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American Wrestling Alliance 
Proudly Presents 
AWA Saturday Night Wrestling

Live from the Crockett Coliseum
Dallas, Texas
September 18th, 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 up to Battle On The Bayou - and
more specifically to WarGames where Kolya Sudakov and Ron Houston are
battering MAMMOTH Mizusawa in the corner, trying to keep him at bay
while Juan Vasquez and Raphael Rhodes are taking turns chopping Stevie
Scott across the chest in the corner...

...when suddenly, an enraged Mizusawa fights back, throwing an overhead
chop that crowns Sudakov, knocking him to a knee.  A headbutt to Houston
sends him stumbling backwards.  Grabbing the Russian's head, Mizusawa
presses it against his knee and SLAMS his leg down, smashing Sudakov's
head into his knee!]

GM:  The giant!  Look at the giant!

[And as Mizusawa lets loose a crazed roar, he sprints across the ring to
where Raphael Rhodes, Juan Vasquez, and Stevie Scott are standing...

...and at the last possible moment, Rhodes grabs Vasquez by the wrist,
pulling them both out of the path of Mizusawa, causing the Hotshot to be
SMASHED into the buckles!]

GM:  HE GOT THE CHAMP!!  HE GOT THE CHAMP!!

[The giant backs off, eyes wide at what he's done as Stevie Scott
collapses in a heap on the canvas.  Rhodes and Vasquez each grab a limb
on the stunned giant, whipping him back to the corner.  Vasquez
immediately charges across the ring, leaving his feet, and driving BOTH
knees into the chest of the big man!]

GM:  KNEES!  FLYING KNEES TO THE CHEST!!

[Vasquez bails out, leaving room for Raphael Rhodes to follow him in,
leaping into the air and connecting with a hooking lariat as he lands
between the top and middle ropes, rolling through into the first ring
which clears a path as Mizusawa stumbles out of the corner...]

GM:  HOUSTON!!

[The East Coast Terror winds waaaaaaay back...

...and UNLEASHES hell in the form of a heart punch right on target!]

GM:  PULSE KILLER!!

[The heart punch sends Mizusawa falling backwards, hitting the ropes but
bouncing back off...

...where Kolya Sudakov charges, hands gripped together in a double
axehandle...]

GM:  OHHHHHHH!

[And DRIVES them right across the chest of the giant, sending the big
man falling backwards into the ropes...

...or more literally THROUGH the ropes, his arms becoming tangled in the
ropes!]

GM:  HE'S TRAPPED!  HE'S TRAPPED IN THE ROPES!!

[The camera cuts to the other cage where Raphael Rhodes is stomping a
mudhole in Brian Von Braun and Ron Houston is bootchoking Calisto
Dufresne as Marcus Broussard holds a struggling Adrian Freeman in the
corner.]

GM:  STEVIE SCOTT'S ALL ALONE!!

[Kolya Sudakov reaches down to the mat, picking up his heavy metal
chain...

...and hands it to Juan Vasquez who nods, pulling Stevie Scott up off
the canvas, looping the chain around his throat!]

GM:  What's he- he's wrapping the chain!  He's wrapping the chain around
his throat, Bucky!

BW:  He can't do that!  Ref?!  Where's the ref?!

GM:  The ref's right over there checking!  The ref's trying to find out
if he's-

[Vasquez pulls back hard on the chain, the metal links cutting into the
throat of Stevie Scott.  Ben Waterson is on that side of the hellish
metal structure, his hands wrapped in the steel as he screams and shouts
at his men.]

GM:  Ben Waterson is pleading with him to escape this!  Begging him to
get out of this!  But Stevie Scott's got no one to help him!  The
Southern Syndicate is down!  The giant is trapped!  Ben Waterson is
outside the cage and he ain't gettin' in, Bucky!

BW:  Somebody stop this!  Somebody get in there!

[Through clenched teeth, Vasquez pulls back harder screaming,
"QUIIIIIIIT!"]

GM:  But Scott shakes his head, his fingers trying to dig between the
metal chain and his windpipe, trying to get some air into his lungs...
into his body...

[Vasquez plants a knee firmly in the back, pushing Scott down to his
chest on the canvas, still pulling back against the chain.]

GM:  Scott's face is turning purple, Bucky!

BW:  He can't breathe!  The man can't breathe and- this is awful! 
Somebody help him!

GM:  There's nobody!  Vasquez' teammates have neutralized everyone!

[A quick cut proves that - all Southern Syndicate team members being
held at bay while the giant struggles to free himself from the ropes.

We cut back to cage two where Vasquez drops down to the mat, applying a
crossface hold with the chain pressed across the throat of Scott,
increasing the pressure as Vasquez leans back, pulling the steel into
the windpipe once again.]

GM:  He's got that hold in - I don't see any way out!  I don't think
he's got any choice!

[A quick cut to Ben Waterson shows his red face pleading, begging,
screaming for Scott to find a way out.

A cut back to the National Champion shows his purple face, his mouth
hanging open, the metal links actually lacerating his throat, his arms
slowly, his eyes closing...]


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  HE QUIT!  HE QUIT!  HE QUIT!!

[Vasquez waits for a moment, making sure the referee is waving off the
submission hold before releasing.  He slowly gets to his feet, the
Russian steel chain still gripped in his hands as he looks down at his
barely-conscious arch-rival.]

GM:  After all these months... after all the sneak-attacks, the
beatings, the blood, the bounties, the title changes... after all of
that, Juan Vasquez has DEFEATED The Southern Syndicate!  I repeat, Juan
Vasquez has DEFEATED the Southern Syndicate!

[...and the scene freezes as we fade to the sounds of the brand new
intro music for AWA Saturday Night Wrestling, Lynyrd Skynyrd's "Saturday
Night Special"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

GM: Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to another edition of AWA Saturday
Night Wrestling where over the next two hours you will see all the stars
of the American Wrestling Alliance, THE Major League of Professional
Wrestling.  I am Gordon Myers and this is quite the special night to be
in Dallas, Texas - to be inside this brand new home to AWA action, the
Crockett Coliseum.  Isn't that right, Bucky Wilde?

BW:  Goodness gracious, Gordo.  I was wonderin' if you'd ever get 'round
to lettin' me talk!  This IS a huge night!  The fans are roarin', the
locker room is buzzin', even the suits look a little nervous, daddy. 
It's Homecoming tonight in a big way for the AWA as we're back home in
Dallas AND we've got a new building to break in like only we can!

GM:  That's right.  Take a look at this beautiful Crockett Coliseum,
fans...

[On cue, the camera cuts to a nice panning shot of the building followed
by a couple pre-taped shots of the outside of the building as well as
walking around the inner concourse.]

GM:  I'm excited to be here.  You're excited to be here.  And we know
these fans are excited to be here so-

[Gordon's words are cut off by the sounds of Lynyrd Skynyrd's "Gimme
Back My Bullets" to the roaring jeers of the AWA fans as for the first
time in this new building, they prepare to welcome the Southern
Syndicate.

But after a moment, we quickly realize that it's not the entire group
coming to the ring.  Instead, it's just the AWA National Champion,
"Hotshot" Stevie Scott and the "Agent To The Stars" Ben Waterson heading
down the aisle.  Both men are dressed to kill - suits and ties.  The
champ's got the National Title belt slung over his shoulder but neither
man looks happy as they head down the elevated rampway.  Both men step
into the ring, walking over to the announce duo.]

GM:  Gentlemen, welcome to-

[Waterson snatches the mic.]

ATTSBW:  I don't think so, Myers.

[The crowd jeers.]

ATTSBW:  If you think I'm going to give you the opportunity to run us
down our here in front of all these people, you're sadly mistaken.  

[Gordon looks puzzled.]

ATTSBW:  If you think that we came out here so that you can dance
around, do a jig, and tell the world about how the Southern Syndicate
lost two weeks ago in WarGames...

[BIG CHEER!  Waterson looks around at the Dallas crowd with disdain.]

ATTSBW:  You're even more pathetic than I thought - and that goes for
the rest of you as well!

[Waterson's shot at the crowd draws more jeers.]

ATTSBW:  We're going to say it once... we're going to address it once...
and it's over, Myers.  No questions, no follow-ups, no "And then..." 
OVER!  You understand me?

[Gordon nods.]

ATTSBW:  Tell 'em, champ.

[An obviously upset "Hotshot" Stevie Scott grabs the microphone away
from his agent.]

HSS: Michaelson...Vasquez...Broussard and the rest of you sorry
_punks_... you think you've won some big victory.  Shaken the
foundations of the Southern Syndicate.  Well, maybe you have.  Maybe
you've brought to light the fact that there are STILL some weak links in
the group.

[Upon hearing "weak links" the Dallas crowd immediately starts taunting
Stevie about giving up.  The champion glares at the crowd momentarily
before continuing.]

HSS: And no, just because I'm the one that surrendered, doesn't mean I'm
a weak link.  Anyone with a chain wrapped around their neck, choking the
life out of them would have had to do the same thing.

What that _really_ means is that for the second time in three years, I
was saddled with teammates who didn't do their jobs.

[And what comes next is a not-so-subtle angry glare at Waterson by the
Hotshot.  It's brief, but it's noticeable.]

HSS: No, what you've done is quite simple.  You've served to piss me
off.  You've served to awaken a sleeping giant, and I'm not talking
about that 400 pound waste of space Mizusawa.

You guys are back there, celebrating your _big win_...

[Speaking of noticeable things, the disgust in Scott's voice with those
last two words ranks up there.] 

HSS: ...but you all need to take a step back and remember something.

Four of you, we've put out of wrestling before.  And with God as my
witness, we'll...no, scratch that..._I_ will do it again if I have to.

And as for the remaining one...yeah, I'm talking about you,
Vasquez...deep down, brother, I know it as well as you do...that victory
still rings hollow.

[Stevie pauses, holding up the AWA National Title and thrusting it
toward the camera.]

HSS: Because I _still_ have THIS.

And you?

[For the first time in the promo, Stevie smiles and laughs.]

HSS: You never will.

You see, you can pat yourselves on the back until your hands turn red. 
But all the while, you know that MY hands are still firmly gripped on
the AWA National Title.  The prize you all want.  The number one title
in the sport today.  That's why week after week, you see more and more
of the stars of professional wrestling come to Dallas, Texas.  And I'm
not talking about old, washed up stars.  Those go to Canada or Arizona. 
I'm talking about the BEST, the hungry young lions, the up-and-comers in
the business.

They're all coming to the AWA, because they know the AWA is where it's
at.  And they know _this_ title is the crown jewel of professional
wrestling.

And that's why all you did in New Orleans was win a battle.  That's it. 
Not the war.  Just a battle.

Because _I'm_ still standing at the top of the mountain.

[And finally, because you didn't ask for it, a STEVIEGRIN~!]

HSS: And _that_ ain't never going to change.

ATTSBW:  That's right, champ.  You happy now, Myers?

[Waterson actually gives the mic back.]

GM:  Well, partially.  You told the front office that you had a big
announcement to make out here tonight.

[Waterson smirks.]

ATTSBW:  That's right, Myers... but it's not so much an announcement as
it is... a revelation!

[The crowd buzzes with confusion.]

ATTSBW:  You see, while the Southern Syndicate was getting ready for
WarGames, there was a lot of stuff going on all over the AWA.  While we
were tied up with Broussard and Vasquez and Houston and Sudakov and
Rhodes... there were things happening that I'm POSITIVE people thought
we weren't paying attention to.  But you know what, Myers?  I see
EVERYTHING that happens around this place.  And you know why?

GM:  Why?

ATTSBW:  Because it's my job.  I'm the greatest mind in professional
wrestling and I can't afford to let anything escape my notice.

So, I've been watching... and observing... and taking notes...

[Waterson nods.]

ATTSBW:  And something caught my eye over the past couple months.  Or
should I say... someone.

At first, I was curious... then I was suspicious... then I was almost
certain.

And now?  Now, I know.

[Gordon looks annoyed.]

GM:  What is this?  Talking in riddles and-

[Waterson snatches the mic again angrily.]

ATTSBW:  You want to know what this is about, Myers?  I'll tell you...

It's about a masked man walking around here calling himself the West
Memphis Assassin.

[The crowd buzzes again.]

ATTSBW:  And it's about the man UNDER that mask.

BW:  You know who it is, daddy?

ATTSBW:  Of course I do, Bucky.  And when I reveal it to the world,
it'll come as no surprise to anyone with a set of eyes and an attention
span longer than a gnat's.

[Waterson smirks.]

ATTSBW:  Think about it.  Who would have something to gain by trying to
fly under the radar in a mask, trying to work his way into the Top 10? 
Who would have something to gain by hiding his identity while trying to
land a shot at the National Title?  Who would have something to gain?

GM:  You mean...?

ATTSBW:  That's right.

Juan Vasquez is the West Memphis Assassin!

[And on cue, the crowd breaks into cheers as "Big" Jim Watkins slowly
lumbers down the entrance ramp towards the ring.  Watkins wears a black
sportscoat over a red polo with "AWA" stitched in white on the pocket. 
As he reaches the ring, he steps through the ropes, shaking his head as
he gestures down with his arms.  The mic is moved towards him.]

JW:  Hold on now.  Settle down, y'all.

[Waterson looks agitated as Watkins tries to settle people down in a
Southern drawl.]

JW:  See, Waterson... Bucky ain't the only one with some good sources. 
I had it on pretty good authority that this is EXACTLY what you were
gonna come out here and announce tonight.  I knew you were gonna accuse
Juan Vasquez of being the West Memphis Assassin so I looked into the
matter myself.

Now... see, I went and talked to Juan... and he says you're wrong.

[Waterson screams "OF COURSE HE DOES!" as Watkins waves his hands
again.]

JW:  You're right, you're right.  Of course he would say that.  If he
really were the West Memphis Assassin, of course he would say that,
right?

So, I took it a notch further with him.  I told him that if he WAS the
Assassin and he was wearin' that mask to get out of a stipulation that
he put in himself... well, now... that just wouldn't sit right with this
ol' cowboy, you know what I mean?

[Waterson points an accusing finger.]

ATTSBW:  What are YOU gonna do about it?

JW:  If you shut your piehole, I'm gonna tell ya.

[Big cheer!]

JW:  I'm gonna tell ya exactly what I told Juan Vasquez.

If that mask comes off... and I find out that Juan Vasquez has been
under it... well, then... we got ourselves a problem, don't we?

And that problem needs a solution.

ATTSBW:  WELL?!

JW:  Listen up... I think you'll like this one.

If that mask comes off and we find out Juan Vasquez lied to the fans,
lied to the locker room, and lied to me... then the solution is simple.

He will be SUSPENDED from the AWA for life!

[HUGE SHOCKED REACTION!  Waterson's look of shock quickly changes to one
of joy.  Stevie Scott looks pretty thrilled too.]

JW:  Good enough for ya?

[Waterson nods.]

ATTSBW:  Good enough, Watkins.  And I'm gonna do you a favor.  I've got
a few men in my employ - plus a few that owe me a favor.  One way or
another, that mask is coming off, Watkins.  

And when it does?  Don't you DARE try to back out of this!

[Watkins nods.]

JW:  Fair enough.  Don't worry 'bout my word, Waterson.

[Waterson and Scott start to leave the ring.]

JW:  Hold up now... I'm not quite done with y'all yet.

Ya see, I want to talk about that piece of gold 'round your boy's waist
there.

[Scott takes umbrage at "boy," threatening Watkins.]

JW:  It comes to my attention that the ol' Hotshot here hasn't made too
many defenses lately - and I let that slide when y'all were gettin'
ready for WarGames.  But seeing as that's over... and you lost...

[Watkins grins at the cheers of the crowd.]

JW:  I think it's 'bout time we see the AWA National Title back on the
line!

[Big cheer!]

JW:  And seeing as this is a special night here in the AWA as we open up
this brand new building... seeing as though it's the AWA's Homecoming...

[Another big cheer!]

JW:  I think we should give these fine folks here tonight something to
remember, don't you?

[Waterson looks suspicious now.]

ATTSBW:  What are you talking about?

JW:  I'm talking about Stevie Scott defending the AWA National Title...
TONIGHT!

[HUGE CHEER!]

ATTSBW:  Against who?

JW:  Well, now... that's the kicker, right?

The way I see it... there's a lot of top contenders to that there title.
 Matter of fact, the last time I checked... there's at least... well,
ten!

So, we're gonna have ourselves a ten man battle royal right here tonight
in Dallas...

And the winner?  He gets the shot... tonight!

[HUUUUUGE CHEER!  Stevie and Waterson lose their minds.]

JW:  Now, I know that Vasquez can't be in the Battle Royal... and I know
that Shane Destiny is suspended.  So, I did a little drawing in the back
to replace them.  The Battle Royal will have eight of the Top Ten
contenders... along with Scotty Storm of the Rockstar Express...

[Big cheer - especially from the young ladies in the house.  Watkins
grins.]

JW:  And Kolya Sudakov!

[HUGE CHEER!  Stevie and Waterson lose their minds Part Deux.]

JW:  And THAT's how we do things 'round here, y'all.

[Watkins leaves the ring as Scott and Waterson continue to pout,
screaming at Gordon Myers.]

GM:  I don't- I had nothing to do with it!  I suggest you get back to
the locker room and get ready for that match!  And speaking of men
who'll be getting ready for that match... well, there's a certain giant
in the Top Ten now, isn't there?

[You could almost see Waterson's face go white.]

GM:  Let's go back to Mark Stegglet who is standing by with the giant!

[Cut to Mark Stegglet standing by on one of the interview platforms with
a dark-suited Louis Matsui and MAMMOTH Mizusawa, dressed to compete in a
black singlet, knee pads and boots. The bespectacled Matsui is smirking
characteristically, while the seven-footer scans the crowd, scowling.]

MS:  Thanks, Gordon.  And indeed, joining me right now is Louis Matsui
and the seven-foot tall MAMMOTH Mizusawa!  Gentlemen, you just heard the
announcement by Jim Watkins and... well, shouldn't you be in the back
discussing strategy for the big Battle Royal right now?

LM: What for?  Markus Steggosaurus, it's Homecoming and it would bereft
our fans in Dallas if we did not come out here and address them. It's
the beginning of a new era for the American Wrestling Alliance, an era
built on the backs of giants such as my client here.

MS: I'm sure the members of the winning team at Battle on the Bayou
would think otherwise.

LM: Battle on the Bayou is behind us, Steggs Benedict, and soon the same
might be said of the careers of men such as Broussard and Houston. So
Vasquez and his team won WarGames... Congratulations, you've ended the
war. 

Now what? 

[Matsui smirks.]

LM:  Vasquez will never get his title shot, not if Ben Waterson has
anything to say about it and, as you just saw, the Southern Syndicate
will find some way to reinstate its members at the top of the AWA
pecking order. 

As for my client, all New Orleans proved was that you could restrain the
giant long enough to make Stevie Scott surrender, but you have not
vanquished the monster. While Vasquez and [Air quotes] friends pat
themselves on their backs for a job well done, while the Syndicate licks
its collective wound, a giant still roams the hallways  of this
newly-hallowed arena. 

[Matsui pats his man on the shoulder, reaching up to do so.]

LM:  Watkins wants to put Mizusawa-san in a battle royal with nine other
guys? That's just nine other guys for my client to throw over the top
rope. And after he does that, and slapped the mask right off the west
Memphis Assassin in the process, when my client is the last man standing
in that ring, maybe, just maybe, he'll make the Hotshot regret his
words. Welcome home, gentlemen. Welcome to OUR house!

[If ever a smile could be threatening, it would be the one on Matsui's
face as he leads his client away to the jeers of the crowd.]

MS:  Ten men will step into that ring tonight in the Battle Royal but
only one can win a shot at the National Title.  Will it be the giant?

[Stegglet shakes his head.]

MS:  I wouldn't bet against it.  Fans, don't touch that remote control
'cause we'll be right back with our first match of the night!

[We fade out of the Crockett Coliseum to a very long shot of the
exterior of a pretty dingy looking building.]

"Have you ever dreamed of fame?"

[Cut a little closer.]

"Of glory?"

[A little closer.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Two young students are grappling on the canvas.]

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

You want to wrestle!"

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

Still on black, a female voice is heard.]

V/O:  Two men, shunned by the sport that was their lives.

[The screen shows:  A bowed Nick Demola walking away from a large arena.
 Then Jonah Keller blowing out a candle.]

V/O:  Two of the most powerful minds in the sport of wrestling...

[A picture of the mustached Nick Demola holding a title belt, and the
sharp features of Jonah Keller sneering at someone in an EMWC ring
appear.]

V/O:  Have gotten together to form a union...

[Demola in a business suit, aged a bit from the picture before, and
Keller in a trenchcoat shaking hands outside of a gigantic glass office
building.]

V/O:  And nobody is safe.

[FLASH]

[Demola and Keller sit in front of a black backdrop, Demola in a
pinstripe suit and Keller in a wifebeater and jeans.]

DEMOLA:  I was one of the pre-eminent promoters of talent in the world. 
I worked for years to make heroes and villains that fans could believe
in.

[Demola shakes his head.]

DEMOLA:  But I see now that my work went unappreciated.  I didn't play
in the big leagues long enough, and I was left a footnote.

[Demola slaps Keller on the shoulder.]

DEMOLA:  So I got reinforcements.  We're going right at ground zero of
the starmaking machine in wrestling today.  The AWA.  To bring glory to
our names, to take our place in the history books...

[Demola gives a rising half-mouthed smirk.]

DEMOLA:  ... to break the stars that you hold so dear.

[Keller speaks in almost a whisper.]

KELLER:  And we know how to pick our targets.  We're looking at the
ripest, juiciest, low-hanging fruit that we can put our lips on.

[Demola shudders a bit and looks warily at Keller.]

DEMOLA:  You will know not the day nor the time...

[Keller gives a sharp sneer.]

KELLER:  ... and the only satisfaction we will recieve is by hearing
your wailing whimper cry out to your Lord.  Begging as your blood soaks
into the mat.  A permanent mark to warn all who follow.

[Demola stands up from his stool.]

DEMOLA:  That mark and your tormented soul a piece of retribution for
the sins of the masses.

[Keller stands.]

DEMOLA:  And the last shall... finally... be the first.

[The two men walk off together as we fade back to ringside where Gordon
and Bucky are standing.]

GM:  The Outcasts are coming, Bucky.  Nick Demola and Jonah Keller have
made names for themselves all over the wrestling business but now
they're coming to the AWA - and apparently they've got some chips on
their shoulders.

BW:  Well, the AWA tag team division is red hot and with... well, let's
just say with some dead weight FINALLY cut from the division, there's a
scramble to the top where the new National Tag Team Champions, Cooper
and Somers, are waiting.  The Outcasts might make a big impact, daddy.

GM:  That remains to be seen but you talk about newcomers looking to
make an impact.  The AWA Talent Relations department has again been
working overtime and I understand we've got some big debuts here tonight
in Dallas.  And we're about to see one of those debuts right now...
let's go up to the ring to Melissa Cannon and find out who!

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

MC:  Hello, fans, and WELCOME... to Homecoming!

[Big cheer!]

MC:  Tonight's opening match is scheduled for one fall with a ten-minute
time limit. Introducing first, currently in the ring, from Huntsville,
Alabama, weighing in at 261 pounds... Edward Waite!

[The tall, shaggy-haired brawler pounds the turnbuckle and shakes the
ropes, trying to get the crowd fired up.]

MC: And his opponent! From Elizabeth, Colorado! Weighing in at 264
pounds...

'GENTLEMAN' JACK HOLLAND!

['Dead Flowers' by Townes Van Zandt strums lazily onto the speakers and
Jack Holland strolls out from the back, lifting his fists into the air
briefly. After that display, he heads down to the ring purposefully,
leaning down and slapping a few hands but not going out of his way to do
so. He marches briskly up the steps and wipes his feet on the apron
before stepping between the ropes. He shrugs off his jacket and takes
off his sunglasses, handing them to the official.]

GM: This is our first look at both these competitors in the AWA. Waite's
mostly an Alabama product, but this Jack Holland fella's been up and
down the tracks, as it were.

BW: Hey, this is the big time! If he wants to show what he's made of,
this is the place to do it.

[Holland tests the ropes and then takes a short skip out of the corner,
circling with his opponent, hands lowered for grappling.]

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

GM: Waite threw out a big haymaker, Holland ducks with the go behind!
And here's a side headlock!

[Waite struggles in the hold as Holland puts all his weight into it,
really wrenching in. Waite finally shoves Holland off and into the
ropes.]

BW: Whoa! Look at that, kick right to the knee, daddy! This Holland
guy's got some nice tricks up his sleeve and I can definitely get behind
that!

GM: Knee smash to the side of the head takes Waite right to the mat!
One, and he's up!

BW: Maybe underestimating Eddie Waite here.

GM: Could definitely be true, but OH! Knee drops, one after another,
right to the face! And another cover!

BW: Up at two! And now Waite's getting himself some distance.

[Waite shoves Holland off him and rolls over, picking himself up and
backing into the corner with his fists up. Holland thumbs his nose,
shoulders low, obviously prepared for more. Waite warily strays from the
corner, ready to unload. Holland shoots in, Waite smashes him in the
head with an elbow shot!]

BW: Holland's gotta be seein' birdies, daddy!

GM: No, he's got the waistlock! Waite's clubbing Holland over the back!
Ohh!  Inverted atomic drop!

BW: Oooooh, Waite's gonna want an icepack after that one!

GM: Holland slips around to the back, WHOA! Dropped him on the back of
his head with a waistlock suplex!

[The big German suplex just folded Waite up like an accordion and
Holland twists, draping an arm over one of Waite's legs for the cover.]

GM: A kickout JUST before the three there, Bucky, and that's gotta be
all instinct on Waite's part!

BW: You know that when the match is on the line, somethin' just happens,
you don't wanna lose, daddy! You just dig deep!

GM: Holland's not letting up here, locking in a full nelson! He's trying
to turn Waite over, but Waite won't go! Still fighting it!

