, yanking Von Klauss to a
standing position...

...and with a powerful yell, Velikov uncorks a brutal standing Sickle
that knocks Von Klauss flat!]

GM:  He nailed him!  Standing Sickle!  That's one.. that's two... and
there's three.


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


MC:  Here is your winner... VLADIMIR VELLLLIKOV!

[The crowd is stunned at the suddeness of Velikov's victory as he stands
triumphant over his fallen partner...

...and leaps up, dropping a crushing legdrop across the throat!]

GM:  Ohh!  Come on, ref!  The match is over!

[Velikov slowly gets to his feet, still staring down at the motionless
Von Klauss.  He approaches the corner, leaning towards the camera.]


"You see, Comrade Kostovich... this... is what I can do."

[Velikov reaches down, grabbing his Russian chain.  The referee spots
him and immediately tries to intervene as Velikov begins wrapping that
heavy metal chain around his arm.  With the crowd buzzing with concern,
Velikov hauls Von Klauss off the mat, cocking his arm back...

...and throws ANOTHER standing Sickle, this time with steel chain links
smashing into the chest of the German, knocking him flat!]

GM:  Good grief!

[A flood of AWA security and officials come pouring down the aisle
towards the ring, diving into the fray to keep Velikov from inflicting
any more damage to his former partner as we fade to the backstage area. 
"Dying Breed" Jack Snyder stands in front of an AWA banner.  Just look
at those eyes.  About as stern a gaze as you'll ever see, and a voice to
match.]

JS:  Adversity introduces a man to himself.

Forces him to take a good, long hard look in the mirror and ask himself
what kind of person he really is.  Is he the type who makes the most of
catastrophe?  Learns from it?  Grows from it?  Becomes stronger 'cause
of it?  Changes from it... for the better?

Is he a _man?_ 

Like me.

Or is he the type that folds his hand early?  The type that sinks within
himself and never shows his sorry face to the outside world again?  Like
a damn turtle stuck inside his own shell, scarred for life, afraid of
ever seein' the light of day.  Afraid to ever care about anything else
ever again 'cause he don't wanna risk feelin' that hurt.  A hurt worse
than any bruise, cut, scrape or broken bone.  

Disappointment.

[As is custom with Snyder, his gaze never wavers.  He keeps on looking
at the camera as though he's the man staring in the supposed mirror and
continues all business.]

JS:  Yeah.  That's the question he asks.

Is he a man?

Or a _coward?_

Like Grant Stone.

Ya know, way I see it... a man should die with pride when he no longer
lives with any.  But you, Grant?  When your wife died, ya kept on
breathing but you stopped living.  Least ya no longer had any pride to
speak of. Let's face it... you gave up.  Ya thought if ya just shut it
all down you'd never have to feel that disappointment.  Call it
depression, call it fear... I know _you_ call it bein' tough, but
whatever the case may be, your life's in one helluva rut.  And Grant I
hate it break it to ya, but it's like they say...

The only difference 'tween a rut and a grave is the depth.

[Snyder pauses, lets that marinate a bit... he thinks to himself.  His
eyes remain glued to the camera's lens.]

JS:  And the first step toward recovery?  The first step toward climbing
out of that rut is awareness, and the realization that the devil's down
in hell burning millions of tormented souls each day... and you're one
of them. But I suppose the unaware are usually unaware of being unaware,
and I guess the same holds true for you, Grant.  So I'll help you out
here, and tell ya somethin' my mama used to tell me 'fore she died...

Life is a crap sandwich.  Ya either gotta learn to eat it, and like
it...

Or starve.

[Nodding.]

JS:  Used to call the that silver rule.  The golden rule?

Don't mess with a Snyder.

[The camera begins to zoom in, ever so slowly and slightly, on Jack's
ugly visage, his intensity level rising at the same rate.]

JS:  Ya call me the most pathetic guy you've ever met?  Heh.  I take
that as a sign I'm doin' things right.  'Cause you're the one ain't got
no purpose.  You're the one tensin' those muscles, grittin' those teeth,
clenching those fists, sneerin', snarlin', bashing in one damn skull
after the next, kicking, punching, dropping folks on their heads and
_nothing_ ... _ever_ ... _changes_ for ya.  

And attitude without substance is just plain old bitterness.

That's just what you are Grant.  Bitter and afraid.  I've known that
since the first day I met you.  Ever since you ran your mouth 'bout how
the team meant nothin' to ya.  I wanted to sock ya in the jaw right then
and there, or hell, at least jack ya up against the lockers and scream
at ya, "She's dead.  GET OVER IT!"  

[The shot now just neck-up, Snyder swallows, composing himself.  A
change.]

JS:  I can't even imagine how difficult it was for ya, Grant, and I
don't claim to know.  All I _do_ know is that I would have dealt with it
differently.

Ya see, it's like I said...

Adversity introduces a man to himself.  

When faced with adversity I wake up in the morning and do exactly what I
do every day.  I put my pants on one leg at a time.  But when the going
got tough for you Grant, and ya saw your face in the mirror... and ya
realized that without your wife you'd be lonely, that you'd be half the
man... when ya realized you had nothing left to live for you got
_scared!_  

Now I could keep shovin' all sorts of psychology down your throat, but
I'd rather just warn ya that if you thought you were scared then...? 
Well, you just wait til we stand face to face in the ring tonight...

... and adversity introduces you to _me!_

[Fade to black.

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

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

That's right!  You heard me right!

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

August 28th - Mobile, Alabama
September 6th - New Orleans, Louisiana

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

[We fade back to black.

And then back up to live action where we find Gordon and Bucky.]

GM:  And we are back, fans.  It's been a wild night here in Hotlanta and
we're not done yet.  We've still got the Lady Luck Challenge of Grant
Stone versus Jack Snyder in our Main Event plus the Southern Syndicate
WILL be in the ring together... we think.  But for now, let's go back up

[But before he can finish tossing it back to Melissa, Kevin Slater
emerges from off camera, grabbing the mic.]

KS:  Not so fast, Barry Gordy!

[Huh?]

KS:  I was sitting in the back with my main man, Shane Taylor here...

[Yep, Shane Taylor is there... looking nervous.]

KS:  And I saw this masked idiot getting into the ring.

[The camera cuts to the ring where the West Memphis Assassin is
standing.]

KS:  The same masked idiot who got a fluke win over my boy, Shane, two
weeks ago!

[Big cheer!]

KS:  Well, I'm here to show the world that no one jumps on Slater and
Taylor Incorporated and gets away with it, son!  I'm here to show you
that NO ONE jumps on the one, true Outlaw of Professional Wrestling and
gets away with it!

GM:  What's Bobby Taylor got to do with this?

KS:  Very funny, Myers.  But the truth of the matter is that Taylor's
hung up his hat.  He's not the Outlaw anymore and even he knows it.  You
want to talk Outlaw?  You talk Kevin Slater.  And until someone can cash
in that bounty and put my boy Shane on the shelf... which ain't gonna
happen, baby... then Taylor's gonna stay on the sidelines looking in! 

But this masked goof in the ring?

[Slater grins.]

KS:  He gets to discover how the Outlaw rolls up close and personal.

[Slater pulls off his ring jacket, tossing it to Shane as he pulls
himself up on the apron, pointing a finger of warning at the West
Memphis Assassin before stepping through the ropes.  The referee
reprimands Slater.]

GM:  This isn't his match and Mickey Meekly's letting him know exactly
that, Bucky.

BW:  Hey, if you've been around this business long enough, you know the
Outlaw does whatever the heck he wants to do, when he wants to do it.

GM:  The Outlaw... give me a break...

[Slater shrugs off the official, who reluctantly calls for the bell to
start the match.]

GM:  And here we go...

[The former Wild Thing sidesteps, circling the masked West Memphis
Assassin who seems a little surprised that he's in this match now.]

GM:  The two men are circling... trying to find an opening...

[The collide in the center in a collar and elbow tieup...

...and Slater promptly gets taken down in an armdrag!]

GM:  Nice armdrag by the masked man!

[The crowd cheers for the armdrag as the Assassin pops back up to his
feet, catching a scrambling Slater with a hiptoss that goes sky high
before smashing Slater down to the mat.  And as Slater gets back to his
feet, a well placed thrust kick to the jaw sends him falling backwards
through the ropes and out to the floor.]

GM:  Down to the floor goes Slater!  And listen to these fans!

[The crowd is roaring for the Assassin as he hits the far ropes,
rebounding back...

...and DRIVES both feet into the face of Slater with a baseball slide
dropkick to the jaw that sends him sailing backwards into the steel
barricade.  Shane Taylor takes a momentary break from looking over his
shoulder to rush to his partner's aid.]

GM:  Look at that!  The West Memphis Assassin is starting this one off
very strong here tonight in Atlanta, Bucky.