[The effort is clear on Waite's face, eyes squeezed, teeth gritted,
heels drumming on the mat. Finally, he manages to twist and throw
Holland onto his back, and then crushes Holland's face with a falling
axehandle blow out of desperation!]

BW: Holland headed out to the floor now to catch his breath, and that's
a smart move! You don't wanna get too banged up, you wanna keep yourself
fresh to keep fightin'!

GM: Some people might call it cowardly, Bucky, the action's supposed to
take place in the ring!

BW: Those people are idiots, daddy!

[After shaking some of the cobwebs clear, Holland climbs back up onto
the apron. Waite, who has similarly had time to recover, comes charging
in, only to get a shoulder thrust through the ropes! Holland enters the
ring and swiftly bashes Waite over the shoulders with an axehandle smash
of his own! The referee gets between them and Holland backs away, hands
up to show his compliance.]

GM: Well, at least he's following the rules.

BW: The first knock I've had on him all match!

GM: Waite slowly gets away from the ropes, running knee to the side of
the head! Waite's sent for a loop!

BW: Tenacious, daddy! That's the word for this guy!

GM: Holland's got him hooked! SHOTGUN SUPLEX!

[The momentum of the terrific half nelson suplex carried Waite onto his
face. Holland takes a short second to breathe before swinging over,
perching upon Waite's back and scooping up his arms in a full nelson.
Waite yells out in pain almost immediately, kicking his feet as Holland
rears back on the hold.]

GM: RAZORWIRE BLUES! He calls that one the Razorwire Blues, and Waite's
quittin' like crazy!

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

[As soon as the bell rings, Holland releases the hold and stands up to
allow the referee to raise his hand.]

MC: Here is your winner... 'GENTLEMAN' JACK HOLLAND!

BW: I can't decide if I like this guy or not, but he's certainly
something to watch!

[Gordon Myers has already left the announce table and is climbing into
the ring, where Jack Holland is leaning against the ropes after his
match. As Myers enters, Holland strolls to the center of the ring.]

GM: Jack Holland, I must say that was an impressive debut match you just
had here. Any thoughts?

[Holland takes a second to collect his thoughts, tugging his nose once
before speaking.]

JH: Well Myers, this guy Edward Waite was just like many others I've
wrestled in my career. Wrestled and beat. Big, small, fast, slow,
champion or no name, they all fell, one after another, to the Shotgun
Suplex. When I hit you with it once, twice, three times, one time or
another you're not gonna get up, and I can do... well, whatever it is
*I* want. And you might ask me why I would tell the world this up front.

GM: It is a very pertinent question.

JH: Let me put it like this. When you've got your back against the wall,
lookin' at the firing squad, prayin' to the big man upstairs for all the
wrongs you done in your miserable life, you know the bullets are gonna
hit ya, but you can't do a thing about it. You can prepare for it all
you want. You can deny it. You can try to wish it away. But you can't
avoid it.

[The chill in Holland's voice seems to unnerve Myers slightly, but Myers
carries on.]

GM: That said, what are your plans now that you've arrived here in the
AWA?

JH:  Myers, you keep throwin' me slow balls, but since you asked, I'll
give you the answer. For Jack Holland it's all about the money right
now. I gotta eat and I gotta sleep, and over my career, I've gotten
accustomed to eating well and sleeping sound. When I win, I get more
money than when I lose. That's just a fact. Now when I signed on the
dotted line here and gave that contract back to the men in black, I
asked myself, how can I make even more money?

[Myers opens his mouth, but Holland cuts him off.]

JH: I need to get the gold around my waist. And that's why I'm sayin' it
right now: I'm comin' for that Longhorn Heritage title. See, the rest of
you might want it for your own pride. You might want it for the
heritage, to put your name in history. Me? I just want the bonus. And
that makes me a colder, more calculating opponent than any of you here
in the AWA have ever known. And I will get that belt. Some day, somehow,
some way, I will wear it. I won't stop huntin' it until I have it. And
just like the Shotgun Suplex... you may delay it, but you can't avoid
it.

[Holland smirks and slaps Myers hard on the back.]

JH: Didn't some wise lady say... a gentleman is merely a patient wolf?

[Holland makes his exit, climbing through the ropes and dropping out of
the ring.]

GM:  The Gentlemen, Jack Holland, making a very impressive debut here
tonight at Homecoming and he says he's coming for the Longhorn Heritage
Championship, fans!  But he's not the only one for sure.  And at this
time, let's go over to Mark Stegglet who has been joined on our
interview platform by "Big" Jim Watkins!  Take it away, Mark!

[The crowd cheers as the spotlight comes up on the interview platform
where Stegglet is standing alongside the Chairman of the Championship
Committee.]

MS:  Thanks, Gordon.  Mr. Watkins, you've already caused quite the stir
here tonight at Homecoming but I'm told you're not done yet.

[Watkins grins.]

JW:  Well, that's right, Mark.  I've already dealt with one title here
tonight but as everybody knows, there's a new title belt here in the
AWA.  The Longhorn Heritage Championship - and this is something I'm
REAL excited about.  We've got people comin' from all over the place
tryin' to get a piece of that gold.  We've got guys already on the
roster, new guys, guys who haven't been in the business in quite some
time.  The AWA is the hottest place for 'rasslin' on the planet and this
new title just really proves that, Mark.

MS:  You mention some new talent coming in for the belt.

JW:  You just heard Jack Holland - I know he wants the belt.  And we've
got a lot of others sittin' in the back who do as well.  So, right now,
I want to announce that in addition to The Masked Menace and Pugnacio
Supremo, I've added two more men to that tournament - a match y'all will
see right back here in two wee-

[Suddenly, the opening guitar riffs of ZZ Top's "Sharp Dressed Man" come
ripping through The Crockett Coliseum and the Dallas fans come to their
feet to boo one of the most hated men in professional wrestling,  but
those boos quickly turn into downright hellfire and brimstone as they
see what "Ladykiller" Calisto Dufresne is wearing.  Along with his
designer jeans and his PWR Pacific Championship, Dufresne is clad in a
white Washington Redskins football jersey.  What a cheap way to get
heat.  Dufresne slowly saunters down to the interview platform, where
Jim Watkins stands, fuming.   Dufresne glares at Watkins for a moment
before turning to the crowd, snatching Stegglet's mic hand towards him.]

CD:Dallas, Texas!!

[Even the cheap attempt at a hometown pop won't quiet down the Dallas
faithful.]

CD: It sure is good to be home.  To the place that the AWA will now call
home, at least.  I, of course, won't lay my head in this dump; I'll be
living well outside city limits where I can keep safe.  Lord knows what
manner of disease is lurking around here.

[Dufresne looks around, disgusted, before turning to see Watkins staring
him down.]

CD: But I digress.  Though my throngs of adoring fans certainly don't
need an excuse to see this face or this statuesque physique, I do have a
reason to be here tonight.  And that reason is simple.  A travesty has
yet again occurred.  Another miscarriage of justice has taken place. 
This man... 

[Dufresne stabs a finger towards Watkins.]

CD: ...told you all two weeks ago that there would be a brand new title
in this hovel.  The Longhorn Heritage Title, he says.  Well, what he
_didn't_ say is that my high-powered team of lawyers held this
tournament up for weeks!

[A confused murmur rolls through the crowd.]

CD: That's right!  Watkins has gone out of his way to emphasize that the
Pacific Title is not a recognized title here in the AWA, even though
everyone knows it should be.  I know it, he knows it, all my wonderful
fans know it, and most importantly, my attorney knew it!  The AWA spent
tens of thousands of dollars on their own attorneys to screw me out of
my chance to be champion again and to name this title after some dump
that nobody cared about anyway!

["How dare you!?" heel pop.]

CD: So yet again, I'm forced to take action on my own to right a wrong
in the world.  To ensure that justice is served.  How am I going to do
that, you ask?  

Simple.  

[Dufresne turns to Watkins.]

CD: Jimmy, you've got two options.  One, the rest of the Southern
Syndicate and I come down here and hold this show hostage, ruining your
oh-so-important Homecoming.  Two, you put Calisto Dufresne in this
tournament _right now_ so I can promptly win it and show the world that
this...

["The Ladykiller" pats his Pacific Title lovingly.]

CD: ...is legit.  Your call, _ace._

[Dufresne smirks in satisfaction as Watkins stares at him as the crowd
boos mightily, cringing at the idea.]

JW:  First off... don't you ever threaten me again, son, or I'll knock
your stinkin' teeth down your throat!

[Big cheer!  Dufresne looks a little surprised at the threat.]

JW:  And second, the man speaks the truth.  He and the Southern
Syndicate's lawyers kept this title from being born for weeks - heck,
MONTHS!  But no more.  

The Longhorn Heritage Title IS a reality.  And it IS one of the hottest
prizes in the sport.

[Watkins points a finger at Dufresne.]

JW:  And the last time I checked... you LOST at Battle On The Bayou!

[Big cheer!]

JW:  TWICE!

[BIGGER CHEER!]

JW:  So, in my eyes, that takes you out of this title picture.  We've
got no room in this tournament for any... weak links.

[The crowd "ooooohs!" at Watkins' dig.  The crowd erupts with cheers as
Dufresne stomps around the platform, clearly upset.  Eventually he stops
pacing and comes nose to nose with Watkins, who doesn't appear the least
bit concerned.]

CD: I'm getting real tired of hearing that phrase tonight, Watkins. 
Weak link, eh?  You just made a _very_ big mistake, old man.  My night's
not over.  Not yet.  Calisto Dufresne needs to make a statement.  And
what is it these hicks in Texas say?  Go big or go home?

[A quick smirk.]

CD: Well, we all know I know _exactly_ how to do that.  Go grab your
popcorn.  This show's just gettin' started.

[And with that, "Sharp Dressed Man" kicks in once again and Dufresne
quickly storms back to the locker room, looking none-too-pleased.]

MS:  Mr. Watkins, you certainly have a way with people.

[A grinning Watkins shrugs, making his exit.]

MS:  Fans, my good buddy Jason Dane is standing by in the locker room
area with the man who BEAT Calisto Dufresne at Battle On The Bayou - Tin
Can Rust!

[We cut back to the locker room area - which in the case of the Crockett
Coliseum is only identified by a plain white wall that Jason Dane is
standing in front of.  Tin CanRust, dressed in his ring gear and a black
t-shirt with a blue cutout of the state of Kentucky, stands alongside
him.]

JD:  Rust, you're fresh off you brutal victory against the man who
tormented and ultimately ended the career of your tag team partner, City
Jack. All the while, you preserved your own career. How does it feel to
have beaten Calisto Dufresne in the manner you did?

TCR: Dane, the Battle on the Bayou... That win... was...

[Rust pauses, looking for the right word.]

TCR: It was bittersweet. After all these months of hearing that coward
yap and yap all over the place about blinding a man I consider to be
equal to my brother... I finally got to him. I made that little coward
CRY for mercy with my hands!

[The crowd cheers as Rust shows emotion from the results of his Bayou
match.]

TCR: But Dane? I could've pounded in both of Dufresne's eyes until they
rolled back into his skull... But it wasn't going to make things any
more right. City Jack still ain't here and still ain't in any shape to
ever to see straight again.

[Rust shakes his head.]

TCR: I'd trade every moment of bloodying that boys face and making him
wail "uncle" if it only meant for my friend to have a chance to come
back and finish out on HIS terms. But the reality is what it is... And I
got to do what I can to help things out, carry on what Jack was
designing before that coward took away his career. So I'm here and I'm
going to do just that...

[The crowd cheers again, causing Rust to look around - a bit unnerved by
the new setup.]

JD: Well, you heard at the top of the show what Jim Watkins said.
Tonight it's you - along with nine other men - who could have your own
chance at a turn against the National Champion.

[Rust sort of half-smiles and shakes his head slowly.]

TCR: Dane... 

[Rust pauses again, still shaking his head.]

TCR: I want to do whatever I can to make that happen. Jack, God bless
him, never did hold down a federation's main title. Held damn near every
other title in every other place he sat down to, but never the top
singles gold. It was something he strived to do and...

[Rust sighs.]

TCR: I feel that I might've held him back at times here in the AWA from
making runs at the National Title. Myself, I've done it before - a
multi-time heavyweight champion, multi-time Kentucky State champion...
But tonight, when I go through nine other men and earn my shot? And then
take down that yellow-striped Stevie Scott? 

[Rust looks over to Dane.]

TCR: I ain't going to be raising the National Title in the air for me...

[The stoic looking Rust looks and points straight into the camera.]

TCR: It'll be for you, Jack.

[Rust holds that point for a moment before nodding his head, walking out
of view.]

JD:  That Battle Royal is gonna be something else, fans!  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...

We come back to live action where boos sound throughout the arena as
Grant Stone steps up towards Mark Stegglet. Stone, in a pair of jeans,
scans the crowd with a scowl as he stands on the platform.]

MS: In mere moments, Grant Stone, you face off against the your arch
rival Jack Snyder yet again, but this time -

[As Stegglet spoke, Stone slowly crept his hand up and over the
microphone, stopping Stegglet from his opneing question.]

GS: Mark Stegglet... Do you believe in hatred?

MS: Uh...

GS: Hatred. To fully hate another person so much that you'd go to the
vilest of lengths to torment him... terrorize him... And just to make
sure he lives in the sorriest state of life one can possibly be in. Do
you believe in that, Mark Stegglet?

[Stegglet, looks around, totally confused by this question.]

MS: I... I guess I can't -

GS: No, you do. You do.

[Stone turns towards the audience.]

GS: You all do. Every one of you deluded maggots have that capacity to
want to end another man's life. Every one of you, if you dig deep into
your hearts, can produce a strong hatred of another living being that so
much so that you'd be driven to do painful, illegal, and morally
bankrupt things.

[As Stone lecture of the crowd, they get on the big man's case.]

GS: Don't let your thought of being civilized cloud the reality! You'd
run over that neighbor that pries into your life too much. You'd
repeatedly smash your fist through the head of that coworker always
trying to make you look bad.

[Stone almost looks at peace as he delivers his lines.]

GS: You all know that if you weren't boxed in - if you were allowed to
act on your rawest of feelings, you would take a knife to the throat of
every person that you couldn't stand to see anymore. You all know the
word "evil" is just a way for the masses to protect themselves from
people doing the RIGHT thing and-

MS: Excuse me, Grant.

[Stone turns around and looks at the bold Stegglet wildly.]

MS: Excuse my interruption, but how does this relate to tonight's match
against Jack Snyder?

GS: Jack Snyder?!

MS: Yes, your opponent. Tonight.

[Stone continues to look on at Stegglet angrily.]

GS: Say the man's name again!

[The crowd boo the maniacal Stone's again as the big man takes a step
close to Stegglet.]

MS: Uh...

GS: Say it again!

MS: Uh... Jack... Snyder...

[Stone closes his eyes, almost like he just shut down, as he seethes.
After a couple seconds of silent - except for the crowd - Stone opens
his eyes, calmer.]

GS: Let me make this clear, Mark Stegglet - there's not an "evil" bone
in my body. Everything twisted thing I do, I do because those people had
it coming. What I've done to City Jack in the past? He deserved. What
I've done to Bobby Taylor in the past? He deserved! And Jack Snyder?

[Stone grits his teeth immediately saying the name of his enemy.]

GS: Jack Snyder's a man fit to be hated... And tonight, he deserves
every last horrific action I can throw at him. Tonight, Snyder? I end
you because YOU deserve it! You EARNED me spilling every last cup of
your blood on that mat over there! Tonight? I show the world what living
in a world of FREEDOM really means as I allow my hatred to come out -
full force! 

[Stone nods slowly as a sick grin forms on his face.]

GS: And tonight... Tonight will be the last day of the career... And
that last day... of Jack Snyder.

[The crowd boos Stone again for his guarantee as the big Kentuckian
walks off, leaving Stegglet to wrap up the interview.]

MS:  That is a man with something to finish.  Grant Stone is on his way
to the ring and let's go up to Melissa for the introductions!

[Crossfade 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 on his way down the aisle...
from Louisville, Kentucky and weighing in at 310 pounds...

GRAAAAAAANT STOOOOOONE!

[The crowd jeers Stone as he steps through the ropes into the ring,
immediately turning to stare down the elevated ramp, waiting for his
opponent.]

MC:  And his opponent...

["No Quarter" by Led Zeppelin starts up to the cheers of the crowd.]

MC:  From Bullhead City, Arizona... weighing in at 255 pounds... he is
the "Dying Breed"...

JAAAAAAAAACK SNYYYYYYYDER!

[Snyder bursts through the curtain to a big cheer.  He points a warning
finger down the ramp and then starts walking with a purpose down the
rampway...

...where Stone meets him just outside the ring!]

GM:  HERE WE GO!!  HERE WE GO!!

[The bell rings to officially start the match as Snyder and Stone trade
right hands outside the ring on the ramp.]

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

BW:  Did you expect anything different?

GM:  They're throwing big, big shots out there!

[Stone slips a knee up into the gut of Snyder, knocking him down to a
knee.  Grabbing Snyder by the arm, Stone flings him into the ropes
outside the ring, sending him rebounding back...

...and flooring him with a thunderous standing lariat!]

GM:  OHHHH!  What a shot that was!

[Stone stands over the prone Snyder, glaring down at him coldly.  He
delivers a boot to the ribs, causing Snyder to roll under the ropes back
into the ring.  Stone steps through the ropes, delivering another kick
to the ribs.  The referee warns him but a glare from Stone backs him
off.]

GM:  Grant Stone is out for blood here tonight.  

BW:  Not blood.  He doesn't care about Snyder bleeding.  He's out for
ultimate vengeance.  He's out to make sure Snyder doesn't walk out of
this building here tonight.

GM:  Another kick to the ribs...

[Stone finally reaches down, hauling Snyder up to his feet by the
hair...

...where Snyder throws a desperate right hand, knocking Stone back a
bit.  A second one follows, stunning Stone.  A haymaker to the gut
doubles the big man up.  Snyder quickly hooks a front facelock, going
for a DDT, but Stone simply stands up, holding Snyder over his
shoulder.]

GM:  Wait a second!  Wait a-


"THUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUD!"


GM:  OHHH!  STANDING SPINEBUSTER!!

[Stone stands over Snyder, having violently thrown him down to the mat. 
He waves for Snyder to get off the mat, shouting "UP!" at him.]

GM:  Stone might be able to pin Jack Snyder right here but he doesn't
want to, Bucky.  He wants to finish this man off tonight just like you
said.

BW:  That's right, Gordo.  He's begging him!  Pleading with Snyder to
drag himself off the mat and take his beating like a man.  But Jack
Snyder's no man.  We knew that the moment he showed up here, Gordo.

GM:  You mean the moment when he laid out Ben Waterson with a right
hand?

BW:  Exactly!  And he's really wishing he hadn't done that right now,
Gordo.  I guarantee you that.

[Snyder rolls over to his stomach, trying to crawl away to get a
breather, but Stone drops a big elbow down across the back of the head. 
He rolls to a knee, grabbing Snyder by the hair and rubbing his face
back and forth on the mat!]

GM:  Ahhh!  That'll rip the flesh right off a man.

[Still holding the hair, Stone pulls Snyder's head off the mat and SLAMS
his face down to the canvas.]

GM:  Good grief.  That was a brutal shot, Bucky.

[Kneeling on the mat, Stone throws a hooking right hand into the ribcage
of the downed Snyder.  Again, he shouts "UP!" at his rival before
delivering another punch to the body.]

GM:  Grant Stone is just pounding him right now - screaming at the man
to get up.  If you want him up, let him up, Stone!

BW:  Easy, Gordo.  You mouth off all you want to some of the guys around
here but Grant Stone's not a man to be messed with, daddy.

GM:  I see your point.

[Stone finally rises, dragging Snyder off the mat again by the hair.  He
shoves him violently back into the closest set of buckles, slowly
walking in...

...where Snyder bursts out of the corner, grabbing Stone by the back of
the head, and SLAMMING his face into the top turnbuckle to the cheers of
the crowd!]

GM:  Ohh!  A desperation move by Jack Snyder and-

[Snyder grabs Stone by the back of the head, DRIVING his skull into
Stone's, sending him staggering backwards where he falls down to a knee.
 Snyder backs to the corner, hopping up on the middle rope...]

GM:  Double axehand- CAUGHT!

[Stone catches Snyder, holding him over his right shoulder...

...and DRIVES him forward, smashing him into the buckles!]

GM:  Stone pulls him out - wait a second!  What's he-

[Stone yanks Snyder into a standing headscissors.  With a powerful lift,
he hoists Snyder up...

...and DRIVES him into the buckles with a thunderous powerbomb!]

GM:  OHHH!  POWERBOMB INTO THE BUCKLES!!!

[And in one motion, he yanks Snyder out of the corner, hoisting him
across his shoulders in the Argentine Backbreaker.  He slowly strides
out of the corner to the center of the ring...

...and DRIVES Snyder down on top of his skull with a Burning Hammer!]

GM:  ETCHED!  IN!  STONE!!

BW:  That's it.  Nobody gets up from that.

GM:  They certainly don't.  

[Stone drops down, planting a knee on the chest of the downed Snyder as
he gestures to the referee.]

GM:  We've got one... we've got two... and we've got three.


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


MC:  Here is your winner... GRAAAAAAANT STOOOOONE!

[Stone slowly rises, still staring down at the motionless Snyder as the
referee raises his hand...

...which he jerks away from the official, threatening a backhand that
sends the official running.]

GM:  Snyder is down.  This match is over and-

BW:  Or is it?

GM:  It certainly is!  Grant Stone, you stop that right now!

[A still-angry Stone pulls Snyder off the mat again, having to lift
Snyder's dead weight up, powering him up into another torture rack...

...and DRIVING Snyder down to the side once more!]

GM:  Good god!

BW:  Another Etched In Stone!  TWO Etched In Stones!

GM:  Jack Snyder is down!  He's out!

BW:  He's done, daddy!

[Stone sits on the canvas, his unconscious rival next to him.  A creepy
grin crosses the face of Stone as he closes his eyes, soaking up the
jeers of the crowd.]

GM:  We need to get some help out there!  We need medical help for Jack
Snyder!

[The medical team, led by Dr. Bob Ponavitch, comes charging down the
elevated ramp to the ring, stretcher being pulled behind them.]

GM:  Jack Snyder is going to need to be carried out of the building...
and an odd hush has fallen over this crowd at Homecoming.  This is NOT
what they wanted to see here tonight.  Snyder certainly has his fans
here in the AWA and now... well, I don't know if we'll ever see Jack
Snyder in the AWA again, Bucky.

BW: TWO Etched In Stones.  Unbelievable.

GM:  Fans, we don't need to see this.  Let's go to the back where one of
the men who will be in that big Battle Royal later tonight, former
National Champion Kolya Sudakov, is standing by with Jason Dane!

[We crossfade back to the locker room where Dane and Sudakov are side by
side.]

JD:  Kolya Sudakov, it's a big night here in the AWA and it has become a
big night for you as well.  You have been randomly drawn and entered
into this big Battle Royal with the winner receiving a shot at the
National Title... TONIGHT!

[Sudakov nods.]

KS:  It is a big night for AWA, yes.

[Dane grins.]

JD:  You're talking?  I have to admit, I was a little nervous.

KS:  Comrade Dane, I said I would do my talking in the WarGames and that
is what I did.  I went into cage with partners that did not trust Kolya
and enemies who wanted to break Kolya.  But in end, Kolya proves himself
and stands as winner.

[Sudakov nods.]

KS:  Comrade Dane, when Kolya return to AWA, I had... how you say...
unfinished business.  

Number one?  Stevie Scott and Ben Waterson.

[Kolya does a "breaking" gesture with his hands.]

KS:  Number one taken care of, Comrade Dane.

But number two?  Number two is still there.

[Dane looks curious.]

JD:  What's number two?

KS:  When I left AWA last year - my last night - my Uncle, my blood
attacked Kolya.  You remember?

JD:  Yes, I do.

KS:  Kolya remember too.  And Kolya not ever going to forget.  So, Uncle
Vladimir, now you remember too.  Kolya coming for you...

[Sudakov pauses.]

KS:  In fact, Kolya coming for you... right now!

[Sudakov turns away from Dane, heading off camera.]

JD:  I don't- fans, Kolya Sudakov is heading for the ring!  He wants
Vladimir Velikov and he wants him right now!

[We cut back to inside the arena area where Kolya Sudakov comes walking
through the curtain - no music, no intros, all business.  He strides
past the medical team taking Jack Snyder back up the aisle on a
stretcher, walking straight to the ring to the cheers of the crowd. 
Sudakov steps into the ring, throwing his arms apart to the roar of the
crowd.]

GM:  Look at this, Bucky!  We hadn't planned on this!

BW:  Kolya Sudakov makes his own rules, Gordo!

GM:  Kolya Sudakov wants his Uncle out here and he wants him right now!

[Sudakov points down the ramp, shouting something in Russian to the
cheers of the crowd as he awaits a response to his challenge.

But when he gets it, it is not at all what he expected.]

GM: What is... what is this?!

BW: The greatest theme music in wrasslin', Gordo!

[The distinctively Arabic vocal opening to "Saz O Avaz Mahdor" by
Mohammed Reza Shajarian washes over the crowd, who respond with boos as
the bisht-and-kaffiyeh-clad form of Sultan Azam Sharif steps out from
behind the curtain.  He proudly waves his massive Iranian flag for a
moment as his manager, the erstwhile Count Adrian Bathwaite, walks over
to the interview area to procure a microphone.]

GM: That is NOT Vladimir Velikov.

BW: No, but that's an undefeated former Olympian.  I don't think even
Kolya's gonna intimidate him, Gordo.

[The silver-haired ex-wrestler Bathwaite, a short man with both Asian
and European features who wears a bright shiny lime green dress shirt
that seems to be made out of Lycra and rhinestones, waves the Sultan
over to the interview platform and points his walking stick at Kolya
Sudakov.]

CAB: You hold it right there, young man.  Your uncle, one of the few men
that has earned my respect over the years, isn't even here at the arena
yet.  And I know your stock, Sudakov.  You're not stupid.  You're a
lowborn, but your country chose you to rise up from the herd because of
your genetic potential.  You knew Vladimir wasn't here, so you called
him out now because you don't really want to fight him.  Well, my man,
the Great And Honorable Sultan, really wants to fight YOU.  Tell him,
Sultan!

[The crowd gets a bit louder, anticipating the auditory offense of the
Sultan getting the mic.  He does not disappoint.  Or enounciate.] 

SAS: Aasef, men fathlek, Mistair Koolya Sudokupff!  You know dot Mistair
Vludmir Velikupff is not here!  But...

[He slips off his bisht, slaps both sides of his chest, and wipes the
sweat off of himself in one quick motion.]

SAS: ...I'm here!  Und Mistair Koolya Sudokupff, I dun come all deh vay
from oldest country in deh vorld, Shiraz Iran, to fight deh jehbrohnis
dot dey bring me to fight!  I am Pahlavn-e Keshvar, Olympic shampwon,
Ashun Game shampwon!  Und you, Koolya Sudokupff, I raspeck you!  You vas
AWA shampwon, und nobody beat you for a year.  I raspeck you, und dot is
vhy I come, min fadhilk, to shallunge you to wrestle deh Sultan Azam
Sharif tonight!  I come to AWA to be AWA shampwon, und dots vhy,
insh'allah, I gonna wrestle an AWA shampwon!  

[The Sultan gives the microphone back to the Count, and the two men wait
for Kolya's response.  Sudakov takes an offered mic from ringside.]

KS:  I am former AWA National Champion.

[Sharif nods in a "I just said that" expression.]

KS:  I am most dominant AWA National Champion EVER!

[Big cheer!]

KS:  You?  You are nothing to me.  You are former Olympian.  You are
former Asia Champion.  As amateur?  You impress Kolya very much.  But as
professional wrestler?

[Sudakov spits on the mat.]

KS:  I see nothing from you yet.

[Sharif is going crazy now, ranting and raving, thankfully off mic.]

KS:  But Kolya no back down from challenge.  Kolya no coward like Stevie
Scott.  Like Uncle Vladimir.

Like Bathwaite.

[Big cheer!  Now it's Bathwaite's turn to rant and rave off mic.]

KS:  You want Kolya?

[Pause.]

KS:  Come get Kolya.

[The crowd roars as Sharif nods emphatically, rushing down the entry
ramp towards the ring, Bathwaite trailing closely behind.  But as they
reach the end of the ramp, they pause, staring at Kolya...

...and providing an opening for Vladimir Velikov to come over the
railing, heading into the ring with the Russian chain wrapped around his
arm.]

GM:  Wait a second!  Kolya, look ou-

[The crowd jeers as Velikov delivers a chain-wrapped forearm to the back
of the head, knocking Sudakov flat.  At this point, Sharif hits the
ring, joining the elder Russian in a stomp and kick beating on Sudakov,
both men driving their feet over and over into the downed Sudakov.]

GM:  They're beating the heck out of Kolya!

BW:  He's not gonna make it to the Battle Royal, Gordo!

GM:  Velikov pulls Kolya up...

[The big Russian hooks a front facelock on his nephew, opening up
Sudakov for big horned boot kicks to the ribcage.  A big double
axehandle across the back knocks Kolya down to all fours where Velikov
grabs the Iranian flag, SMASHING the flagpole down across Kolya's back,
putting him down on the mat...]

GM:  Good grief!  What a shot with the flagpole!  Kolya Sudakov has been
laid out in the middle of the ring and- oh, come on!

[At an order from Bathwaite, Sharif settles into a squat on the lower
back of Sudakov, reaching down to hook Sudakov's arms over Sharif's legs
as he cups his hands under the chin of Kolya.]

GM:  Camel Clutch!  The Clutch is on!

BW:  And there's no way out of this one, Gordo!

GM:  Look at Sharif!

[The wild Iranian jerks Sudakov's head back and forth, wrenching his
neck as he applies the pressure in the Clutch.]

GM:  And Velikov's there to taunt his nephew - what kind of man is he?!

[The crowd jeers Vladimir Velikov as he kneels in front of Sudakov,
taunting him as Sharif yanks Sudakov's head from side to side.]

GM:  Kolya can't get out of this thing!  He's trapped in the Camel
Clutch!

[Sudakov's head slumps forward, unable to escape as Velikov and
Bathwaite shout encouragement to the intense Sharif who doesn't seem
likely to EVER release the Camel Clutch.]

GM:  I think - I think Kolya Sudakov has passed out in that Camel
Clutch!

[A trio of AWA officials hit the ring, demanding that Sharif release the
hold, screaming and shouting at Sharif, Velikov, and Bathwaite, ordering
someone to get Sudakov out of the hold...

...and after several more moments in the Camel Clutch, Sharif
reluctantly releases it.  He slowly gets to his feet, raising his arms
in trumph as he stands over the unconscious Sudakov.]

GM:  Sharif and Velikov have laid out the former National Champion!  And
you may be right, Bucky - can Kolya Sudakov even MAKE IT to the Battle
Royal now?  Did Sudakov just get taken out of that Battle Royal tonight?
 Fans, we'll be right back!

[We fade to black...

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

"It was a night that few can forget."

[We can hear announcer cries like...

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

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

"FIREBALL!  FIREBALL!"]

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

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

"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"]

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

SuperClash... IS... wrestling."

[One more soundbite.

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

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

[And a final graphic comes up...

SuperClash 2.  Thanksgiving Night.

We fade back to live action down to ringside.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans, and we are just over two months away from the
biggest night of the year for the American Wrestling Alliance -
SuperClash 2 - and I'm ALREADY excited about it, Bucky.

BW:  How can you not be?  We don't know a single match on the show -
heck, we don't even know where it's going to be held and yet we know the
AWA goes all out for SuperClash.  

GM:  It's the night where you can put yourself on the map of the
wrestling world in a hurry, fans.  We'll be talking more about
SuperClash 2 in the weeks to come but as you know, the AWA is asking
you, the fans of the AWA, to select the site for the big event.  This
week, we had five cities left on the list - Dallas, Atlanta, Greensboro,
St. Louis, and Los Angeles.  After a week of polling, that list is down
to four.

BW:  That's right.  So sorry, La-La Land, but much like the Angels AND
Dodgers - you're out!

GM:  That's not nice, Bucky.  But Los Angeles has been eliminated from
the running.  Now, after the show ends tonight, the poll begins anew -
four cities remaining - St. Louis, Dallas, Atlanta, and Greensboro - so
get the vote out now if you want to be a part of the biggest night of
the year for the AWA - SuperClash 2!  And now, fans, Homecoming
continues with the return to singles competition for a veteran of the
sport. We saw Jesse Ewiak debut a couple of months ago, but haven't seen
him back in the ring aside from an impressive performance at the Battle
on the Bayou in the big battle royale.

BW: An impressive performance? Are we grading on a curve if you're
washed up now? Between Ewiak, Tin Can Rust, and Soup Bone, there's way
too many wrestlers closer to collecting Social Security than the prime
of their careers.

GM: I'll let Mister Ewiak know that if I interview him after his match
tonight.

[Cut to the ring where we see a young wrestler clad in bright blue boots
and jacket. He has short black hair, green eyes, an intense look on his
face, and some flab around his belly. Melissa Cannon is also in the
ring, ready to announce the competitors.]

MC: The following match is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute time
limit. Already in the ring, weighing at two hundred and fourty one
pounds... from Spartansburg, South Carolina, he is KENDALLLLLL
HIIIIIIIICKS!

[A small pop for the AWA newcomer who raises his hands.]

MC:  And his opponent...

[The opening guitar riff of 'Defy You' by The Offspring hits to a face
pop as 'The Last Good Man' Jesse Ewiak walks out to the entrance way and
stands at the top of the entrance ramp. Jesse's an OK-looking guy, but
he has a weathered, older than his age look to him. His dirty blonde
hair usually is cut very short, highlighting a five o'clock shadow and
his piercing green eyes. Jesse has the normal tan of somebody who has
lived in Florida for most of his adult life.  He looks at the ring with
a concentrated look on his face before beginning to walk down to
ringside as the vocals kick in...]

MM: ...from Palm Bay Florida, weighing 267 pounds, he is 'THE LAST GOOD
MAN'... JESSSSSSSSSEE EWIAKKKKKKKKKKK!

[Ewiak heads down to the ring, absent-mindely slapping hands as he walks
down the elevated entrance, but is mainly focused completely on the
ring. He takes off his black leather jacket setting it down as he steps
inside the ring.]

GM: Ewiak has been looking forward to get back in the ring and told me
after the Battle on the Bayou that the last of his prior committments
were over with an he could focus full-time on the AWA.

BW: What, did he finally finish his series set of Matlock?

GM: Please, Bucky. As you well know, Ewiak was the head trainer at his
teacher's training school down in Florida and he had to finish his last
class.

BW: So what did he teach the kids? Don't be a never was like me?

"DING! DING! DING!"

[In the ring, Hicks and Ewiak circle each other before stepping into a
collar and elbow tie up. After a moment of grappling for position, Hicks
gains the advantage with a headlock, but only after a moment or two,
Ewiak pushes him off into the ropes and runs him over with a
shoulderblock!]

GM: Impressive show of power from the nearly 270 pound former tag team
champion all over the world.

[Ewiak waits for Hicks to get up and locks him in a front chancery
before lifting him up and drops him to the mat with a big vertical
suplex. 'The Last Good Man' gets up quickly and goes off the near rope
before dropping a big knee on the midsection of Kendall Hicks. The
youngster slowly gets his knees only for Ewiak to run over and lay him
out with a...]

GM: ...big boot by Ewiak knocks Hicks right into the corner!

BW: Hicks has to quicken the pace of this match if he's going have any
chance against this big palooka. I mean, the wash up has a brace the
size of a small Asian nation on one of his knees backstage.

GM: That is true, but if Ewiak can continue his assault, it's not going
to matter.

[Jesse raises his arms to the crowd to a solid pop, then climbs up on
the middle rope and starts delivering right hands as the crowd counts
along...]

"ONE"
"TWO"
"THREE"
"FOUR"
"FIVE"
"SI -"

BW: That's one way to end that for sure, pal.

GM: Completely illegal though.

BW: Not a match ender though and it gives Hicks a chance to regain some
monetum. It's a smart move. I'd say a veteran move but then you'd say
something silly like old man Samson wouldn't use it.

[What are those two chuckleheads refering too? Hicks delivering a
well-placed low blow to the 'upper thigh' of Ewiak out of the view of
the official which causes him to back off in pain. Kendall immediately
goes on the offense, throwing forearm after forearm before kicking Ewiak
in center mass and dropping him to the mat with a double arm DDT! Hicks
then goes to the near ropes, runs and drops on to the back of Ewiak's
neck with a...]

GM: ...picture-perfect kneedrop by Hicks!

BW: Got to keep the momentum up though. Can't allow Ewiak to get his
bearings.

[Hicks pulls Ewiak up, mostly cleanly since Ewiak's hair is short. He
drives in a few more forearms and then sends 'The Last Good Man' into
the far corner. Kendall then goes to the diagonal corner and rushes at
Ewiak as he lays prone in the corner...]

GM:  BIG BOOT BY EWIAK! HE GOT HIM RIGHT ON THE CHIN!

BW: That's why I said the kid had to hurry up. Now he's got to deal with
Ewiak on offense which even I have to admit is no fun.

[Hicks stumbles out after being nailed with the big boot and stumbles
back into the waiting arms of Jesse Ewiak, who drops Kendall into the
mat with a big belly-to-back suplex that draws a cheer from the crowd
and a thunderous shake of the ring. Hicks is fairly quick to get up and
so is Ewiak, who immediately grabs Hicks again and sends him back to the
mat with a huge belly-to-belly suplex!]

GM: Two huge suplexes by Ewiak who is throwing Hicks around like he's a
child.

BW: Well, Ewiak may be an over-the-hill journeyman, but he's one hell of
a strong over-the-hill journeyman. Kick him in the knee, Kendall!

GM: What did Watkins tell you about shouting out advice to wrestlers,
Bucky?

BW: Something about they never listen to you anyway?

[Ewiak goes to picks Hicks up once again but as he brings the rookie up
to a vertical base, the South Carolina native pokes 'The Last Good Man'
in the eye to a heel pop. Knowing he doesn't have much time to work his
magic, Hicks goes right on the offense with a kick to the gut, hooks an
inverted facelock, and then lifts Ewiak up before dropping him right
back down to the mat on the back of the head.]

GM: Hicks used an illegal maneuver in that eyegouge, but it looks like
it may work out for this rookie wrestler out of the Palmetto State.

BW: Palmetto State? Really? Hmm, learn something new everyday.

GM: How about the match?

BW: Hicks has to got to keep up the offensive flow - ah, crap, kid.

[Wilde's response is due to the fact that Hicks is slowly getting to the
top rope and raising his arms to the booing crowd as Ewiak slowly gets
to his feet. As Jesse Ewiak turns around, Hicks leaps right into a...]

GM: MASSIVE POWERSLAM BY EWIAK!

[POP!]

BW: Told 'ya.

GM: He was ready for the leap by Hicks and delivered a move with a
massive impact, Bucky.

BW: Hey, you learn some tricks after being in this business forever like
Ewiak.

[No playing around for Ewiak as he waits for Hicks to get to his feet,
then locks him in urange position, picks him up and drops him straight
into the...]

GM:  INFINITE JUSTICE BY EWIAK!

[Ewiak hooks the leg and the referee begins his count.]

GM: ONE! TWO! THREE! And it's one more dubya in the record books for
Jesse Ewiak.

BW: One more? I'm sure that side of the ole' ledger looks mightly lonely
for ole' Jesse.

GM: Let's go to Melissa for the official announcement.

[Up to Melissa.]

MC: The winner of the match, at a time of five minutes and seven
seconds...'THE LAST GOOD MAN' JESSSSSSSSSEE EWIAKKKKKKKKKKK!

[A solid pop comes from the AWA faithful as Ewiak climbs the corners
raising his hands in celebration before getting his leather jacket back
and heading down the entrance ramp toward the interview area. Gordon
Myers is waiting for him as the camera cuts to Ewiak walking in frame.]

GM: Another impressive victory for Jesse Ewiak and it looks like you're
finally here in the AWA for good. Is that right, Jesse?

JE: First of all Gordon, I like what you've done with the place. A
little less cramped. I mean, there's still an annoying knick-knack in
the form of Bucky Wilde, but what can ya' do?

[Small pop from the crowd as Ewiak shrugs.]

JE: As to your actual question, I'm here for the long haul. As I told
you down in the Bayou, I unfortunately had some prior committments to
finish up before I could ride the road here in the AWA full-time. Well,
those are done, so I'm happy to say, I'll be here tryin' to rise up the
rankings and earn my shot at glory right here in front of these fans!

[Cheap pop.]

GM: Well, as you know, SuperClash 2 is the next big mega event.  What
are your goals for that event?

JE: Well, every wrestler wants to be in the Main Event fighting for the
twenty pounds of gold. But I'm realistic Gordon, I've only had two
singles matches and since this ain't 1998 and my name ain't Ronnie, no
heavyweight title matches are coming my way that soon. However, right
now, I am throwing my hat in to become the first Longhorn Heritage
Champion!

[POP! from the Dallas crowd.]

GM: Anybody in particular you're looking forward to facing in that
tournament?

JE: Put any man in front of me, Gordon, and I believe I can take him. I
don't care if it's a madman like Layton, a monster like Monosso, a
legend like Slater, a mystery like Nenshou, or even a radical like the
Sultan. Ya' put them in front of me and I'll knock 'em down. 'Cause
these AWA fans here in Dallas and all over the nation deserve a champion
they can be proud of and let's be honest, that's a little hard to come
by at the moment.

GM: So, all comers is what you're saying?

JE: That's what I'm saying, Gordon. This is my time to shine, not to get
caught up in personal vendettas and such. It's time for the Last Good
Man in wrestling to stand tall at the top of the mountain.

[With that, Ewiak raises his arm to another pop from the Dallas crowd,
then walks off.]

GM: Well, we just saw a very focused Jesse Ewiak here tonight and if
that's the same man who walks into the Longhorn Heritage title
tournament, he'd be a very dangerous opponent for anyone involved.  And
speaking of the Longhorn Heritage Title, let's go back to the locker
room and hear from a man who is already in that tournament and will be
in action later tonight - The Masked Menace!

[Cut to the back where Jason Dane stands before an AWA backdrop.]

JD: Hello Dallas, Texas.  Jason Dane here in the backstage area for the 
AWA.  My guest at this time is the man who calls himself ... the Masked
Menace.

[Striding into the scene, one might think the Menace's manner hostile,
although it is hard to tell given that only 5% of his face is left
uncovered by mask.  Also, he's usually hostile, the only question being
to what degree and who he's hostile towards.]

MM: That was my introduction?

[Eyebrows raising up so far on his forehead that they threaten to flee
his skull, Jason Dane is instantly afraid of the Masked Menace.]

MM:  I don't much cotton to it.  "Calls himself"?  You tryin' to imply
somethin'?  Don't you go pay no nevermind to folks don't know their own
business, man.  They don't know their own, you know they don't know
mine.

JD: I'm sorry.  If I could just--

MM: J-Just!?  If you could just do it again!?  Yeah man, you could just
do it again.  Like right now!

[Invading Dane's personal space with his last words, the Menace retreats
back out of view.  Jason swallows hard as he slowly brings the mic back
up to his mouth.]

JD: Hello fans!  This is Jason Dane and I'm backstage now to interview
the one and _only_ Masked Menace!  Menace, it is so _great_ to have you
here.

[Grinning tensely, Dane watches as the titanic form of the Menace steps
in front of the banner.  Staring up, he waits, then relaxes visibly as
the Menace gives a terse nod in response to his introduction.]

MM: That was right fine, I reckon, man.

JD: Thank you.

MM: No, thank _you_.

[Even his gratitude is "menacing"!  Clearing his throat, Dane somewhat
recovers his wits.]

JD:  Two weeks ago you walked into the arena at Battle on the Bayou and
you did exactly what you said you would.  You outlasted fifteen other
men to claim the fifty-thousand dollar prize!

MM: Yeah, I talked it, I walked it, T.C.B.  Takin' Care of Business,
man.  Fifty large is a pay window big enough to be a big ol' storefront
with a sign over the top that says "Wal-Mart", y'know?  Ain't no way I
was walkin' out without that.

JD: Yes, and while you didn't collect the bounties on Shane Taylor's
career and the West Memphis Assassin's mask, that's still quite the
paycheck.

[Putting his fists on his hips, the Menace regards Dane with a look of
scorn (as if he had a look that wasn't scorn).]

MM: Who says I ain't collectin' still, man?  Ain't nobody else taken
down Taylor.  Ain't nobody else even been asked to tear that cheap
do-rag off the Ass-ass-in's face, man.

[That's right; a masked man just insulted the quality of another masked
man's mask.  Dane nods seriously, either not noticing the nature of the
jibe or not wanting to irritate the Menace further.]

JD: Tonight you face off against Pugnacio Supremo in a first round
matchup in the tournament to crown the first Longhorn Heritage Champion.
 What is your game plan going in there tonight against the quick and
agile luchador?

[Smacking his right fist into his left palm, the Menace flexes his thick
torso and pumps out his arms especially to show off his biohazard and
nuclear symbol tattoos.]

MM: What's my plan, man?  Tell you what, I win the big brawl and I still
gotta fight one of the losers to take my prize?  I already tossed that
pug-nosed midget and got my spot in the tourney.  What the hell's he
done to earn a spot?

[Uncomfortable silence as Menace slowly turns to face full the camera.]

MM: Well, I tell you what, little man from south of the border;
North-west of here they're cartin' your kind off wholesale.  Get in the
way of my quest for that sweet, sweet gold and the keys to a king's
ransom, you're gonna be beggin' me to let you go there.

[Adjusting his left wristband, Menace falls silent.]

JD: That ... that just sounds horrible.

[Chuckling, Menace grabs Dane by the shoulder, a sign of affection that
shakes the smaller man's frame.]

MM: No man, no.  It's just business.  Business ... is brutal.

[Releasing Dane, who flails his arms to maintain his balance, Menace
walks away.  Wiping the sweat away from his brow, Jason Dane turns full
towards the camera.]

JD: Let's go right back down to the ring for yet another big debut here
tonight at Homecoming!  Take it away, Melissa!

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

MC: The following match is scheduled for one fall with a ten-minute time
limit. Already in the ring, from Boise, Idaho weighing in at 208 pounds,
Flynn Riggins!

[Dressed like a punk rocker, the grimey Flynn Riggins raises his right
hand to acknowledge the audience. A few token claps and cheers are given
to him by the faithful in attendance.]

MC: And his opponent...

[Pharoahe Monch's - "Simon Says (instrumental)" pumps through the PA
system and a small, but vocal segment of the crowd has an idea of what
is coming up next.]

MC: Making his way to the ring, from Haleburg, Alabama and weighing in
at 265 pounds; this is "Mr. Murder" Irvin Merrill Monford!

[Coming down to ring at a methodical gait is a bald black man around
6'2" with a sneer and beer belly. His ring attire is a simple pair of
black trunks with black elbow and knee pads, black fingerless gloves and
ankle high black wrestling boots with white laces. His forehead is a
mass of traumatized flesh that only helps to compliment the scar running
down his nose to the left.]

GD: "Mr. Murder" Irvin Merrill Monford, a surprise appearance here in
Dallas!

BW: Gordo, take a look at that mug. That man, right there, has been
working hard in the high school gyms and beer halls all around this
country and what he has to show for it is being ugly and being angry.

[Monford crosses his arms and tries to stare a hole into Riggins.
Riggins moves to the center of the ring and makes a "come on" gesture.
Monford obviously does not like the implications of the gesture and
charges... only to be hiptossed towards the northeastern turnbuckle.]

GD: Irvin's temper getting the best of him.

[Indeed, Monford manages to contort his face into an even more pissed
off scowl while Flynn plays up to the crowd.]

BW: If that wet behind the ears kid in that ring with him isn't
careful... dropkick!

[Monford is on the mat after rushing back towards Riggins only to be met
with a dropkick. A rage fuelled fast recovery from "Mr. Murder" gets IMM
a hurricanrana for his trouble. Instead of going in for yet another
turnaround, Murder slides out of the ring, fuming.]

GM: Monford letting his temper get the best of him.
 
BW: He's got the experience to know when to finally get out of dodge.
These so-called fans just can't appreciate the kind of knowledge Irv is
dropping on them tonight.

GM: Irv?

BW: I like to think of myself as a close, personal friend.

[Monford takes a few steps back and forth. Riggins taunts Monford a bit
more, getting the vet to come back into the ring.]

GM: Riggins with another dropkick...

BW: But "Mr. Murder" ducked! Those scars he has aren't just for show,
they're a testament to his years in the sport.

GM: Monford not waiting as he picks up the rookie and punches him in the
gut, chained to a kneelift and...

[A loud smack echoes as Monford delivers a fearsome enzugiri to the
face. The three count is academic, the stomp to the head that follows
the victory is not.]

GM: And Mr. Murder refusing to have his hand raised, mouthing off to the
referee.

BW: He's not here to make friends.

[Monford has arrived to get a few words in with Gordon Myers.]

GM: "Mr. Murder", first off, welcome to Dallas. 

[Monford grunts.]

GM: Next question: not quite the debut everyone was expecting...

IMM: Gordon, I've been in this business for 16 years and I've learned
that it don't matter what people like you think. People only care about
who wins and, last time I looked, I won that damned match.

[Monford slaps himself on the forehead.]

IMM: You see this?

[Monford holds up his slightly bloodied right hand fingers up to Myers
then the camera.]

IMM:  Do you all see this here? I've given up my youth, my body and my
blood for this sport. I'm here in the AWA because this is it, this is my
last shot to take me where I want to go. I'm a damn grown man,  willing
to break his self and bleed all over this nation to get to this point. I
don't plan on leaving unless they drag my cold, black hide off in a
coffin. You see this face? Get used to it or get outta my damn way!

[Mr. Murder huffs and stomps off.]

GM:  Goodness.  That man is hot under the collar, Bucky.

BW:  Irv is all business, all the time.  And he just made it REAL clear
why he's here.  This is his last chance.  

GM:  We seem to be hearing that a lot around here lately.  Fans, Jim
Watkins mentioned earlier tonight that we've got a lot of new talent
here tonight looking to make an impact - looking to impress the
Championship Committee enough to get into that Longhorn Heritage Title
tournament.  Well, we know two men who are already in that tournament
and will meet later here tonight.  Moments ago, we heard from the Masked
Menace and now?  Let's hear from the man who will face him - luchador
Pugnacio Supremo!

[Cut to the back, where we find AWA interviewer Jason Dane standing by
with the luchador Pugnacio Supremo, who's wearing his trademark
red-and-brown mask and tights.]

JD: I'm here with a man we're going to see in action in just a moment
taking on his fellow masked wrestler, The Masked Menace, the AWA
newcomer Pugnacio Supremo.  Pugnacio, your match tonight is something of
a mixed blessing -- you're in the tournament to become the first-ever
Longhorn Heritage Champion, but you have to face a much larger and more
vicious man to do so.  Your thoughts?

PS: Well, hombre, you just about hit it on the head... except for one
thing.

JD: What would that be?

PS: You called the Masked Menace my "fellow masked wrestler."  Now, even
though we may both use a mask, understand this... me and that joker have
NOTHING in common.  Where I come from, masks are sacred.  Your mask
doesn't hide who you are, it reveals it.  Now, if you just saw my ugly
mug, you wouldn't have any idea of what kind of man I am.  But this mask
symbolizes that even though I'm the underdog, even though guys like the
Masked Menace can probably bench press me, no one can finish me off. 
I've taken bruises, I've gotten beaten from pillar to post, and I came
back to win.

But the Masked Menace... I'm sorry, whoever's calling themselves the
Masked Menace now... that guy is using his mask as a shield, and as a
crutch.  It's not even his mask.  Taking someone else's mask, stealing
their identity... down south of the border, that's sacriledge.  And this
guy may have muscles on his muscles, he may be good at throwing people
over the top rope... but he doesn't even have the cojones to make his
own identity.