BW:  Who is that masked man?

GM:  I have no idea but he's managed to run off quite the win streak
recently.  Wins over Aaron Anderson and Shane Taylor among others have
got quite a few people talking about him.

[The Assassin comes over to the ropes as Slater reaches the apron.  He
stretches out over the ropes, trying to grab Slater by the hair...

...but Slater grabs his ankle, yanking his legs out from under him. 
With a smirk, he drags the masked man under the ropes to the floor,
pasting him with a right hand to the jaw!]

GM:  And now they're out to the floor which is not where I think the
Assassin would want to be...

[Grabbing the masked man by the arm, Slater HURLS him spinefirst into
the steel barricade!]

GM:  OHHHH!  INTO THE STEEL!!

[Slater hooks the mask, firing him back under the ropes into the ring
before stepping up on the apron.  He quickly scales the ropes as the
masked man starts to recover inside the ring...]

GM:  CROSS BODY OFF THE TO-OHHHHHH!

[The crowd roars as the masked man leaves his feet, connecting with a
dropkick to the chest of the flying Slater.]

GM:  Nice counter by the masked man!

[Outside the ring, Shane Taylor slams his fists into the canvas,
cheering on his partner who is now in serious trouble as the masked man
gets to his feet, grabbing at his back.]

GM:  The Assassin is up...

BW:  And from that counter, I'd say we'd have to guess this guy's a
veteran, Gordo.  He obviously is experienced inside the ring.

[Pulling Slater off the mat, he hurls him back into the closest set of
turnbuckles.  A big chop connects across the chest.  A second leaves a
red welt.  He hooks the wrist, firing him from corner to corner...

...and sprints across the ring, throwing his leg up at the last moment!]

GM:  YAAAAAKUUUUUUUZA!

BW:  Huh.  That looked kinda familiar.

GM:  Slater's dazed!  He's out on his feet!

[And the masked man deadleaps, lashing out with a kick to the back of
the skull!]

GM:  Head kick!

BW:  The enzugiri connects and down goes Slater!

GM:  The masked man with a cover for one!  For two!  For- just a two!

[The Assassin pushes up off the mat, breathing heavily as he throws a
few right hands to the jaw of Slater.  He gets back to his feet,
dragging Slater up with him...

...but Shane Taylor jumps up on the apron, drawing his momentary
attention.  He turns away from Slater, moving in on the Scorching One.]

GM:  He's goin' for Taylor!

[The masked man rears back and DRILLS Taylor with a rock hard right hand
that you could hear all over the building, slumping him down to a knee
on the apron...

...which allows Slater a chance to drill him from behind with a double
axehandle to the back!  He quickly spins the masked man around, applying
a front facelock.]

GM:  He's going for the Cattlebuster!  He's gonna end this right-

[But the Assassin pulls him down in a small package.]

GM:  COUNTER!  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE- whoooooa!

BW:  That was TOO close.

GM:  The West Memphis Assassin was a half count away from defeating a
former two-time World Champion!  And that would have shot him into the
Top Ten rankings, I think!

[Both men slowly scramble back to their feet, throwing right hands as
they do.]

GM:  We've got a slugfest in the middle of the ring!

[A right hand by Slater connects, knocking the masked man back a step...


...but he fires back a haymaker of his own, sending Slater falling back
into the ropes.  The masked man grabs the wrist.]

GM:  Whip by the Assass- no, reversed!

[The masked man hits the ropes, rebounding off, and ducking under a
wildly thrown standing Lariat attempt...]

GM:  Ducks the clothesline... off the far side...

[Slater ducks down for a backdrop, setting too early and allowing the
masked man to leap over the top, dragging Slater down to the mat with a
sunset flip!]

GM:  SUNSET FLIP!!  HE'S GOT 'IM DOWN!!  ONE!!  TWO!!!  THRE-

[The crowd deflates as Slater kicks out just in time again.]

GM:  Out at two!  Just barely got out of that one!

[The masked man pulls Slater to his feet, burying a knee into the
midsection.  Shane Taylor jumps up on the apron again, shouting at the
masked man...

...which allows Slater to throw a desperation leaping knee into the
back, sending him towards the ropes where Taylor pulls them down,
causing the West Memphis Assassin to tumble over the ropes, crashing
down in a heap on the thinly-padded floor!]

GM:  OHHHH!  ALL THE WAY DOWN TO THE FLOOR!!!

[The referee is immediately on the scene, reprimanding Shane Taylor for
his actions as Slater slides out to the floor, pulling the masked man
up, scooping him off the mat...

...and DRIVING him down on the thin pads with a thunderous bodyslam!]

GM:  OHH!  COME ON, REFEREE!!

BW:  That'll earn ya a trip to the chiropractor, daddy!

GM:  It certainly will.

[A smirking Slater leans against the ring apron, sucking wind before
burying a boot into the ribcage of his masked opponent.  He leans closer
to the camera, pointing a finger.]

"Ya watching this, Taylor?  Ya see what I could be doing to you?"

[He delivers another big kick to the ribs before reaching down to haul
the masked man back up to his feet, firing him back under the ropes into
the ring.]

GM:  Back into the ring goes the masked man... and Slater's going up!

[The former two-time World Champion scales the ropes, looking out over
the roaring crowd...

...and takes flight, sailing through the air, and BURYING a flying elbow
into the heart of the masked man!]

GM:  OHHH!  Elbow off the top by Slater!

[Slater immediately pops up to his feet, arms spread as he spins around
in a circle, drawing the jeers of the crowd.  Out on the floor, Shane
Taylor is clapping with approval...

...until the Masked Menace comes out of nowhere, drilling Shane Taylor
with a clothesline from behind!]

GM:  Ohh!  The Menace!

BW:  He's always been about the money!

GM:  It's not the same guy but-

[The crowd roars as the Menace delivers kick after kick to the ribs of
the downed Shane Taylor.  Suddenly, Kevin Slater spots the attack on his
ally, walking over to the ropes.]

GM:  He just yelled at the Menace to stop - but what in the world will
that do?  Get out there and help your friend, Slater!

[The Menace drags Shane Taylor off the mat by the hair, HURLING him into
the steel railing!]

GM:  The Masked Menace is trying to cash in on that bounty!  He heard
Bobby Taylor offer up the world to whoever puts Shane Taylor on the
shelf with an injury!  He knows it's money, it's glory, it's fame, it's
a title shot - the sky's the limit!

[With Taylor slung over the railing, the Menace delivers boot after boot
to the torso.  Slater leans over the ropes, shouting at the masked
man...

...and failing to notice the other masked man creeping up behind him. 
He hooks a waistlock, rushing Slater into the ropes, rebounding off and
pulling him down in a reverse rolling cradle!]

GM:  CRADLE!!  ONE!!!  TWO!!!  THREEEEEEE!!!!

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

[The crowd ERUPTS as Slater springs to his feet, completely irate and
out for blood as the West Memphis Assassin rolls from the ring
triumphant.]

GM:  The Assassin has done it!  He's won again!

[Outside the ring, the Menace continues to batter Taylor against the
railing but gets momentarily distracted by the West Memphis Assassin
walking past him...

...which allows Shane Taylor to SLAM his arm up into the nether regions
of his attacker!]

GM:  Ohh!  Taylor caught the Menace low!  And he's making a run for it! 
Shane Taylor's getting the heck out of here... and look at Slater!

[An irate Slater stands in the middle of the ring, hands on his hips,
shouting at his partner-in-crime.]

GM:  Kevin Slater can scream and shout all he want but he can't change
the fact that this one is going down in the record books as a victory
for the West Memphis Assassin, Bucky.

BW:  Unbelievable.

GM:  The West Memphis Assassin picks up another big victory and, fans,
at this time, we'd like to go back to-

BW: Now hold on, Gordo.  I got some airtime booked now for an old friend
of mine.

GM: Wait, you... what?

BW: C'mon in, Count!

GM: Count?  What?

[At Bucky's call, a short man in a shiny yellowish-gold silk shirt and
khaki slacks walks over, supported by a black walking stick.  He's got
silvery hair, and is apparently of a mixed Asian-European heritage. 
He's got narrow eyes, and big front teeth.  A former wrestler from the
70s and 80s, if you're a longtime fan you might know his name just as
Gordon does.]

GM: Adrian Bathwaite!?

[Bathwaite gives Bucky a big warm handshake, nodding and smiling as if
reuniting with a friend.  He then looks at Gordon... and sniffs
disdainfully.  He speaks in an English-tinted accent.]

AB: That would be _Count_ Bathwaite to you.  Count Adrian Bathwaite,
here to again make an effort to enlighten the most backwards people on
Earth.

BW: The French?