And that's why I'm not afraid of the Masked Menace, Jason.

[Supremo nods, his confidence reflected in his body language.]

JD: Well, most people wouldn't like Pugnacio Supremo's odds in this
match, but the man himself seems confident.  Back to you, Gordon.

[We cut back to ringside to Gordon and Bucky.]

GM:  Thanks, Jason.  Fans, all night long, we've been talking about the
Longhorn Heritage Championship and how hot of a commodity it has become
here in the AWA.  Now, as you know, this particular title was named in
tribute to the Longhorn Wrestling Council - a legendary wrestling
promotion that used to run out of South Laredo, Texas.  It is one of the
greatest promotions in the history of our business and when this title
was announced, we wanted to get someone here tonight to explain to the
world just what the LWC was all about.  So, we are very pleased to be
able to do that right now - to present a man whose name is eternally
linked to the LWC who wanted to come here tonight and tell the fans
exactly how much the LWC meant to him.  Mark, if you will...

[We crossfade up to Mark Stegglet in the ring.]

MC:  Ladies and gentlemen... at this time, please welcome to the ring...
former LWC superstar... 

ROBERT DONOVAN!

[The crowd pops politely as the big man strides down the aisle, pausing
occasionally to slap an extended hand.  Donovan reaches the ring,
turning and waving to the crowd, smiling briefly before stepping over
the top rope, into the ring.  He walks up to Stegglet and shakes his
hand before taking the microphone from Stegglet as he makes his way out
of the ring.]

RD:  First of all... just wanna say thanks.  Thanks to those of you in
the audience, for either rememberin' who I am or at least bein' polite
enough to applaud even if you have no idea.

[Donovan chuckles.]

RD:  Second of all, I wanna thank the AWA.  First of all, they're
honorin' one of the greatest little organizations in the history of this
business... an' second of all, they gave me a call and told me I could
come out here an' talk about it for as long as I felt like. Haven't been
in a ring, any ring, for so long that I couldn't pass up this
opportunity...especially since I get to talk up the place where I really
got my start.

[Donovan pauses, reaching up to rub his chin briefly.]

RD:  Now, any fans o' mine...all ten of ya...probably know that I
bounced around before I ever got down to South Laredo.  I won a few
titles, got a few hellacious beatings, handed out more.  Made some
money, gained a little fame...or infamy, not like there's a big
difference in the wrestling business.  Finally, though, I got down to
that little hole in the ground in Texas, and I found home.

[Pause.]

RD:  Forgive me if I get sentimental for a minute.  I'd worked all kinds
of places before I got to the Longhorn Wrestling Council, from the most
straight-laced to the most lawless organizations you ever heard of, but
that place was where I felt most comfortable.  It was the first place I
was really allowed to be me -- not act like some big dumb brute, or some
mysterious masked man, none of that mess.  They wanted Rob Donovan in
all his glory, or lack thereof, and they didn't give a damn about silly
gimmicks or politickin', all they cared about was how hard you'd bust
your ass for the organization and the other folks workin' in it.  I
remember what I felt most after I figured that out --

Respect.

[The crowd applauds.]

RD:  For the first time in my professional life, I felt respect for
myself, an' I felt respect for my profession.  It turned from somethin'
I did to make money into somethin' I felt passionate about, somethin'
I'd give my heart an' soul to, somethin' worth spillin' gallons of blood
an' sweat an' tears over.  As bizarre as it sounds, in a place that
worked some of the smelliest holes in the ground as venues is the first
place I really felt respected.  The crowds were rowdy as hell, no doubt,
but they knew wrestlin' and they knew everyone in that place was
breakin' their tails to bring them the best product they could.  They
knew what price we paid to bring it to 'em...

[Donovan reaches up, touching his mangled right ear briefly.]

RD:  ...an' they respected us for it, an' they gave us everything they
had while we were givin' them everything we had.  That's why I'm out
here tonight -- I wanna thank the AWA for recognizing what we did, what
that organization did, and for givin' them, and us, the respect we
deserve by creating the Longhorn Heritage title.  I know you guys have
some great talent here, an' I know for a fact that the first Longhorn
Heritage champ is gonna be someone who would do the LWC proud.  Again,
thanks to the AWA and to all of you for listenin' to this old man ramble
for a few minutes about the olden days.

[Donovan gestures to Stegglet, who climbs back into the ring to snag the
microphone as the crowd cheers, some rising to their feet to applaud.]

MS:  Well, Mr. Donovan, as a representative of this organization, I'd
just like to say thank you for coming out here tonight and giving us
some real insight on what the Longhorn Wrestling Council meant to those
who were there all those years ago. Folks, let's give this man a nice
round of --

[Donovan interrupts, leaning over to the microphone.]

RD:  Wait a second there, Mr. Stegglet...I need you to do me a lil'
favor.

MS:  What's that?

RD:  Ask me how I know that the first Longhorn Heritage champ is gonna
be somebody the LWC would've been proud of.  I mean, I don't really know
the folks involved in the tournament, havin' been out of the business
for a spell...

MS:  That's...a really good question, actually.  How DO you know the
first person to carry this new title will be somebody the Longhorn
Wrestling Council would've welcomed in their hallowed halls?

[Donovan chuckles, gently taking the microphone from Stegglet, who is
obviously a little confused.]

RD:  Well...that's a simple answer.  The reason I know the first
Longhorn Heritage champ is gon' be somebody the LWC would've been proud
of is...

The first Longhorn Heritage champ is ME.

[With that, Donovan drops the mic and walks away without another word,
stepping over the top rope to hop down to the floor, walks back up the
aisle, turning just once and throwing up the Longhorn symbol, drawing a
loud pop before he disappears through the curtain, leaving Stegglet and
his dropped jaw in the ring.]

GM:  Did I- did I just hear that?!

BW:  Robert Donovan's in the tournament?!

GM:  And if there was EVER a man who knew what it takes to wear a title
named after the LWC, it's Robert Donovan!  My stars, fans... what ELSE
is going to happen here tonight?  

[The sounds of Tom Petty's "I Won't Back Down" starts up to a big
cheer!]

GM:  Let's go up to Melissa!

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

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit and is a first round match in the tournament to crown the
first Longhorn Heritage Champion!

Introducing first... already on his way down the aisle... from Monterey,
Mexico... weighing in at 165 pounds...

PUGNACIO SUUUUUPREMO!

[The cheers grow louder as the luchador heads down the aisle.  The
short, squat Pugnacio Supremo is, of course, sporting his trademark mask
- red decorated with images of bruises and two "black eyes" around the
eyeholes.  He hits the ring, slingshotting over the ropes into the
squared circle.]

MC:  And his opponent... from Parts Unknown, weighing in at 330
pounds... THE MASKED MENACE!

[The music changes to James Hetfield's distinctive voice as "Some Kind
of Monster" by Metallica plays.  From the back emerges a tall and thick
gorilla of a man dressed in long black trunks, boots and studded leather
bracers. Instead of a head, atop his neck is a black mask patterned with
a reflective black skull design in the front, and the letters "MM" in
the back.]

GM:  Look at the size of this man, Bucky.

BW:  Six foot six and 330 pounds... against a man who is five foot five
and 165 pounds.  Do you get that, Gordo?  The Menace is TWICE the weight
of Supremo!

GM:  But a hundred and fifty pounds of that is in Supremo's heart,
Bucky!

BW:  That can't be healthy.

[Menace steps through the ropes, pointing a finger at Supremo.  The
referee cuts him off, giving some last instructions before calling for
the bell.]

GM:  There's the bell!  It's Longhorn Heritage Title tournament time!

[The Menace rushes Supremo, trying to get him trapped in the corner...

...and failing miserably as the luchador uses his speed to duck the
incoming collar and elbow, front somersaulting to avoid him.  The Menace
spins around, glaring at the luchador.]

GM:  And that's exactly the gameplan that Supremo will need to have,
right, Bucky?

BW:  You got it.  Supremo is going to have to run and fly, stick and
move, jab and weave... whatever it takes to stay out of the Menace's
range.

[The Menace slowly stalks towards Supremo, approaching with caution. 
Suddenly, he lunges forward, going for another tieup that Supremo ducks
under, popping up behind him where he leaps into the air, catching the
Menace on the chin with a dropkick!]

GM:  Ohh!  Dropkick on the jaw!

[But the Menace is hardly fazed, moving back in to grab Supremo around
the head and neck, hurling him into the buckles.]

GM:  He's got him cornered!

[The Menace rears waaaaay back, throwing a right hand...

...but again, Supremo drops down, rolling out of the corner to avoid it
to the cheers of the crowd.]

GM:  The Menace missed again!

BW:  That's great, Gordo, but Supremo can't win a match by playing
defense.  Sooner or later, he has to go on the attack and that's when
the Menace will get him.  As soon as Supremo gets close enough to
attack, he's done for.

[The Menace edges out of the corner, arms outstretched...

...and Supremo ducks down, crawling between the legs of the Menace. 
Supremo pops to his feet, leaping up to land on the shoulders of the
Menace.  He throws a few right hands from his perch before spinning
around, taking the Menace down to the mat with a rana!]

GM:  WHOOOOA MY!

BW:  Nice move by Supremo but I don't think he can keep it up, Gordo.

GM:  I guess we'll see about that.

[With the Menace stunned, Supremo hits the ropes, rebounding off,
ducking a wild clothesline attempt, and scoring with a leaping leg
lariat that sends the Menace stumbling back to the ropes.]

GM:  The Menace took that one on the chin, Bucky!  He's dazed!

[And Supremo rushes to the ropes adjacent to the Menace, springing back
with a dropkick to the side of the head that knocks the Menace down to a
knee.]

GM:  A flurry of offense from Supremo!

[The luchador charges across the ring, planting a foot on the Menace's
bent knee and exploding upwards with a knee strike to the jaw that
knocks the big man flat!  Big cheer!]

GM:  Oh my!  Supremo puts him down... the Menace rolls to the floor...

BW:  That might not be the best idea.

GM:  Supremo's got this crowd whipping into a frenzy!  They know he's
gonna fly!

[The crowd buzzes as Supremo hits the far ropes, rebounding back, and
HURLS himself over the top rope with a breathtaking plancha that knocks
the Menace down to the floor again!  Big cheer as Supremo pops up to his
feet, thrusting a fist in the air.  He leans down, trying to pull the
big man up by the mask.]

GM:  The luchador's trying to bring the big man back to his feet,
rolling him under the ropes now...

[Supremo hops up on the apron, grabbing the top rope in both hands...

...and slingshots over the ropes, smashing down backfirst across the
chest of the Menace!]

GM:  OHHH!  

BW:  A slingshot senton by Supremo!

[The smaller man throws himself into a lateral press, reaching back with
both arms to hook a heavy leg.]

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

[The crowd jeers as the Menace powers out, throwing Supremo off of him. 
And in no time flat, the Menace is back to his feet, shaking his head to
clear the cobwebs as he stumbles towards the retreating Supremo.]

GM:  The luchador's looking for an opening - he needs to think fast...

[Backed to the corner, Supremo grabs the top rope with both arms,
pulling himself up to lash out with both feet right on the chin of the
Menace!]

GM:  Ohh!

[The Menace stumbles backwards which gives Supremo the chance to hop up
on the middle rope, leaping off in another rana attempt...

...but gets DRIVEN down in a ring-shaking powerbomb instead!]

GM:  OHHHHH!

BW:  That's it.

GM:  If he wants it to be, I'd say it is.

[The Menace promptly pulls the masked man up by the eyeholes,
paintbrushing him a few times.]

"THINK YA CAN BEAT ME, PUNK?!"

[He powers the luchador up into the air in a gorilla press, holding him
high above the ring...

...and then takes one hand away, holding Supremo up in a one-handed
gorilla press for a few seconds before dropping him down to the mat in a
slam.]

GM:  Good grief!  What an incredible show of power!

BW:  A one-handed press?!  I don't think I've ever seen that done!

GM:  Now what in the world is he doing?

[An angry Menace pulls Supremo up by the mask eyeholes again, yanking
him into a double underhook suplex position.  He powers him up into the
air, slinging him over his shoulder...

...and swings him back down, driving the midpoint between the
shoulderblades down onto a bent knee!]

GM:  OHHH! 

BW:  He calls that the DMD '10, daddy!

GM:  Whatever you call it, call it effective 'cause that's it.

[The Menace applies the lateral press, shoving both fists into the chest
of the luchador as he does a full extension push-up.]

GM:  One.  Two.  And there's three.


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


MC:  Here is your winner, moving on to Round Two of the tournament...

THE MASKED... MENNNNNNNACE!

[The Menace gets back up to his feet, raising both arms in victory.]

GM:  The Masked Menace is your winner.  A good performance - a gutsy
performance - by Pugnacio Supremo but the Menace was just too big and
strong for him.  He's moving on - but who will he be facing?  Who else
is in this tournament?

BW:  Maybe he'll be facing Robert Donovan!

GM:  Donovan's the only other guy that we know is in this thing so far! 
Anyone could be in it, Bucky!  You could be in it!

BW:  Well, if I'm in it, I'm bringin' home the gold, daddy!

GM:  I bet.  Fans, don't go away, we've got more of Homecoming still to
come!

[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 we fade back up to live action down at ringside where Gordon and
Bucky are standing.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans... and boy oh boy, what a night this has been so
far and it's only gonna get better.  Don't forget, we've got that huge
eight man tag still to come plus the National Title will be on the line
later tonight!  Unbelievable!  But speaking of unbelievable, Bucky...
what about WarGames?

BW:  What about it?  You want to rub it in the Southern Syndicate's
noses some more?  So, they lost.  Let it go!

GM:  I was just about to say it was one of the most brutal matches we've
ever been a part of here in the AWA and I thought both teams showed
tremendous heart and skill inside that double cage.

BW:  Oh, well... yeah.

GM:  In fact, at this time, I'd like to bring in two gentlemen right
here with us who were a part of that brutal, brutal match - please
welcome two former AWA National Champions, Marcus Broussard and Juan
Vasquez!

[A big cheer goes up for the two former champs who step in from
off-camera, both in street clothes.]

MB: Gordon Myers...

[Marcus addresss the announcer, but eyes the crowd, who are still on
their feet.]

MB: Gordon Myers, I've been involved in wrestling for a long, loong
time. And I've accomplished great things and I've received the finest
accolades, but I have never, EVER, been prouder to be in this ring then
the night that the Southern Syndicate died!

[Broussard throws a fist up to the crowd, and the Homecoming rabble
erupt as he does so, cheering enthusiastically.]

MB: That match was as brutal and horrific as they say it is, Gordon. It
more than lived up to the hype. But I'm proud to say that the team of
men I was on battled through some adversity and worked as a unit to put
the final crack in the Syndicate. Ben Waterson can claim whatever he
wants, but the eye in the sky don't lie, Gordon.

The Syndicate was decimated in every single way possible, and their
leader was the one who quit.

AGAIN.

[Marcus stops to smile, taking in the cheers of the fans.]

MB: AWA's long, national nightmare is over, people. All of you who love
the AWA the way I do, the way we do, the cancer has been removed. And
the man who got that definitive submission, why, it could not have been
a more deserving person.

[Broussard takes a step back and begins to applaud, and urges the crowd
to do the same.]

MB: Juan Vasquez, you're one hell of a man, and I'm proud to call you my
friend.

[BIG POP! However, looking uncharacteristically embarrassed by the
praise he's receiving, Juan holds up his hands and implores everyone to
hold their applause.]

JV: Aw, come on now...there's no need for that, guys. 

[He chuckles as Marcus laughs and pats him on the back.]

JV: Marcus, none of this could've been possible without you and the rest
of those crazy bastards that decided to step into WarGames with us. We
took a stand, we held our ground, we shouted to the heavens and let the
Syndicate know that the AWA wasn't gonna' take their crap any more! And
it'd be wrong...it'd be _damn_ wrong for me to take the credit for this
win. It wasn't just me. It was Marcus Broussard! [Pop!] It was Ron
Houston! [Pop!] It was Kolya Sudakov! [Pop!] And yeah...

[Juan stops and nods to himself, because as hard it is to believe, he
owes this guy thanks too.] 

JV: ...it was even Raphael Rhodes! [Pop!]

[A smirk.]

JV: This was for the boys in the back that were terrorized by those
bastards for God knows how many months...the fans that had to sit
through all the garbage the Syndicate put us through...for Todd
Michaelson who sacrificed life and limb to make this all happen...and
while we can go on patting ourselves on the back for a good long
while...we ain't quite done yet, amigo.

While the foundation's cracked and Stevie took that great, big fall
outta' his ivory tower...he's still got that National title 'round his
waist.

[Juan turns to Marcus.]

JV: I know maybe I can't do anything 'bout it now and I know that
someone... somehow might do something about it tonight.  But if they
don't?  I know...I _know_ that someday I'll get my chance at Stevie
again. And even if I don't...you, Marcus...I know Stevie'll run and duck
and try to hide behind a team of lawyers to keep you the hell away from
the title, but you'll get your shot at him too!

And when that day comes, the AWA'll have a champion they can finally be
proud of!

[Pop!]

JV: And lemme tell you, if I ever get my chance, if I ever get the
National Title 'round my waist again, there ain't a man that I'd like to
give the first shot to more than you, Marcus Broussard!

[The crowd responds with a huge roar as Vasquez extends his hand to
Marcus.] 

MB: Juan, I feel the exact same way. 

So...I suppose what we have here...is a race to the National title.

[A big pop as Marcus accepts Juan's handshake!]

MB: May the best man win.

[And with that, the two turn and salute the cheering crowd. However, as
they turn to leave, Gordon Myers stops Juan.]

GM: Juan! Juan...just one last question. You heard Ben Waterson's
comments earlier and his accusations...what do have to say about his
belief that you are in fact, the West Memphis Assassin?

[Juan turns and glares at Gordon Myers with a frown.
 
And then he smirks.

He leans in close with a big smile, making his feelings known perfectly
clear.]

JV: Amigo, I ain't anybody but Juan Vasquez!

[Patting Gordon on the back, Juan exits stage right.]

GM:  There you have it, fans.  A straight-out denial from Juan Vasquez. 
He says he's not the West Memphis Assassin but somehow, I doubt his word
will be enough for you, Bucky Wilde.

BW:  Absolutely not, Gordo.  I trust Ben Waterson and if he says he
knows something, I'm a true believer.

GM:  I'm sure.  Well, fans, while Marcus Broussard and Juan Vasquez will
NOT be part of that Battle Royal later tonight, ten top flight
superstars will be.  And do not forget, the winner of the Battle Royal
will go on to challenge Stevie Scott for the National Title before this
night is over, fans.

BW:  You mention the Battle Royal, Gordo.  Can you imagine how furious
Shane Destiny is - wherever he is - at being deprived of yet ANOTHER
chance to become the National Champion?

GM:  I don't even want to think about it.  Fans, as I'm sure you now
know, Shane Destiny has been suspended for 30 days by Jim Watkins for
his actions two weeks ago in New Orleans.  We'd like to show you some
exclusive, never-before-seen footage featuring Shane Destiny, taped just
moments after what happened at Battle at the Bayou.

[Crossfade to a tape of Shane Destiny stalking down a hallway, with
Jason Dane chasing after him.  A graphic stating "footage courtesy of
AWA Home Video" appears on the bottom left hand side of the screen.]

JD: Mr. Destiny!  Wait!

[Destiny stops, keeping his back turned to Dane, fists clinched.]

JD: Mr. Destiny... please, the fans want to know just wha-...

[Destiny's hand suddenly thrusts back, grabbing Dane by the lapel.  He
turns towards him quickly.]

SD: I just got robbed again by biased officiating... so I'm taking
matters into my own hands.  And if you want to be next...

[Destiny tightens his grip, causing Dane to shake somewhat.]

SD: I don't mind adding someone to my life.

[Suddenly, a voice off-screen booms...

"LET HIM GO!"

Destiny does so, turning to the voice off-screen, his mouth growing into
a satisfied smile.]

SD: Or what... you're going to fine me, big boy?

[Jim Watkins walks into the frame, getting eye to eye with Destiny.]

SD: What is it, Watkins?  You're going to reach into my wallet, huh? 
I've got millions in the bank.  Go ahead.  Fine me.  That way I know how
much your refs are worth the next time I have to beat one up for
_stealing_ my glorious victory.

JW: I don't know what's gotten into you, son, but you'd better start
lookin' in the mirror before you start beating up referees and
announcers, and you're damn lucky I don't have you thrown out of the
building for what you just did.

SD: Oh really?  Just who's bad enough to stop me, huh?  You?  You're
thinking about taking me on, old man?  Huh?  You want to mess with
what's rightfully mine, huh?  You want to send your biased refs out
there to snatch victory from me, don't you?  Because you're _jealous_. 
You'll never be me and you can't stand it!  And now you want to talk
tough... you think you scare me?  Go ahead!  I'll write you a nice fat
check, but I'm going to make sure I get my money's worth.

JW: Well, I ain't too interested in your money because I know that's not
how to get through to you.  I know just how to do it.

SD: Oh, right, sure, make me wrestle a bunch of scrubs, like I haven't
already done that.

JW: Nope, it's not that either.  You can consider yourself suspended,
Destiny, for what you did to Langseth, the referee, and by putting your
hands on Jason... and if you show up to any building that we're running
while you're suspended, I'll terminate your contract.  Now get your
things and get the hell out of this arena.

[Destiny's eyes narrow, his smile turning into a scowl.]

SD: I...

[Destiny's hands drop.]

SD: ... I hate you.

[Destiny walks away.  Fade.]

GM:  Suspended!  Suspended for thirty days for what he did at Battle On
The Bayou - and rightfully so, I might add.  And not just suspended. 
You heard Jim Watkins.  If Destiny shows up at ANY AWA event until that
suspension is up, he'll be fired!

BW:  Jim Watkins might be making a big mistake there, Gordo.

GM:  How so?

BW:  Destiny was fired up and dangerous BEFORE the suspension.  Just how
dangerous is he going to be when he has to sit around for a month and
just watch?

GM:  A good point but Destiny is, indeed, out of the picture for now and
he's only got himself to blame for it.  But what about the man who beat
him in New Orleans?  What's next for Mark Langseth?  Jason Dane is about
to find out!  Jason?

[We cut back to the interview platform to Jason Dane.]

JD: Jason Dane here with a very unlikely figure to show up tonight...
Mark Langseth!

[The crowd lets out a cheer as the camera pans out to show a wretched
looking Langseth approaching the interview stage - bent over slightly,
hand to his back, head sort of cranked to the side. In reality, the man
shouldn't be in an arena, much less out of bed.]

JD: Don't take this wrong way, but you look awful.

[As Langseth slowly makes his way over to Dane, he sort of smiles at
Dane's obvious assessment.]

ML: Dane, I feel awful. I'm on God only knows how much painkillers...
Quite frankly, I'm...

[Langseth looks around, opening his eyes wide for a moment.]

ML: I'm not sure if I'm here or dreaming, but...

JD: Well, you are here in Dallas, at Homecoming.

[Mark nods a short nod at Dane's obvious assessment.]

ML: I know... I know... 

JD: The question I have is why are you here?

[Langseth looks over off to the side of the stage and asks for
something. Soon after, a hands up a folding chair. Langseth holds up his
hand as he sets up the chair.]

ML: Do you mind?

JD: Uh... No, certainly, go ahead.

[Dane shakes his head as Langseth warily unfolds the metal chair and
carefully sits down. He winces in pain as he stretches back before
slowly trying to look up to Dane, but fails and just looks straight
ahead instead.]

ML: Look... I wasn't going to miss this. New arena, big show... I wasn't
going to miss this for the world. But more importantly, Dane? I came
here tonight because I COULD come here tonight!

[Langseth forces a smile behind the pained face as he looks up at Dane
briefly.]

ML: I wasn't going to miss MY chance to come on here tonight and declare
that I beat Shane Destiny at Battle on the Bayou! I'm not the one who
lost the match and I'm not the one who threw a temper-tantrum and got
suspended for a month.

[The Hall of Famer nods and then grasps the back of his neck.]

ML: Sure, I may be held together by a thread or two... and I may not get
to the ring before you come back, Destiny. But know this - at Battle on
the Bayou? The better man won. And you, Destiny? You can't come on here
to refute that fact!

[Langseth lets out a smug smile. Dane goes to close up the interview,
but someone steps out in front of him - one Executive Consultant, Joe
Petrow.]

JP: Excuse me, Mr. Langseth.  

[Mark goes to stand, but mercifully Petrow puts a hand up to signal it's
not necessary.]

JP: I'm going to let you finish here, but these past few months we have
both been rather occupied, so I haven't had the chance to formally
introduce myself.  Let me just say that, as the face of the Double Eye,
it is an honor and a privilege to finally meet the face of the Mighty E.

[Petrow holds out his hand. Langseth, not knowing what to make of this
but not wanting to appear ungentlemenly, cautiously offers his own for a
handshake.]

JP: You know we've always worked for rival promoters so our paths have
never crossed.  But of course, your reputation and your accomplishments
are so well known, that it would rude of me to repeat them.  And your
accomplishments are not just your own.  Night after night, year after
year, your name headlining the cards, your sweat, your BLOOD, putting
butts in the seats.  You made a LOT of people a LOT of money, some of
whom [Petrow lays a hearty smack on the shoulder of Jason Dane] are
financing this very AWA, with that same money that came from your blood.

And yet...

[Petrow pauses, scratches his temple with his finger, trying to figure
out how to phrase what he's about to say next.]

JP: ...and yet, here we stand [sweeping his hands to take in the
panorama of the audience] In CROCKETT Coliseum.  On the corner of HARDIN
Drive and TEMPLE Lane.  With not one single reminder of the fact that
this is the house that LANGSETH built!

[There's actually a pretty good cheer for that.]

JP:  And if it is not bad enough that the AWA does not honor its past,
you know that they don't even honor its present.  You've been here
nearly a year Mr. Langseth.  You're undefeated in that time.  And last
week, you pinned the man who, had HE won the match, would have received
an AWA National Title shot.  YOU won that match, but you're not even
ranked in the Top Ten!  That's right, the AWA thinks that perennial
superstar and bonafide Hall of Famer Mark Langseth...isn't as good as
The West Memphis Assassin.

It disgusts me, Mr. Langseth.  All you've done for this sport, and they
see you as less than a masked nobody.

[Petrow reaches into his suit breast pocket to retrieve a business card]

JP:  Mr. Langseth, you are the last person in the world who needs my
consulting services.  But if you decide that it is time for you to take
the respect that is rightfully yours and wrongfully withheld, then
please give me a call, and let's talk in private.  I think I can help
you.

[Petrow holds out the card.  A stunned Langseth stares up at it for a
moment...and then...takes the card?]

JP: I thank you for your time. 

[Petrow walks away from the interview stage, leaving Langseth with Jason
Dane.]

JD: Uh... Your thoughts on what just happened here, Mark?

[Dane holds out the microphone, to which Langseth only looks at -
confused. He then shakes his head for a moment, wincing as he does so,
before the shot cuts back to the ringside area.]

GM:  Now what in the world was that all about?

BW:  I hate to say it, Gordo, but Joe Petrow raises some good points.

GM:  Well, I... I suppose in some ways, he's right, but... still... it's
Joe Petrow.  We saw what he did at Battle On The Bayou!  Who would want
to be associated with that man?

BW:  Someone who wants championship gold around their waist?  Ask Cooper
and Somers how working with Petrow turns out.  The man is a Kingmaker -
like it or not.

GM:  I hope we do find out exactly Rough N Ready feels about their
business arrangement with Joe Petrow later tonight.  But now, we are
ready for the debut of yet another newcomer to AWA, one we have heard
plenty about in the past couple of weeks.

BW: And one I'm already not impressed with. Anybody who Sarah Sharpe
represents can't possibly be any good.

GM: I don't share that judgement, Bucky, and besides, Sarah merely
scouted
this man as a prospective talent... she's not managing him.

BW: So what? Last I heard, Sarah's just brewing the coffee for Watkins.

GM: [sighs] I'm not even going to discuss that further... we are just
going
to head up to the ring.

[And that's what we do.]

MC: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one
fall... introducing first, to my left, from El Paso, Texas, and weighing
235 pounds... this is DESPERADO!

[A well built, dark haired man with a mustache, wearing a cowboy hat,
leather vest and black wrestling trunks raises his arms to the crowd,
then
jaws at ringside fans, drawing some boos.

The opening riffs of "Seek and Destroy" by Metallica kick in over the PA
system, causing the crowd to stir. As the tempo picks up, the blonde,
crew-cut wrestler known as Supernova comes out from the entranceway.]

MC: And his opponent, from Venice Beach, California, and weighing 260
pounds... ladies and gentlemen...

THIS...

IS...

SUPERNOVA!

[Supernova is dressed in black tights with yellow flames running up the
sides and black wrestling boots, each with a small, fiery sun on the
sides.
He is also wearing a white vest with a big, fiery yellow sun on the back
and the word "Supernova" beneath it in yellow lettering. And most
notable is his face paint, black and yellow, resembling a flame.]

GM: And here he is... the man called Supernova, making his first
appearance
in the AWA!

BW: This guy's from California, right?

GM: That's correct, Bucky.

BW: Yet one more reason for me to hate California, then!

[As he heads down the elevated platform, he is more than happy to slap
acknowledge the fans whose arms are stretched over the barricade, even
stopping once in a while to bend down, reach over and slap those hands.
Upon reaching the ring, he stops on the apron to cup his hands to his
mouth and howl to the crowd, before ducking between the ropes and then
removing his vest.]

GM: This young man has been quite successful in the Southern California
Wrestling promotion... he's only been there for three years, as I
understand it, but has made quite an impact in that short time.

BW: Well, this is the AWA, where only the best in the business succeed,
so
he's going to have to do more than just dominate some rinky-dink beach
promotion.

GM: Your remarks aside, I look forward to seeing what Supernova can
do...
the bell has rung and we are underway.

[Supernova circles with Desperado before the two lock up collar and
elbow.]

GM: A lockup by both men... Supernova with the advantage and backs him
up
into the corner...

BW: Referee calling for the break... Supernova's backing up.

GM: We already know that Supernova will play by the rules... but
Desperado
takes a cheap shot as Supernova backs off!

BW: And we know that Desperado will do whatever he has to do to win.

GM: Desperado now firing off some shots... there's a hard chop to the
chest.

[But Desperado is now stopping in his tracks as Supernova is just
staring
back at him. Another chop to the chest follows, but Supernova then
widens
his eyes and flexes his muscles.]

GM: And look at this... those shots had no effect!

BW: And what does he do in response? Flex his pretty little muscles.

GM: And it's a thumb to the eye by Desperado!

BW: As I was saying, Gordon.

GM: Desperado backing Supernova into the ropes... an Irish whip to the
other side.

[As Desperado goes for a clothesline, Supernova ducks it, then comes off
the other side with a clothesline of his own.]

GM: Desperado missing with the clothesline, but Supernova does not!

BW: Here comes Desperado... but he's hiptossed right to the canvas!

GM: Desperado getting up again... but Supernova meets him with a
dropkick
and Desperado goes tumbling through the ropes to the outside!

[The fans cheer as now Desperado pulls himself up, slaps the apron in
frustration, then starts jawing with the fans.]

GM: You were saying earlier, Bucky?

BW: OK, so this Supernova guy got a couple of moves, but... wait a
minute,
what is he doing?

[Bucky would be referring to the face-painted wrestler grabbing the top
rope and vaulting over it, landing on top of Desperado as both men fall
to the floor.]

GM: And Supernova flies over the ropes with that bodyblock onto
Desperado!

BW: That should be illegal!

[Supernova is up to his feet, whereupon he cups his hand to his face and
howls to the crowd.]

GM: Desperado got the early jump on this youngster, but now Supernova
has
taken control!

BW: Supernova tossing Desperado back into the ring... how can that move
over the ropes be legal, Gordon?

GM: Well, he didn't throw Desperado over the ropes, he just leapt over
them
himself... but now, both men back in the ring and Desperado trying to
get to his feet.

BW: Supernova has him, though... scoop and a slam.

GM: Off the ropes comes Supernova... big splash across the chest! A
cover... one... two... and that's all he'll get!

[Desperado is quick to roll to the corner, getting to his knees and
calling
for a time out.]

GM: And Desperado doesn't look like he wants a part of Supernova any
longer!

BW: Hey, he just got caught off guard and wants to start over.

[Supernova instead yells "Come on!" at his opponent, then looks to the
fans
for approval.]

GM: Supernova not wanting to start over, that's for sure.

BW: But look at this... Desperado with a kick and...

[Not so fast, Bucky, as Supernova has caught the foot.]

GM: Supernova caught him! Desperado is at his mercy!

BW: He's spinning him around... picks him up...

[Supernova drops Desperado's spine across the knee, causing Desperado to
grimace in pain.]

GM: An atomic drop by Supernova... now it's the youngster from Venice
Beach
with a kick to the midsection... he's got him set up.

BW: Lifts him up for a vertical suplex... and just drops him to the
canvas!

GM: Early on, Desperado tried to get the upper hand, but since then,
Supernova has set the pace!

[Supernova looks to the crowd and yells a few words to them.

"Time to feel the heat!"]

BW: What in the world is he talking about?

GM: I don't know... Desperado trying to get up but Supernova gets to him
first... shoves him into a corner and lets loose a chop.

BW: Irish whip to the other corner... now what's he doing?

[The face-painted Californian backs up into the corner, then comes
charging
out and leaps forward, flying right into Desperado with a corner
splash!]

GM: Oh my! I believe he calls that The Heat Wave!

BW: Whatever he calls it, I gotta give him credit... that was effective!

[Desperado staggers out of the corner, only to be shoved to the canvas
by
Supernova.]

GM: Desperado is down... Supernova has him by the legs and turns him
over... now tying him up.

[Supernova then turns Desperado back over, having snared him in a Texas
cloverleaf.]

GM: He's got the legs tied up, leaning on the back in that submission
hold... I understand he calls it the Solar Flare.

BW: I'd just call this match over, Gordon!

[And indeed, after several seconds in the hold, Desperado can take no
more
and taps out.]

GM: Desperado gave up! And an impressive debut for Supernova!

BW: His pandering to the fans, I could do without that, but I gotta say,
that was an impressive finish. Let's see it again!

[As Supernova celebrates his victory, the replay comes up, showing
Supernova whipping Desperado into the corner, then charging at him with
the flying corner splash.]

BW: Look at this, Gordon... Supernova just comes flying into that corner
with tremendous impact and there's nowhere for Desperado to go... the
impact into the corner was just too much for him.

[Then we cut to the replay of Supernova applying the Solar Flare.]

GM: And there's that submission hold... Desperado had no means to escape
and he had to tap out! Let's go right to Jason Dane, who is with the
newcomer.

[We cut to Jason Dane with Supernova.]

JD: All right, an impressive victory for Supernova in his first AWA
match... and I have to say...

[Jason stops because Supernova has chosen to cup his hands to his mouth
and
howl to the crowd, drawing the crowd's approval.]

JD: Well, I certainly have to say you look happy to be here.

SN: Happy to be here... Jason, I am absolutely ecstatic! This place is
certainly rocking tonight for Homecoming and I am truly psyched to be
here!

JD: Supernova, what exactly do you hope to accomplish here in the AWA?

SN: Jason, I know I'm going to be Captain Obvious with you on this one,
but
just like everybody else, my ultimate goal is to be the AWA National
Champion. And as you ought to have figured out for yourself... I'm here
to
make sure the greatest fans in the world... the fans of the AWA... get
their money's worth every time I step into that ring!

JD: I'm sure you know there is a lot of top competition in the AWA.

SN: And Jason, now you get to be Captain Obvious, don't you? [Laughs]
Nah,
I'm just kidding with you... the competition here is certainly some of
the
best around, but as I've noticed, there are a lot of competitors who
don't
really believe in their own talents... they'd rather look for the easy
way
out than show their own God-given talents are good enough to take them
to
the top.

JD: You are aware that those men you mention are among the most
dangerous
men in the AWA, right?

SN: Dangerous men... hey, your life is pretty boring without a little
danger along the way. Besides, I can be a little dangerous myself, as
Desperado found out tonight! But as I've said before... I'm gonna take
the proper path to the top and not look for any shortcuts to success.
For any of the men in the back who have no problem taking those
shortcuts, that's their choice to make, but when they make that choice,
sooner or later, they'll meet up with me... and then the only question
they'll be asked is...

[An intense look forms on his face.]

SN: Can you take the heat?!

[The fans respond with approval as Supernova again cups his hands to his
mouth and roars to the crowd, before departing the interview platform.]

JD: No doubt about it, Supernova is not only happy to be here, but
looking
forward to the challenges ahead. Back to you, Gord-

[Suddenly, Jason Dane's throwback to ringside is interrupted by the
arrival of someone who draws a mixed response from the AWA fans in the
Crockett Coliseum.]

JD:  What... what are you doing out here?

[Jason Dane's face is covered with a mixture of surprise and annoyance
at the sight of his sister, Lori Dane.]

LD:  Don't worry about it, Jase.  I've got this.

[Lori takes the mic from Jason's stunned hands.]

LD:  I'm not out here to talk to Jason.  I'm not out here to talk to the
fans...

[Some boos.]

LD:  ...who apparently hate me now.  Whatever.

[More boos.]

LD:  I'm here to talk to one person - and that person is YOU - Melissa
Cannon!

[The camera abruptly cuts to the ringside area where Melissa Cannon is
sitting at the timekeeper's table.  She looks not-at-all-surprised.]

LD:  That's right.  Melissa, get yourself in that ring so I can see you.

[A disappointed-looking Melissa steps into the ring, mic in hand.]

LD:  I'm glad to see you back at...

[Dane disdainfully chooses her next word.]

LD:  ..."work."  Apparently our little conversation back in New Orleans
didn't sink in one bit, did it?  We talk about you getting back into the
ring.  We talk about you doing what you love to do.  And here you are...
back as eyecandy to these people.

[A cheer for the "eyecandy!"]

LD:  You disgust me, Melissa.  You embarrass me.  And you embarrass
yourself.

[More jeers.]

LD:  And I'm not about to let that happen.  

You'll get back in that ring, Melissa... and you'll get in there to do
more than say people's names.  You'll get in there to do what you always
wanted to do.  

You'll get in there to wrestle.

[Dane looks intensely at her former student.]

LD:  And as my husband would say... you can take THAT... to the bank.

[Dane drops the mic, turning to walk off the interview platform.  We cut
back to the ring where Melissa is shaking her head in disappointment 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 fade back to live action where Melissa is standing in the
ring.]

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

[Introducing first. Currently in the ring. Hailing from Detroit Michigan
. Here is Chris Tunnel!

[The young Chris Tunnel wears a green singlet, green boots and white
knee pads. He raises and arm and acknowledges the crowd..]

MC: And his opponent! Hailing from Corpus Christi , Texas . Standing six
feet, six inches tall and weighing in at two hundred and forty-five
pounds. Here is

WAAAAAAAAADE KENNEDY!

['Country Boy' by Alan Jackson begins to blare bringing the crowd to
their feet. Moments later the curtains parts and out walks the youngster
Wade Kennedy wearing yellow standard wrestling trunks, yellow knee pads
and yellow and white 'Cowboy style' wrestling boots. The young man has
blond locks that are long on the sides and back, but short in front.
Wade walks down the aisle, smiling as he smacks outstretched hands. Once
he hits ringside, he dips through the ropes then pumps his fist at the
crowd before taking off his black leather vest. He gives his vest to
ringside then stretches in his corner.]

GM:  Wade Kennedy certainly fared quite well in the fifty thousand
dollar battle royal Bucky. Being one of the last three to be eliminated.

BW: Okay, I ll admit it Gordon. The snot nosed kid surprised me in the
Battle Royal... he probably surprised himself too! But I m still not
buying what Wade Kennedy is selling till he beats some real competition!

[As the bell sounds, Wade Kennedy and Chris Tunnel shake hands in the
middle of the ring then lock up.]

GM:  And here we go!  

[Kennedy drops to his knees and takes over Tunnel with a nice fireman's
carry before locking in an arm lock. Wade slaps the shoulder, putting
more force in the hold.]

GM:  Kennedy continues to show that he's got a very good solid mat
wrestling base, Bucky.

[Tunnel winces in the armbat but fights to get back to his feet.  Still
holding the arm, Kennedy twists it around, putting more pressure on the
limb...

...and slaps an open hand down across the chest with a chop!]

GM:  Ohh!  

[With Tunnel stunned, Kennedy releases the arm, dipping in to scoop
Tunnel up and slam him down to the mat.]

GM:  Big bodyslam there and here comes Kennedy!

[The young lion measures Tunnel on the mat, dropping a knee down between
the eyes as he bounces off the ropes.  He quickly gets back up, dropping
a perfectly-executed elbow across the neck before applying a lateral
press.]

GM:  We've got one!  We've got two!  But Chris Tunnel is out at two! 
Once again Wade Kennedy looking good in the ring Bucky. His wrestling
always crisp and right on target.

BW: Put him in the ring with a Stevie Scott or anybody from the Southern
Syndicate then come talk to me. Like I said before Gordo, I want to see
him face better competition before I start handing out the praises.

[Kennedy hauls Tunnel up by the wrist, twisting the arm once, and then
yanking him into a short-arm clothesline, keeping a grip on the wrist
before dropping a leg on the stretched-out limb.]

GM:  Kennedy stays on the arm of Chris Tunnel, trying to soften it up. 
What's he doing now?

[Pinning the wrist to the mat, stretching out the arm, Kennedy leaps up
into the air, driving a knee down across the bicep.  He does the same
thing a few more times before switching into an armbar.]

GM: The one thing you have to like is how he picks a body part and
systematically breaks it down. Just good old fashion wrestling.

BW: I wouldn't mind seeing him a get a little more nasty Gordo.  Gouge
the guys eyes out, pull hair- bite him if you have to. This clean
wrestling stuff will only get you so far before you have to get a little
nasty, daddy!

[Hauling him to a knee, Kennedy smashes his elbow down twice between the
shoulder and neck before dragging him the rest of the way up, still
holding the armbar.  He twists the arm around into a hammerlock before
hooking him around the waist, hoisting him up.]

GM:  BIIIIIG atomic drop by Kennedy!

[And as Tunnel staggers away, Kennedy hits the ropes behind him,
bouncing off and leaving his feet, securing a side headlock, and
SMASHING Tunnel's face into the mat!]

GM:  BULLDOG HEADLOCK!!  That might do it!

BW:  I don't think he's done yet, Gordo.

[Leaning against the ropes, Kennedy swings an arm around in the air to
the cheers of the crowd and as Tunnel regains his feet, Kennedy bounces
off the ropes, rushing back...

...and leaving his feet, smacking the arm across the chest of Tunnel!]

GM:  OHHH!  MY STARS, WHAT A LARIAT! 

BW: This is elementary from here...

[Kennedy crawls into the lateral press, reaching back to hook the leg as
the ref slaps his hand on the mat three times and signals to the
timekeeper to ring the bell.]

MC:  Here is your winner... WAAAAAADE KENNEDY! 

[The ref raises Wade s hand who smiles and nods at the clapping crowd.
He exits the ring, walking up the ramp quickly, and heads over to where
Mark Stegglet is waiting.]

MS: Wade Kennedy, another win in your young career.

[Wade smiles.]

WK: You know it truly is a pleasure to come out here week after week and
put on a show for these fans.

[The crowd gives a cheer. Wade nods in acknowledgment and continues.]

WK: You know, I ve been a bit of a roll since coming to the AWA and at
Battle on the Bayou [shakes head in disappointment] I just missed out on
a chance to win. But my hat goes off to The Masked Menace, who got the
win.

MS: What is next for Wade Kennedy?

WK: Well Mark, i would really love to get a spot in that tournament to
crown a first ever Longhorn Heritage champion!

[The crowd cheers. Wade smiles and nods his head again.]

WK:  I wouldn't mind throwing my hat in the ring and seeing how i could
do. I know there will be a lot of guys asking for a spot, but hopefully
my showing in the Battle Royal will give me the chance to compete
against some of the AWA's best. I would love for the chance to be the
first ever Longhorn Heritage champion, i think that would be pretty
special.

MS: Well hopefully you will get the chance, Wade.  Wade Kennedy with
another victory, fans!

[Wade waves and pumps a fist at the cheering crowd as he heads back to
the dressing room and we cut to the interview platform on the opposite
side of the entrance ramp where Brian Von Braun is standing with Jason
Dane.  Dane is wearing his usual.  BVB is appareled in black jeans and
black t-shirt with "Zombie Apocalypse NOW!" written on the front.  BVB
is wearing a pair of square-lensed sunglasses and is carrying a new
silver, skull-headed cane.]

JD:  You came out on the losing end at Brawl on the Bayou, Brian.
Your team lost the War Games match.  How do you feel about that?

BVB:  It don't matter to me, Dane.  As Stevie said, Houston and
company won a battle.  Houston hasn't won the war.  This war... _our_
war... is far from over.

JD:  What about Stevie's other comments?

BVB:  And you wonder why the Rocket City Badboy didn't stick around
after the match?

[BVB pushes his sunglasses up to the top of his head.]

BVB:  Because _we_ didn't win, Jason.  Because the blame game was
about to be played, and ol' Bee Vee Bee ain't got time for laying
blame at someone's feet.

JD:  Your face-off with Mizusawa during the War Games?

BVB:  That's finished business.  Matsui and his barrier of protection
can go on about their way.

JD:  What about the Southern Syndicate? Was the loss the fault of
MAMMOTH Mizusawa?

[BVB shakes his head.]

BVB:  He didn't give up.  I'll give him that.  Stevie's the one who
said "I Quit."  I'm not surprised by his hypocrisy either, Dane.

JD:  What a second.  What?

BVB:  You saw what he had to say earlier.  He's a desperate man, Dane.

JD:  What makes you say that?

BVB:  He calls us the best collective the wrestling industry has seen.
He talks about us being united.  When he's the weak link in the match,
he shifts the blame to someone else.  Real team player, Dane.

[BVB can't help but snort and shake his head.]

BVB:  I was part of a group in Canada.  I learned first hand what it
meant to be a team player.  You stick together, regardless of win or
lose.  Come hell or high water, you're back-to-back and continue to
press forward.  That's _why_ we were successful.  Here?  The Southern
Syndicate?

[BVB looks at Dane.]

BVB:  It's about ego in the Southern Syndicate.  Freeman told me I
needed to quit being sensitive, he wasn't paying attention to what I
said to Waterson.  None of them were.

[Hooks a thumb at himself.]

BVB:  _We_ lost War Games because we weren't on the same page, Dane.
Stevie was too worried about his star fading while Calisto's star was
rising.  If ignorance is bliss, then ask yourself what denial is, Dane.

[BVB looks at the camera.]

BVB:  Enough of about all that.  Ron, gloat all you want.  Enjoy it for
two weeks, 'cause I'm gonna have a surprise for you.

[BVB walks out of the shot.]

JD:  Let's head back down to Gordon and Bucky!

[We crossfade back to ringside where the announce duo is standing.]

GM:  Some very interesting words from Brian Von Braun right there and
I'd have to say that once more, the Southern Syndicate appears to be in
disarray, Bucky.

BW:  It may seem that way, Gordo, but rest assured that Mr. Waterson's
got it all under control as usual.

GM:  We'll see about that.  But the fact is, they've got a long list of
people gunning for them.  Ron Houston's after Von Braun.  Who knows if
Tin Can Rust is done with Calisto Dufresne?  Not to mention everyone
after the champ and joining us at this time is a man who is gunning for
ALL of them.  He is one of the ten men in tonight's battle royal to
determine who gets the shot at Stevie Scott... Raphael Rhodes!

[Rhodes calmly strides into view of the ringside camera, stopping for a
moment to slap Bucky Wilde on the shoulder and then immediately raise
his fists in case Wilde was itching for a fight.  He is changed out into
his ring gear for the evening, a pair of leg-length red tights with the
Union Jack sewn into the left hip, as well as black kneepads and black
boots, and his wrists and hands are taped up.  The fans still seem a
little unsure how to react to the brash Brit, greeting him with a
mixture of cheers and boos.]

GM: Welcome back to Dallas, Mr. Rhodes.

RR: Let's dispense with the formalities, all right mate?  I ain't goin'
to get all chummy with you just because a bunch of former associates
tried to kick me head in.  You stay on me good side and I'll try not to
be much of a prat to you.

GM: Fair enough.  Tonight, as I'm sure you heard, you will be in a
battle royal, and the winner of that battle royal gets a prime chance at
a man I'm sure you're interested in fighting, Stevie Scott.

RR: You're bloody right I want to fight him.  Gordon, let me tell you
somethin'... everybody hyped up the WarGames match like it was the end
between all the participants, right?  Well... I weren't exactly what
you'd call "pleased" about how things turned out.

[Rhodes pauses for a second, then seems to have a moment of
realization.]

RR: Well, except for that part where Juan Vasquez proved I was right all
along.  That was pretty nice.  The Vasquez I fought a year ago ain't
doin' what he did with that chain.  I got to admit, it brought me a
little sliver of satisfaction seein' that.  But just a sliver... I had a
problem with him doin' that, you know why?

GM: I have an idea.

RR: Do you now?  Let's see if you're right.  The big problem with
watchin' Vasquez choke out the champ was it weren't me doin' it!

[Most of the crowd lets out a cheer, those sadists.]

RR: See, Myers, WarGames closed a big chapter in the lives of guys like
Vasquez and Broussard... but it ain't over for me. That was just the
prelude in the encyclopedia of torment I'm bringin' to the Southern
Syndicate.  I just got a nice little taste back at Battle on the Bayou,
that's all.  This ain't over one bit, mate.

GM: Well, you do have a good opportunity tonight, as not only would you
get Stevie Scott if you win, but Calisto Dufresne is also in that battle
royal.

RR: Yeah, Waterson's probably got orders for him to win it so he can lay
down for Stevie, and Dufresne's the kind of gutless coward that'll do
it.  Well, Ben, let me make somethin' nice and clear for you and your
little pawns... I'm goin' to use this opportunity to make Dufresne beg
for his pithy little life.  He's goin' to scream and cry and beg and
plead... but I ain't goin' to let up on him at all.  And you got your
big goon Mizusawa in there, too... don't think I forgot about your hired
gun.

[Rhodes smiles.]

RR: I got news for all of you boys... the day you stuck that knife in my
back began the countdown to the end of your career. Tonight's just
chapter one.  And I don't care if I've got to whittle my way through all
of you, each and every last one... I'm takin' you all out.  It ain't
about winnin'.  It's about survival... and this is war.

[Rhodes lets the words soak in for a moment, then walks out of the
frame.]

GM:  That Battle Royal is gonna be something else, fans.  We'll be right
back with more Saturday Night Wrestling!

[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 returns to live action backstage where Mark Stegglet is
standing alongside six men that he'd probably prefer to avoid.  On his
right stand Scola, Mafu, and James J. Dallas - the Samoan Hit Squad.  On
his left?  Zeke, Jug, and Mange - the Moonshiners.]

MS:  Welcome back, fans, and as you can see-

[Mange interrupts with a loud howl.]

Mange:  As they can see, Mark Stegglet, you are one misstep away from
being beaten within an inch of your life so I'd hold your tongue, son.

[Stegglet looks nervous, nodding at Mange who pets his head, slowly
stroking his hair.  Awkward.]

Mange:  Good boy.  When me and my boys packed a duffel bag in that
studio apartment we were sharin' down in Memphis to come tangle in the
AWA, we didn't think we'd be here long.  We thought we'd bust some
skulls, settle some scores, draw some blood and draw a heck of a
paycheck while we're at it.

It takes a nice chunk of change to pay for our hair stylist, you know?

[Mange looks at Stegglet who nods.]

Mange:  That was a joke, boy.  Laugh.

[Stegglet chuckles nervously.]

Mange:  But then these painted up clowns came along and decided they
wanted a blood feud with the Moonshiners.