AB: Pardon, Bucky, I confess my error.  The second most backwards people
on Earth.  The American people, who were never brought up to standards
in terms of refinement and culture, have allowed decades of media filth
and immoral uncouth lowest-common-denominator rubbish to shape this
entire society.  Oh, and the disease has spread, Buckworth.  The disease
has...

GM: BUCKWORTH?!  ...ow!

[The Count jabs Gordon in the ribs with his cane.]

AB: That's just what I'm talking about, you needle-necked serf!  How
rude, how disrespectful, how crass, and how unabashedly... American! 
That's the American way, interrupting your elders and spitting upon the
values of respect and humility.  And as I was saying, the disease has
spread.  England has fallen to the Americanization  of the world; their
young people watch American programming and adopt American values.  The
rest of Europe is close behind.  My homeland of Hong Kong was spared
temporarily when control reverted to China, but even there it is
beginning!  Even in China, the discipline of the landholders is starting
to erode to the threat of 'democracy' and the inevitable collapse that
comes when you give the peasantry the freedom to make up their own
alleged minds.  It is vile.

GM: And you came here to tell us this?  Mr. Bathwaite... ow!

[Adrian jabs him in the ribs again... he's a grouchy old man.]

AB: COUNT Bathwaite to you, you dirty peasant!

GM: Count Bathwaite, why are you really here?  This is a wrestling
event, and you're no longer a wrestler!  You haven't been in the ring in
twenty years, and you're hardly in any condition to... OW!  Will you
stop that?!

AB: I won't, and you can't do anything about it, you slovenly
sharecropper.  You and the rest of these needle-necked serfs will be
silent and listen to me!  Yes, I am a 65 year old man, and no, I
obviously needn't dirty my hands on the pitiful excuses for wrestlers
you have nowadays.  In my day, none of these talentless drips you call
stars would qualify to carry my bags, nor would they last in the sport
more than a half-year.  Oh, there are a few exceptions... there are a
few Steven Scotts, Shane Destinys, and Calisto Dufrenses that show some
class and dignity, who might have been worth a look in the good old
days.  And of course, my man Buckworth is here to instill some good
common sense into the reporting, which is otherwise sorely lacking.  But
for the most part, it's classless gutter trash like the Vasquezes,
Rileys, Mavericks, and Broussards of the world... the lowborn peasants
who don't know their place, who carry the disease.

GM: What disease?

AB: The cultural disease!  No respect for your betters!  No humility! 
No decorum!

GM: YOU'RE preaching about humili... OW!

AB: I'm as humble as a man of my high station needs to be.  And I am
here because I have searched the entire world to find a place that
hasn't fallen under the sway of America.  A place that still holds the
strong values of respect, dignity, humility, and a clear social order! 
I have gone to the one bastion left against the evils of this world, and
from there I have brought a man who will bring forth the shining light
of civilization!  The shining light of the way the world should live! 
And I will lead this man into the AWA, and watch as he personally
teaches respect and humility to each and every one of those dirt
farmers, those guttersnipes who spread the disease of 'freedom' to all
of these impressionable little mannerless parasites you call 'children'.

[Gordon looks aghast at that last comment.]

AB: And I will introduce him now!  He is The Great and Honorable
Ruler... Sultan Azam Sharif!

[The fans boo as a man enters from the left.  They're booing not merely
because Bathwaite is a jerk.  No, they're booing the man because of how
he is dressed.

Sultan Azam Sharif is wearing a white kaffiyeh, a black agal, and a
reddish-brown bisht.  That's an Arabic headdress, the band that keeps
that on, and a robe; all immediately recognizable Arabic dress.  Oh, and
the big Iranian flag is also a dead giveaway that the man comes from an
enemy state.  His face has a weather-beaten quality to it, as one who
has lived through adversity and battle.  He has a well-trimmed mustache
and beard, and some black hair can be seen under the kaffiyeh.]

GM: Sultan Azam Sharif?  Does he speak English?

[And Gordon holds out the mic to the Sultan.  You will regret having
done that forever, Gordon.  The Sultan answers for himself, in the
thickest Arabic accent possible.]

SAS: Mistair Gordun Mayers!  OntellEgunt AmerEcun, dey already know! 
Deh Sultan Azam Sharif, as salaamu alaikum, motasharefon bema'refatek, I
come all deh way from deh oldest country in deh vorld!  Two-tousand-two
Ashan Game shampion! Two-tousand-four Olympic shampion!  Un now I gonna
be, two-tousand-ten AWA shampion!  

[The Sultan is getting worked up, divesting himself of his kaffiyeh and
his bisht to reveal a battlescarred but solidly built physique.]

SAS: Den all deh peepell, tousand-tousand peepell, dey all gonna shant:
IRAN!  IRAN!  IRAN, NUMBAH WON!  CAMARAMAN, ZOOM IT!

[And then he flexes his muscles.  The cameraman, not understanding why
he'd want to zoom in on someone's muscle, keeps it where it is.  Gordon,
wide-eyed and blinking incredulously at that outburst, does the only
thing he can.]

GM: Fans, let's go back to the ring.

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

MC: The next contest is scheduled for one fall with a fifteen minute
time limit. Already in the ring, from Lincoln, Nebraska, weighing 310
pounds... 

TOMMY FRASIER!

[Fraiser is the epitome of corn fed country boy, with close cropped red
hair, slight farmers tan and a red two strapped wrestling singlet over a
thick frame that resembles a vault with arms and legs. He thrusts his
hands in the air as his name is announced and then snaps the straps on
his singlet.]

BW: That Tommy Frasier's a big ol' boy, Gordo, he ain't missed too many
meals.

GM: He has quite a challenge in front of him, but he comes with
fantastic credentials from Hamilton Graham. 

[Back to the ring.]

MC: His opponent... from San Jose, California!

[Big cheer!]

MC: Weighing 250 pounds, he is the SAN JOSE SHARK!

MARCUS BROUUUSSSSSSAAAARD!

["You Know My Name" by Chris Cornell fires up as the fans in Atlanta
rise to their feet. Within seconds, Marcus Broussard walks out into the
aisle as the fans get louder. Broussard wears blue tights with the
outline of a shark on the backside in gold, blue kneepads and white
boots, with white athletic tape heavily wrapped around his wrist. He is
clean shaven, with sandy blonde hair cut short.]

GM: The first singles match that we have seen Marcus Broussard in here
on Saturday Night Wrestling in many a moon, Bucky Wilde.

BW: This man is more focused than I ever seen him before, and you know
that me and the Shark were tight at one time. He's got bad intentions
for the Southern Syndicate, but we know that they got bad intentions for
him too.

[Broussard makes his way to the ring and walks up the steps, making sure
to wipe his feet on the apron before entering. Michael Meekly pats
Broussard down as the music dies down, and the bell rings to start the
match.]

GM: This one underway as Broussard comes out of the corner, both men
circle around one another... Marcus shoots in and grabs the hammerlock.
Broussard is not a small man, Bucky Wilde, but his movements in that
ring are as quick as can be. 

BW: He's down by sixty pounds to Big Tommy Frasier, so he's got to use
that quickness. It's his best asset.

[Marcus cranks on the hammerlock, then switches gears and takes Frasier
down with a heel trip, and then picks up the ankle... lifts the leg up,
and DRIVES the knee into the mat. Frasier grimaces as Broussard scoots
to the center of the ring, now in front of Tommy Frasier and beckons him
forward...]

GM: Broussard one step ahead of the somewhat green Tommy Frasier, and
he's calling for Frasier to get up... Tommy rushes, ducked by Marcus...
and he drills Frasier in the back of the thigh with a kick! Frasier
grabs for the hamstring, as Marcus bounces off the ropes... chop block
by the San Jose Shark! 

[Broussard again gets out in front of Frasier and brings him back to his
feet, and buries another boot to the hamstring. Frasier grabs the hammy
again, and Marcus bounces off the ropes, then rebounds with a high
dropkick that staggers Frasier and has him backpedaling into the
corner.]

GM: Frasier hits the corner hard and Broussard is hot on the trail,
burying a right hand in the chops and once again targetting that leg.

BW: Ain't it obvious what the Shark is doing, he's not just targeting
that leg, he's dissecting it. One step at a time, he's going to send
this man home in a wheelchair.

[Marcus laces the leg over the second rope and then begins to assault
it, burying pointed boots to the knee of Tommy Frasier.]

GM: Tommy Frasier has had trouble getting out of the starting blocks,
and now he finds himself in a whole heap of trouble. Broussard grabs
Tommy Frasier, holding him for a back suplex... but he's trying to fold
that left leg up, trying to isolate the right leg... now he lifts for a
suplex and _jams_ the right leg into the mat! My goodness, that's
vicious!

[Frasier cries out in pain, and another soccer kick by Broussard to the
knee puts Frasier on the ground. Marcus wastes little time, dropping an
elbow to the bad knee and then getting back to his feet, sticking
Tommy's leg in between his own legs so he's straddling it, and then
jumping and crashing to the mat, Frasier's bad knee stuck in between
Marcus' two good ones.]

GM: A relentless assault on the lower body of Tommy Frasier, who is flat
on his back in the middle of the ring. Broussard picks up that bad leg
once more... and somersaults over, again tearing at the hamstring of the
big Nebraska native.

BW: Hamilton Graham's lookin' like a shyster right about now Gordo, his
man can just about stand.

GM: Marcus Broussard is on a mission Bucky, I would say that's obvious.
He's sending a message to the Southern Syndicate, through this young
man.

BW: And that message is don't train with Hamilton Graham!

[The former National champion brings Frasier to his feet and lifts him
for an atomic drop, making sure to put the emphasis on the lower
extremities of Tommy as he lands the maneuver. Frasier limps in pain,
and Marcus bounds off the ropes and plants him with a running bulldog.]

GM: Bulldog on the mark by the former champion, and he's telling the
crowd it's over! Broussard backing into the corner, standing up on the
second rope and leaps off... fistdrop misses! Tommy Frasier dodged the
move!

[The crowd erupts in shock as Broussard wildly shakes his fist, trying
to get feeling back in his hand... and is blindsided when a pained Tommy
Frasier trucks him with a lunging clothesline!]

GM: Oh my stars! A mammoth clothesline knocked Broussard for a loop, and
perhaps Frasier can start mounting a comeback now? Frasier bends down
gingerly, trying to bring Marcus-

BW: IT'S A TRAP!

[Indeed, as Tommy bends down, Broussard springs to life and takes the
big redhead over with an inside cradle, instantly releases the pinning
combination and floats right into the So-Cal Clutch. The crowd erupts as
Marcus cinches the hold on, and Tommy Frasier can do nothing but tap out
for dear life.]

GM: A dominating victory for Marcus Broussard, who dictated the entire
match to young Tommy Frasier and then sprung a trap on the young man to
seal the victory. 

BW: He's three steps ahead at all times, and that's what's so
frustrating, daddy. He's always got a plan.

GM:  Marcus Broussard is certainly on task, getting ready for WarGames
in just a few short weeks' time.  But will he be ready?  Will the
ringrust be shaken off in time?  Will he be able to stand in there with
the Southern Syndicate and-

[Suddenly, the opening riffs of ZZ Top's "Sharp Dressed Man" kick in
over the loudspeakers and the crowd immediately erupts in a chorus of
jeers as the self-proclaimed AWA Pacific Champion, "Ladykiller" Calisto
Dufresne comes marching through the entrance portal looking
uncharacteristically serious.  Clad in a charcoal colored three piece
suit, a baby blue argyle patterned tie knotted tightly around his neck. 
His PWR Pacific Championship rests over one shoulder and his long blond
hair is pulled back into a tight pony tail.  He does not stop to berate
the fans as usual.  Instead, he quickly makes his way towards Gordon and
Bucky looking none-too-happy.  Myers stands to meet him as the music
dies down a bit, the boos continuing.]

GM: Calisto Dufresne, to what do we owe the... pleasure?

[Dufresne snaps his head towards Myers.]

CD: Myers, I'm in no mood for any of your disrespect.  I get enough of
that around here as it is.  Is this how a champion is treated in this
organization?  I have no idea how Stevie does it week in, week out. 

[Dufresne shakes his head in frustration.]

CD: All I do, without fail, is come out here and put my life on the line
for all of my fans; defending the AWA Pacific Championship over and over
and help put oversized butts in the seats.  The suits want me to fight
fat rednecks who outweigh me by 200 pounds?  No problem.  They want me
to fight professional backyard knockout artists?  No problem.  They want
to make me out to be the bad guy and fight all the little boy wonders
they have running around this place?  No problem.

And this is how they repay me?

[Myers looks confused.]

GM: What in the world do you mean?

CD: You know exactly what I mean!  They stole the AWA National Tag Team
Titles from Adrian and I months ago and refuse to give us a rematch. 
Then, when they finally do give us a rematch they steal the titles from
us yet _again!_

GM: I'm not sure I understand what you're saying.  Joe Petrow cost you
the titles, not the AWA.

[Dufresne stares at Myers like he's daft.]

CD: Who the hell do you think called Petrow?  The Bishop Boys don't own
a phone in their trailer.  It was Jim Watkins! 

[The crowd boos at this assertion.]

CD: Why do you think he gave us the rematch in the first place?  So he
could screw us over a second time!  I won't stand for it.  My fans won't
stand for it.  The Southern Syndicate won't stand for it!  And Joe
Petrow... I tossed you out on your old, decrepit neck a few months ago
and I will not hesitate to finish the job.  Do not stick your nose where
it doesn't belong,  I'm sure Ben will pass the message along himself,
but let me reiterate: Consider.  Yourself.  Warned. 

GM: Now, on to the question all the fans want to know.  Tin Can Ru-

[Dufresne ignores Myers, continuing on.]

CD: And to the Bishop Boys - do not think this is over.  It's not over
by a longshot.  Adrian and I will get another shot at _our_ titles and
when we do, we're not going to let any dinosaurs stop us from getting
them back.

GM: Okay, but what about after the match when-

[Dufresne continues on.]

CD: And who could forget about Battle on the Bayou?  WarGames.  The
Southern Syndicate out in full force.  It's going to be the night where
we rid ourselves of all of our enemies in one fell swoop.

GM: Yes, let's talk about Battle on the Bayou.  You've been challenged
by-

[Dufresne cuts Myers off once again.]

CD: That's all the time we have for toni-

[This time it's Dufresne who gets cut off - by the fans as they let out
a cheer for the man who laid down the challenge last time out, Tin Can
Rust. The Kentuckian steps towards Dufresne, but remains in an arm's
length of distance. Rust - dressed in jeans, a black t-shirt and a plaid
shirt - stares down the Pacific Champion before leaning in towards the
mic.]

TCR: You know damn well that's not all that we have for tonight, boy.

[Rust narrows his eyes as he finally takes that last step and looks at
Dufresne with an intense glare.]

TCR: I laid out my challenge... and I'll be damned if I let you leave
this arena without addressing it.

[Dufresne takes a big gulp, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he
absently rubs his neck where Rust choked him with a belt two weeks
prior.]

CD: Well, as I mentioned earlier, I have a huge Main Event that I'm a
part of.  Southern Syndicate business, you understand.  _Unfinished_
business.  As far as you and City Jack are concerned, that's _finished_
business.  So I don't think I'm going to be able to make that match
happen, I'm sorry.

[The boos rain down long and hard. Rust steps back for a moment and
looks around at the crowd, his jaw clenched and his hands held tight in
fists.]

TCR: Are you serious?! You're standing here in front of me talking about
"Southern Syndicate business"?!? You're standing here trying to tell me
- ME -

[The crowd lets out a cheer as Rust amps up the energy.]

TCR: A man with so much pent up anger that I'm having a hard time NOT
ripping your head clean off right here, right now! You're telling me I'm
FINISHED BUSINESS?! Do I look finished to you, Dufresne?!

[Dufresne stares at Rust long and hard throughout the verbal assault.]

TCR: Do you think I'm ready to roll over and die right here cause you
said so?! Boy, this ain't about your pals and their war! This ain't
about any title or ego! I don't know if you get that this man standing
before you didn't return to play some games...

[Rust pauses.]

TCR: Cause I know you weren't playing games when you were retiring
people left and right around here! And I know for sure you were playing
around when YOU took MY BROTHER City Jack's eyesight away! So don't be
playing any games right now!

[As the crowd cheers with Rust's ever growing emotion... the man from
Central City, KY takes a step back and a moment to gather himself.]

TCR: Now I made it clear before... I want you in that ring, at the
Battle on the Bayou. Now you can make it easy and accept the match... or
you can make it hard for yourself, your pals, your title, your ego, and
anything else you hold dear...

[Finally, Dufresne snaps.  His voice raises and his eyes are burning.]

CD: FINE!  You want to end up like that blind dog City Jack, fine!

[Huge pop!]

CD: _But_... there's a catch.

[The crowd quiets down a bit as a cheshire cat grin spreads across
Dufresne's face.]

CD: When I said that I want you to end up like City Jack, I meant it. 
I'm tired of you popping back up trying to pull me off the road to the
top of this industry.  I need to be rid of you two dopes once and for
all.  I've already gotten rid of one of you.  So if you want to get me
in the ring, my demands are simple:

You put your worthless career on the line!

[Explosive pop from the Georgia faithful. Dufresne nods in satisfaction,
thinking he has put the big Kentuckian in a position he can't possibly
accept.  Tin Can Rust looks around, somewhat surprised by the negotiated
offer... but doesn't take that long to step toward Dufresne.]