[Mange cackles loudly, drawing a weird glance from James J. Dallas.]

Mange:  You want blood, Pigs?  We got plenty of blood for ya to spill
all over the damned South.  We'll make the streets run red with all of
our blood!

[Mange slaps Zeke across the chest hard enough to leave a handprint. 
James J. Dallas leans over to whisper in Mafu's ear.  Mange glares in
Dallas' direction.]

Mange:  Mr. Dallas, would you care to share with the rest of the class?

[James J. Dallas nods, pulling Stegglet's mic hand closer.]

JJD:  See here now... don't you even think 'bout threatenin' me.  Scola
and Mafu don't take too kindly to that.

[Scola slaps his own chest, glaring at Mange.]

JJD:  Our business tonight is not with you fine gentlemen.  Your
business tonight is your own.  Take the War Pigs out in the street and
finish 'em off for all I care.  Our business is Violence Unlimited. 
Morton and Haynes, those two lugnuts, are responsible for my boys and
myself missing a mighty fine payday two weeks ago.

And that just don't sit right with me, ya hear?

[Dallas points at the camera.]

JJD:  So, Haynes and Morton are in for the worst night of their lives. 
And if Hammer and Sabre get too close, we've got no problem with puttin'
those two pattycakes down to boot.

As long as you two...

[He points at Zeke and Jug, the latter of which actually growls in
response.]

JJD:  ...stay out of our way, we'll get along just fine.

[Dallas spins away, waving for Scola and Mafu to follow him.]

MS:  This... should be interesting.  And now, let's go over to Jason who
has a very special guest.  Jason?

[Cut to Jason Dane standing by with Miss Amanda, who is dressed in a
white cap-sleeved T-shirt and blue jeans, while Scott Mayhem, in a black
muscle tee, black leather pants and white-framed shades, is pacing in
front of them.]

JD: Miss Amanda, you requested some time on our Homecoming show-

SM: [Cutting in.] She requested the time, Jay-Dee, but you speak to me,
alright? I'm going to get to the point, Jay-Dee, I am not happy.  They
say no good deed goes unpunished and that's exactly what happened in New
Orleans, oh yes. But I'm not going to cry about it! I'm not going to
blame anyone but myself for taking my eye off the prize.  Maybe the
Playboy is indeed a better strategist than I am. Maybe Casanova does
have a better [Turns to Amanda.] woman by his side, but everything else
being equal, all he has is one match on me, oh yes, ONE MATCH! Now,
somewhere here in the Crockett Coliseum, Jay-Dee there has to be someone
I can speak to, someone I can ask, [Removing his shades to reveal his
wild eyes.] BEG if I must, for one more match, oh yes, ONE MORE MATCH,
Johnny, between you and me.

[Dane looks like he's about to ask a follow-up question, but is
interrupted as the long haired, pudgy, but immaculately dressed, Playboy
himself, Johnny Casanova, strides into view, followed by Big Mama, his
manager.]

JD: Johnny Casanova - have you come out here to accept that challenge?

JC: Accept the challenge? Are ya kidding me, Jason? I've come out here
to say to ya, Scotty Mayhem, that ya need to keep the noise down because
the Playboy and Big Mama are busy in the back here, and we're being
interrupted by your big mouth and your crying!

At the end of the day, Scotty, ONE MORE MATCH may be all ya want - but
if I granted ya that match, where would it end? Every two bit huckster I
ever did beat would want a second shot at Johnny C, and I'd spend my
life taking on nobodies like Roger Cox.

[Mayhem is pacing furiously as Casanova's speaking here.]

JC:  So Scotty, let it be, my friend. Admit that ya lost to a better
man, and take a lesson from it. Be yourself, forget trying to impress
that baby doll over there before she drags you right to the scrapheap,
and kick her to the side! Because with your pleading and your begging,
it's clear she's the one who's teaching you about getting on your knees!

[At this comment about Amanda, Mayhem lunges for Casanova, knocking him
against the wall. Cas is taken by surprise and staggered, but recovers
enough to throw a few punches back, and Big Mama decides to insert
herself, as she pulls the Playboy's assailant away by the hair.  Mayhem
spins around, fist drawn, ready to deck her, but hesitates when he sees
that it's Big Mama. The hesitation gives Casanova enough time to sneak
in a low blow and Mayhem crumples to the floor clutching his groin. The
Playboy and Big Mama start kicking the floored Mayhem just as security
starts flooding the interview area to separate them.]

JD:  Can we- go to break!

[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 Gordon and Bucky are standing
at ringside.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans - and goodness, Bucky.  That was quite the
tussle we saw right before the break.

BW:  And it wasn't done when we went to commercial.

GM:  Let's take a look at what Bucky's talking about!

[Cut to Mayhem being helped to his feet by a trainer, while Miss Amanda
looks on worriedly. She tries to help, but Mayhem pushes her away, his
wild eyes staring right at her. We hear him yell, "Where were you? Why
didn't you do anything?" Mayhem shoves the trainer away and begins to
make his own way to the back. Amanda looks on helplessly as he limps
away, and follows behind him uncertainly...

...fade back to Gordon and Bucky.]

GM:  It's been a wild night here in Dallas, Texas... and I just spoke
with the producers during the break.  Just by looking at the amount of
action still to come tonight, we know that we're going to be approaching
the end of our time slot soon.  Our producers are speaking with WKIK and
we'll keep you updated on what is worked out.  But I guarantee you that
you WILL see the end of this show... I promise that.  For now though,
let's go up to the interview platform where Mark Stegglet is standing by
with the NEW AWA National Tag Team Champions, Rough N Ready!  Mark?

[We head up to the interview stage with Mark Stegglet.]

MS: Ladies and gentlemen, at this time, I would like to introduce to you
two men who finally claimed the National tag team titles after nearly
two years of pursuing them... but at what price did they get them?
Ladies and
gentlemen, here are Dave Cooper and Eric Matthew Somers... Rough N
Ready!

[With that, the newly crowned tag team champs make their way out the
entrance ramp and over to the interview stage. Dave is dressed in a
white polo shirt and khakis, his title belt slung over his shoulder, and
Eric is
dressed in a black T-shirt and faded jeans, his title belt slung over
his
shoulder. A mixed reaction is going up from the crowd, but the tag
champs
pay the fans no mind, simply casting their eyes forward as they approach
Stegglet.]

MS: All right, Dave and Eric, the two of you did what you promised, and
that's become the National tag team champions, but we all found out that
it was the two of you who had hired the services of Joe Petrow all
along. So what we'd like to know is... why?

[Eric just laughs.]

EMS: Mark, we do have to correct you a little bit... we hadn't hired
Petrow at first... we're not lying when we say we had no idea what he
was doing at the Fourth of July show.

But with that being said... after what went down, we started talking
about
what he had to say to Dave... and we figured, maybe it's worth seeing if
he'd really follow through on a favor for us.

So we asked him how willing he'd be to turn on one of the guys who he
thought was a client, Calisto Dufresne... and sure enough, he was
willing to do so. At that point, we then knew it was time for the deal
to go down.

[Dave just smirks at Eric's remarks.]

MS: And then we saw the results of your dealings with Joe Petrow... the
two
men you faced are...

DC: [interrupting and no longer smirking] The two men we faced were
exactly
what we said along... a bunch of phonies! Anyone who thought that those
three played things straight up with anyone found out the hard way just
what they were all about!

But not only that... they and everyone else in the AWA found out what we
are all about! We are no longer here to be nice guys... we are here to
be not just the best tag team in the AWA, but the one team that
everybody else in the AWA fears and learns not to mess with any longer!

MS: But you've got a lot of teams on the rise in the AWA who will be in
pursuit of those titles...

DC: [interrupting again] Teams on the rise... young teams with great
futures... any way you want to put it, the problem with the AWA is that
there are too many of these young punks who show no respect, no manners
and no idea for what it's like to be put through a war inside that ring!
Just like the three young punks who got sent packing... they say a lot
of things, talk a lot of talk, but in the end, they show no respect for
those who have been in this business for so long!

[He then looks right into the camera focused on him.]

DC: For two years we had to deal with punks like the Glamour Boyz, the
War Pigs, those three that shall not be named... the list goes on! We
had every intention of playing by the rules, as tough as that may have
been, because we figured that was the way we'd teach these punks a
lesson. But it's become apparent that there are too many young folks
here who have no idea what it means to show respect to their elders, and
the AWA is more than happy to let these punks have that stage to
showcase themselves.

And I am frankly sick of it!

[He turns away momentarily from Mark.]

MS: Dave, your frustrations may be valid, but that's still no reason to
sell out to somebody like Joe Petrow!

[Eric then puts his hand on Mark's shoulder, startling him a bit.]

EMS: Mark... we've got every reason to be annoyed... we're tired of all
the hoops we had to jump through, and at Battle at the Bayou, you saw
our response to all those hoops!

If any tag team in the AWA wants to step up to us... we will not be
playing
nice along!

Dave has had to hold me back for too long... but he's not any longer.
From
now on, we are kicking ass and taking names and we don't care what
anybody
thinks about it!

[There are certainly more boos being heard now as Dave turns back to
Mark.]

DC: I hear the Blonde Bombers want our belts... well, Larry Doyle, you
better not only save that wheelchair you've been carting around, but get
three more just like that one, because you'll be needing them after we
get through with your entire crew!

The War Pigs are a team we've dealt with before, and we are the two
reasons
why they tucked their tails and took off for Japan! They want to cross
our
paths again, we'll give them many reasons for them to run back to Japan
where they once were!

The Samoan Hit Squad and Violence Unlimted were suspended for getting
too
violent... boys, you didn't even begin to scratch the surface of what
violence is! You want a visual aid for what violence is... you look at
what we did at Battle on the Bayou!

And if Dufresne and Freeman want to complain about how they were robbed
of
their titles... all I'm gonna tell you is that if you cross our paths,
we'll do things to you that will make what you did to Todd Michaelson
seem tame by comparison.

And unlike your manager, we don't say that as a warning... we say that
as a promise!

[Still a mixed reaction, though still plenty of boos.]

DC: And if any of those young punks in the back have a problem with
that...
well, we know we how to take care of problems.

Just ask those three we took down at Battle of the Bayou and are never
to be seen again!

[With that, Dave and Eric walk off the platform, Dave with an angry look
on
his face and Eric with a wicked grin.]

MS: Wow... some strong words from Rough N Ready as they have called out
nearly every AWA tag team.  Let's go down to Melissa for more action!

[Crossfade down to Melissa Cannon.]

MC: The following contest is set for one fall, with a ten minute time
limit!  Introducing first, to my left.  From Apple Springs, Texas...
weighing two-hundred fifty-five pounds...

...RICK SCOTT!

[Rick Scott, a short but bulky man with shoulder-length black hair,
raises both arms in the air.  Scott is wearing silver thigh-length
trunks with triangular navy blue segments extending from the legs on up
to the hip.  His boots are navy blue and he wears elbowpads of the same
color.  He shouts to the crowd excitedly, and they answer in kind.]

GM: Rick Scott full of energy.  I've heard good things about this young
man, who is having his own Homecoming... he's wrestled in New England,
but this is his first time with the AWA and the first time wrestling in
his home state.

BW: It might be his last time wrestling anyplace, Gordo.

[The reason for Bucky's skeptical comment becomes obvious in
mid-sentence, as "The Theme from Halloween" begins to play over the PA. 
The dark piano piece accompanies the tall, wide-shouldered frame of
James Monosso as he power-walks down the aisle.  Monosso quickly
outpaces Percy Childes, and dives headfirst into the ring.]

MC: His opponent... from The State Of Con...*thump*

[Melissa bails out of the ring, having not even had a chance to
introduce Monosso before he lunges at Rick Scott.  This time, his young
opponent isn't taken offguard; Scott meets him coming in with a furious
flurry of blows.  The two men exchange punches as the crowd gets behind
Scott.] 

GM: Monosso moving with much more impetus than normal, but Rick Scott
was ready for him!  Toe-to-toe!

BW: You'd think if the kid knew enough to know that Monosso was going to
attack immediately, he'd know enough not to try and punch it out with
him.

[That is bearing out in the ring.  An energetic Scott is throwing some
very competent combinations, landing two punches for every one of
Monosso's.  That doesn't seem to help him much, though.  While Monosso
is knocked back, he's never slowed by the onslaught, and eventually he
batters the young Texan back to the corner.]

GM: This is not a boxing match, referee.

BW: Scott swung first.

GM: That really doesn't matter.  Monosso with a headbutt, an elbow, and
using much more diverse striking offense.  The young man from Apple
Springs is cornered, and now Monosso laying into him unanswered!

[The cheers have turned to boos as the tall maniac, clad in his
black-and-silver one-strap singlet, removes his pale green "PROPERTY OF
STATE MENTAL INSTITUTION" T-Shirt and uses it to blatantly choke Rick
Scott.  Pressed against the turnbuckles, the much shorter Scott can't
effectively defend himself against this.  At ringside, Percy Childes
scolds Scott... the overweight manager is wearing a black suit with a
bright red undershirt and tie.]

BW: There ya go, Gordon.  He's not punching anymore.  An' before ya
start cryin', no, a shirt is not a foriegn object.  It's legal ring
attire.  When I was a manager, I hadda learn these loopholes.

GM: But it's still a chokehold, Bucky!  Choking is illegal!

BW: Well... yeah.  Unless it's actually a shirt-assisted nervehold!  Ya
ever think of that?

GM: Monosso finally breaking, and glaring at the referee!  Monosso even
surlier than normal this week, which is no surprise after Battle On The
Bay... HEY!  CHILDES IS CHOKING SCOTT WITH HIS WALKING STICK!

BW: They're ALL surly, Gordo!  Even Percy Childes looks like he wants a
piece o' somebody!

[Childes steps down from the apron after having choked Rick Scott in the
corner with his crystal-tipped walking stick.  He begins to straighten
out his jacket... but is interrupted as the young Texan sticks his head
out through the ropes and grabs him by the hair!  The crowd cheers as it
looks like Childes is going to get some comeuppance!]

BW: HEY!  YOU CAN'T PUT YOUR HANDS ON HIM!

GM: Childes started it!

BW: So?  Monosso'll finish it, daddy!  Lookit there!

[The fans' cheers are cut short as the stringy-haired wild-eyed madman
buries a knee to the spine of Scott, sending him tumbling out to the
floor!]

GM: Oh, no!  Childes' attack ended up doing much more after the fact
than it did in terms of direct damage!

BW: It's like Charles Darwin said.  Th' stupidest members of th' species
don't survive, an' ya should kill 'em off so they don't breed.

GM: That's... not quite what Charles Darwin said, and besides the fact
that he refuted his own theory later in life.

BW: I hear know-it-alls don't survive long either.  Maybe Rick Scott
shoulda stayed in school long enough ta learn that.  

GM: That... makes no sense.  OHHH!  Monosso with the running stomp down
the apron, catching his young hometown opponent in the head and
shoulders and flattening him onto the concrete floor here at the
Crockett Coliseum!

BW: We might be fixin' ta see the place get christened, Gordo.  Ya know
how they shatter a bottle of wine on the hull of a new boat?  Monosso
might shatter Rick Scott on the floor of our new buildin'!

GM: Monosso stepping down the stairs, and picking Rick Scott up off the
floor!  What is he going to... RAMS HIS BACK INTO THE RINGPOST!  From
the bodyslam position, Monosso drove Scott's lower lumbar region into
the unforgiving steel, and AGAIN!  

[Boos fill the air as Monosso has Scott up, and is circling the ring,
ramming the young man's back into each of the ringposts! Finally, after
the fourth one, the psycho stops at the edge of the elevated entrance
ramp.]

BW: He got all four corners!  He really IS christenin' the place!

GM: He still has this young man up, and I shudder to think... OH, NO! 
OH, NO!

[Gordon's shout of protest is matched by the crowd, as the psychotic
Monosso casually bodyslams Rick Scott into the elevated rampway...
specifically, into the SIDE of the ramp, causing him to fall
head-and-shoulders into the concrete!]

GM: THAT HAS TO BE A DISQUALIFICATION!  THAT WAS A DELIBERATE EFFORT TO
INJURE A MAN!

BW: Monosso is ALWAYS deliberately tryin' ta injure a man.  It's what he
does.  

GM: And now he's choking him!  THE MAN IS UNCONSCIOUS, AND HE'S CHOKING
HIM!  WHAT IS THE POINT OF THIS?!

[Monosso's voice isn't very distinct over the boos, but with the help of
a camera, we can make out what he's shouting.]

"PRESTON!  COME OUT HERE NOW, PRESTON!  COME OUT HERE NOW!"

[*DING*DING*DING*]

BW: Huh?  What was that for?

GM: Either a disqualification, a stoppage, or a countout.  It could be
any of those, and the referee now trying to pull Monosso off of... OH
BROTHER!

[Nope, James isn't in the mood to deal with authority today.  He stands
up, and clobbers the referee with a forearm.]

GM: That is going to cost him some money!

BW: I bet Childes and Layton pay for it.  Eric Preston screwed Anton
Layton big time at Battle On The Bayou when he attacked Monosso and cost
him the Gauntlet match against Brent Maverick!  You better believe
there's gonna be repercussions.

GM: These fans are up in arms, as James Monosso just tried to end the
short career of a hometown boy!  And may have succeeded!  HE'S STILL
ATTACKING HIM!  GET SOME HELP OUT HERE!

[Help arrives in the form of some of the other young enhancement talent.
 They do succeed in helping, in that they give Monosso someone else to
hit.  One of them is clotheslined into next week, and the other is
headbutted and thrown up on top of the elevated ramp.]

GM: These young men are no match for James Monosso!  We're going to
need... OH!

[The crazed veteran snatches his prey by the windpipe, and lifts him,
sweeping out the legs to deliver a short chokeslam... off the ramp! 
Thankfully for him, he lands on the other young man who came out to help
instead of the floor!]

BW: He's gonna wipe out everybody in sight until Eric Preston comes out
here to do somethin' about it, Gordo!  You might be next!

GM: I hope not... wait!  HERE COMES ERIC PRESTON!

[The fans cheer loudly as the young South Carolinian rushes from the
back, with anger in his eyes and a steel chair in his hands.  He slows
down once he has Monosso's attention, so as not to rush into a trap. 
Monosso waves him on... and too late, Preston learns that the trap was
behind him.]

BW: SUCKER!

GM: LAYTON!  LAYTON WITH A KNEE TO THE BACK AND PRESTON GOES FACE FIRST
ONTO HIS OWN CHAIR!

[Cheers become boos as Preston is downed by the dark-robed sadist, who
kneels over Preston and wraps the chain which leashes Gino Moretti
around Eric's head... right against the nose.  Monosso gets a running
start, and contributes a soccer kick to the nose to further the damage,
while Moretti just blindly stomps away.  Percy Childes blocks the
referees from approaching.]

BW: They're gonna ugly this pretty boy up, permanently!

GM: THE CAVALRY HAS ARRIVED!

[Well, you knew that Vernon Riley and Brent Maverick weren't going to
stand for that.  Maverick hits a running spear tackle on Monosso that
sends both men skidding down the ramp towards the ring, while Riley
descends on Layton in a half-crazed fury... sending punch after punch
into the head of his demonic enemy.  The fans cheer as the good guys are
taking over!]

BW: They were all here THIS time, Gordo!  You knew it was gonna break
out!

GM: Anton Layton is bailing out!

[Layton rolls off of the elevated ramp and begins taking off for the
back while Moretti leaps on Riley's back.  Vern snapmares him over and
elbows him in the head, but by that time, Layton has gotten the needed
separation.  In the meantime, Maverick clotheslines Monosso over the top
rope INTO the ring from the ramp!  The madman bolts right back to his
feet, but Percy Childes is there to order him out of the ring.  James
hesitates, as he would rather fight... as it happens, so would Maverick,
who follows him into the ring and blasts him with a running forearm to
the jaw!]

BW: Monosso don't wanna leave!  He wants to fight!

GM: The crazed psychotic isn't following Layton or Childes' orders!

[Monosso lashes back violently, smashing Brent in the ear with a brutal
clubbing blow before hooking his nostrils and spiking him face-first to
the canvas!  Defiantly, he lifts Maverick from the canvas, and presses
him overhead!]

BW: I think Brent's gonna "get out of here", if ya know what I mean!

GM: He's going to throw Maverick into the crowd!

Monosso: "GET OUT OF HE..."

[As Monosso runs towards the ropes to throw Brent into the audience,
Eric Preston cuts off both his maneuver and the accompanying sentence
with a slingshot bodyblock into the ring!  There is a thin rivulet of
blood coming from his nose, but otherwise he is still fresh... and he
violently hammers away at the downed Monosso!]

GM: PRESTON IS ON HIM!  ERIC PRESTON HAS WAITED A LONG TIME FOR THIS!

BW: If he was smart, he'd have waited about thirty more years.

GM: Preston, Maverick, and now Riley in the ring!  Anton Layton is
standing near the entranceway, just watching... and smiling!  What kind
of a sick man takes pleasure in his own ally being destroyed!

BW: I think he just likes people gettin' destroyed in general.

[As this conversation goes on, Monosso pushes to his feet... only to be
pasted by a lunging clothesline by Maverick.  And then a bionic elbow by
Riley.  And then a kick to the teeth by Preston.  Monosso does not go
down, but staggers out of control as each man tees off on him.]

GM: James Monosso cannot defend himself against all three of them, and
Anton not lifting a finger to help.

BW: They _told_ him ta leave, ya know.

GM: Maverick biel throws him... Riley elbowdrops him... and Preston with
a running kick sends him through the ropes to the floor!  The house is
clean, and look who is standing tall!

[Riley is now waving on Anton Layton, who responds by smirking and
pointing at his head.  Preston is waving on Monosso, who is being led to
the back by Childes... and he still wants to get back in and fight them.
Maverick just stands there, arms crossed, waiting for someone to make a
move.]

BW: Ya know?  Layton looks awful smug about somethin'.

GM: You would think that he'd be more upset after this drubbing.  Riley
and company don't look happy, and who can blame them after tonight? 
Fans, we'll be right back with more AWA action!

[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.  The crowd is buzzing because "The
Outlaw" Bobby Taylor is standing in the middle of the ring.  He's
dressed in blue jeans and an AWA t-shirt with the sleeves cut out,
pacing back and forth in his black Stetson as we fade in.]

BT:  SHANE!  Get your tail out here, boy!

[The crowd cheers as Bobby paces.]

BT:  Shane Taylor, you get out here right now so that this can be over -
one way or another...

[The crowd buzzes at that.]

GM:  What on earth does that mean?

[Suddenly, Shane Taylor emerges from the entryway.  He's looking over
his shoulder.]

BT:  Don't worry, kid.  You're safe.  Just get down here so we can talk.

[Shane Taylor looks a little less nervous, only checking behind him
every third step or so instead of every step.  Upon reaching the ring,
he steps through the ropes.  Shane produces a mic of his own.]

SST:  Alright.  Ya got me here.  Now what do you want?

BT:  I want to end this, Shane.

[The younger Taylor brother arches an eyebrow, staring at his brother.]

SST:  You serious?

[Bobby nods.]

SST:  You're calling off the bounty?

[Bobby pauses.]

BT:  Shane, this bounty was never about you.  It wasn't about hurting
you.  It was about me getting to Slater.  It was about me and my former
best friend getting into the ring together and finishing this situation
that's been hanging over us all for over two years.  

You never should have been a part of any of this.

[Bobby pulls off his Stetson, staring across the ring at his younger
brother.]

BT:  So, I owe it to myself... to you... to our whole family to make one
more attempt at this.  Please, Shane... please...

Step aside and let me finish this.

[Shane Taylor looks stunned, shaking his head.]

SST:  I can't believe this.  I can't believe YOU!  

[The younger Taylor brother throws his arms apart.]

SST:  That's what all this is about?  You making one more tearful
attempt to get me to let you beat the guy who got me a job here into a
pulp?  Look, I'm not happy about being a bulletstopper between you and
Kev.  I'm really not.  But like I said before, I owe that man a lot...
and if the best way I can make it up to him is to stand between you
two...

Then so be it.  I'm not stepping aside.  I'm not getting out of the way.
 And if you want to get at Kev, you'll have to go through me.

[Shane throws the mic down, waving Bobby on.  Suddenly, a third voice
rings out - that of Kevin Slater who is now standing on the interview
platform.]

KS:  That's right, Bobby!  You see, unlike you, your brother is loyal! 
He'd take a bullet for me!  He's the kind of friend - the kind of family
- that I always thought you were!  

But now we all know the truth, don't we?

[Bobby steps out onto the entry ramp, staring down the aisle at Slater.]

BT:  I thought it might come to this.  You see, for weeks and weeks,
I've been looking for someone to cash in that bounty and get me a clear
shot at you.  I watched people try and I watched them fail and I was
starting to think that it would never happen.

But someone new called me up about a week ago.  They had a rough night
at Battle On The Bayou and they were looking to change some things - get
going back in the right direction.  And when I heard their voice,
Shane... I knew they could do it.

[Taylor nods slowly.]

BT:  But before they'll do the deed, I had to promise to do one thing.

[Taylor holds up his right hand.]

BT:  I, Robert Taylor, in my position as partial owner of the American
Wrestling Alliance, do swear that if the conditions of the bounty are
met, the reward will be an "ANYTIME, ANYWHERE" shot at the AWA National
Title.  There are no conditions to this promise other than those
previous outlined.

[Taylor slowly lowers his hand.]

BT:  Shane... I'm sorry.

[Bobby Taylor turns his back on the ring, facing back up the aisle as
Shane Taylor looks confused...

...and is paying no attention as the ring apron suddenly flies up,
someone coming out from under the ring!]

GM:  Wait a- is that-?!

[The man from under the ring clutches a tire iron in his hand as he
rolls into the ring, rears back...

...and CLUBS Shane Taylor on the back of the head with it!]

GM:  OHHHHHHH!

[Without wasting a moment, the man pulls the arm of Shane Taylor
straight out from his side, pinning the wrist with his boot...