TCR: Son, as far as I'm concerned? The thought of failing to you,
failing my friends and fans, and failing City Jack? I wouldn't even dare
set my boots back in here ever again.

[The Ladykiller steps back, stunned that Rust accepted, but quickly
regains his composure and smiles in satisfaction as Tin Can Rust's eyes
burn a hole straight through him, the crowd erupting with delight as we
cut to commercial....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 on a closeup of the Battle On The Bayou logo
with the words "CONTROL CENTER" underneath.  After a moment, the logo
spins away to reveal Jason Dane seated in front of a bank of television
monitors.]

JD:  Hello, AWA fans, and welcome to the Control Center.  We are just a
few short weeks away from Labor Day and from the Battle On The Bayou. 
What a night it will be in New Orleans.  September 6th in the Bayfront
Center where we expect an all-time attendance record for an AWA crowd
for the hottest night of the summer.

Let's look at the lineup...

Of course, we've got the big one - WarGames.  A team from the Southern
Syndicate which Ben Waterson claims will be Stevie Scott, Calisto
Dufresne, Adrian Freeman, Brian Von Braun and MAMMOTH Mizusawa will take
on a squad of Juan Vasquez, Marcus Broussard, Todd Michaelson, Kolya
Sudakov, and a partner who has yet to be named.

We've got a National Tag Team Title match that was announced earlier
tonight with the Bishop Boys taking on Rough N Ready in a No
Disqualification match!

We'll see more tag team action when the Blonde Bombers collide with the
Rockstar Express!

It'll be a grudge match for the ages when Shane Destiny takes on Mark
Langseth!

And moments ago, we heard the challenge and we heard it accepted. 
Calisto Dufresne will take on Tin Can Rust... and if Tin Can Rust loses
the match, he loses his career!  The stakes have never been higher for a
match here in the AWA!

We've got all of that plus more to be announced in the days and weeks to
come, fans!  But for now, I'm Jason Dane in the Control Center - let's
head back down to ringside for our Main Event!

[And down to ringside we go indeed where Melissa stands.]

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit and is part of the Lady Luck Challenge!

[Big cheer!]

MC:  Introducing first... 

["Camero Crash Helmet" by Borgo Pass starts up to a major explosion of
jeers from the AWA faithful - many remembering Stone's last stint in the
AWA where he carved a bloody path through much of the roster.]

MC:  He hails from Louisville, Kentucky... weighing in at 310 pounds...

GRAAAAAAAANT STOOOOOOONE!

[The cold-blooded brute steps through the curtain to even louder boos. 
He stands stoic for a moment, looking out over the 6,000+ fans in the
Forbes Arena.]

GM:  There he is, Bucky.  The man who has stalked Jack Snyder for months
now in the AWA... and of course, the man who warred with Bobby Taylor
about eighteen months ago.  Grant Stone is no stranger to AWA fans.

BW:  He's no stranger but he IS a madman with a sadistic streak a mile
long.

[The Louisville native, dressed in his usual simple wrestling gear of
dark green wrestling trunks and black boots. The only thing that is out
of the ordinary tonight is the eerily calm face about him - unusual for
the ever-angry Grant Stone.

The 6'8", 310lbs framed monster ignores the words from the crowd as he
passes down the aisle and to the ring. He slowly makes his way up the
ring, almost savoring each step, before finally stepping through the
ropes.]

MC:  And his opponent...

[The music is replaced by Led Zeppelin's "No Quarter."]

MC:  From Bullhead City, Arizona... weighing in at 255 pounds...

He is the "Dying Breed"...

JAAAAAAACK SNYYYYYYYDER!

[Snyder moves quickly through the curtain and does not pause for a
moment as he walks swiftly down the aisle towards the ring where Grant
Stone is waiting for him.]

GM:  Here he comes, Bucky... one win away from a shot at the National
Champion!  If Snyder can conquer his demon here tonight, he gets a shot
at Stevie Scott and the AWA National Title and that's what this Lady
Luck Challenge is all about!

[Snyder stomps right down the aisle, throwing himself under the bottom
rope into the ring...

...where Stone rushes forward, stomping Snyder's head as the referee
frantically calls for the bell!]

GM:  Michael Meekly has started the match!  We're starting this one off
hot and heavy, Bucky!

[Stone continues to stomp furiously, almost as if he's trying to put
Snyder's skull through the canvas as he pushes it down into the mat!]

GM:  Stone's all over him!  Stomping him over and over on the canvas!

BW:  It's simple but effective, daddy!

[With Snyder reeling, Stone reaches down to haul him up to his feet...

...and gets caught with a right hand on the jaw!]

GM:  Ohh!  Snyder caught him there!

[Grabbing Stone by the short brown hair, Snyder winds up and drills him
with another haymaker to the jaw!  And another!  And another!]

GM:  Snyder's fighting back!

[Still holding the hair, Snyder turns to the nearest corner and SLAMS
Stone facefirst into the top turnbuckle to a big cheer from the crowd!]

GM:  Oh yeah!

[He hooks the wrist of Stone, whipping him the short distance to the
buckle where he promptly mounts the midbuckle, holding up a fist to a
big cheer, and starts throwing it down.]


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

[And with the referee ordering him to get down, Snyder simply leans over
and sinks his teeth into the forehead of Grant Stone to a huge cheer
from the crowd!]

GM:  HE'S BITING HIM!!  HE'S BITING STONE!!

BW:  Jack Snyder's willing to do whatever it takes to win this - THAT'S
how important the AWA National Title is to him.  THAT'S how important it
is to anyone who is anyone in this sport!  You want to be recognized as
the best in the world?  You need to wear that title belt.

GM:  You've got that right.

[Snyder hops down off the middle rope, pulling his rival into a side
headlock.  He swings his arm around in the air, signaling to the crowd
as he charges out of the corner...]

GM:  BULLDOG!!

[...but gets THROWN off, sending him through the air and crashing down
to the canvas!]

GM:  Ohh!  Stone blocks the bulldog and he makes Snyder pay for that
one!

[Snyder scrambles to his feet off the canvas, looking to stay on the
attack...

...and nearly gets his head torn off his shoulders from a running
clothesline from Stone!]

GM:  Good grief!  A huge clothesline from Grant Stone and that'll turn
the tide in this one for sure, Bucky.

BW:  It certainly will.

GM:  Stone drops down to cover and- wait a second...

[Instead of applying a lateral press, Stone simply reaches out with both
hands and wraps them around the throat of Jack Snyder.]

GM:  He's choking him!  A blatant choke applied by Grant Stone in the
middle of the ring!  

BW:  The referee is right there to count - that's all he can do, Gordo.

GM:  The count is up to three... four... fiv- he just narrowly breaks
that illegal hold in time.  We almost had a disqualification right there
and if Stone gets DQd, Jack Snyder will have a date with destiny.

BW:  Not to mention Stevie Scott, the champ.

GM:  Absolutely.  Stone glaring at the official now and-

[The crowd jeers as Stone simply leans right back down and applies the
two-handed choke again, digging his fingers into the flesh of his
arch-rival.]

GM:  He's choking him again!  Strangling the life out of Jack Snyder! 
Come on, referee!

BW: What do you want the referee to do, Gordo?

GM:  His job!

BW:  He's doing his job!  He's counting!

GM:  Well, he's not counting fast enough in my book.

[Stone again breaks the choke just before the count of five, ignoring
the protesting official as he climbs to his feet, dragging Snyder off
the floor by the hair.]

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

[Stone shoves Snyder back against the closest set of ropes, winding up
and smashing home a forearm across the broad chest of the "Dying Breed."
 He promptly grabs the left arm, firing Snyder across the ring.]

GM:  Big whip by Stone... 

[But a rebounding Snyder ducks under a clothesline attempt, hitting the
far ropes behind Stone.]

GM:  Snyder ducks the clothesline - off he comes...

[And gets CREAMED with a big boot to the jaw!]

GM:  Ohhh!  Big boot by Stone!

[But again, Stone fails to attempt a lateral press.  Instead, he opts to
deliver a rib-cracking punt-style kick to the ribcage of Snyder, forcing
him to roll to his stomach.  A second kick connects as well, sending
Snyder rolling under the ropes to the apron.]

GM:  Out to the apron goes Snyder, trying to escape those brutal kicks
to the body.

[Stone steps through the ropes to the apron, staring down at Snyder who
uses the ropes to pull himself up to his knees...

...where Stone batters him with a double axehandle blow to the crown of
the skull!]

GM:  A powerful shot to the head right there, Bucky.

BW:  Grant Stone is pure power.  Every punch, every kick, every forearm
is thrown with the kind of force that few men in this sport can muster,
Gordo.

GM:  Stone pulls Snyder off the mat...

[And promptly wraps his hand around his throat!  The crowd begins to
buzz with concern!]