...and SLAMS the tire iron down on the pinned forearm!  Taylor screams
out in pain, clutching the arm, rolling back and forth on the mat as his
attacker stands over him.

A man that just became that much more hated by the AWA faithful.

A man that has a new... very powerful... prize in his back pocket.]

GM:  CALISTO DUFRESNE HAS CASHED IN THE BOUNTY!!

[Dufresne stands over the screaming Shane Taylor, glaring down at him...

...and then steps on the wrist again, pinning it down as he raises the
tire iron one more time.  

We quickly cut to Kevin Slater who looks on in shock, not moving an inch
to try and save his alleged friend... which may have something to do
with Bobby Taylor standing squarely in his path, ready for a fight if
the opportunity arrives.

And the tire iron SLAMS home yet again, causing Shane Taylor to actually
pass out from the pain.

A smirking Dufresne raises the tire iron high overhead, soaking up the
jeers from the crowd.  Bobby Taylor turns around, looking sorrowful at
his younger brother and then casting his gaze up to Dufresne who walks
towards him.  Dufresne pokes Taylor in the chest with the tire iron as
he walks by.]

"Pleasure doing business with you."

[And the Ladykiller strides arrogantly back up the ramp, leaving behind
an unconscious Shane Taylor.  Bobby Taylor slowly turns to face back up
the ramp...

...and points a finger right at Kevin Slater!  HUGE CHEER!]

GM:  THE PATH IS CLEAR!!  TAYLOR AND SLATER!!  NOW IT HAS TO HAPPEN!

BW:  Finally!

GM:  But at what cost?  Calisto Dufresne has just secured an Anywhere,
Anytime title shot in the words of Bobby Taylor.  The Ladykiller can
challenge for the National Title at anytime and anyplace that he wants
to!

BW:  We've never had that happen in the AWA.  Can you imagine what a
resourceful guy like Calisto Dufresne can do with something like that in
his pocket?

GM:  He could... my stars, he could challenge for the title tonight!

BW:  He's in the Battle Royal!  He could win that, challenge Stevie,
lose, and then challenge him IMMEDIATELY again!

GM:  What a night this has been!  Like I said, we're nearing the end of
our two hours here but obviously we have a lot more action here to come.
 The producers are talking to WKIK!  I know we've been given more time
but I do not know how much!  Let's go... where are we- okay, let's go to
the interview stage where Jason Dane is with Violence Unlimited just
moments before this big eight man tag!  Jason?

[Cut to the interview area, where we see Violence Unlimited standing by
with Jason Dane.  Jackson Haynes is dressed in a black stetson, a black
vest, and red Confederate flag-style wrestling trunks. Morton is dressed
in a black, boxer-style robe, with the hood pulled down. The duo look
angry and intense, obviously unhappy with their recent suspension and
their dealings with the Samoan Hit Squad.]

JD: Violence Unlimited, I know it must've been tough to watch Battle on
the Bayou at home, but tonight, you two get another chance at the Samoan
Hit Squad, when you team up with the War Pigs to take them on along with
the Moonshiners! Your thoughts, gentlemen?

JH: That suspension was pure hell, Dane! Pure hell! I thought it'd never
end!

JD: But it was just one show...

[Haynes looks down on Dane with a look of disbelief.]

JH: Only one show!? _Only_ one show!? 

[He shakes his head.]

JH: That's one less paycheck, Dane! That's one less chance to bust some
pretty boy's face up for lookin' at me cock-eyed! That's one less
opportunity to show the world that me and Danny are the toughest
bastards to ever step into a wrasslin' ring!  

[Haynes whips off his stetson, fuming.]

JH: Lemme tell you right now, Jason Dane...I had to sit at home and
_watch_ Battle on the Bayou with my brats and the old lady! I had to
spend quality time with the family...and it made me sick to my stomach! 

[He turns and spits on the ground.]

JH: I saw the AWA National champion get choked out by a steel chain! I
saw Tin Can Rust almost blind a man! I saw The Bishop Boys and Rough n'
Ready almost takin' out half the crowd with'em when they went to war.
One of the bloodiest nights in AWA history...and we weren't part of any
of it! 

[Morton spins Dane around.]

DM: We're wrestlers, Dane. Fighters! Watkins thinks keeping me and Jack
at home is going to cool us down? 

[Suddenly, Morton turns and shoves Haynes in the chest. Haynes replies
by doing the same, as the two suddenly go nose-to-nose, screaming at
each other, getting hyped up.] 

DM: WE'RE STILL AS FIRED UP AS EVER!!!

[Morton turns back to the camera.]

DM: We're not done with the Samoans! Not by a long shot! In the ring, in
the crowd, in the parking lot...on a plane, on a train, over here...over
there! It doesn't matter! If we have to, me and Jack'll _swim_ across
the Pacific to Samoa for a fight with those island boys!

[The crowd cheers Morton's enthusiastic response. As he listed off all
those places, he points a finger to every locale mentioned, including
"over here" and "over there"...wherever that may be.]

JD: But you won't even have to travel that far, because tonight you get
that very chance! However, you'll also be teaming with another team with
vengeance on their mind, in the form of the War Pigs.

[There's a slight smile on Jackson Haynes's face as the War Pigs are
mentioned.]

JH: Their business...ain't _our_ business, Dane. All they gotta' do is
stay outta' our way...and we'll be more than happy to stay outta'
theirs. 

[With that, Haynes and Morton stalk off the stage towards the ring. 
Suddenly, the sounds of Black Sabbath's "War Pigs" kicks in to a huge
reaction from the AWA fans!]

GM:  Oh yeah!  Here we go!

[Hammer, Sabre, and Richard E. Lee quickly make their way down the aisle
towards the ring.  They step down off the ramp, moving towards a waiting
Gordon Myers.]

GM: And joining us at this time is one of the four teams that will do
battle in the big eight-man tag match in just a moment, a team that is
quickly climbing the tag ranks here in the AWA, Hammer and Sabre with
their manager Richard E. Lee...the War Pigs.

[Lee enters in front of his team, wearing his usual silk shirt with a
dragon pattern, his salt-and-pepper hair and goatee neatly trimmed for
tonight's show.  The manager bypasses Myers and addresses a
somewhat-surprised Bucky Wilde.]

REL: Tell me, Bucky, that was a pretty plan we had in New Orleans,
wasn't it?  Come on...admit that you were impressed.

[Bucky shakes his head.]

BW: Impressed that your team eliminated themselves from the match?  I
don't think-

[But Buckthorn doesn't finish that sentiment, largely because Hammer and
Sabre decide to move very, very close to him.]

BW: - I've ever seen a finer display of strategizing from a manager!

[The War Pigs both smirk as Lee grins and pats Wilde on the shoulder.]

REL: Thanks for the kind words, Bucky.

The purpose of what we did at Battle On The Bayou was twofold - first,
it got us a little bit of payback on the Moonshiners for what they did
to me.  Speaking of which, I hope you like those stitches, Mange. 
Because I liked watching you get split open.

Second, it serves as an object lesson to the entire AWA tag team
division that the War Pigs mean business.  We are _not_ to be messed
with or taken lightly.  You get in our way?  You cross us?  You're going
to end up hurt.  Tell 'em, Sabre.

[And stepping forward to the microphone is the man with the single
mohawk stripe down the center of his head, Sabre.]

S: WEEEELLLLLL, Gordon Myers...the Buttshiners can't say we didn't warm
'em.  We told you fat, stinky turd-burglars that _we_ made the rules
here, so if you take down our manager?  We were gonna do the same.  So
now the way I see it, you got two choices.

One...you can call it quits now and head back to the third shift at the
tire factory before we get tired of playin' around and start causin'
some _serious_ damage to all three of you.  

Or two...you can keep on thinkin' it's still 1986 and that you're still
relevant enough to deal with us, and end up spendin' your last days on
earth in a nursing home gettin' oatmeal fed to you through a straw. 
Tell 'em like it is, Hammer.

[And now stepping up is the larger Hammer, with his three-striped
mohawk.]

H: See, Myers, it wasn't about the money.  Money don't matter to us. 
We've said it from the day we came back to the AWA, we're here to kick
some butt and rid this place of all the pencil-necked or lard-butted
managers that seemed to infiltrate this place when we went to Japan.

Well, it just so happened that we get a crack at one of those managers,
but turns out they followed us in here.  Which just pisses us off more
than if it was the other way 'round, because it means that Mange and his
backwoods Buttshiners actually thought they could get the best of us.

[Hammer points at the camera.  Menacing finger, etc.]

H: Listen up, and listen up good.  We're _though_ playin' games with
you.  We got bigger and better things to move on to, and we ain't real
keen on havin' you standin' in our path much longer.  So tonight, you
better hope your Samoan partners take the butt-kickin' we've got set
aside for you, because if they don't?

It's a long ride back to the Ozark mountains if you can't sit down.

[Sabre nods in the background, slapping Hammer on the shoulder, as Lee
takes the mic once more.]

REL: Our partners tonight go by the name of Violence Unlimited, and
that's a very prophetic description of what we've got in store for the
Moonshiners and, if they want a piece of us, the Samoan Hit Squad. 
Tonight, my war machine will keep turning right through anyone who gets
in our way.  And that's a promise.

[As the trio walks away, Sabre stops briefly to throw a few more words
into Myers' microphone.]

S: We feast on fear, and we prey on pain!

[Hammer and Sabre make their way into the ring, joining Morton and
Haynes as the music changes to the tribal drumbeats that can only mean
one thing.]

GM:  Here come the Samoans!

[And they're not coming alone - Scola, Mafu, Zeke, Jug, and their
respective managers are all heading down the ramp...

...and the absolutely nuts Jackson Haynes steps through the ropes,
charging at full speed into a pile of four guys ready to pummel him
senseless.  He leaps into the air, catching Scola with a leaping forearm
smash that knocks them both down on the platform.  Mafu, Zeke, and Jug
all start kicking and stomping Haynes.]

GM:  This has broken down already and they haven't even made it to the
ring yet!

[With Haynes being stomped, that brings Danny Morton out of the ring. 
His rush to save his partner is cut off by Zeke who throws himself into
a right hand, knocking Morton back.  Zeke grabs Morton by the head,
smashing his skull recklessly into Morton's, putting him down on the
wooden platform...

...which brings both Hammer and Sabre through the ropes, ready for a
fight!]

GM:  Look out!

[Sabre is the first one there, smashing Zeke with a right hand that
staggers him back.  Hammer joins in, throwing a running clothesline that
runs right over Zeke.  Jug is right there to continue the fight,
catching Hammer in the gut with a boot.  Holding Hammer by the back of
the neck, Jug smashes his knee up into the face of Hammer, knocking him
down on the ramp alongside Danny Morton.]

GM:  Wait a second!  Get Mange out of there!

[The burly manager drops to his knees, blatantly choking Hammer with
both hands...

...and catching a hard boot to the face from Sabre, knocking Mange flat
on the platform!  The crowd cheers as Sabre delivers another kick, this
one rolling Mange right off the ramp and down onto the floor.]

GM:  Mange goes down thanks to Sabre and-

[Sabre catches Zeke getting to his feet, throwing a knife-edge chop to
the chest that knocks Zeke back against the ropes outside the ring.  A
standing clothesline from Sabre takes Zeke over the ropes, putting him
into the ring.  After a bit, Hammer gets up, stepping through the ropes
alongside his partner as the fight continues out on the ramp.]

GM:  We've got both War Pigs in the ring now with Moonshiner Zeke.

BW:  Listen to Mange screaming at his man - trying to get him out of
there...

[But Zeke's path out of the ring is cut off by Sabre who wheels him
around by the arm, firing him into the nearest turnbuckles before
charging to the far corner.  Hammer greets him there, grabbing him by
the wrist and launching across...

...into a big running clothesline on the cornered Zeke!]

GM:  OHHHH!

BW:  Look out!

[Bucky's cry is due to Hammer repeating his partner's path across the
ring, bulldozing from corner to corner with an even more impactful
running clothesline!]

GM:  GOOD GRIEF!!

[With Zeke dazed in the buckles, Hammer pulls him out and shows off
tremendous power by pressing the 260 pound Zeke up over his head.  He
holds him high for a long moment before tossing him down to the mat
effortlessly to a big cheer from the crowd.  Richard E. Lee shouts some
encouragement from the floor and then claps as Sabre leaps high in the
air, dropping a clenched fist down across the forehead.]

GM:  Big leaping fistdrop by Sabre and - look out here...

[Hammer pulls Zeke off the mat by the hair, firing him across the ring.]

GM:  Zeke off the far side and-


"THUUUUUUUUUUUUUD!"


[HUGE CHEER!]

GM:  POWERSLAM!!  POWERSLAM!!

[Hammer keeps the press on, hooking a leg as the referee drops down to
count.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR- OHHH!  JUG WITH THE DIVING SAVE!!

[An angry Sabre turns his attention to the saving Jug with a well-placed
boot to the ribs as he gets back to his feet.  A knife-edge chop backs
Jug into the ropes.]

GM:  Sabre with a whip on Jug... ohh!  He gets caught!

[The rebounding Jug caught a doubled-up Sabre with a boot in the face,
straightening him up and then drilling him with a running back elbow
under the jaw that puts him down on the mat.]

GM:  Sabre's down but here comes the Hammer!

[Hammer drills Jug from behind with a running double axehandle, knocking
him through the ropes and out to the apron.  He reaches over the ropes,
looking to do more damage...

...but a nearby Mange reaches up, grabbing Hammer's arm and YANKS him
over the ropes to the floor!]

GM:  Oh, come on!  Where's the referee?!

BW:  He's tied up with these other four meatheads!  Look at Violence
Unlimited and the Samoans beatin' the tar out of each other out on the
ramp!

[A crazy-eyed Mafu is repeatedly slamming Jackson Haynes' face into the
wooden platform while a fired-up Danny Morton is blasting Scola with
forearm smashes from the mount position.  We cut back inside the ring
where Jug has re-joined his partner.]

GM:  Both Moonshiners are in the ring.  All alone with Sabre thanks to
Mange and- look at this!

[The crowd jeers as the tangled hair mess of Moonshiners repeatedly
drive down double axehandle sledge hammer blows across the broad back of
Sabre.]

GM:  Over and over again, down across the back!

[Zeke looks up to the sky and howls as Sabre hits the canvas bellyfirst
but Jug wastes no time in hauling him right back up, digging his fingers
into the eyes to send a blinded Sabre back to the ropes.]

GM:  Look out now - double whip by the Moonshiners...

[And as Sabre rebounds, the two mountain men swing their legs up and
catch him right on the chin, knocking him flat!]

GM:  Two big ol' boots upside the head of Sabre and the Moonshiners have
laid him flat, Bucky!

BW:  Don't take these brawlers for granted, Gordo.  They've closed down
plenty of bars at 2 AM on a Saturday night and then went out to fight in
the parking lot.  That's kinda what this is like to 'em.

GM:  Look here, cover by Jug... 

[The referee spins around at a shout from Mange, dropping down to count
as Mange delivers three big kicks to the ribs of Hammer out on the
floor...

...before Richard E. Lee jumps up on his back to the roars of the
crowd!]

GM:  We've got a fight out on the floor as well!  

[Seeing their manager in trouble, Zeke steps out on the apron, dropping
off with a forearm smash across the back of Richard E. Lee, knocking him
down to the floor.  A furious Mange spins around, laying in the boots on
Lee's ribcage!]

GM:  This is completely out of control, Bucky!  We've got wrestlers
beating up managers, we've got managers jumping on top of wrestlers! 
What in the world is-

BW:  Jug only got a two count on Sabre but he's poundin' the heck out of
him on the mat, Gordo!

[The crowd roars as Jackson Haynes emerges out from under Mafu, pounding
him with right hands to the skull, grabbing him by his wild hair...

...and HURLING him off the ramp to the floor!]

GM:  OHHHHHHH!

[Haynes promptly steps through the ropes, pulling Jug up off the mat. 
He delivers a big boot to the gut before pulling the wildman into a
standing headscissors.  A powerful lift gets Jug high up in the air,
pausing sky high for a moment...

...and DRIVEN down to the canvas!]

GM:  POWERBOMB!!

[Haynes throws himself into a stacked press, jacknifing both legs into a
cradle.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR-

[The crowd roars as Scola comes sailing off the top rope, driving a
flying headbutt into the kidneys of Haynes, breaking up the pin
attempt.]

GM:  He breaks the pin!  Scola with a diving headbutt off the top to
break up the pin attempt!

[Scola yanks Haynes off the mat, chucking him to the corner.  The big
man promptly lifts his leg, placing his boot on the windpipe of "The
Hammer."]

GM:  He's choking him in the corner!

[And completely oblivious to Danny Morton slipping in behind him,
wrapping his arms around Scola's waist...

...hoisting him up into the air, DUMPING him down on the back of his
head and neck!]

BW:  BACKDROP DRIIIIIIVAAAAAAH!

GM:  OH MY STARS AND GARTERS!

[Morton throws himself across the prone Scola.]

GM:  ONE!!!  TWO!!!  THRE-

[From outside the ring, James J. Dallas grabs Morton's foot, yanking him
off the downed Scola!]

GM:  What the-?!

[Morton promptly spins around and LAYS OUT Dallas!]

GM:  OHHH!  ANOTHER MAN DOWN!!

[Morton stomps and kicks the downed James J. Dallas as battles rage all
over ringside.  Suddenly, the referee simply throws up his arms and
calls for the bell.]


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  What in the world is...?

BW:  I think he just threw out the match!

GM:  The referee just... he's talking to Melissa now...

[Melissa nods and then speaks.]

MC:  The referee has declared this match NO CONTEST and out of control!

[The crowd jeers the announcement as the brawls continue all over the
ringside area...]

GM:  This one's been thrown out - a double disqualification - a no
contest has been declared here tonight at Homecoming but the fight
continues.

BW:  We might need the riot squad to calm these eight guys down.

GM:  And we're not even done yet, fans!  We are OVERTIME and we've still
got ourselves a Battle Roy-

#REACH OUT AND TOUCH FAITH#

GM:  You've gotta be kidding me!

[Earthshatterin'. Groundbreakin'. Bust off of your seat jeers as
"Personal Jesus" by Depeche Mode kicks into gear. Which can only mean
one thing, Bombers bay-bee! The camera freezes on the entrance where
after a few moments the curtains burst open revealing none other than
Larry Doyle. Sans Bombers. Sans Glenn. Doyle emerges all by his lonesome
and makes his way over to the interview area. A shocking lack of
excitement coming off "Hollywood" tonight.  

Doyle's attire tonight, you ask? A pair of gold pleated pants. A shiny
gold sports coat. A white collared shirt. He peruses the audience..
allowing them to bask in their venom before opening his big mouth to
shout over the brawling chaos at ringside.]

LD: I _told_ you all! Ha! 

I told you..

[Doyle points at a random fan.]

LD:  .. and you.. 

[And a point that seems to be in the direction of the eight men still
brawling.]

LD:  .. and you.. and you.. and most _certainly_ YOU!!

[Point. Point. Point.]

LD:  I told all of you. Each and _every_ one of you prehistoric
neanderthals. I warned you all of what would happen to the Rockstar
Express. Heck, I warned the Rockstar Express of what would happen to the
Rockstar Express. Day after day. _Month_ after la-di-da flippin'
_MONTH_.  

But you all ignored the simple fact. You all kept swilling your MGD and
chain smoking your Virginia Slims. Running around like the yahoos that
you all are. Cheering those two laaa---oooossseeerrrrsss like always.
Despite the fact that once and for aallllll we mopped the floor with
them. 

Despite their frivilous attempts to cheat.. despite the fact that the
only non-Bomber worth a _lick_ around these parts is The Masked Menace. 

[Doyle smiles.  The crowd is split in their attention between he and the
brawl.]

LD:  Menace.. the check is in the mail. Made out to cash. Just like you
asked. 

Thank _YOU_ for being the only one around here with enough class.. with
enough _decency_ to ensure that justice was served.

[Yeah right! Boos, baby! Doyle frumps his face and rubs his slightly
bruised chin.]

LD:  Lest I remind you dingbats that they kicked a _licensed_ manager in
the _face_ with not one.. but _two_.. 

[Count em.. two pudgy fingers come flying up.]

LD:  .. of their dirty boots.. in the face FERGAWDSAKE! 

[Doyle paces as the crowd claps for the Rockstars.]

LD:  Ohhhh... you go ahead and cheer your _faces_ off.. cause I'm still
standin', bay-bee! The Bombers are once again.. victorioso! So cheer
your hillbilly hearts to content while we laugh our way to what is
deservedly _ours_. 

[Doyle looks around with a mocked look of shock.]

LD:  Cause guess who are the newest number one contenders for the tag
titles? 

Can ya guess?

Can ya figure it out?

Can ya even _read_?!

Cause "Beautiful" Bobby Baldwin and the one and only.. newly renamed
simply because he can do whatever he wants.. Love Machine Nova are
coming after Rough N Ready.. we're coming after Joe Petrow. A man I am
_now_ convinced was originally hired by the soon-to-be-former champs to
cost my boys that one-on-one versus The RetiredStars. We're coming after
Gordon Myers for simply refusing to read my letter. We're coming after
_every single_ tag team for simply breathing the same air that we
rightfully own. 

We're coming after each and _every_ one of you. Simply because we don't
like you.

[Boo!]

LD:  Shut up.

[Doyle ignores the jeers for once.]

LD:  We're coming after _anybody_ who gets in our way. 

Cause it's Da Bombah's time, baby. 

And at SuperClash..

[Doyle's lips curl up into the biggest damn smile we've ever seen on his
pudgy face.]

LD:  .. we want our shot. 

#REACH OUT AND TOUCH FAITH#

[Doyle storms off set as the crowd continues to jeer the most obnoxious
manager in the game today.]

GM:  The Blonde Bombers want their shot and they want it at SuperClash 2
in just over two months' time, fans!  

BW:  And rightfully so!

GM:  That remains to be seen!  Fans, we're going to take a quick break
and then we'll be right back for tonight's HUGE Main Event!  Don't you
dare go away!

[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...

...where we find the competitors for the Top Ten Contender Battle Royal
on their way to the ring.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans, and it's Main Event time here at Homecoming. 
Ten of the AWA's top stars all competing for a shot at the AWA National
Title - a shot they'll get TONIGHT if they win this thing!

BW:  Look at 'em, Gordo.

[The camera shows James Monosso walking alone down the entrance ramp.]

GM:  The number three contender, James Monosso - all alone out here.  We
understand that "Big" Jim Watkins has BANNED all managers and associates
from ringside to try and keep this one on the level.

BW:  After what we just saw, who can blame him?

[Another shot down the ramp reveals Brent Maverick, Eric Preston, and
Tin Can Rust heading down to the ring to a big cheer.]

GM:  Three of the most popular men in the entire AWA taking part in this
one as well.  You know that the fans would love to see any of these
three take on Stevie Scott here tonight at Homecoming, Bucky.

BW:  Yeah, but who cares what the fans think?

[Scotty Storm of the Rockstar Express jogs into view to a big cheer.  He
pumps a fist in response as he trots down the ramp towards the ring. 
The cheers grow as Kolya Sudakov, his neck and shoulder both heavily
wrapped in white tape follows.]

GM:  And there comes the former National Champion, Kolya Sudakov. 
Earlier tonight, I would have picked the Russian War Machine as one of
the odds on favorite to win this thing but after seeing the damage he
suffered at the hands of his own Uncle Vladimir Velikov as well as
Sultan Azam Sharif, I just don't know if he should be out here.

BW:  He shouldn't, Gordo, and the only reason he is is because of
foolish pride.

[The boos pour down over the aisle as MAMMOTH Mizusawa walks into view,
letting loose a massive roar just beyond the entrance curtain before
heading down the aisle.]

BW:  There he is, Gordo.  That's my pick right there.

GM:  It's hard to fault that pick.  He's certainly got the size to excel
in an environment like this.  I mean, who could get HIM over the top
rope?

[Another big cheer goes up as a masked man walks into view.]

GM:  The West Memphis Assassin - a name on the lips of a lot of people
tonight especially after what Ben Waterson had to say at the start of
tonight's show.

BW:  Do you believe him, Gordo?  Is the Assassin really Juan Vasquez?

GM:  I don't know, Bucky.  But if he is, Jim Watkins has promised to BAN
Vasquez from the AWA for life!

[The boos EXPLODE in volume as "Ladykiller" Calisto Dufresne walks into
view, smirking at the jeering crowd.]

GM:  Here comes one-half of the former National Tag Team Champions and
the man who shocked the world earlier tonight when he cashed in on that
bounty.  

BW:  That's right, Gordo.  Dufresne's already GOT a title shot in his
back pocket here tonight so I'd say he's holding all the cards.  

GM:  An "Anywhere, Anytime" title shot - unheard of here in the AWA.

[And finally, the Crockett Colisseum EXPLODES in cheers as the last man
walks into view.]

GM:  Raphael Rhodes is heading down to the ring!  He's the number two
contender to the AWA National Title and I think there's not a soul in
this building who would turn down the chance to see him collide with
Stevie Scott here tonight.  What must the champion be thinking, Bucky?  

BW:  Well, you know that he and Ben Waterson are backstage watching this
right now and the Hotshot has to look on the bright side.  No matter who
comes out of this thing, they'll have fought nine other top flight guys
in a Battle Royal.  They won't be fresh at all.  He still has the
advantage going into the title match.

[And as soon as Rhodes steps into the ring, he charges Calisto Dufresne.
 Referee Michael Meekly calls for the bell to start the match as Rhodes
lights up the Ladykiller with big chops in the corner!]

GM:  Here we go!

[In other parts of the ring, we find Eric Preston going after James
Monosso alongside Brent Maverick.  Nearby, Scotty Storm and Kolya
Sudakov are working over the giant in the corner.  The crowd cheers as
Tin Can Rust and the West Memphis Assassin trade blows in the center of
the ring as well.]

GM:  I think Rust was trying to get at Dufresne but the Assassin
wandered onto his path.  Ten major AWA superstars are in there and the
only way to get that title shot tonight is to outlast the other nine as
they one-by-one go over the top rope and have both feet touch the floor.