GM:  Are you kidding me?!

BW:  A chokeslam off the apron!  That's what he wants, Gordo!  He won't
be happy with a win tonight.  He wants Jack Snyder carted out of here in
a meat wagon like Aaron Anderson was earlier tonight.  Stone wants
blood.  He wants carnage.  He wants a damn body count!

GM:  Somebody's gotta stop this!  He could break the man's back!

[Stone digs his fingers into the throat, saying something unheard by the
camera to Snyder.]

GM:  Wouldn't you love to be able to read lips right now?

BW:  I can.  I think he said, "I really want a beer... and your spine."

GM:  He did not!

[Stone gives a bellow as he tries to hoist Snyder off the apron by his
throat, getting him just slightly off the mat when Snyder snaps off a
back elbow to the jaw of Stone, forcing him to set him back down!]

GM:  He blocked the chokeslam!  But he needs to keep fighting because
Stone's still got ahold of his neck!

[Snyder snaps off two more sharp elbows to the side of the head,
staggering Stone.]

GM:  He breaks free!  He broke the grip!

[Grabbing Stone by the back of the head, Snyder pulls his face down on
the top rope and drags it down the ropes, raking his eyes against the
top rope strand.]

GM:  Ahhh!  

BW:  Where's the ref on that one?  Totally illegal!

[A blinded Stone swings his arms wildly, trying to connect with Snyder
who is measuring his man...

...and snaps off a jab to the jaw!  A second one follows, knocking Stone
back towards the opposite ringpost.]

GM:  They're out on the apron fighting and this could be disastrous! 
Either one of these men could make a mistake and end up in the hospital
fighting out here on the apron!

[A trio of short jabs connects one more, causing Stone to stagger all
the way back against the ringpost.  Snyder steps into the ring, reaching
over the ropes to grab Stone by the arm.]

GM:  Oh no... oh no...

[With a heart-filled effort, Snyder HURLS him down the apron with an
Irish whip, falling down to the canvas from the effort as Stone goes
sailing down the apron...

...and SMASHES chestfirst into the steel ringpost before falling down to
the floor in a heap!]

GM:  MY STARS!!  MY STARS IN HEAVEN!!

[The crowd is roaring for Snyder as he climbs back to a knee, shaking
the cobwebs as he looks out to the floor where his rival now lies in a
heap on the thinly-padded floor.]

GM:  Snyder with an incredible move right there and Grant Stone is
paying the price for that one.  Grant Stone smashed into that steel -
let's take another look...

[We get a rare AWA in-match replay as we cut to a split screen - the top
half showing Snyder exerting all of his energy into one powerful Irish
whip that sends Stone sailing down the apron before he smashes into the
solid steel ringpost, his sternum meeting solid metal before slumping
off the apron and falling to the floor.  We cut back to live action as
Snyder steps out on the apron, ignoring the referee's cries to stay
inside the ring.]

GM:  Stone's out on the floor - take the countout, Jack!

BW:  No chance.  Snyder wants to put the beating to Stone almost as
badly as Stone wants to put the beating to him.  Jack Snyder is not
about to accept a countout win in this one. 

GM:  But he's risking a shot at the National Title!  He needs to win the
match - not hurt Grant Stone!


"FIVE MINUTES HAVE EXPIRED!  FIVE MINUTES REMAIN!"


GM:  We've got five minutes left in the time limit of this Lady Luck
Challenge!

[Snyder slowly walks down the length of the apron, looking down at the
still prone form of Grant Stone...

...and slowly raises his arm to the cheers of the crowd.]

GM:  Wait a second!  What's he doing?  What in the world is he doing?

[Snyder leans back against the ropes, looking down right below him at
Stone...

...and HURLS himself off the apron, driving the point of his elbow down
into the chest of the stunned Stone!]

GM:  ELBOW!!  ELBOW TO THE COLD HEART OF GRANT STONE!!

[The crowd is roaring as both men lie motionless out on the floor as the
referee starts a ten count.]

GM:  Oh no... the referee is counting both men out on the floor, Bucky.

BW:  Hey, you're always whining about the ref not doing his job.  Well,
this is his job right now, Gordo.  He's supposed to count these two men
out of the ring and that's exactly what he's doing.

GM:  A double countout would end Jack Snyder's quest for that title shot
at Stevie Scott.  If he gets counted out, the streak stops at four and
Jack Snyder will lose his chance to get a shot at the National Title.

[As the count hits four, Jack Snyder rolls over to a knee, his head
bowed down as he tries to recover.  At six, the crowd cheering him on,
Snyder pushes up to his feet, reaching down to haul Stone off the mat by
the hair.]

GM:  Both men back up at eight...

[And frantically, Snyder hurls Stone under the ropes into the ring
before throwing himself in at the count of nine.]

GM:  Whew.  Too close, Bucky.

[Snyder kneels down next to Stone, pulling him up by the hair and
delivering a hard right hand.  Shaking his head, saying something
unheard by the cameras, he delivers a second right hand... and a
third... and a fourth.]

GM:  Snyder's beating the tar out of Stone in the middle of the ring!

[Snyder drags Stone off the mat by the hair, hurling him in the
direction of the ropes...]

GM:  JACKBREAK-

[But it comes up short as Stone pulls up, driving a boot into the chest
of Snyder to block his signature spinebuster attempt, sending Snyder
stumbling back into the ropes...

...where a rushing clothesline takes both men over the top rope and down
to the floor below!]

GM:  OHHHHHH!  THEY BOTH GOT WIPED OUT!!

BW:  Stone blocked the Jackbreaker and then hit a big clothesline that
took them both over the ropes and down to the floor.  Both Jack Snyder
and Grant Stone went all the way over the top and down to the concrete
floor!  Right back where they just were!

GM:  It's almost like Stone WANTED this match back out on the floor,
Bucky!

BW:  Maybe he did.  He's made no secret that he's not in this match for
a chance to get a title shot.  He's in this match to punish Jack Snyder,
to bloody Jack Snyder, to break Jack Snyder.  What better place to do
all that than on a concrete floor?

[Stone is the first one to his feet this time, delivering a kick to
Snyder's ribs as the Arizona native tries to regain his feet.  He drags
him off the floor by the arm...

...and YANKS hard on the arm, taking Snyder right back down with a
short-arm clothesline!]

GM:  Ohhh!  Nice move by Stone and- wait a second...

[The crowd buzzes as Stone moves over to the timekeeper's table, shoving
the timekeeper out of his seat and snatching up the steel chair he was
seated on.]

GM:  You can't use that!  That's a DQ!

BW:  He hasn't used it yet.

GM:  Stone's got the chair folded up... what do you think he's gonna do
with it?  Of course he's gonna use it!  Of course he's gonna smash his
rival over the head with it!


"SEVEN MINUTES HAVE EXPIRED!  THREE MINUTES REMAIN!"


[Stone slowly approaches the downed Snyder, standing over him...

...and drops the steel chair right next to him.]

GM:  What in the...?

[Stone shouts at Snyder's prone form, loud enough for all to hear.]


"GET UP!  GET UP AND FIGHT!"


[Snyder rolls over to his chest, pushing up to his knees...

...where Stone reaches out and slaps him HARD across the face.]


"YOU THINK YER MAN ENOUGH TO FIGHT ME?!"


[Another HARD slap across the face!]


"PROVE IT, YOU SON OF A-"


[Stone's words get cut off with a big right hand from Snyder who erupts
from his knees to pop the big man in the jaw!]

GM:  Ohh!  What a shot!

[A second and third right hand follow, staggering Stone...

...and Snyder spots the steel chair lying on the floor.  He promptly
leans down, grabbing the discarded chair.]

GM:  What the-?!  Don't do it, Jack!

BW:  It was a setup, Gordo!  It's brilliant!

GM:  What do you mean?

BW:  He's trying to get Snyder to hit him with the chair!  

[And that appears to be exactly what's going on as Stone drops his arms,
waving the chair-wielding Snyder forward.]

BW:  He's begging him to hit him with the chair!

GM:  If he does, Snyder gets DQd!  His night is over!

BW:  Exactly!  Don't you think Grant Stone knows that?  He's trying to
get Jack Snyder to cost HIMSELF a shot at the National Title!

[Snyder winds up with the chair, rage in his eyes...]

GM:  NO!!  NOOOOOO!

[But pulls up short...

...and throws the chair aside to the cheers of the crowd.]

GM:  Yeah!  He did it!

[Stone shakes his head before throwing himself under the bottom rope. 
Snyder does the same, just narrowly avoiding the ten count once more.]

GM:  A near double countout again and-

[Stone gets to his feet, rushing to kick the rising Snyder in the ribs
again.  Grabbing two hands full of hair, Stone brings his knee up into
the face once, twice, three times before hurling Snyder into the nearest
set of turnbuckles.]

GM:  Into the corner they go...


"TWO MINUTES REMAIN!  TWO MINUTES!"


GM:  Two minutes!  They've only got two minutes to go!

[Stone pummels Snyder in the corner, big chops across the chest of the
"Dying Breed."  Grabbing an arm, he fires Snyder across the ring.]

GM:  Whip to the opposite corner... here comes Stone!

[But the rampaging big man gets caught as Snyder lifts a boot at the
last moment, smashing it into Stone's jaw!]

GM:  OHHH!  HE GOT CAUGHT COMING IN!!

[And Snyder ERUPTS out of the corner, leaping up into a vertical press
and taking Stone down to the mat where he immediately starts raining
down clenched right and left hands to the skull!]

GM:  HE'S ALL OVER STONE!!  THE JACK ATTACK IS ALL OVER HIM!!

[The referee steps in with a count, forcing Snyder to give up on the
barrage of blows.  The Arizona native climbs to his feet with a loud
shout that brings the fans to their feet.]

GM:  He's calling for the JackBreaker again!

[Pulling Stone up by the wrist, Snyder attempts an Irish whip by Stone
easily reverses it.]

GM:  He reversed the whip... Snyder off the ropes...

[And as Stone sets for a backdrop a bit too soon, Snyder pulls up short,
hooks a front facelock...

...and DRIVES Stone's skull into the canvas!]

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

[Snyder promptly flips Stone to his back, diving across him in a cover.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!!  THRE- 


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  The shoulder's up at two!  Just in time!

[Snyder pushes up to his knees, head buried in his hands in frustration.
 The camera pans down to reveal a stream of blood pouring out of the
skull of Grant Stone.]

GM:  He split him open!  Split his danged skull wide open, Bucky!

[An angry Snyder grabs Stone by the head, battering the now-cut forehead
over and over with right hands to the skull.  After a few of them, he
climbs to his feet, holding Stone by the hair with one hand and holding
up a blood-covered fist.]

GM:  My stars, what a war!


"ONE MINUTE REMAINS!  SIXTY SECONDS!"


[Snyder pulls Stone the rest of the way up, grabbing the wrist again,
and hurling him towards the ropes.]

GM:  Irish whip!

[But this time, Stone simply dives through the ropes as he approaches,
landing in a heap on the floor!]

GM:  What the-?!

BW:  Haha!  I love it!  Snyder was going for that JackBreaker again but
Stone saw it coming and he got the heck out of there!

GM:  But there's under sixty seconds to go!

BW:  So?  Stone doesn't care about winning this match!  He doesn't even
really care about Snyder LOSING this match.  He only cares about Jack
Snyder NOT winning the match!  He wants to cost him a shot at the
National Title!

GM:  Are you kidding me?

[Realizing exactly what Bucky's saying, Snyder hurls himself through the
ropes, diving off the apron onto Stone and battering him back against
the railing.]

GM:  Snyder's gotta get him in and quick!

BW:  We're almost to thirty seconds!

[Grabbing Stone by the head, Snyder attempts to drag him to the ring but
Stone simply reaches up and rakes his fingers across the eyes of Snyder,
blocking the effort.]

GM:  Oh, come on!


"THIRTY SECONDS!"


[The crowd roars as a blinded Snyder reaches out, connecting with a
right hand to the jaw of Stone that rocks him.  He grabs Stone's skull
with both hands, reaching up to smash his own head into his rival's.]

GM:  Headbutt!  Out on the floor!

BW:  He's gotta get him back in though!

[A dazed Snyder drags Stone towards the ring, hurling him back under the
ropes.]

"TWENTY SECONDS!"

[Snyder rolls himself back in, grabbing Stone by the arm to pull him to
his feet.]

GM:  Another whip...

[Snyder again sets for the JackBreaker...

...but Stone desperately holds on to the ropes, blocking the rebound.  A
frantic Snyder rushes forward.]


"TEN SECONDS!"


[And Stone simply goes right with it, dropping his head and LAUNCHING
Snyder off the ropes and down to the floor!]

GM:  OHHHHHHHH!

BW:  That's it, daddy!  So long title shot!

[With the crowd counting along down to zero, Grant Stone leans over the
ropes, a bloody grin on his face as Jack Snyder tries to get up off the
floor with the aid of the ropes...

...and slumps back down to a knee as the bell rings.]

GM:  Damn him.  Grant Stone didn't even give him a chance to win this
thing.  He was just fighting not to lose.

BW:  It's a great strategy for a guy who doesn't care if he wins, Gordo.

GM:  It makes me sick.  Absolutely sick.

[The referee confers with Melissa which leads to...]

MC:  After ten minutes of action, your referee has declared this match a
TIME LIMIT DRAW!

[The crowd jeers the announcement.  A battered and beated Stone lets
loose a wide sadistic grin under his crimson mask as he stares out at
the kneeling Snyder who looks enraged.]

GM:  A time limit draw... and that means that Snyder has lost the Lady
Luck Challenge!  He only had one more win to go but he lost the Lady
Luck Challenge here tonight thanks to Grant Stone.  He just got robbed
of a shot at the National Title thanks to Grant Stone.

BW:  Hey, he had ten minutes to beat Stone and couldn't get the job
done.  Don't start crying about him being robbed.  Stone didn't go on
defense until late in the match so Snyder had his chance, Gordo.

GM:  It wasn't a fair chance and you know it, Bucky.  But there'll be
another day for these two men... there'll be another time and then,
Grant Stone will have to pay for what he's done.  Fans, we've gotta take
one more commercial and we'll be back.  Don't go away!

[Fade to black on the blood-covered grin of Grant Stone...

...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 where we find Ben Waterson
standing in the middle of the ring.

Along with the entire Southern Syndicate team for WarGames. 

"Hotshot" Stevie Scott stands close to the manager of the group, still
in his ring gear, patting the title belt hanging over his shoulder.  He
whispers to Waterson as the camera comes live.

Calisto Dufresne and Adrian Freeman are nearby, discussing what's going
on in front of them.  Dufresne has the Pacific Title slung over his
shoulder and seems to be gesturing to the giant standing nearby.

Brian Von Braun is near Freeman, eyeing Louis Matsui and MAMMOTH
Mizusawa warily.  His knuckles are white, clenched around the middle of
his cane - just in case.

And Matsui and Mizusawa are basically taking up an entire other part of
the ring.  Mizusawa is backed in a corner, keeping his back to a secure
spot as Matsui keeps his back to the giant... also a secure spot.

Waterson has the mic... of course.]

GM:  Look at this, Bucky!

BW:  He said he'd do it, Gordo!  And this man ALWAYS delivers!  The
entire team is in the ring... the entire WarGames team is on the same
page.

GM:  Let's not get ahead of ourselves, we don't know that-

[Waterson's voice interrupts Gordon.]

ATTSBW:  I'm sure I'm interrupting some great analysis by Gordon Myers
but that can't be helped.  We have business - serious business - to
attend to here tonight.

Ladies and gentlemen... what you see before you is the greatest
collection of talent to ever step foot inside a single wrestling ring.

What you see before you is a unit - bound by one purpose - the complete
and total elimination of another five men in three weeks time.

To the AWA, it may be Battle On The Bayou but when these five men are
done with their opponents inside that massive double cage, it'll be
BLOOD On The Bayou.

[Waterson chuckles at his own joke.]

ATTSBW:  The team needs no introduction but we're going to make sure of
that.

First off, the captain of the team... the AWA National Champion... the
greatest professional athlete in the world today... "HOTSHOT" STEVIE
SCOTT!

[Boos pour down on the National Champ.]

ATTSBW:  The former National Tag Team Champions... the GREATEST TAG TEAM
IN THE SPORT... and two men who on their own can put up one hell of a
fight to boot.  The greatest technical wrestler in the world, ADRIAN
FREEMAN!  And the AWA Pacific Champion and the man who will pull double
duty in three weeks' time just to make sure the world never hears from
Old Man Dust again... CALISTO DUFRESNE!

[More boos for the dreaded duo.]

ATTSBW:  How about the newest member of the Southern Syndicate?  He's
the straw that stirs the drink!  He's the man who makes the magic
happen!  He's the Rocket City Badboy... BRIAN VON BRAUN!

[Von Braun stoically raises his cane to some jeers, keeping his eyes on
the giant.]

ATTSBW:  And... on gracious loan from the Matsui Corporation... the one
and only GIANT of professional wrestling... the man so large he can have
a face to face showdown with the Lord Almighty... MAMMOTH MIZUSAWA!

[More jeers pour down on the big man and his smirking manager...

...who suddenly walks across the ring and snatches the mic out of
Waterson's hand.]

GM:  Uh oh.

BW:  It's under control.  Don't worry about it.  