[A quick cut shows Kolya Sudakov with his hands wrapped around the
throat of Mizusawa, trying to force the giant down as Scotty Storm
throws kicks into the torso of the giant.]

GM:  Two men going after the giant early.  They know they need a numbers
edge to get him out of there.

[A gouge to the eye by Dufresne gets him away from Rhodes, walking
across the ring...

...and EATING a right hand from Tin Can Rust who breaks away from the
masked man simply to deliver a haymaker to his rival.]

GM:  Good grief!  What a right hand from the veteran!  Dufresne caught
all of that right on the chin and went down like a rock.

[Grabbing the top rope, Rust repeatedly stomps Dufresne into the canvas.
 Nearby, we see Sudakov throwing kicks to the body of Mizusawa as Storm
leaps up to the middle rope, fist raised.]

"ONE!"
"TWO!"
"THREE!"
"FO- OHHHHHHHHH!"

[The crowd groans as Scotty Storm is upended over the ropes, crashing
down to the floor below as the referee signals for elimination.]

GM:  Scotty Storm is gone!  He went all the way over the ropes to the
floor thanks to MAMMOTH Mizusawa and we're down to nine men!  Nine men
left battling for a shot at the National Champion!

[With Rust distracted choking out Dufresne with a boot choke, Raphael
Rhodes hits him across the back of the neck with a forearm smash. 
Spinning Rust around, Rhodes grabs the back of his head and delivers a
crushing headbutt that knocks Rust back to the ropes.]

GM:  Raphael Rhodes and Tin Can Rust are no strangers in there either,
Bucky.

BW:  Nope, they've tangled a few times and even a mutual hatred for
Calisto Dufresne doesn't seem to put them on the same page - not when a
shot at the National Title is at stake.

[A battering ram like headbutt from Monosso puts Preston down to a knee
where the madman grabs him by the back of the head and crushes him with
a kneelift to the jaw.  Monosso drops to his knees, wrapping his hands
around the throat of Preston and squealing with delight.]

GM:  Listen to that psychopath!  He's actually enjoying this!

BW:  The chance to beat up on nine guys in one match?  This is like
Christmas to Monosso!

[Brent Maverick smashes Monosso in the face with a kick, knocking the
big man down to his back where Maverick promptly drops a leaping
kneedrop across the chest.]

GM:  Look at this...

[With Mizusawa backed into the ropes, the West Memphis Assassin joins
Sudakov in throwing kicks to the body in the corner.  A well-placed high
kick from the former MMA star knocks the giant down into a seated
position in the corner where the Assassin promptly slams a knee into the
face of the giant.  Holding the top rope, the masked man drives home
knee after knee after knee.]

BW:  Look familiar, Gordo?

GM:  I hate to say it but yes... yes, it does.

[The camera cuts to find James Monosso's back against the ropes with
both Preston and Maverick each going for a leg on him.]

GM:  They're trying to get Monosso out of here!  Each one of 'em going
for a leg, trying to get the big man up into the air and...

[Monosso lashes out with an elbow driven down into the back of Preston's
neck, breaking his grip.  A hard double axehandle to the back stops
Maverick cold...

...and reaching up under Maverick's arm, Monosso HURLS him over the
ropes to the floor!]

GM:  OHHH!  A hiptoss... biel-like throw over the ropes!  Brent Maverick
is eliminated as well!  

BW:  And just like that, we're down to eight...

[BIG SHOCKED REACTION!]

BW:  MAKE THAT SEVEN!

[The crowd jeers as Eric Preston lies writhing on the thinly-padded
concrete, having been backdropped over the ropes to the floor by James
Monosso!]

GM:  Maverick AND Preston gone in short order and that puts us down to
seven men remaining in this thing.  James Monosso, Tin Can Rust, Kolya
Sudakov, the giant, the Assassin, Dufresne, and Raphael Rhodes are the
seven men remaining and-

[Seizing the moment with Monosso taunting Preston, Raphael Rhodes and
Tin Can Rust momentarily work together to toss the man from Happy Valley
over the ropes to the floor!]

GM:  MONOSSO'S GONE!  We're down to six!

[Rust promptly turns to Rhodes and lets a right hand fly, their
momentary partnership dissolves as the veteran lays into the Brit,
battering him down to a knee...

...and a blindside shot from Dufresne breaks it up, stunning Tin Can
Rust.]

GM:  Ohh!  Dufresne nails Rust from out of nowhere and-

[Rhodes dips down, hoisting Rust up in a flapjack style lift and simply
drops him over the ropes, sending the veteran crashing down to the
floor!]

GM:  Rust is gone as well!  And then there were five!

[An angry Tin Can Rust gets right back up, trying to get back into the
ring at the taunting Ladykiller...

...who turns right into Raphael Rhodes who throws a big right hand to
the temple that knocks Dufresne back into the buckles.  Rhodes switches
stances, throwing chops.]

"WHAAAAAAAAP!"

GM:  Good grief!  That'll take the skin right off ya!

[A couple more chops follow before Rhodes grabs Dufresne by the arm,
dragging him out to the middle of the ropes.  He hurls him across the
ring...

...where Dufresne stops short, grabbing the top rope to block his
rebound.]

GM:  He blocks it and-

[Stunning the crowd, Dufresne simply slingshots himself over the ropes,
landing safely on the entrance ramp.  He grins at the jeering crowd,
pointing to his head and waving goodbye to a surprised Raphael Rhodes.]

GM:  Dufresne just eliminated himself!

BW:  Of course he did!  It's brilliant!

GM:  How so? 

BW:  Like we said, Gordo, he's already got a guaranteed title shot.  Why
should he break his back to win another shot here tonight where he'll be
worn out and tired?  Let these other guys get beat up before battling
Stevie.  Who knows?  Calisto's night may not be done yet.

GM:  You may be right and don't look now but we're down to four men! 
Kolya Sudakov, MAMMOTH Mizusawa, Raphael Rhodes, and-

BW:  Juan Vasquez!

GM:  The West Memphis Assassin.

BW:  Same difference.

[With Mizusawa down on his rear in the corner, the masked man turns his
attention to an incoming Raphael Rhodes, catching him with a right hand.
 The two men trade rights for a moment...

...and then Rhodes scores with a standing headbutt!]

GM:  Uh oh.

[The Assassin holds his ground though, replying with a headbutt of his
own that knocks Rhodes back a step.]

GM:  We've seen this before!

BW:  And there's only one man in this business that I've EVER seen trade
headbutts with Raphael Rhodes and stay on his feet, Gordo.  I think Ben
Waterson was right!

GM:  Well, you may be-

[Rhodes lands another headbutt...

...and then immediately hooks his fingers into the eyeholes of the mask,
pulling hard upwards!]

GM:  Rhodes is trying to take the mask off!  He's trying to rip that
mask off!

BW:  There's no love lost between Rhodes and Vasquez.  If it IS Juan
Vasquez under that mask, Rhodes wants him gone as badly as anyone does,
Gordo.  Maybe even as badly as Ben Waterson does.

[Seizing the moment, Kolya Sudakov buries a knee into the lower back of
Raphael Rhodes.  He spins him around by the mohawk, hooking him behind
the head and neck.]

GM:  Look out here!

[Sudakov explodes upwards with knee strikes aimed at the skull of
Rhodes, landing the blows over and over again with Rhodes trying to
throw his arms in front of them to protect himself.]

GM:  A Muay Thai knee flurry!

BW:  How in the heck do you know that?

GM:  I saw some kind of ultimate fighting on TV recently.  Barbaric. 
It's like human cockfighting.

BW:  Gordo, we saw ten guys beat each other bloody and senseless in a
steel cage two weeks ago.

GM:  Point.

[Sudakov flings Rhodes down to the mat by the head, throwing his arms
apart with a roar...

...and then spots the giant getting back to his feet!]

GM:  MIZUSAWA IS UP!!

[Cocking the arm back, Sudakov races towards the stunned giant.]

GM:  SICKLE!!

[The deadly Russian Sickle connects but Sudakov immediately falls
backwards, clutching his neck and shoulder...

...which allows a dazed Raphael Rhodes to hook the back of his singlet,
HURLING him over the ropes to the floor!]

GM:  SUDAKOV'S GONE!!  RHODES TOSSES SUDAKOV!!

[And with the giant dazed from the Sickle, the West Memphis Assassin
rushes in, leaping into the air with two knees driven straight into the
chest of the giant!]

GM:  DOUBLE KNEES!

BW:  Now, I KNOW I've seen THAT before!

[The giant stumbles out of the corner as the Assassin rears back a right
hand...

...and CRACKS him upside the jaw with it!]

GM:  RIGHT HAND!!  WHAT A RIGHT HAND!!!

[A still-dazed Raphael Rhodes quickly scampers up the ropes, standing up
top as the giant teeters before him...

...and leaps off, driving both feet squarely into the face, a blow that
sends the giant stumbling chestfirst into the ropes.  The Assassin
rushes forward, ducking under the giant.]

GM:  The Assassin's underneath him!  Trying to get him up!

[And soon, Raphael Rhodes joins him, both men pushing up on the powerful
giant!]

GM:  Can they get him up?!  Can they get the giant over the ropes?!

[Rhodes and the masked man work in unison, struggling, straining,
screaming...

...and finally sending the giant over the ropes to the floor in a heap!]

GM:  HE'S GONE!!  THE GIANT'S GONE!!

[DEAFENING ROAR!!]

GM:  WE'RE DOWN TO TWO!!

[And as soon as the two men straighten up, Raphael Rhodes throws a
standing Lariat designed to take the masked man's head right off...

...but the Assassin ducks it, using Rhodes' own momentum to send him
over the ropes!]

GM:  HE'S OV- ohh!  He caught himself on the apron!

[Where a thunderous headbutt to the skull awaits him, keeping him dazed
on the apron, two hands wrapped around the top rope, trying to keep
himself in the match.]

GM:  He's hanging on!  Raphael Rhodes is hanging onto that top rope! 

BW:  He can feel that shot at the National Title slipping away, Gordo!

GM:  You may be right, Bucky.  Those fingers are-

[The Assassin batters the arms with both of his own, trying to break
Rhodes' steely grip...

...and then lashes out with another headbutt to Rhodes, this one
knocking the Assassin down to a knee in the process.]

GM:  He's trying to knock him down but he knocked himself silly in the
process!  Both of these men are trying to- ohh!

[The crowd groans at Rhodes lunging through the ropes with a well-placed
knee to the noggin that knocks the masked man flat on the canvas. 
Rhodes, clinging to the top rope...

...points to the corner to the roar of the crowd!]

GM:  Rhodes is going up top!  He's gonna fly!

[The former Southern Syndicate member scales the ropes, looking out over
the entire ring...

...and HURLS himself from his perch, smashing down skullfirst on a prone
Assassin!]

GM:  HEADBUTT!!  HEADBUTT OFF THE TOP BY RHODES!!

[Rhodes bounces off the mat, clutching his skull in pain as he rolls
back and forth on the mat.]

GM:  He got all of that!  

BW:  He may have gotten TOO MUCH of that, Gordo!  He's down as well!

[A dazed Rhodes rolls to his stomach, pushing up to a knee.  He grabs at
his head, wincing in pain as he pushes up off the mat.  Reaching down,
he hauls the Assassin up to his feet by the eyeholes of the mask,
slightly ripping it.]

BW:  Take the mask off him, Raph!  Show the world who's under there!

[Rhodes pauses for a moment, looking at the masked man with his fingers
tucked under the fabric.]

GM:  The moment of truth perhaps, Bucky.  But perhaps Raphael Rhodes
needs to make a choice right now.  Does he take the mask off or does he
toss the Assassin and face the champ right here tonight in Dallas,
Texas?

[Shaking his head, he grabs the Assassin by the back of the trunks,
rushing towards the ropes...

...and HURLING the Assassin over the top!]

GM:  OVER THE TO- HE HANGS ON!!  HE HANGS ON!!!

[The West Memphis Assassin grabs the top rope with both hands, his feet
dangling dangerously close to the thinly-padded concrete floor.  A tired
Rhodes drops to a knee, not noticing as the masked man uses his arm
strength to pull himself back over the ropes into the ring...]

GM:  HERE COMES RHODES!!

[And at the last possible moment, the Assassin sidesteps, hooking Rhodes
under the arm, and hiptossing him...

...OVER the ropes and out onto the ramp!]

GM:  OHHH!  HE'S GONE!  HE'S GONE!!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


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

THE WEST MEMPHIS ASSASSIN!

[BIG CHEER!]

GM:  The Assassin eliminated Raphael Rhodes and he's won the title shot!

BW:  No, no, no!  This can't be happening!

GM: The West Memphis Assassin has done it! He's won the Battle Royal!
He's getting a shot at the National Title!

BW: Wait, he's...he's coming over here!

[As the crowd cheers wildly, the masked man rolls out of the ring and
walks over to the announcer's table, grabbing a microphone. Breathing
heavily, he points a finger up towards the aisle and to the back.]

WMA: Stevie...I know you hear me. 

Bring yourself...bring the National title...and get your butt down to
this ring...

... _right now!_

[HUGE POP!]

BW: Are you serious!? You're not fooling anyone, daddy...you don't
deserve any title shot! You're Juan Vasquez! We _know_ you're Juan
Vasquez!

[The Assassin turns and glares at Bucky Wilde with a cold look.
 
And then he smirks.
 
Then, just for a split-second, you swear you recognize that voice...no,
you _know_ that voice. That smirk. That smile. All the pieces come
together. The crowd recognizes this too, because they immediately roar
with cheers...]
 
WMA: Amigo, I ain't anybody but the West Memphis Assassin!

[BIG POP! Smiling like the cat that ate the canary, the Assassin leans
in close, staring down a stunned Wilde...before turning his attention
back towards the aisle.]

WMA: Stevie Scott...I'm not going to repeat myself. 

You got yourself a title match! 

[Suddenly, the crowd BURSTS into jeers as "Hotshot" Stevie Scott comes
walking out onto the ramp.  He's dressed to compete, the title belt
slung over his shoulder.  He's screaming and shouting in the direction
of the ring, fit to be tied as he complains to anyone who will listen...

...and promptly turns around, heading back towards the locker room.]

BW:  Nope.  He's changed his mind!  No title match tonight!

[But Stevie's path is blocked by "Big" Jim Watkins who seems to have
expected something like this.  A closeup of the confrontation on the
ramp clearly picks up Watkins' words.]

JW:  You either get down there and defend your title... or hand it over.

[Stevie clutches the title belt to his chest, shaking his head back and
forth.]

JW:  You're defending the belt or I'm stripping you of it!

[A furious Scott points a threatening finger at Watkins, shouting
something unheard as he turns around, marching down the aisle towards
the ring.]

GM:  Here he comes!  We're going to have this title match and we're
going to have it right now!  It may be Juan Vasquez under that mask like
Ben Waterson says or it may not be-

BW:  IT IS!  You heard him!  He said the same thing Vasquez said earlier
tonight!  Juan Vasquez is the West Memphis Assassin!  You know it!  I
know it!  The fans know it!  EVERYONE KNOWS IT!

GM:  But the one man who has to have it PROVED to him is standing out
there on that ramp!  He wants to see that mask come off himself if it's
going to happen.  He's going to be watching and if that mask comes
off... if Juan Vasquez is under the hood... he'll be BANNED from the AWA
for life, Bucky!

BW:  Come on, champ.  Send him packing once and for all!

[Scott approaches the ring, still shouting in the direction of the West
Memphis Assassin who is standing in the squared circle, doubled up with
his hands on his knees.]

GM:  The Assassin is a little worn down but this is a chance of a
lifetime for this unknown newcomer from West Memphis...

BW:  Oh, that's hilarious, Gordo!

[The Assassin suddenly walks to the ropes where Stevie is standing,
still ranting and raving...

...and the masked man reaches over the ropes, grabbing the Hotshot
behind the head!]

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

[The masked man hurls Stevie over the ropes and down to the mat to a big
cheer from the crowd.  AWA Senior Official Michael Meekly slides into
the ring, calling for the bell as he gets the title belt out to the
timekeeper.]

GM:  Here we go, fans!  The AWA National Title is on the line and-

[The Assassin stalks the Hotshot across the ring, backing him down as
the National Champion backs into the corner, hands up as he begs for
mercy...

...and the Assassin walks right into an eyegouge!]

GM:  Ohh!  Stevie caught him coming in!

[Grabbing the Assassin by the back of the head, the Hotshot SLAMS his
masked face into the top turnbuckle!]

GM:  Facefirst to the corner and- 

[The crowd buzzes with concern as the Hotshot grabs at the edge of the
mask, trying to yank it off the face of the West Memphis Assassin.]

GM:  He's trying to get the mask off!  Stevie's going for the mask!

[But the Assassin fires back with a right hand to the midsection,
breaking the champion's grip.  A second hooking right to the ribs
doubles up the Hotshot which allows the Assassin to hit the adjacent
ropes, rebounding back...

...and POPPING the Hotshot with a kneelift to the jaw!]

GM:  OHHH!  BIIIIIG KNEELIFT BY THE CHALLENGER!!!

[A pair of stomps to the ribs has the Hotshot rolling for the ropes
where the Assassin grabs the top rope, stepping up to the middle rope,
and kicks himself off, swinging down with both feet into the ribcage of
the Hotshot, knocking him off the apron and down to the floor!]

GM:  Out to the floor they go!

[The Assassin promptly steps out on the apron, dropping down to the
floor.  He delivers a pair of kicks to the ribs of the Hotshot before
dragging him up to his feet...

...and grabs the champion by the wrist, HURLING him spinefirst into the
steel barricade!]

GM:  OHHH!  INTO THE STEEL HE GOES!!

[Grabbing the Hotshot by the hair, the Assassin drags him over to the
ring, firing him back inside.  He steps in as well, moving in on the
downed Scott who is retreating once more...

...and then LUNGES forward, smashing his own head into the Assassin's
midsection!]

GM:  He caught him coming in!

[The Hotshot promptly steps forward, hooking a standing headscissors...

...but gets his legs yanked out from under him, falling to his back a
split-second before the Assassin does a front flip, landing in a double
leg cradle!]

GM:  CRADLE!!  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE-


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  So close!  We were a half a count away from having a new National
Champion!

BW:  This isn't right!  This isn't fair to the Hotshot!  He didn't know
who he'd have to face.  He didn't even know he was defending the title
here tonight!  

GM:  He's known for over two hours now!

BW:  But... but... he wants the mask!  He's- he's distracted!

[Scott scampers to his feet, catching the Assassin coming up in a front
facelock...

...and DRIVING his masked skull into the canvas with a DDT!]

GM:  OHHHHH!  HE CAUGHT HIM WITH THE DDT!!

BW:  The Assassin, just a little bit slow to get up since he had to go
through that Battle Royal just to get this match, paid the price for it
right there with that DDT.  The Hotshot caught him, spiked him, and-

[The Hotshot rolls into a cover.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR-

[The Assassin fires a shoulder off the mat just in time.]

GM:  We almost had a pin right there!  The Assassin almost got pinned
off that DDT!

[Scott quickly rolls to his feet, standing in the corner shifting his
balance back and forth from foot to foot, waiting for the Assassin to
get off the mat.]

GM:  Stevie's set!  Stevie's ready!  He's got that Heatseeker for- 

[And as the masked man gets up, the Hotshot UNCORKS his Heatseeker
superkick...

...but the Assassin ducks under it, allowing the Hotshot to fly past
him.  The Assassin reaches back with both arms, hooking underneath the
champion's arms, dragging him down in a backslide!]

GM:  BACKSLIDE!!  THE ASSASSIN HOOKS HIM!!

[The Senior Official drops down to count.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE-

[HUUUUUGE explosion of disappointment as the Hotshot fires a shoulder
off the mat in time.]

GM:  He just barely got the shoulder up, Bucky!

BW:  The champion... my god, what must Ben Waterson be thinking?  

GM:  Waterson, banned from ringside by Jim Watkins here tonight, has
gotta be climbing the walls in the back.  The title is in serious
jeopardy in this match with the West Memphis Assassin!

[Both men are a bit slower to get up this time...

...and the Hotshot gets ROCKED with a right hand from the Assassin!]

GM:  OHHHHH!  GOOD GRIEF!!

[With the champion dazed off the right hand, he slumps down to a knee. 
The Assassin stands over him, breathing heavily...

...and slaps down on the mat with both hands before snapping off a
lightning quick spin kick to the jaw of the kneeling Hotshot!]

GM:  GOOD GOD!!  HE'S DOWN AGAIN!!

[The masked man collapses on top of the Hotshot, failing to hook a leg
as he waves for the referee to count.]

GM:  WE'VE GOT ONE!!  WE'VE GOT TWO!!  WE'VE GOT- OHHH!  Shoulder up!  

BW:  He didn't hook the leg and it cost him, Gordo!  That shoulder flew
right out of there because he couldn't get enough body on body on the
lateral press.

GM:  The Assassin can't believe it!  Look at him arguing with the
official!

[The West Memphis native slowly drags the Hotshot back to his feet,
still arguing with the official...

...and again gets a thumb in the eye!]

GM:  Ohh!  Come on!

[The masked man spins away, blinded...

...and gets pulled down in a schoolboy as the Hotshot reaches back to
hook the trunks!]

GM:  HE'S GOT THE TIGHTS, REF!!

BW:  The ref didn't see it!  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREEEEEEE!!

GM:  NO!  NO!  HE DIDN'T GET HIM, BUCKY!

[The referee does indeed throw two fingers up in the air to the relief
of the crowd as Stevie Scott springs to his feet, grabbing the official
by the shirt, backing him across the ring...]

GM:  Get off the referee, Scott!  Get your hands off him!

[Suddenly, the AWA's Senior Official tires of this abuse...

...and delivers a hard shove to the chest of the Hotshot, sending him
sailing backwards where the West Memphis Assassin ducks down, hoisting
him up into a torture rack lift.]

GM:  WHOA!!  HE'S GOT- 

BW:  Wait a second!  What's he going to do with him?

[The Assassin holds the Hotshot across his shoulders...

...but the wriggling National Champion gets free, dropping down to the
mat behind, falling to a knee.]

GM:  The champ's down to-

[Suddenly, the Assassin spins and CRUSHES the Hotshot with a brutal
right cross!]

GM:  OHHHHH!

[The Hotshot crumples backwards in a heap, the challenger collapsing on
top of him once more.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!!  THRE-

[The crowd deflates as the Hotshot slips a foot over the bottom rope,
just narrowly avoiding defeat.]

GM:  Foot on the ropes!  He got the foot-

[The Assassin pops up to his knees, burying his masked face in his
hands.  He slams his fists down on the mat over and over, screaming
loudly in frustration.]

GM:  He thought he had him there and I can't blame him!  I thought he
had the champion beat as well with that right hand.  The West Memphis
Assassin has come oh-so-close to becoming the champion on several
occasions in this one and-

[The masked man climbs to his feet, still shaking his head with
frustration.  He reaches down, pulling the Hotshot up to a knee...

...where the Hotshot shoves him hard in the torso, knocking him back
into the official!]

GM:  Ohh!  

BW:  Stay on your feet, ref!

[The official got shaken up but not enough to drop.  As he tries to
recover though, he misses the Hotshot's true purpose for the shove...

...as he SLAMS his arm up into the groin of the West Memphis Assassin!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  LOW BLOW!!  LOW BLOW ON THE CHALLENGER!!!

[The blow doubles up the challenger, allowing the Hotshot to once more
step into a standing headscissors.  He reaches down, trying to hook the
West Memphis Assassin around the waist.]

GM:  He's going for the Piledriver!  Scott's going for the Piledriver!

[And suddenly, the challenger stands up, backdropping the Hotshot down
to the canvas with a thud!]

GM:  BACKDROP!  He backdropped his way out of it!

[The Assassin drops down to a knee from the exertion.  But just as the
Hotshot regains his feet - as does the challenger who grabs the Hotshot
around the neck with one arm and sinks his thumb into the throat on the
other side!]

GM:  SPIKE!!  HE HOOKS IN THE ASSASSIN'S SPIKE!!

[The crowd ROARS to life as the Hotshot frantically starts swinging his
arms back and forth, pumping them in the air, trying to find a way out
of the submission hold!]

GM:  He's got that sunk in deep!  That thumb is jammed right into the
carotid artery applying a tremendous amount of pressure! 

BW:  If the champ doesn't get out of this, he's going to sleep!  That'll
cut off the flow of blood to the brain and-

GM:  Stevie's fading, Bucky!

[There certainly does seem to be a certain lack of gusto in the arms of
the National Champion as he begins to slump down towards the canvas. 
Suddenly, the Assassin pushes him down to the mat, staying over him to
keep the leverage on the thumb, pushing harder and harder on the
throat...]

GM:  The referee's right there to check!  This is a very dangerous hold
and-

[Suddenly, the referee leaps up, waving his arms.]


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


BW:  WHAT?!  WHAT?!

[The referee races over to Melissa to speak.]

GM:  We've got a bell and- here's the decision...

[Melissa speaks.]

MC:  AWA Senior Official Michael Meekly has ruled that Stevie Scott is
UNCONSCIOUS and is therefore unable to continue!  

Your winner of the match...

[Dramatic pause.]

MC:  ...and NEEEEEWWWW AWA NATIONAL CHAMPION...

THE WEST... MEMPHIS... ASSASSINNNNNNN!!!

[The crowd ROARS in reaction as the Assassin releases the hold, allowing
the now-former champion to slump down to the canvas in a heap.  The
masked man slowly gets up, accepting the National Title belt being
presented to him by the referee.  He looks down at the belt in
disbelief...

...and then thrusts it high into the air to the cheers of the crowd!]

GM:  He did it!  He did it!  We've got a new AWA National Champion and
it is the West Memphis Assassin!

BW:  You mean it's Juan Vasquez!

GM:  You don't know that!  The mask stayed on!  And on this night, the
West Memphis Assassin is on top of the wrestling world!  What a night! 
What a Homecoming!

[The camera holds on the Assassin, clutching the title belt against his
chest as "Big" Jim Watkins steps into the ring...

...and we fade to black.]