[Matsui stares at Waterson for a long moment, an arrogant grin on his
face.]

LM:  Let me stop you right there, Ben.

[Waterson looks anxious as Matsui continues.]

LM: It's two weeks to Battle on the Bayou, two weeks to War Games and
everyone's asking me, "Will MAMMOTH Mizusawa be part of the Southern
Syndicate team?" Now, I watched the agreement Mr. Waterson struck with
Von Braun earlier tonight and I know Brian is ready to apologize, so how
about we get 'er done right here, right now, and give the fans the
answer to the question, "Will MAMMOTH Mizusawa and Brian Von Braun be
standing on the same side at Battle on the Bayou?" 

[Von Braun and Waterson step forward together.  Brian leans over and
says something to Waterson who looks angry but nods as he grabs the
mic.]

ATTSBW:  Look, Louis... there's no need for this.  We're all out here
together.  It's obvious we're all on the same page.  Is it really
necessary to have Brian publicly apologize for something we all know he
regrets?

[Von Braun starts to speak but Waterson silences him with a hand to the
chest.]

ATTSBW:  I mean, look at this collection of talent.  Think about what
these five men are capable of with the two of us guiding the way.  The
money!  The glory!  The fame!  

Heck, maybe there's even a spot in our little group for your big man
someday.

[Matsui snatches the mic back.]

LM: Let me just stop you right there.  I've told you and I've told the
fans; it's not about the money! It's not about being a part of the
Syndicate. In fact, it's not about whatever "blank check" you could
offer, because you know very well that if the giant wants something,
he'll go after it himself... Even the National title... But my client is
a man of honor, as am I, and we will not stand the slight made towards
us by YOUR ASSOCIATE. He has to deliver his apology, or I'm giving my
client the night off two weeks from now.

[Waterson bristles... then nudges Brian Von Braun who steps forward,
grabbing the mic.]

BVB:  At Independence Day, I let... 

[He pauses, grimacing.]

BVB:  I let my emotions get ahead of me.

[Matsui leans in.]

LM:  That's all well and good... but don't you have something to say...
associate?

[Matsui snaps his fingers.]

LM:  I guess that doesn't apply anymore.  But nevertheless...

[Matsui spreads his hands in a "the floor is yours" gesture.]

BVB:  I let my emotions get the best of me... and I made a mistake.

[He pauses again, choking on the words.]

BVB:  I... apologize.

[He shoves the mic back to Matsui angrily.  Matsui has the
cat-that-ate-the-canary grin on his face as he speaks once more.]

LM: Thank you. My client accepts your apology. 

[He raises a finger.]

LM:  But never... EVER... tell me to shut up.

[And without warning, Matsui rears back and uncorks a BIG slap across
the face of Brian Von Braun!]

GM:  WHOA!

BW:  Uh oh.

GM:  I thought it was under control!

BW:  So did I!  So did Ben!  What in the heck is going on around here?

[Von Braun lunges forward, cane in hand but Freeman and Dufresne are
able to get there in time, preventing the Rocket City Badboy from
getting his hands around the throat of Louis Matsui.  Matsui is still
all grins, leaning back into the protective shadow of his giant as Von
Braun struggles to get at him.]

GM:  This is breaking down!  This could go nuts at any moment!  Von
Braun looks like he wants to tear Matsui's head off his shoulders,
Bucky!  He just wants to-

["Farewell Ride" by Beck once again rips through the arena causing the
fans to leap to their feet.]

GM: HOUSTON! 

[Sure enough, a "HOU-STON!" chant immediately breaks out, catching the
attention of all men in the ring. As does the presence of the massive
former National Champ. Houston stands in the entrance.. mic en tow. He
surveys the scene.. another piece of paper clenched tightly in his
balled up left first.]

RH: Ah hate ta interrupt ya'll when yer out here provin' ta the world
just how wrong we are 'bout the cracks in yer armor. 

[Houston smiles.]

RH:  How's that jaw feelin', Associate?

[BVB grits his teeth at his nemesis in the aisle.]

RH:  But ah figured nows as good a time as any ta let ya'll in on mah
little "surprise" ah promised ya tonight. 

[Houston holds up the piece of paper to eye level.]

RH:  Now.. ah know ya boys are way over there and ah'm way over here. So
ah'll take the liberty of summin' it up fer ya. 

"AHEM"

[Houston mockingly clears his throat.]

RH:  Well.. it seems ta be some kinda certified doctor's note,
gentlemen. Hmm.. that's interestin' and it seems ta say that ah'm.. 

MEDICALLY.

CLEARED.

Ta return ta active duty here in the AWA. 

[WOAH! HUGE POP! The shocked members of The Southern Syndicate don't
seem to know what to do. More exclusively, Brian Von Braun.]

RH:  Ah guess that it's a medical miracle.. it says that ah, Ron
Houston, am in sound physical condition ta resume mah career that was
thought ta be over.

[Houston peruses a second piece of paper he has in his hand.]

RH:  Hold on a sec, gents. Ah wanna make sure ah'm readin' this right.
This document's a bit different and there seem ta be a few more details.


[Houston looks it over and decides to just toss the paper aside.]

RH:  Forget it.. ah know what the flamin' thing says. 

It says that not only am ah _back_.. not only can ah come in there and
Fade ya boys out at the tick of mah whim.. but it _also_ says.. 

[Houston grins a big ol' Athens grin.]

RH:  I'M THE FIFTH MAN IN WAR GAMES!

[MOTHER OF ALL GEORGIAN POPS!]

RH:  And ah can _assure ya.. ain't none of ya gonna be buyin' me off. 

But enough of the chit chat.. let's give these good people something ta
talk 'bout..

[And with that.. cue the calvary!] 

GM:  VASQUEZ!  BROUSSARD!  SUDAKOV!  MICHAELSON!

[The five men stand together shoulder to shoulder at the top of the
aisle for a nice, long photo op of a moment...

...and then charge down the aisle in unison to the ring!]

GM:  HERE WE GO!!  HERE WE GO!!

[The five fan favorites dive under the ropes into the ring, fists reared
back and ready to fly.  Vasquez makes a bee-line for Stevie Scott,
cornering him as Matsui and Waterson hit the bricks, bailing out of
town.  Broussard and Michaelson tangle up with Dufresne and Freeman,
leaving Sudakov to tackle the giant.

Which leaves Ron Houston all alone with Brian Von Braun - absolutely
pasting him over and over with haymakers that knock the Rocket City
Badboy off his feet!]

GM:  WE'VE GOT A FIGHT ON OUR HANDS!!

[The crowd is on their collective feet, roaring and shouting as a
rolling elbow from Michaelson sends Freeman over the ropes to the floor.
 A knee to the gut from the Hotshot allows Scott to throw Vasquez to the
floor by the hair before going out after him.]

GM:  The fight is spilling out to the floor!

[A Russian Sickle attempt goes awry as Mizusawa stops him short by
hurling him over the ropes to the floor before stepping over the top to
go after him.  Nearby, Dufresne is toppled to the floor with a
front-layout suplex by Broussard!]

GM:  We've got everyone out on the floor except...

BW:  Oh no.

[The crowd roars as Houston flings Von Braun into the closest set of
buckles, drilling him with a pair of right hands before hurling him from
corner to corner...

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

GM:  VON BRAUN GOT DRILLED!!

[Suddenly, somehow, the other fan favorites hit the ring...

...all clutching steel chairs in their hands!]

GM:  Wait a second!

BW:  No, no!  This isn't fair!

GM:  Now THAT'S a team!  They're holding off the Southern Syndicate and
the giant!

[Houston picks up a dazed Von Braun across his wide shoulders in a
fireman's carry, a gesture that sends the crowd into a frenzy.  Stevie
Scott tries to get in to save the newest member of the Southern
Syndicate but a wild swing of the chair by Broussard cuts off his
efforts.  On the other side of the ring, Sudakov swats the chair into
the mat, narrowly missing the hand of Adrian Freeman who was trying to
sneak into the ring.

Nearby, the giant looks up at the ring with a look of apathy on his face
as Houston gets a big grin on his face.]

BW:  NO!  NO!  NO!  NO!  NOOOOOOOO!

[With the crowd roaring and the bad guys held at bay, Houston spins
'round and 'round and 'round for the biggest setup of all time...

...and finally swings out Von Braun off his shoulders, sending him
crashing facefirst to the canvas to a THUNDEROUS OVATION!]

GM:  FADE TO BLACK!!  FADE TO BLACK ON VON BRAUN!!  MY GOD, WHAT A NIGHT
IT'S BEEN HERE IN ATLANTA!!  WE'RE WAAAAAY OUT OF TIME!  WE'VE GOTTA GO!
 WE'LL SEE YOU IN ALABAMA!!

[And with the fan favorites standing tall in the middle of the ring...

...we fade to black.]